“They found a good one this time, eh?”
Conan was surprised by the voice behind. Right behind. Surprised he twisted around as a finger traced a path across the solid breadth of his shoulder muscle. Where-the-fuck had she come from? It wasn’t a finger he was feeling, it was a fingernail. Sharp.
He was struck by the suddenness of her appearance. And her beauty.
“No need to tie Conan up like this ….” He joked. “ …. if that is what you want him for …?”
He twisted his head over his shoulder as the other hand snaked around his muscled side, ran under his raised armpit. And coursed a path across a plate on solid muscle on his chest. Making a gesture in the direction of his nipple pert with the cold.
Before the nail returned to its downward path. .. scoring a white line over the ridge of hard chest-muscle. He looked at her. Trying to see the woman behind the flawless beauty of her face. But her eyes were elsewhere .. watching the sharpness of her fingernail score from one hard mound of muscle in his belly .. mounting the next. Circling around his belly button like the point of a stiletto. Before travelling down. Sliding down towards his waistband.
“Want? Want THIS?”
She had leaned forward. Was it his imagination or did his chest tingle to the hard pertness of a nub on her perfect breast. Breathily she whispered down his ear.
“THIS. And much more.”
The fingers had tiptoed down his treasure trail and were circling in his crinkly bush of hair.
Conan winced. The fingers turned into claws. Dug in .. scoring their exit back up his belly. Razor-sharp those nail tore back up. He looked down .. three scores of red lines, one seeping with his blood.
“Fuck you. Bitch.”
She had withdrawn a step .. out of danger. Her eyes now searching through the anger on his mouth. She returned his annoyance with a smirk. A single fingernail traced its path down his cheek, Conan now knew it to be razor-sharp. He tensed but his glower of defiance did not let up.
The sharpness was digging in against his skin but not cutting. Just the warning promise of a cat’s claw scoring a white line .. down off his jawline .. threatening the throbbing of blood in his throat.
A thought struck him. Where had this bitch come from? Was she the creature in the mask up above? In the shrine? Head to toe in shapeless black-shimmering robes? Back then he’d got the impression that it was that figure that held the power here. And again he was getting a sense of dominance here. A woman who ached for control. Yearning for power over a helpless male.
If she was the masked figure, she shouldn’t hide her face. She was mind-blowing. The sight of her got his blood racing. Was it her astounding face? Mixed with the danger .. her razor-sharp fingernail toying at his throat? Something was getting him going. Or was he stirring below because of that fucking sheer-white shift she wore? That left nothing to his imagination.
Stirring his manhood nor not, Conan was the one who aimed to be in control. Chin up, he faced down the seduction of her beauty.
“What-the-fuck is this about? What you want with Conan?”
She’d retreated to Leather-man, the muscle-poser, also now showing off in his revealing white shift. Side-by-side, they could be brother-sister. Or even twins. A spectacularly looking pair. And who kept a pair of pet-monsters. And had got Conan helplessly tied up like this.
She replied. Matter-of-fact.
“The Lord of Chaos demands his sacrifice.”