The House of Flame Lilies Ch. 04

The freckled man folded forward from where he sat beside Vestalia, his caged cock strawberry red. He dropped to her glistening clit. Sparrow craned his neck, struggling to stay in the shadows of his perch. He looked down desperately, as the man's tongue unfurled from his sweet lips and drew a slow, sensuous circle around Vestalia's clit. The memory of her taste gushed over Sparrow's tongue. Vestalia arched her spine and hissed through her bared, flashing teeth. Her devotee moaned weakly and sank into her pleasure, his mouth covering her vulva and moving greedily. His eyes fluttered closed. He tumbled heavily from the bed in a chorus of iron clanking to kneel on the black, stone floor. The chains attached to his wrists and collar stretched out, keeping him leashed to the bed. Sparrow eyed the bonds, the way they unequivocally stated "this is where you belong."

Vestalia moaned and lifted her legs to drape over the freckled man's shoulders, wrapping him in her thick thighs and hugging him to her cunt, so all that Sparrow could see was the thicket of his curls mussed against the roundness of her belly. She ground against his face and snarled. Sparrow chewed his lip and squirmed. The man buried himself in Vestalia's bounty, tucking into her ravenously, grasping her thighs and hoisting them on his sturdy shoulders. His vertebrae and shoulder blades crested under the skin of his back, as he threw his whole body into pleasuring her. Sparrow saw his ass clench. He mimicked him, core tight and tongue lapping uselessly. He thought yearningly of the quartz cock ploughing into him.

The blonde glorying in her breasts cuddled her closer, trembling at her quivers of pleasure. The sounds of their three voices rising and rushing with want echoed in the stone chamber, ringing in Sparrow's ears. His cock ached. He sneaked his hand between his legs, steadying himself with one hand on the darkened wall. He hovered it there, fighting his urge to touch himself, shame and need welling inside him in a hot brew. He shouldn't be here. He couldn't bear to leave.

"You know that we adore you, don't you, Mistress?" the blonde whispered into her hair. The sound of him tenderly using Sparrow's title for her sent a pang through him. "Are we showing you enough?"

His voice rumbled in Sparrow's lower half, reverberating under his ache. He thought about hot breath tickling his ear, about lips skating his shoulder. His hand moved the final inch between his legs. He rubbed himself softly through his britches, caressing the welling need.

Show her more. Give her more. Give me more.

"Is there such a thing as enough with me?" Vestalia said with a twist to her lips.

The blonde sighed in response, sucked Vestalia's ear, and squeezed her breasts. She moaned.

Sparrow pressed his cock and bit down on an answering sigh.God, yes, make her moan.

She rolled her torso hard, dragging her breasts in the blonde's hands, fucking the face of the man packed between her thighs. Her hair flurried about her, her eyes glittered like fire opals. Her mouth stretched open into a red maw. Sparrow opened his mouth too, almost feeling the crush of her lips on his. He strummed his thumb over the hard tip of his cock through the confining wool, rippling with pleasure, pierced with shame.

Her canines seemed to grow, unsheathing from the darkness, two long scimitars drawn for battle, bright and sharp and thirsty.

Sparrow's heart pounded. He narrowed his eyes and focused on her teeth. What was that? A trick of the light?

Vestalia closed her thighs tighter on the man feasting on her and rocked her hips rougher into his smothered face, making Sparrow blush boiling and wriggle into the heel of his hand. She reached back and combed her pointed fingernails into the scruffy hair of the man at her back. She curled her fingers into a fist, gripping him at the roots. He whimpered and raised his puckered mouth from her shoulder. She gave him a glimmering, dark look. Sparrow rubbed earnestly up and down his stiff shaft. She pulled the blonde's hair to stretch his neck out, his muscle bulging and his jugular fat under his rosy skin. Cold crept over Sparrow's own neck. He held his breath. Vestalia's tongue flicked. Her mouth stretched wider, wider than it should have been able to, python wide, chasm wide.

Her teeth caught the golden light.

And sank into his throat.

Sparrow's pulse jarred to a halt. His stomach flipped. His breath tore out of him.

Mistress?

A sickening, glugging sound drifted through the room. The lover froze, still cradling her breasts, letting her hold him utterly still with one hand. Her mouth sealed over his bulging artery and sucked. A thin line of crimson blood with a cruel, jet gleam oozed from her lower lip and drizzled down his skin, over the heavy, leather collar and his chest, matting in the curls of hair.

