The colony flourished. Disease had taken its toll on the crops, but the settlers had gotten by together. Wet weather may have soaked their fields and their clothes, but it could not dampen their spirits. Clay mounds, lengthy wood-braced dugouts and wooden houses dotted the plot of shoreline farmland that the settlers had claimed for their own.
Bright Sand looked on all of it with pride. Fifteen years ago, when he was merely a boy, his people had come here on ocean-crossing ships that barely held together. Two years later, he had earned his name, a name commemorating the first terrain his people set foot on: Sand. Bright Sand. Now Sand was a man, and the seasick colonists who had crawled off the boat were now a healthy, vivacious clan who held their heads high.
Sand's people had come with bows, throwing spears and obsidian-toothed swords, expecting to have to fight the natives. Instead, it had been possible to bargain with them, and Sand had done it so well that it had become his job.
Now he turned away from the settlement and set off into the cold, dense forest to do just that.
The natives of this land were not like a kingdom, where one man sits on the throne and the rest borrow their power from him. It was more like a boisterous family, full of tribes that never got along with each other but which always claimed to serve the same far-off king. Dealing with the tribes, Sand had found, meant dealing with anyone and everyone who could help.
Sometimes, that meant doing things more intimate than he liked. 'Anything for the colony,' he reminded himself.
From between the trees, an animal swung into view. It was, in Sand's opinion, the most fierce and capricious animal to be found on either side of the ocean: a human woman.
Thin red lines were tattooed down her cheeks, suggesting either tears or fangs depending on how one looked at them, and her catlike eyes stared as if they could see straight through his clothes. In a minute, Sand thought, they wouldn't need to.
"What's the word, Margrit?" he asked.
"Sand," she began, in her harsh accent. "The king still recognizes you. So does his Chief Volker. But his Chief Burnell does not. Everyone who resents you has gone to him. They are few, but they won't be idle."
"Your chiefs can't agree on anything," Sand complained. "Why have a king if he won't discipline his chiefs?"
"Why follow a king if all he does is discipline you?" Smoothly, she leapt to the ground in front of him, already sporting a wolfish smile. "There, you have the news. Now it's time for my reward." Margrit did not demand money in exchange for her information, nor steel tools, nor the golden trinkets that the simpler natives coveted. She did not want tribute or titles or deals, but only one thing: him. Stepping forward with a mischievous smile, she slid her fingers under Sand's tunic, fingertips pressing against his chest.
"There's something else," said Sand, trying to focus. "Chickens have been disappearing from the ranch. Not dying, but simply disappearing. Could your chief be responsible?"
"Not if it has gone on for more than a few days," she said absently, as she slowly undid his belt. It slumped to the ground, and his tunic hung free. She slid away the tunic, leaving his bare chest shivering in the chilly air. Now only his kilt protected his manhood from her, and it wouldn't protect him for long. She reached under, running a finger along the underside of its length.
"Then who else..." His focus broke, and he let out an involuntary gasp. "Who else could it be?"
"No one I know." Her fingers worked like spider legs, undoing the knot on his kilt and sending in to the ground around his ankles. "Old Walden is the only one who would steal from you, and he is sick."
Stark naked, Sand tried to focus. "Who might be new in- ah!"
She pumped his cock, and Sand could feel it harden under her fingers. She glanced down at it, unimpressed, and kept pumping.
"Margrit..." he huffed, trying to keep his composure. "Margrit... this is important."
She looked him in the eye, and her pupils seemed like spearheads bearing down on him over her smile. "You're too pretty for politics."
"I need to find what's- umph!"
She silenced him with a kiss. Under her skilled fingers, his cock simmered with eager energy, and her lips plied him, sucking and exploring, pausing then pushing. She kept him guessing, and when she shoved him against a tree trunk, he was helpless to resist.
She broke the kiss, but she did not pull away. Their noses almost touched. She let out a purr that sounded more like a growl, bestial and hungry. Sand knew she was only a few finger-widths taller than him, but now she seemed much more.
Pressed between her body and the hard tree bark behind him, looking up into her predatory eyes, Sand appreciated how an animal feels in a snare. He could not escape her hands, nor could he compel her to get it over with, have her way with him and break the tension. All he could do was wait.
Finally, she acted. Reaching under with one hand, she undid the cloth sash around her waist. Her fur skirts still hid everything from sight, but Sand knew that underneath her fur, she was bare and dangerous.
Standing on the tips of her toes, she positioned herself over his straining cock, and with a firm grip on his sides, she lowered herself onto him.
"Augh!" For one moment, Sand forgot where he was. He forgot the cold, wet air, the harsh bark behind him and everything except for the pressure between his legs. His focus sharpened with every push as she forced herself over him, sending tension rippling through his body. His knees strained to stop him from sinking to the ground. He breathed heavily, loudly, as she drained the energy from him. It became a struggle to stay standing. She grew in intensity, threatening to crush him between the tree trunk and her own savage bucking.
Then he heard her make a noise. For a moment, he thought it was simply the moaning he had been too scattered to notice, then she made the sound again, and he realized what it was. He tensed up, knowing what was coming.
Margrit's orgasm wreaked its force on her body, and she clenched him like she was trying to break him. Grunting with the effort, he kept his limbs firm, supporting her as she pulled herself up on him and let out her pleasure in one primal howl.
She dismounted him, feet thumping heavily onto the forest floor, and he allowed himself to relax. His cheeks puffed as he breathed out. In his muzzy vision, all he could see was the sweat rolling down his bare chest.
When he had recovered half of his wits, Margrit's fingers cradled his chin and tipped it up to level. Her lazy, satisfied face gazed placidly back at him for a moment, then she kissed him, her own mouth wet and slack from the force of her orgasm.
She pulled away, still wearing that drunken smile. "That was good. Oh, that was good." She flattened out her skirts. "Run on home, pretty boy. But be back here in a month. Because I will." One last time, she stroked his hair, as if she was trying to memorize the feel of his ragged, sweaty black locks. Then she turned and strode away.
Sand staggered as he came off the tree trunk. Once her back was turned, he glared his resentment at her. But it was all he could do. For as long as the colony needed her news, she had him by the scruff of his neck.
'If only the colony didn't need her,' he thought, 'I wouldn't be her pleasure toy.' But even as he thought it, he recognized his own dishonesty. The previous night, he'd been excited, thinking of her. A week ago, he had realized that it would be only a few short days before he prostituted himself again, and to his horror, it had made him smile.
Whether the colony required this of him or not, he would never be free of her.
*
