What is a forked tale?
Well, it’s a tale we write together. I write and give you two options….We all vote. Majority rules and the story takes root…
Welcome to the forth installment of Ellie Masters’ Whiskey Wednesday. Haven’t read part one of Cursed to Walk in the Light? Well click here to catch yourself up!
PART FIVE BEGINS NOW….
The knight’s greedy gaze fixated on what lay between Irynia’s parted thighs. Lust rolled off him, an overpowering force, it licked against her skin, laying down a trail of molten heat. His lechery made the air reek with the rawness of his desire. That need, that power, it tunneled beneath her skin, hijacking the blood in her veins, where it coursed through her with rampant rage.
Irynia tossed back her head, eyes squinting against the harsh glare of the sun, and struggled to breathe through the heady intoxication.
He stripped off his armor, baring himself to her examination. Ridges of muscles defined his abdomen, the dips and valleys deepening and cresting higher as they crawled up his chest. His powerful pectorals stood out on a hairless chest. The flawless landscape marred only by the latticework of bulging veins beneath the skin. His biceps flexed, and there were more of those ropy veins crawling down his forearms, and even along the length of a somewhat impressive cock.
Ahimoth had fucked her morning and night during her purgatory. He’d shoved his massive member down her throat, scraped it against the walls of her pussy, and rammed it into her ass as he chased his climax and forced hers.
This man would struggle to accomplish half of that, but she was interested to discover how talented he could be with such a tiny cock. He wanted to fuck her until she couldn’t walk, but she doubted she would even remember him after he was gone.
He bent to his knees, eyes fixated on the tiny patch of hair between her legs. If he dared touch her there with those blistered and chapped lips, she would gut him with his own sword. She probably should and end this farce, but his lust had ignited a terrible hunger. She needed him between her legs, no matter the size of his cock.
“Come here,” she leaned up, reaching for the hardened appendage jutting out from between his legs. Wrinkled sacs covered his hairy balls. They swayed to and fro, making her want to squeeze them until they popped. When her fingers grasped his cock, he hissed and bucked his hips, driving them forward with that insistent male need to rut, to claim, and to fuck.
Well, she was up for that.
Pulling his face away from her pussy, she locked eyes with him, and then he locked his lips on hers. Cracked and scratchy, it was exactly as annoying as she expected, but it didn’t matter. His cocked nudged against her folds, poking blindly for entrance. She gripped him and guided him past her lips.
Ahimoth may have been brutal, but even he waited for her body to betray her need. He’d never taken her dry like this worthless piece of man-flesh was about to do.
It didn’t matter, because each bump and nudge of that small cock heated her skin and boiled her blood. His lust drove her hunger, not his prowess with his cock. Truly, she cared less about his cock. The ponderous drag and glide would have to be endured for her to slake her thirst.
No man in the land of the living could compare to the brutal fuck Ahimoth delivered. She needed that now, already missing his primal rage. She may even hunger for it. Instead, she would settle for this meager snack.
“You’re fucking amazing.” The knight growled the words between his kisses, slobbering all over her mouth.
She gripped his cock, tired of the press of his lips, and lifted her hips, impaling herself on his tiny nub.
He breached her entrance and sank inside her wet heat. With a roar, he plunged forward. His back arched and he tilted his head back to the sky. It would be the last glimpse of the sun before she sent him to hell.
When he drew back, she clenched her walls tight around him, holding him in place. His eyes widened and then his mouth gaped with a sudden rush of pleasure. Plunging forward again, he strained to find his climax, climbing higher and higher, chasing a high he would never reach.
And with each pull, each thrust, each backward drag, she drank in his ecstasy. Sucking in his virility as she struggled to quench her thirst. He tasted, if not divine, then heady. Her breaths pulled in his essence, filling her lungs with the force of his life, pulsing stronger, until she grew drunk on him.
With each pull, the smooth lines of his face grew taut. Wrinkles formed and deepened, aging him with each thrust of his hips. Oblivious, his pace intensified. His eyes sank deeper into his sockets. His cheeks hollowed. His hair thinned. He growled, mindless with lust, pumping his life’s essence into her lungs.
Then his fight began. His lungs struggled for breath. His heart fought to pump. His skin yellowed and wrinkled with age, age spots deepening with each frantic pump of his hips. Hips which began to tire.
He had moments left. Which left her to wonder whether to kill him now, or leave the wrinkled old man to ponder his fate?
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