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The Terrible Beauty

Chapter 3

Azrian let her giant moa bird carry her at a break-neck speed through the dark and murky paths of the Nahet Fens. The moa's great talons sloshed through the mud and water; its beak clacked in joy; its flightless wings scattered the fog. Azrian's hazel eyes crinkled up with girlish laughter as she clung to its neck, her red mane whipping back in the hot wind, her naked thighs clinging tight to its feathery sides.

Azrian was a beautiful young vixen, red fur with no socks, slanted eyes with long lashes, and a mane that fell to her bushy tail. A pair of red wings extended from her back, but she was terribly afraid of heights, and truth be told, she never flew unless she absolutely had to. The Fens were steamy and hot - a phenomenon said to occur from Azrian's very presence -- and so Azrian was clad in what would have been seen as rags to any outsider but what was proper wear to the local Ayni tribe: a thin fur loincloth and a thin strip of fur wrapped around her swelling breasts to harness them. She was curvy and short, in bare feet, with feathered necklaces and earrings dangling off her in the wind. A thick band of beads clacked around her throat, smacking her cleavage as it jiggled with each bounce of the moa's hard stride. On her back was a spear, used for hunting the wild boar that sometimes braved the Fens, and in her long red mane . . . a yellow flower.

The local Ayni Tribe called her the Terrible Beauty in the tongue of the foxes: Terr Beauelle. For with the sound of her sweet voice, Azrian tamed deadly pythons into neckties, lulled the crocodiles, and brought panthers to heel. When her word alone failed to reach the creatures, the destructive side of her magic reared its head, blasting back her red mane in a rippling halo as she brought down fire with a flash of her eyes. Her powers - limited as they were - frightened and amazed the Ayni foxes, who worshipped her as a goddess . . . to her great confusion.

But a lot of things were confusing to Azrian. Such as her parents, who they truly were, and how she had come to live in the Nahet. She did not belong to the Ayni. The Ayni foxes were all gray and spoke with a dialect slightly different from the two languages (common tongue and fox) Azrian had learned from Nhlahla and Sampson. She knew she didn't come from Nhlahla either, for though she and the older vixen both had red fur, Azrian did not feel the connection of a mother and daughter. If anything, Nhlahla was like her nagging older sister. Azrian secretly hoped they were somehow related and that one day, Nhlahla would tell her about their mother, who perhaps had been a great leader and a wielder of sacred magic. And as for Sampson . . . he wasn't Azrian's father given the obvious fact that he was a dog. Dogs could not reproduce with foxes.

But a small part of Azrian pretended that Sampson was, in fact, her father. Growing up, Sampson had always been large, protective, loving, and kind, his big paw patting her head, his big arms scooping her up in a hug. She would come home from her wanderings in the Nahet to find him presiding over supper while Nhlahla sewed. Their little home deep in the Nahet was cozy and quiet, a small space within the hollow of a giant dead tree, lined with bookshelves and chairs, a small round table, and a few straw mattresses on the earthen floor.

Sometimes they ventured out and journeyed to the far borders of the Nahet to trade with the dogs who came with their wares, and they would stay in the marshland for days at a time, sleeping under the stars. Little Azrian would chase fireflies and tame pythons, always shocking her guardians when she returned with the creatures over her shoulders. Sampson would tickle her and hold her, and Nhlahla would tell her stories, and she would fall asleep in the strong wall of Sampson's big arms, happy and content. It was paradise.

But the older Azrian grew, the unhappier she felt. There were too many unanswered questions, questions she was content to ignore when she was a child. But she wasn't a child anymore. She was almost twenty.

And she was a virgin.

Azrian brought her moa to a stop when the entrance to the Ayni's burrow came into view. Black trees heavy with sheets of moss hunched over the dark hole, and rolling fog caressed the thin grass that almost cloaked the entrance from view. The Ayni lived in a deep underground network of tunnels, its mud-brick walls sustained in the humid atmosphere with magic. As dark and twisted as the Nahet was, the main entrance to the burrow was damn-near impossible to find and only those who knew where it was could locate it.

Azrian had been visiting the Ayni since she was a child, for Nhlahla and Sampson were always trading with them for supplies, and in this way, introduced Ayni to other children. Her visits became more fervent when she reached adolescence and her body's first desire made itself known. But all of the Ayni she approached refused to bed her - not because she was unattractive but out of fear and awe. They revered her as a goddess, feared her powers, and cautioned their youth to do the same. They believed their god - the great spirit bird Ayni, for whom their tribe was named - would punish them if they were to touch her.

Ayni found their nonsense terribly frustrating. They believed some bird god - who there was no evidence of at all - would punish them for letting their youth have sex with her? It was stupid. And she had remained a virgin because of it.

