Chapter 2: The Seed of a New Plan
The afterglow was already fading. Salem's heartbeat slowed, and the stone cold seeped back through her skin. The scroll still glowed, Ruben Bakker frozen mid-pose, his heavy rod hanging fat and dark between his thighs. She should close it. She should call Watts back and return to her plans for destruction.
Instead, her thumb dragged upward.
The gallery bloomed. Dozens of thumbnails, each one a shaded portrait of muscle and heat. She tapped the wolf faunus profile. A man named Kael, shoulders like an atlas, grey fur dusting his chest and forearms. His cock jutted from a nest of dark hair, thick and blunt, the head flushed a deep ruddy red. He was bent over a chair in the photograph, one hand gripping his shaft, the other lifting his tail to bare his arse.
Salem's thighs pressed together with a wet sound she felt more than heard.
"Oh," she breathed. "You would not want to be so bold with me."
She scrolled again. A bull faunus, massive and horned, his balls hanging low and heavy, each one the size of a fist. A tiger faunus sprawled across silk sheets, stripes cutting through his bronze skin, his erection curving upward against his belly, impossibly long.
The images rushed past. Thick cocks, all of them. Thick and veined and hungry. Salem realized she was stroking herself without thinking, her fingers finding the slick heat between her thighs again. She had just come. Her body should have been satisfied.
The wolf's profile drew her back. Kael. She preferred him. There was a viciousness in his eyes that Ruben lacked, a bristling edge that made her think of sharp teeth and harder use.
She tapped the image and made it large. He stared at her, ears flat, fangs visible at the corner of his snout. In the photo description, a note read: Filthy. Aggressive. Loves to be ridden hard.
"Words were never his strength," Salem murmured. "But this thing between your legs speaks clearly enough."
She traced the curve of his shaft on the screen. Smooth. She dragged her finger up the swollen head and imagined him pressing into her from behind, his claws digging into her hips, his muzzle hot against her neck.
"Bend me over the desk," she whispered to him. "Treat me like a beast in heat. Stuff this tight cunt full until I scream for your knot."
The words came faster. Her own cunt pulsed at the idea, a deep ache that had nothing to do with the centuries of numbness she had worn like a shroud.
"I want to feel your balls slap against my arse," she went on, her fingers working in quick circles. "I want to feel you fill me, seed me, flood me until you have nothing left to give."
Kael did not move. But the fantasy moved her. She pressed three fingers inside herself, a tight stretch that made her gasp. The cold stone bench bit into her thighs as she rocked against her own hand.
And the thought came, unbidden, rising out of the fog of lust like a shard of glass in a still pond.
Why destroy them all when she could take what was best?
The thought stopped her hand mid-stroke. She stared at the screen, at the wolf faunus, at the bull and the tiger and the endless gallery of strong, hung specimens. She had spent centuries planning annihilation. Cinder, her pawns, her servants, all working to topple the kingdoms. To burn it all down and rebuild it as a wasteland of Grimm.
But these men were not weapons. Not tools to be discarded. They were material.
A new order. A brood of her own making. Not Grimm, spawned from shadow and rage, but flesh. Real, breathing creatures with muscle and heat and blood. She could gather the finest specimens Remnant had to offer. Seal them in her fortress. And breed them.
The idea made her stomach flip. Not with disgust. With hunger.
She would not need to destroy humanity. She would replace it. A new race, half her own blood, half faunus brute strength. An army of children fathered by the strong, trained by the wicked, loyal to her alone. Let Ozpin fight his shadow war. She would simply birth a better world.
The fingers inside her resumed their motion, faster now, driven by purpose as much as pleasure. Her free hand stroked the scroll, cupping the wolf's features as if she could pull him through the screen.
"You would look so good kneeling at my feet," she said, her voice low and ragged. "You would serve me in ways your little mercenary brain could not imagine. You and the bull. You and the stallion. All of you, in my bed, filling me one after another until I am swollen with heirs."
Her hips bucked. The coil tightened, fierce and bright.
"My perfect race," she gasped. "Every dirty, hung brute you have to give. And I will take every last drop."
She came hard, the orgasm ripping through her with a violence she had not felt in centuries of combat. Her vision blurred. Her thighs shook. A raw, animal gasp tore from her throat as she pressed her palm against her clit, riding the wave until she was empty.
The silence rushed back. The braziers crackled. The scroll glowed across her slick fingers.
Salem looked down at herself, at the mess she had made, at the quiet strength in her own trembling hands. Her fingers curled around the scroll, knuckles white, the screen pressing into her palm.
She sat up. Her spine straightened. The woman who had gasped and begged against cold stone was gone. In her place sat the Queen of Grimm again, but changed. A woman with a plan not born of grief or rage, but of appetite.
She tapped Ruben Bakker's profile once more. The stallion stared up at her, his heavy cock hanging between his thighs like an offering.
"First you," she said softly. "Then your brothers."
She began to type her first message into the scroll, her smile curling slow and confident in the blue glow.