Work Text:
Humidity
Stepping through the entrance to the mine, I can taste the dust in the air, and the only footprints in the dirt are my own. The maze winds away before me, and I quickly lose any sense of direction, my tracks from previous visits impossible to follow. The tunnels are cramped, lit only by guttering oil lamps, a sign that I am expected. It feels both welcoming and ominous. Each twist in the path brings me closer to her, but the deeper into the tunnels I get, the tighter they become, until the earth is brushing up against me on all sides.
I have never been claustrophobic, but it's hard to keep my breath steady as the air becomes heavier around me, and I feel the skin on the back of my neck start to prickle as though I am being watched – probably because I am. I can sense the Beast, deep in the heart of the labyrinth, a monstrosity that hungers for the beat of my heart and the sweat that beads on my skin as I surrender to the feeling of being hunted. I walk through her tunnels like an insect stepping purposefully onto a strand of silk, trying to draw the attention of the spider. It thrills me as much as it unsettles me to put myself in her power so completely, to walk boldly into her lair and demand her attention and her pleasure. I do not begrudge her the sweet taste of my fear – it is, after all, a part of why I am here.
As the tunnels press closer around me, the humidity swells, and the air feels like a blanket drawn thickly into my mouth, smothering and choking. My pulse beats in my ears, and a small animal voice inside me wonders if I have made a mistake. Perhaps this time, the insect will be devoured by the waiting spider. But my skin is buzzing with anticipation, my cheeks are flushed and I am hyper-aware of every brush of skin against the dirt, every place the fabric of my clothing sticks to me, the sweat trickling down my back. I was caught in her web long before I even set foot in these caves. One step forward, and then another, twisting and turning. I should be getting close now. Then, I round a bend and a trickle of dirt falls from the ceiling above. For a moment, that animal instinct takes control and I try to run from the cave-in, but before I can get away I trip over a tendril of rock that reaches up from the ground to wrap itself around my ankle. Another sprouts from the wall, catching me before I fall, and the rush of dirt from the ceiling coalesces into three more limbs that pin my arms to my sides. Together the tendrils drag me through the tunnel and into the sudden space of her chamber as I struggle in their grasp.
Here she awaits me, and as always her magnificence electrifies me.
The Serpent looms above me, hovering just above a pool of still water in the centre of the cave. Her pristine scales glisten with beads of moisture and she is framed by luscious greenery that hangs from the rocks, verdant flowers and foliage dripping into the pool in the humid air. Beams of light lance down through cracks in the ceiling, catching on the crystals embedded in her antlers and tail, striking the immense diamond in her forehead and sending sparks of rainbow light scattering across the cavern. Three sets of wings flutter gently, not stirring the still air at all, too small to hold her up and yet her immense body does not touch the ground. She is captivating, and her vibrant blue eyes are focused on me, hypnotising me with the intensity of her stare. Her tongue flicks out once, twice, tasting my terror and sweat and exhilaration and for a moment I can barely breathe, trapped beneath her sapphire gaze that pierces me to my core. Her voice fills the cavern, though the Serpent does not move its mouth to match the sound.
"Strip."
The constricting arms of earth loosen around me, releasing my hands so I can undo the buttons of my blouse with trembling fingers. Enraptured though I am, I take my time, maintaining eye contact with her as I disrobe, obedient to her order but defiant in my execution. It delights me to make her wait, to maintain some tiny bit of power over her in the heart of her lair. As I remove each item of clothing, I fold it neatly into a little pile on a bed of moss seemingly arranged for this very purpose. She is patient, watching me impassively, and as I straighten up after placing the last item aside, I feel the full weight of my nakedness and vulnerability as my Mistress drinks in every inch of my body.
This moment of breathless anticipation ends when the earthen limbs surge forward without warning, wrapping swiftly around my wrists and ankles. They show surprising dexterity as they produce a length of silken rope from somewhere within the cavern and begin to bind me. My arms are pulled behind my back, tied together from wrist to elbow, before the rope wraps around my torso and neck, framing soft pectorals and the flushed hollow of my throat. My legs are left unbound, but a blindfold is slipped over my eyes, reducing my world to touch and sound alone. I feel myself lifted high above the pool, and then a breeze stirs the air around me in a manner that I recognise. She is here, tasting me. I wonder for a moment how she perceives me, if my sweat is sweet like honey, or if my arousal and fear taste like my autumn mantle, infused with the scent of wood smoke and the crisp coolness of the first frost of the season. She does not give me time to muse on this, however, as she opens her mouth wide and the tendrils of rock deliver me into her waiting maw.