Still, at least there had been one willing to touch her. Even if it wasn't completely satisfying. A little gray vixen named Rahel had been with Azrian once when they were sixteen. Azrian came to her in the night. She slipped into Rahel's bed, pealed off her clothes, and tasted the hot juices of her sex. And though Azrian wanted more, Rahel got on her knees and begged her not to. It was a sin. A sin because Azrian was not her goddess: she was betraying Ayni by sleeping with her. So Azrian left. Aroused and frustrated.

That was almost four years ago, of course. Though Azrian thought of Rahel often those long and lonely nights she spent in the trees, allowing Nhlahla and Sampson some time alone. She still wanted Rahel and wished she could steal her away, never to return. But it was not for Rahel that Azrian had come tonight. Rahel had a brother, fine and strong, who Azrian had seen while he was hunting in the forest. He was as beautiful as his black-maned sister, his muscly back flexing, his shoulders broad. Azrian saw him and wanted him. His name was Irmai. He was a big male, but she - Terr Beauelle - had tamed panthers into deepest submission. She could certainly tame him.

Azrian slid off her moa, her loincloth flashing up to momentarily reveal the swollen lips of her pink sex. She turned to the giant bird and smoothed the brilliant green feathers on its head. "You stay here and wait for me, Meba. Don't go strutting off home. Nhlah and Sam don't know I'm gone. Kay?"

The bird clacked its beak and stretched its long neck to nip at the leaping crickets in the grass.

Azrian turned to the burrow and ducked inside.

Nhlahla and Sampson would be furious if they knew where she was and what she was doing. After the first incident with Rahel, Azrian had promised to stay away from the Ayni and their beautiful youth. Nhlahla explained the danger, that continuing to take Rahel would one day anger the goddess of the tribe, the terrible spirit bird Ayni, who was not known for mercy and compassion. Azrian promised, and for years, she stayed away, watching the Ayni from afar and wanting. But she was tired of wanting. Ayni probably wasn't even real - just a story to frighten her into submission, to keep her from using her powers to simply take what she wanted. Why couldn't she take what she wanted? Nhlahla and Sampson got to be together, but she was destined to live alone the rest of her life?

Nhlahla claimed that she feared Azrian would become with child - a damn lie. If it were as simple as that, there were many ways to prevent unwanted pregnancies. The Nahet was rife with such herbs, and indeed, Azrian would have taken them regularly if only someone would make love to her. But all sides denied her the pleasure, restricted, and coddled her. Sometimes she thought of flying far away from the Nahet. If only she had the courage to really use her wings.

The burrow was dark and its tunnels empty. It was the dead of night, and since the Ayni had no fear of invading dog lords, they all slept, with no guards lurking at the exits. Azrian knew the way to Rahel and Irmai's burrow well enough, and before long, found herself creeping through the front room.

Rahel and Irmai were around Azrian's age, and like Azrian, still lived with their parents. But Azrian knew their parents were too frightened to try and stop her - who they viewed as one of their gods - from taking what she wanted. They hadn't allowed Rahel to marry for fear of Azrian's wrath. And indeed, Rahel remained at home with her parents, waiting with trembling anticipation each night for the goddess to come and finally steal her.

Irmai, however, was a different matter. He was supposed to marry and marry soon. He was nineteen, and while Ayni males traditionally were betrothed by eighteen, Irmai still hadn't found a female to take as mate. It wasn't surprising. The Ayni were very few in number, for the Nahet was dangerous and wild, and it wasn't uncommon for a hunter to succumb to the venom of a snake bite, the tusks of a wild boar, or the claws of a panther. Yes, Azrian thought the goddess Ayni was doing a _fantastic_job of protecting her worshippers.

Azrian slipped quietly into Irmai's room and paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Her night vision sharpened the shadows, and she could make out the shape of the young male as he lay in his bed, on his back. Her slanted eyes narrowed with hunger on his loincloth, and creeping to the bed, she tore it off easily. The soft sound of tearing made his eyes flutter open and he froze. He looked at her in shock. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined that she would come for him.

"I beg you . . ." he whispered as she paused over his soft penis. "It would displease Ay-Ayni . . ." He sputtered to silence when she reached behind her neck and let her top fall, revealing her large and high breasts. They were full as ripe melons and jutting with tiny pink nipples. He stared at them and swallowed hard, but he was still frowning and frightened. "Please . . ." he whispered as she leaned over his penis, but his pleas soon dissolved into helpless cries of delight.

