Chapter 17

Faerson Manor, the Kingdom of Wuthia, 1126

Bridget Laenas (Sesa Faerson)

Pregnancy hormones were a bitch.

That, or the darkness that resides within me, was completely unsatiable as the days grew longer by the hour.

The hunger had been growing for days, relentless as the tide. By the time evening shadows stretched across the manor’s library, I could hardly think for the gnawing ache of it. My fingers lingered too long on the spines of books, not because I sought their wisdom but because I needed the distraction of touch. Solomon had seen the change in me—he always did—and his quiet presence by the fire was the only thing keeping me from unraveling entirely.

He even helps me keep it at bay with so often-needed fuck sessions, but still, I hunger for more constantly.

“You must breathe,” he said softly, his tone steady, meant to anchor. He had opened a tome of the Elder days, pointing out passages in neat script, though I knew his focus was as much on me as on the words.

I tried to steady myself, but the ache pressed harder, unrelenting. The air felt close, thick with my craving. I leaned toward him without meaning to, drawn as if by a cord I couldn’t sever. His hand pressed briefly against mine, firm, a gesture of reassurance but also restraint.

But I couldn’t hold it back. I needed more.

I fell to my knees until my face was close to his pants. I unlaced his trousers and fetched out his large dick rising from the dark curls of his pubic hair. I loved this man as much as my sister, and I did so love pleasuring him.

I was a woman in heat.

“Bridget!” he groaned as I swallowed his cock.

I sucked him with so much passion and hunger, working his shaft deeper into my mouth. My right hand unlaced my own trousers, dipping in to rub at the hot flesh of my pussy. I shoved a pair of fingers deep into my cunt. My sheath clamped down on them. I shuddered and moaned around my brother’s cock as I ground my thumb on my clit.

“You’re so hungry,” Solomon groaned. “I just fed you this morning.”

“I know,” I moaned, “But I’m hungry again. Shut up and let me feed.”

His delicious precum leaked into my mouth as I swirled my tongue about the base. I sucked hard. His manly scent filled my nose, exciting me more. I bobbed my mouth up and down his shaft, sucking hard, eager for his cum.

My fingers worked faster and faster into my pussy. I started with two digits, but now I have all four stretching my whole. I shuddered, my pussy clamping down on my fingers. I bobbed my mouth just as fast, matching the rhyme as I worked more and more of my brother’s cock into my mouth.

“By the gods!” he groaned as I deep-throated him. “That’s it, Bridget. Suck my cock!”

I sucked and slurped, sliding his mouth over and over down my throat as I moaned around his dick. Why do my brothers have such tasty cocks? It sent my lust into overdrive. I came hard, my pussy spasming about my fingers. I moaned about my brother’s cock, sucking for all I could.

I wanted that cum.

“Such a woman!” Solomon moaned.

I massaged his hairy balls with my sticky fingers. My orgasm continued, but I concentrated on pleasuring him. Solomon groaned, and his balls tightened. I loved this moment. I drew my mouth up until only the tip remained.

“Bridget! You wonderful slut! Drink my cum!”

His delectable cum shot into my mouth as he groaned. I drank it down, loving every moment of his seed coating my mouth. I gently squeezed his balls, making sure I coaxed every single last drop of his jizz out.

Another load greeted me as I swallowed load after load. The feeling of his cum flowing down my throat made me cum again, splashing a wave of my juices on the library’s floor. I felt so good in this moment.

Then—footsteps.

Quick, deliberate, echoing along the corridor outside. Solomon’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. In an instant, he quickly ripped his hanging dick from my mouth and raised me to my feet. “Under the desk,” he whispered.

I might have laughed, had my hunger not stolen the sound from me. The desk was broad and heavy, carved oak with enough space to conceal me. I slipped beneath it just as the library door creaked open. The scent of parchment and wood polish wrapped around me as I crouched in shadow, my pulse loud in my ears.

Solomon quickly pulled his wonderful long dick back into his trousers just as the library’s door opened.

“Solomon,” came the familiar voice of Priest Emerick. His robes brushed the floor as he entered, carrying the faint smell of incense and candlewax. “Forgive my intrusion. I thought we might continue our discussion of the Elder chronicles.”

From my hiding place, I could see Solomon’s boots shift, hear the faint catch in his breath before he answered. “Of course, Emerick. I welcome it.”

The priest moved deeper into the room, setting a bundle of scrolls upon the table—so close that their edges brushed the wood above my head. My heart hammered. Solomon sat across from him, his voice measured as they began to speak of ancient lineages, of half-forgotten wars and families that rose and fell.

But beneath it all, I was still there—hidden in the dark, the hunger clawing at me, my body thrumming with restless need. My hand brushed the hem of Solomon’s coat where it hung from his chair, a fleeting contact he did not acknowledge. Yet I felt the faintest stiffening in his posture as he forced his attention on the priest’s lesson, his voice steady though I knew inside he was taut as a drawn bow.

And so, the three of us remained: the priest lost in lore, Solomon balancing composure against pressure, and I in the shadows—silent, unseen, but very much present, my hunger gnawing stronger with every word spoken above me.

Yet the hunger was still gnawing at me.

As Solomon and Emerick spoke more of the Elder days, I slowly reached down to my watery folds and drove my fingers back into my pussy. I clasped my other free hand over my mouth as I rammed my fingers in and out of me, my hand muffled my moans as I continued to pleasure myself.

Emerick’s voice carried softly through the library, each word measured, deliberate. “As we discussed in our last session,” he began, “we spoke of the Mansse. You wondered—hypothetically—what might occur if one were to mate with a human.”

I pressed myself closer to the shadows beneath the desk, my pulse hammering, my senses straining. Solomon shifted slightly above me, careful not to give away my presence. But my juices were flowing out of me once more as I held back my moans and groans as I began to coat my fingers with my cum.

“The outcome of such a union is rare, dangerous, and ... unnatural,” Emerick continued, “yet not wholly abhorrent. Such an offspring would carry the strength of the beast, yes, but also the essence of fertility itself—fields yielding beyond expectation, crops turning rich where the seed touches, the very earth responding to its presence. A living nexus between man and nature, a creature of both the wild and the cultivated.”

I shuddered as both my orgasm and the words sent a shiver down my spine. I felt my stomach tighten, both with the undeniable truth of it and with the strange excitement that came with knowing I carried something so potent inside me.

Another powerful wave of cum came rushing through me again.

Solomon’s voice was calm, professional, as he asked a question I knew was measured, careful: “And the mother? How ... would such a pregnancy affect her?”

Emerick remained silent for a while before he began to speak again. “The mother bears more than life; she bears a force of nature. The womb becomes a vessel of the wild, a conduit for strength and hunger. And yet, she may suffer ... as all mortals do when burdened by something greater than themselves.”