He sighed devotedly, the words silking down Sparrow's spine. "Take from me, Mistress. Drink, Oh Goddess."

Vestalia smiled against his skin, her white cheeks pumping softly, as she drew the blood from his throat into her wide mouth. Sickness cast over Sparrow, followed by a deeply unsettling wave of want. His mind flooded with questions, with terrors, with images, with disgust, with arousal. He clawed silently at the stone wall and gaped in horror.

The man dining on her vulva hadn't even noticed the wounding of his companion. Vestalia moved from the blonde's throat, her mouth smeared dark and shining, her eyes alarmingly bright and swirling the colour of black cherries. Two puncture wounds like encrusted rubies were left on the lover's exposed throat, just above the collar. He looked dazed, desirous. He drifted forward and kissed her mouth, softly lapping his own blood from her lips. When he wilted back from it, he was smiling and his blood was flecked in his beard. Vestalia purred and tickled his earlobe. She kept petting around his face and hair, while she gathered the mousey curls sprouting between her thighs and pulled her other lover from her clit. He emerged from her body with his mouth slick and his brow misty, flushed and doped. She pouted at him and tutted affectionately, as if at a kitten. She tugged his hair and slid from the embrace of the blonde.

The three moved with unnatural grace, the men puppeted by the merest glance or gesture. Even as the fear descended on him in a blizzard, Sparrow understood why they didn't fight back, why they revelled in their imprisonment. He thought of the fire goddess in the room behind him. Fire, flowers and marble. Vestalia was above humanity. She was divine. She was perfect. While half of him screamed that there was danger, scrambled at his insides for escape, his other half stayed transfixed, knowing that this little sacrifice, this little gift of blood, was nothing compared with the pleasure of that bed.

Vestalia guided her lovers to sprawl side by side on the untidy sheets. "My, my," she cooed, kneeling between them and stroking around their quivering bodies as they writhed under her touch, the chains grazing their skin. "What a mess of this bed you made. You must have been just dying for me."

"Mmm, Mistress..." the freckled lover moaned, groping for her and rubbing his back into the mattress.

"Coming apart," the blonde husked, his hand hovering around his cock cage and flexing agitatedly.

Vestalia laughed low and teasing, dragging her fingernails down their torsos and leaving pink tracks over their scars and suntans. "My patient boys. Good things come to those who wait."

The fickle promise in her voice spurred Sparrow's lust, it scored his insides. The cruelty of it flayed his trusting soul. But he craved it.

The freckled lover bucked his hips and wriggled, his cock visibly thrumming in the cage, swelling and diminishing like a beating heart. Vestalia licked her fangs. They protruded harshly from her mouth, making her lips look fatter and even more tortuously tempting. She prowled over the poor man and pinned his forearms, thrown over his head, tangled in the chains. She knelt straddling him, rose onto all fours, ducked to his neck, and bit.

Sparrow's stomach and cock both thumped. He swallowed a pained gasp. He told himself to run. He stayed fixed in place, clinging to the wall and floor, like lichen growing on the stone. His hand still hovered between his legs.

Vestalia's round ass rose into the candlelight, gold pouring over it, like syrup over a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Sparrow sucked his lip. The lover beneath her whined heart-meltingly and thrust up into her bite, his Adam's apple springing under the fine skin, his eyes rolling blissfully back into his head. The blonde grumbled under his breath and curled to kiss tenderly down her back, while she drank deeply from his companion. Sighs and the thick sound of swallowing washed the room. Sparrow shuddered. So did the men.

Vestlia unfastened her fangs from her supine lover's throat. Dark red beads of blood dripped down her pointed chin and splashed onto his face, mingling with his spray of freckles. He let out a playful giggle at the tickle of hot blood. It thrummed chillingly through Sparrow's abdomen. He glared at the men's faces, scouring them for any sign of fear, of revulsion, of self-preservation. Nothing. They were empty of all but lust and worship, one smiling dreamily beneath her, one reverently adorning her back with kisses. His gut tightened. His core smouldered. His fingertips strained back to the mound in his britches and massaged it, while he wailed silently at himself to stop.

Vestalia raised her head higher, looking with intoxicating satisfaction down at her smiling, writhing prey. His wrists twisted in her hands, the chains twining tighter and biting into him, like her teeth. She cupped his round cheek and stroked her thumb over it, painting his blush with blood. She smirked and lowered herself to his mouth, plucked a kiss and a whimper from him, then kissed down to his smooth, dappled chest. Her fangs glinted against his brown skin. She pierced the layer of softness over his heart.