She devoured him in slow, wet sucks, moaning until her lips trembled on him. She had never given a male oral pleasure before and she was enjoying it far more than she had ever imagined. The salty taste of him . . . the heat of him . . . the way he swelled and flinched in her mouth. She pulled her lips smoothly off the head of his phallus and kissed out spit, pausing only to watch it ooze down his shaft before devouring him again.

"Ohhhh," he moaned. "Oh . . . I am unworthy . . . p-please . . ."

She silenced him with her paw on his mouth. His eyes widened as she straddled him, and looking deep into his eyes, she brought the swollen lips of her sex down, sheathing him in her heat and moisture. His throat tightened and he moaned behind her paw. But his eyes were still so frightened, even as she felt him getting bigger and harder inside. Eyes closed, she lifted her chin, trembled and sighed. The feel of him was incredible. She rolled her hips carefully, her backside squeezing and releasing as she sought to get him deeper. He placed uncertain paws on her hips and caressed her curves. His paws went to her breasts, riding with the snap of her hips. He cupped them and breathed a muffled plea. She took her paw away from his mouth.

"My goddess . . . make love to me," he whispered. "I am yours."

"Yes, you are," she whispered back and leaned down close. She looked at his lips and kissed him tenderly. He hesitated but slipped his tongue in her mouth. Their heads twisted as her hips continued their slow gyration. The lips of her sex clung tight to his veined phallus, oozing with the moisture of her arousal. She was so wet that every turn of her hips made a soft sucking sound as his erection was forced deeper.

His fingers clutched at her backside, urging her on, and before long, he was snapping his hips up to get in. He punched in so hard that she jolted and her breasts knocked. She grabbed his wrists with sudden menace and slammed them above his head, relishing in his soft cry of shock. He looked at her, frightened, waiting for her wrath, and yet yielding completely. She kept him pinned, and with flapping breasts, slammed her hot sex on him until he exploded, his helpless cries ringing off the walls.

More than an hour later, and he was spent and undone, his clothes tattered rags as he lay on the bed, breathless and mussed from the frenzy of her dominance. She cleaned herself at his basin in the corner and felt his eyes on her. Eventually, he crawled to her across the floor and kissed her feet. She watched him as she tied her top back over her breasts.

"My goddess . . ." he whispered between kisses. "Take me with you . . . I would forsake Ayni for your love . . . my goddess . . . please . . . I need you . . ."

Azrian smiled. God, he was beautiful. Him and his muscular body, all tight and bulging, as he hunched on the earthen floor at her feet, kissing and begging with a swinging penis. His long black mane hid his expression as his kisses traveled up her thigh to her sex. Her lashes fluttered when he hesitated and licked her.

"My goddess . . . I would like the honor . . . my sister has spoken of the sweetness of your pussy . . . so hot and soft . . . I would like . . ."

Azrian touched his mane and drew his face close. He licked her tentatively - then with sudden abandon. His paws clutched her backside in fistfuls and he drew her near, moving his face between her thighs as his moans filled the room. She clutched his face to her, and her head fell back as she climaxed.

She bathed again, and this time he helped her, smoothing the soap between the lips of her sex as he stood behind her, smiling at her with soft eyes. She tilted her head back, and he kissed her, squeezing her breast until his fingers sank in its softness.

"Don't leave me behind," he implored when she was clean and ready to depart. "I wish to follow you."

Azrian paused at the door, watching him with a sad smile. He was so young and eager. He sat on the bed, rippling belly crunching, powerful arms still, leaning forward as if he would snatch her back. His eyes were sad and earnest, his ears flat in his long black mane. His paws and feet had black socks to match, their gleam silky in the darkness.

"Terr Beauelle," he whispered. "I wish to serve you. I love you."

Azrian frowned. "No . . ."

He swallowed hard. "Yes!"

She looked away, her paw on the door handle. "Goodbye, Irmai. I will not come again."

He shook his head. "But, my goddess . . . I adore you. If you change your mind, I will wait forever."

Heart thudding miserably, Azrian hurried from the room, from Irmai's home, and from the burrow with her mane and tail streaming behind her. Why did he have to say he loved her? She could have handled anything but that - even his hatred. But he cast aside his own goddess so easily in favor of her! She had to wonder if sex with her was any different from sex with other females. Did her powers intensify the pleasure?

Outside in the moonlight, Azrian was still pondering as she searched for Meba. She came to a halt, however, when a shadow loomed over her. She didn't have time to turn: a foot connected with the small of her back. She fell to her knees with a pained cry and caught herself on her paws. Sharp twigs and thorns cuts her palms and she whimpered. Her attacker was still behind her, and she went still as the crunch of their steps approached through the leaves. She couldn't believe it when she saw them: talons. And they were not Meba's talons.

"Ayni," Azrian whispered.

"Ayni."