Page 18 of Jailer to the Death God
This is a queen who reached into the Unlife, seized a god by the throat, hauled him out, and chained him, only to ask nothing for herself at all.
A slow chill runs over my body as she gasps in a breath and screams under the water one more time.
I don’t understand the clash of feelings inside me.
The Queen emerges from the water, eyes of blazing ice, her full breasts heaving, glossy and wet, her long hair a pale waterfall. The bathwater cups her hips, a quivering line across her lower belly. She gives me a withering, dominant glare.
Another chill bursts over my skin.
I should kneel…
Fuck. I’ve never had the impulse to kneel before anyone.
“Hand me the soap,” she says.
I reach it toward her, and then I pull it back. “Not this one.” I test two more of the soaps, then toss one to her.
She catches it and sniffs. “Roses and white tea. A good choice. Now are you going to watch me bathe, or are you going to leave?”
It’s not a question, though she phrased it as one.
Forcing a haughty scoff, I stalk out of the bathroom and fling myself onto one of the parlor sofas. The ritual book lies near me, so I drag it into my lap and begin leafing through the pages carefully. This tome is incredibly ancient, about to fall apart.
I could burn it now. That way no one can ever use it to summon me again.
As I shift, preparing to rise and burn the thing, the lower end of the book’s spine presses into my crotch.
My cock is already stiff from seeing the Queen naked. I don’t think she noticed, distracted as she was with her grief.
The graze of the book’s edge against my length feels good. But it’s not enough.
I slide my hand under the book and cup myself through the supple leather of my pants. Slowly I begin to rub across the distended area, a sharp huff of pleasure breaking from my lips.
I know what it means to masturbate, to ejaculate, to orgasm—I’ve simply never been interested or aroused in that way. As a god, I am concerned only with my duties, my role in the universe. Justice, balance. I am the darkness to complement the light.
Apparently when I was bound to the Queen, I became a little more human. Because I am very interested in the idea of carnal pleasure now.
I rub harder, more enthusiastically, gasping as thrills skate through my cock and it swells harder, hotter.
Into my mind flashes the image of the young Queen rising from the steaming water, her body gleaming, her face a beautiful storm of pain and power.
My hand moves faster, clumsily, pressing hard against my pants to achieve more pressure against my yearning cock.
And then a wet slap of bare feet on tile makes me jerk my hand out from beneath the book. I’m breathing hard, my heart thudding hot and heavy in my chest.
A moment later the Queen appears, wrapped in a soft, bulky white robe, like a cloud. Her hair lies in wet satin ribbons over her shoulders. Through the V of the robe, I can see the crease of her cleavage.
Her face is clean now, rosy from the hot bath.
“What are you doing with that book?” Her eyes narrow with suspicion.
“I—was looking at it.” I shoot her a scathing look. “It contains my summoning ritual. I have every right to read it.”
She stalks toward me, holding her robe together with one hand. “My friend found it. Give it to me.”
Teeth gritted, I hand it over—but it’s a huge tome with a broken spine, and several pages begin to slip out as she attempts to take it one-handed. She releases her robe to catch the falling pages—and as the robe falls open, I’m assaulted by the rose-and-white-tea scent of her freshly washed skin, and by the sight of her creamy breasts, heavy and full and deliciously round—
My cock jerks, straining against the leather, pumping with an abrupt release. A tingling flush of pleasure surges through it, bathing my lower body in bliss, while wetness pools inside my pants.