Sparrow's chest felt impaled. He gazed in wonder and agony at how she drank, sucking his life away, dining on him like exquisite meat. The blonde shuddered and collapsed to kiss his companion deeply, whispering his jealousy to him, rubbing needily around his caged cock with trembling fingers. He rolled away and hauled himself to his knees and crawled around to kneel astride his companion's lower legs, at Vestalia's ass. His face sank between her spread thighs, hiding her berry gleam. She sighed, the sound was viscous, thick and wet with the blood filling her mouth. Sparrow's mouth watered, his tongue feeling almost swollen. Her and the blonde's spines rippled in time, as he lapped at her, nose in her ass, feasting delectably on her cunt as she darkly devoured his companion. Sparrow rubbed his chest, then his cock, his clothes feeling close, his heart hammering agonisingly.

In a song of chains, the three began to move around and against each other, flesh braiding and blurring as they rolled in and out of the veil of black gossamer. The dazed lust of the two men turned to a tumult of raw, vulnerable feeling. They caressed Vestalia as if she might turn to mist at any moment, clinging to her desperately, but with the softness of does with a fawn. They pleasured her with all their generosity, every touch an act of dedication, every whisper an oath or a plea. Sparrow whispered under his breath with them, watching as if attending a ceremony, giving his own devotions through theirs.

"Mistress, you give us everything."

Mistress, you give me everything.

"Let us give to you."

Let me give to you.

"You, greatest goodness, greatest evil, goddess under the earth."

Greatest goodness. Greatest evil. Goddess.

"We worship you."

I worship you.

"We fear you."

...fear you.

"We fall before you, fall at your feet."

...at your feet.

"Take us. Take everything."

Take... Take... Run! No. Stay. Stay forever.

"Bite."

Run!

"Drink."

Stay.

"Consume."

Watch.

"Enjoy."

Understand.

Sparrow held in a sob of need, it scraped his throat. He was panting, palming his swell, a pinprick of wetness blooming through the wool.

Vestalia summoned their praises and prayers like she was cooking and wafting steam from the pot. She stirred them around her, manipulated their mouths and hands to her will. And she bit them. They rolled and wilted easily beneath her, exposing their wrists, their throats, their chests, their thighs, the pads of their thumbs. She took dainty sips and deep draughts. She peppered them with wounds that glistened in the candlelight, windows to their soul, covering them in glaring, red eyes like the weeping Argus Panoptes. They writhed, they webbed in their chains, straining their punctured throats and wrists, and the blood streaked and smeared over them and her. Three pulsing, writhing bodies on sullied sheets, all bound together in ribbons of blood. It painted the freckled man in crimson, his dappled skin already a palette of colour, now dominated by strokes of nightshade red. It splattered the blonde like he was hacked meat. It draped and dusted Vestalia in molten red gold, like she was being encased in it, preserved in it, decorated with it. She looked anointed. Her skin glowed blindingly, her hair shone like black treacle, her eyes danced with hot sparks. Delicate traceries of veins rose under the fine, white skin of her wrists and throat and around her eyes in a dark, embroidered mask. Her heart seemed to glimmer within her. Her vulva swelled and dripped. The crown of entwined flame lilies blazed on her raised head, a halo of fire. She radiated a horrifying beauty that wrenched Sparrow's organs, knotted his thoughts, froze his blood, clasped his cock in an aching, unrelenting grip. He felt as caged as the men below him. As enthralled. As pitiful.

When Vestalia sat straight and spoke again, her voice was deep and earthy, as if it was coming from the very core of the mountain. "Now, which of you is it to be?"

The men scrambled to kneel either side of her, hands clasped in front of them, broad shoulders trembling, blood matting in the ends of their hair and beard.

"Me!" the blonde jabbered, eyes wide.

"Oh, please, me, Mistress!" the other whined.

Vestalia smiled, pouting and tutting, petting their cheeks. "You both really want it that much?"

Sparrow frowned, his ears sharpening.

"So much," the freckled man panted, taking her hand fiercely in his and pressing it to the garnet wound over his heart, not even wincing as blood bloomed through her fingers.

"More than anything," the blonde vowed, pawing at the folds of her belly, blood under his fingernails.

She leaned into his ear, but Sparrow heard her whisper as if it was coming from inside his skull, invasively, enchantingly. "Even though you'll die?"

Sparrow stopped breathing.

"Better dead than without you any longer," the blonde moaned from the pit of his barrel chest.