Inside it is soft and warm and wet. I can feel her breath play across my body, the flick of her tongue as it recedes into its sheath beneath me. I am nestled in amongst her hooked lower teeth, and I feel both secure and deeply vulnerable. I am in her power, utterly and completely. Blind and bound as I am, I imagine for a moment what it would feel like if she closed her jaw on me, her fangs piercing my torso, her venom flowing through me before she swallowed me down to be crushed by the immense weight of her. Pleasure and panic shudder through me in equal measure at the image. She could kill me here and no one would ever know. This could be my last moment on earth, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to regret it.
She holds me there for a moment before she speaks again.
"What secrets do you have for me today?"
In the warmth of her mouth, I feel my mind become hazy. I find it hard to speak in this place, just another way in which I am exposed to her. My words, usually my first line of defence against others, and the skill upon which my life and ambitions are built, are powerless here. It's terrifying, but also a strange kind of relief. Here, I do not need to pretend to be someone that I'm not. She has always been able to see me, to understand instinctively what I desire most, and it is part of why I sought out this arrangement with her. It is exhausting to always be on your guard, always having to control the way others view you, but with her there is no mask. I know who I am and what I want and am able to express that without shame.
So it is that instead of offering her my words, I reach out to the Wyrd and to the dreamlike nature of this space. I draw Glamour to me, weave it in and around the threads of her power that surround me in the humid air, and I paint her a picture. The first secret is small, an entrée of sorts to whet her appetite. I bring forth images of the nursing home where I visit Evelyn, of a day where, browsing for the next book to read aloud in their tiny library of thrifted books, a salacious note slipped from between the pages of a Georgette Heyer and onto the library floor. No names attached, but it was certainly evocative, and the shaky handwriting suggested one of the residents wrote it. As I tease her with this first insignificant secret, I feel the Beast's tongue against me and my body presses down against her of its own volition. Heat flows through me as the Serpent's breath surrounds me and she lets me know her hunger. Words cannot do it justice – she wraps me in a blanket of emotion so strong it is almost physical. She is all-consuming, endless and aching and I am her whole focus. I almost unravel then and there with the knowledge of it, but I manage to draw back from my climax through sheer force of will. I am here to serve her, and her gratification should come before my own.
"I know you can do better than that, Pet."
I gather my wits and present another image. This one is infused with the Glamour that I drew from Edward O'Callaghan, a student in my class at college. The Glamour tastes of the dread he feels every time he gets a test back, the apprehension when the professor asks to speak to him after the lecture, the anxiety every time his phone chimes with an email notification. Edward is failing out of his scholarship, and I know this secret is much more to her liking when that tidal wave of hunger draws back a little, and she rumbles beneath me in pleasure. My weight shifts in her mouth as she flexes her jaw and presses her lower teeth up into my thighs, not breaking the skin but sending dancing flashes of pain and pleasure rippling through me.
We continue like this for some time, as I offer the secrets I have uncovered for her. With each one shared I feel the Beast swell beneath me, her desire and hunger and satisfaction almost tangible in this strange place that sits somewhere between reality and dream. I am rewarded for my efforts with flicks from her immense tongue, her saliva that drips down and rolls across my body, the understanding that in spite of her majesty and power she allows me to bring her pleasure, to sate her hunger, to know her in her most intimate sanctum. Finally, as she wrings out the last secret I have to offer, I feel her reach her peak. There is a change in the airflow around me and I am surrounded by heat as she closes her mouth on me. I feel the shudders of muscle as her throat clenches and swallows in the throes of her bliss, and two twin pricks of fire bloom against my shoulders where her fangs sink into me. How could I have forgotten that she knows my every desire more intimately than I know myself? The pain of the bite and the great tide of her pleasure and the mortifying ordeal of being so deeply known collide and tangle together and my nerves sing out in agony and rapture as I come undone. Blood wells from my wounds and spills into her mouth and for one glorious, eternal, terrifying moment I think I am truly about to be devoured and can find nothing but ecstasy in it.
Afterwards, when she has lowered me into the pool and I have allowed myself to break free of my bonds the way only one of the Lost can, I lean against her tail as the warmth of the water soothes my bruised legs and the puncture wounds in my shoulders. The bites are not deep, though I will definitely be wearing high collared shirts for a few weeks. Occasionally we talk, gossiping about work or the other members of the freehold or some other mundane part of our lives. But mostly we rest together in silence, my skin against her immense scales, enjoying the intimacy of mutual pleasure and understanding. Drowsy in the humid warmth of her Heart, our appetites are sated. For now.