Bone Lord 4, стр. 54
Elyse hurtled over the edge of another screaming orgasm. After she finished writhing and shuddering, I slipped out of her, rolled her off Friya, then started drilling the Wise Woman, slamming her hard and deep. She’d been very ready for me for a while, that much was clear. The sight of her breasts bouncing vigorously with each furious stroke, combined with her firm grip, began to bring on my own orgasm.
Elyse, still shivering and gasping, lay next to Friya. Her eyes were glazed over, caught in a rapture, as she massaged Friya’s folds. It didn’t take long for Friya to reach her second orgasm, and when it came it was a furious release.
Finally my turn came, and I pulled my member free from Friya’s tight hold.
“On your knees, ladies,” I commanded them.
Friya immediately scrambled eagerly to her knees, Elyse racing beneath my cock like a moth to a flame. Both blondes opened their mouths and stuck their tongues out to receive my energy. I blasted my first glob into Friya’s mouth, then shot a thick rope of seed across Elyse’s eager tongue. They took turns sucking me dry before the pair kissed again and finally swallowed.
We all flopped down on the bed, with Friya cuddling up to my right side and Elyse to my left.
“My lord,” Elyse whispered into my ear, “that was a positively divine experience, one I hope to repeat far sooner than later.”
Friya sighed. “It was pleasure beyond anything I could ever have imagined.”
The women drifted off to sleep, wallowing in the blissful afterglow of the experience. I just lay there for a while, appreciating their presence and the fun we’d just had. I didn’t need to sleep anymore, but sometimes a short nap was good just for old time’s sake. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift off for a time.
I woke a couple minutes later, had another shower, then quietly got dressed, leaving the two women in the bed to sleep. I sought out Rollar and Drok, and called Percy and the few pirates who were on this ship. We had a few ales and mugs of rum while Percy and his pirates and me and the barbarians exchanged stories of fights, skirmishes, and battles.
By the time we were done, night had fallen. My companions and the pirates staggered off to their cabins, quite drunk. Alcohol didn’t hit me nearly as hard as it hit mortals, and I could drink a fair bit before becoming inebriated, so I was still feeling fine. I took a walk up on deck to practice navigating by the stars.
I’d been there for a while, in the pleasant silence of the night and with only the company of moonlight, when I saw it. At the far end of the ship—a figure, standing in the shadows. It wasn’t one of my party members, and it didn’t look like a pirate either.
“Hey!” I cocked my wrist crossbow and took aim at the figure with my right hand, while quietly drawing Grave Oath with my left.
The figure slowly stepped out from the shadows into the moonlight, revealing himself. He was dressed in shimmering silken crimson and black robes in the Yengish style. Half his face was still cloaked in shadow, but I could already see he was an elderly Yengish man, with long, snow-white hair hanging loose around his bent shoulders. A white mustache hung from the sides of his downturned mouth like two rats’ tails. His small, black eyes sat in thick, baggy lids, and the wrinkled flesh of his claw-like hands was covered with liver spots. In these bony hands he gripped a long staff, made of something resembling obsidian.
“So, the God of Death comes to Yeng,” he said, the ends of his mouth curving into a mocking sneer. “I would bid you welcome, Vance Chauzec, but your presence is neither wanted nor needed in my land.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
He chuckled slowly, and the sounds that came from his mouth were more like the strangled grunts of a dying goat than laughter.
“You know who I am. You’ve heard all the tales about me, no doubt, me and the Spirit of Prosperity.”
“Ah, I thought it was you. The famous Warlock of Yeng in the flesh, on my warship. You’re even uglier than I imagined, and I’d wager every gold coin I own that it wouldn’t take more than a stiff breeze to snap your bony old ass in half.”
Again he attempted to laugh, this time sounding more like a chicken that was being throttled.
“Appearances can be deceiving, Vance Chauzec. What separates the cheap street trickster from the master magician? The art of illusion. Your Church of Light enemies have underestimated you many times, and the wreckage of their fifty-strong fleet now lies at the bottom of the ocean. Do not make the same mistake with me. You cannot begin to imagine the extent of the powers I wield. I have come to bring peace and plenty to the world—but that peace can only come about when every last god has been destroyed. Thus, I offer you a choice: surrender your divinity to me, and live out the rest of your life in boundless luxury and wealth as a mortal man … or refuse my offer, and die screaming in agony, along with the rest of your wretched followers.”
“Hmm, let me think about that,” I said, taking aim at his throat with the wrist crossbow. “How do I go about ‘giving my divinity to you,’ as you put it?”
“Oh, it will be quite a painless procedure. You have nothing to worry about. Just give it