Vestalia's mouth spread into a victorious smile. She dipped her smeared lips to his ear lobe, already pierced by her fangs, and sucked it. He shuddered. She turned to the freckled man, looking utterly heart-broken and bereft. "Next time, Dear One," she cooed. He nodded miserably and wilted away from her, gathering the ruined sheets and his tresses of chain around him, rubbing more blood into the silk and his skin and tearing at the edges of his wounds.

Vestalia flickered her fingers and Sparrow spied a small, glittering key suddenly in her hand. She slipped it deftly into the locks at the blonde's collar and cuffs. With a series of clicks and chinks, he peeled the bonds off himself, his skin chafed sore where they had restrained him in his restlessness. She held his bright, desperate gaze, and lowered the key to the cock cage. With another, lighter click, she released him from the steel prison. He moaned sonorously. His thick, short cock swelled instantly, hardening to oak, dark veins rising on the shaft.

Sparrow licked his lips and clenched his abdomen against his echoing desire. He watched in terrified rapture as Vestalia led the man by his hand to the centre of the room and pushed his shoulders to kneel on the grooved, obsidian floor. Blood was spilled over them both, a medley of effervescent, berry reds against the stark black. Sparrow could smell it, the sweet, iron scent. He bit his lip. His pulse was suspended.

"Make yourself pleasurable for me," Vestalia commanded.

The man made a noise in his throat and grasped his cock and worked it roughly, gazing up at her slack-jawed, at her blazing crown, at her statuesque body bejewelled with blood, at her proud features and entrancing eyes. He let out quiet, pathetic grunts of want as his cock grew in his urgent grip. Vestalia dragged her toe through the hair on his thigh, opening the path to her pleasure, to her invigorating flavour and drugging scent. Sparrow writhed and ground his teeth, his throat closing around stifled whines, rubbing his cock as fast as the blonde, the fabric grazing the sensitive skin wickedly. The man's eyes rolled and he fell into kissing her vulva deeply, pushing her labia apart with his lips and scooping his tongue in her clit. Vestalia dropped her head back and rolled her shoulders, cupping her own breasts and teasing the points of her nipples. Her hums spun through the round room, each one thrumming in Sparrow's stomach. His ears itched with the slurping sound of the man's scouring tongue. He shrank even further into the shadow of his perch and sucked his fingers to sate his restless, soaking mouth.

Vestalia indulged in the man's tongue for a long, beautiful moment, a moment in which Sparrow almost forgot the blood and the whispers about death. But then she pulled her hips back, leaving her lover bleary-eyed, his beard damp and his tongue lolling. She looked down and regarded his cock, framed by his fist, straining up to her and weeping with longing. Her fangs gleamed, still stained red at the points. She lowered herself to straddle him, still on his knees.

Sparrow's heart beat once.

The man growled and thrust and groaned as she sank onto him, taking his cock into her gluttonous body. He let out a sob, his eyes brimming, his whole body shaking. He wrapped her jealously in his muscled arms and buried his face in her neck, disappearing into her, curling around her, every inch of him pleading.

She folded him into a soft, but somehow formal, dispassionate embrace. "Tell me again, this is worth your death," she murmured.

"Yes..." he whispered, his voice quavering with yearning. He raised his face from her neck. Sparrow saw the candles leaping in his eyes as his tears flowed. He spoke hauntedly. "There... There are no... no words. This feels... I feel... Holding you... Being inside you... So close... Serving you... Completely..." Half-formed, zealous praises tumbled into a shuddering sob. He collapsed against her neck and clutched her to him, the muscles jutting in his arms. "Oh, Mistress, I'm already in Heaven."

Vestalia looked graciously down at him and placed a closed-mouth kiss on his hair. "Almost. Let me really take you to Heaven, my good, faithful boy."

She began to rock, slowly, powerfully. Sparrow could see from the mounding of the muscles in her thighs that she was squeezing around him, her cunt sapping the pleasure from him. Their flesh padded and ground together, the edges between them blurred by the bloodstains. Sparrow bit his fingers. The freckled man abandoned in the bed stuffed the sheets into his mouth and stared and whimpered. The pair moved like a single flickering flame in the belly of an oil lamp, their motions united through Vestalia's rhythmic, relentless control. She moaned low, her breath quickening with her pace, her harder thrusts jerking the quivering, twitching man, as if bolts of lightning were skipping through him. He sobbed and moaned into her shoulder, his fingers digging brutally into the fat and muscle of her back, meeting her thrusts as much as he could with her weight pinning him to the stone floor.