Chapter 15: Mud and Submission
Kim lay curled in the narrow dorm bed, the ghost of a smile softening her features as sleep finally claimed her. The stress of the week—the looming lunch, the finals she was pretending to study for—sloughed away as the artificial dream pulled her down into a darker, richer current.
The transition was seamless.
One moment she was in cotton sheets, the next she was gasping, her bare feet sliding in wet grey mud. The roughspun wool of her tunic chafed her skin. Cold rain needled her face. Behind her, the sound was elemental: the pounding of hooves, a rhythmic thunder closing in. She dared a glance back. A massive black horse, its coat gleaming like oil in the gloom, and atop it, a figure swathed in furs and dark leather, a circlet of cold iron gleaming on a pale brow.
Fear, bright and sharp, lanced through her. It was delicious.
She tripped over a hidden root. The world spun. She landed face-first in the muck, the cold, gritty ooze filling her mouth and nose, choking her. She sputtered, pushing up on trembling arms.
A shadow fell over her.
Before she could rise, hands seized her—strong, unyielding—and flipped her onto her back. Queen Shego stared down, rain streaming down the sharp planes of her face, her emerald eyes burning with a conquering fire. She said nothing. Her mouth was a grim, pleased line.
Shego’s hands went to the neck of Kim’s tunic. She didn’t unlace it. She tore. The rough fabric gave way with a savage rip, exposing Kim’s breasts to the lashing rain. Kim cried out, a sound lost in the wind. Shego peeled the ruined wool down her arms, then shredded the simple leggings, leaving Kim utterly naked and shivering in the mud’s clammy embrace.
Shego’s own clothes followed, discarded with efficient, brutal grace. Her green skin was a shock against the grey earth, a vibrant, living sin. She lowered herself, her body a welcome brand of heat against Kim’s chilled flesh. Her mouth descended, not in a kiss but a claiming. It was filthy, aggressive, tasting of rain and earth and power. Kim moaned into it, her hands coming up to tangle in Shego’s rain-plastered black hair.
Shego’s hand slid between them, rough calluses scraping the soft skin of Kim’s inner thigh. There was no preamble, no gentle exploration. Shego’s fingers found Kim’s cunt, already soaked not from rain but from pure, desperate arousal. She plunged two fingers inside, deep and hard.
“Fuck,” Kim gasped against Shego’s mouth, her back arching off the ground. The stretch was exquisite, a rough possession that wiped her mind clean of everything but sensation. Shego fucked her with those fingers, a relentless, driving rhythm that matched the pounding of the vanished hooves. Kim’s hips rose to meet every thrust, her own fingers digging into Shego’s shoulders, smearing mud across her skin.
Shego broke the kiss, her breath hot and ragged against Kim’s cheek. She grabbed Kim’s wrist, her grip vise-like, and dragged Kim’s hand down between their slick bodies. She pressed Kim’s fingertips against her own pussy, which was hot and impossibly wet.
“Your queen is waiting, peasant,” Shego growled, the words vibrating with raw need. “Fuck me.”
Kim obeyed without thought. She drove two fingers into Shego’s cunt, curling them, finding a rhythm that made Shego’s eyes screw shut. Kim’s thumb found her clit, circling it with firm, dirty pressure. Shego began to move, riding Kim’s hand, her muscles coiling and releasing. Her head fell back, tendons standing out in her neck, rain catching in her open mouth.
“Right there… don’t you fucking stop,” Shego commanded, her voice a ragged scrape.
Kim didn’t. She watched, mesmerized, as Shego came apart above her. Shego’s body tightened, a bowstring pulled to its limit, then snapped. A guttural, unrestrained cry was torn from her throat as she came, her cunt clamping down on Kim’s fingers, her juices flooding over Kim’s hand.
Spent, Shego shuddered. Then, with a fluid, dominant motion, she shifted her body down. She straddled Kim’s face, her knees in the mud beside Kim’s head. She lowered her hips, pressing her still-quivering, soaked pussy directly against Kim’s mouth.
“Clean me up,” Shego ordered, her voice thick with spent passion and absolute authority.
Kim’s tongue darted out instinctively. The taste was complex, musky and sweet, layered with the faint, earthy tang of the mud that smeared Shego’s skin. It was the taste of submission and of triumph. Kim ate her out with a desperate, hungry fervor, her tongue lapping at Shego’s folds, plunging inside, worshiping the very core of her. She could feel Shego twitching above her, could hear her sharp, rekindling breaths.
Kim sucked Shego’s clit into her mouth, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure. Shego’s hands fisted in Kim’s red hair, not guiding, just holding, anchoring herself as a second, sharper orgasm took her. She ground herself against Kim’s mouth, her cries muffled by the storm, and Kim drank her down, swallowing every drop.
Shego collapsed beside her, panting, their bodies a tableau of filth and satisfaction in the churned earth. After a moment, Shego rose. With businesslike efficiency, she retrieved a leather strap from her saddle. She pulled Kim’s hands together and bound her wrists tightly, the leather biting into her skin. Then she hauled Kim upright, leading her, stumbling and naked, to the towering black horse. She looped the tether around the saddle horn, securing her prize.
Shego mounted in one smooth motion, looking down at Kim, tethered and mud-smeared beside the stallion’s flank. She reached down, her fingers under Kim’s chin, forcing her gaze upward.
“No dungeon for a thief like you,” Shego said, her voice low, a possessive rumble that vibrated in Kim’s bones. “You belong in my chambers. At my feet. In my bed.”
Shego nudged the horse forward. Kim stumbled, then found her stride, the journey to the unseen castle a blur of aching pleasure and profound belonging.
Kim’s eyes snapped open in the dark of her dorm room. A low, gratified sigh escaped her. She was warm, deliciously sore between her legs, her lips tingling with phantom sensation. The scent of rain and turned earth seemed to linger for a second before fading into the mundane smell of laundry and textbooks.
She stretched, a full-bodied, cat-like motion, and felt the pleasant ache in her muscles. A deep, unshakable contentment settled in her chest.
On her nightstand, her phone lit up with a soft glow. She reached for it.
A single message from Shego glowed on the screen: ‘That was fun. Next week we’ll continue.’
Kim’s smile widened. She typed back, her fingers swift. ‘I’ll be ready. And don’t forget your crown. It’s a good look.’
She put the phone down and lay in the dark, listening to the distant sounds of the campus. The anxiety about Saturday was still there, a faint buzz in the background. But it was overshadowed now, muted by the memory of mud and claiming hands and the certain knowledge that whatever world awaited her—a medieval fantasy or a tense bistro lunch—she was, in every way that mattered, already claimed.