One Night in Xanadu

"Aaaaahhhhhh... aaaaaahhhhhhhh." There was nothing feigned about the screams of that prisoner, but his screams, they were not of pleasure; and his agony fed the magic and the power of this night as the old shaman Phagpa's brazier flared into life beside the Khagan's great bed.

The scent of herbs and blood and terror filled the air around us. The shaman fed and fanned that brazier, wafting that smoke and scent over us, and I breathed that intoxicating mix deep into my lungs, feeling the dark blood magic of the elder gods take me and possess me even as the Khagan possessed me.

"Aaaaahhhhhh... aaaaaahhhhhhhh." I screamed as the Khagan's shaft plunged deep and high within me, his rigid spear of hardened flesh stretching my sex around his girth, sliding hugely within me, lubricated by my excitement and by the blood with which the shaman anointed the Khagan's joining at the juncture of my thighs.

Where the bloody evidence of my virtue had before stained my thighs red, now my thighs and my sex and the Khagan's shaft were coated with the red of the living sacrifice held upright on his knees beside us and his body ran with the red rivulets of his interrogation, and above me the Khagan snarled, and my heart pounded in sudden terror for I saw his face.

"Every name," the Khagan's voice was harsh and cruel. "You will give me every name before you die, Bekhter, every name, and you will live on in endless agony until I have them."

I knew then that the Khagan knew this would-be assassin for he knew his name, but in the throes of that taking, impaled on that rigid spear of flesh, mounted and ridden by the Khagan as a young mare is mounted and ridden by the great stallion, I heard but I cared not for my entire world in that moment was centered on the Khagan's taking.

The Khagan's face terrified me, but I feared not for myself for I would bear his son and on this night I knew that as I knew my own secret name. Nothing mattered but his body on mine using me as I wished him to use me, his shaft within me plunging and penetrating, exquisitely hard friction as he pounded himself into me with ruthless need.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," I wailed. "Ohhhhhhhh," and I was helpless beneath him, my thighs parted wide, my sex filled as a maiden's sex should be filled and used by her husband on her wedding night. and my hands clutched at the sheets as the Khagan leaned over me, my feet at his shoulders and his eyes gazed down at my slender beauty before him. and my small firm breasts quivered with the power of his taking.

"Blood," the shaman's sang. "Blood and death; the old gods are called, the demon-gods, the gods that live below the earth, the elder gods..."

"Blood," the old shaman Phagpa's voice howled and now he was not the serene lama of the banquet. He was a shaman from the dawn-time, long ago when men summoned demons.

"Blood," he howled as the flaying knives worked and the prisoner howled above me. The old shaman's hands took that blood and wiped it across my skin, smearing it over my breasts and my stomach and my thighs the Khagan took me. The old shaman painted marks of blood-magic on the Khagan's face, and still the Khagan took me, still his rigid spear of flesh thrusting remorselessly into me, as I to was painted with the marks of the blood-magic even as the Khagan took me.

"Ohhhhhhhhh... ohhhhhhhh." I wailed as a maiden stolen from her father's yurt and ravished beside her menfolks bodies would wail and my body lay before him, quivering as a ravished maiden's body would quiver as she was taken, and I was grateful for the bed beneath me for I was already bruised and battered with the power of his taking, for he was not gentle.

"Blood," the old shaman howled. "In blood and death shall this maiden conceive..."

"Aaaahhhhhhhh," I groaned, my back arching, my body shuddering, and my fists beat at the bed as my sex yielded to his taking.

"Aaaaaahhhhhh." The prisoner screamed as his flesh and skin yielded to the flaying knives, and his body too arched and shuddered and spasmed and he too was held.

"I wish her to bear a son for me." As the Khagan grunted that demand, my sex spasmed on his manhood, clasping him, milking him so that he groaned with pleasure.

Me? I screamed again and again as the prisoner being interrogated beside us screamed. I wailed as he wailed, and the Khagan smiled as the words poured out amidst the screams; and his thrusts became harder, more powerful. His shaft swelled within me, and it was as if a spear of rigid flesh was being driven into me again and again, impaling me, and I was a willing victim of that impalement that went on and on and on.

"Ohhhhhhh... ohhhhhhhh." My body yielded in helpless surrender to those driving thrusts, taking him within me as he plunged deep, and I was deeply impaled -- the tip of his manhood touching me high inside so that my back arched in a mix of pleasure and pain, my body juddered, my breasts quivered with his every movement -- and I was being taken as a maiden should be taken on the first night of her marriage by her lord and master. Hard. Hard and harder, taken as the Khagan desired to take me on this night of bloody sacrifice.

"I wish her to bear a son for me," the Khagan grunted again. "Conceived on this night amidst blood and death and pain and the dying of my enemies, conceived as a warrior should be conceived."

"Yes," I sobbed, my back arching as his hands on my hips pulled me down on his length, his testicles bouncing off my butt with every thrust. He was leaning forward over me now, forcing my legs back. "Yes... yes... give me your son, Lord... give me your seed..."

"This night a son of the Khagan shall be conceived in blood 'midst death and slaughter." Phagpa's voice wailed in an eerie counterpoint to the screams that filled the room, and the great drums pounded furiously now, and the Khagan's guards were chanting a rhythm to the shaman's song and the words -- and the words, I knew the words for they were chanting the name of my people in a rhythmic counterpoint to the shaman's throat singing, and their voices rose as the Khagan's desire and passion and eagerness grew.

"Hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu hu," they chanted and the shaman's wailing song overlaid that chant.

"Ohhhhhh," I wailed, my back arching and I was helpless as the Khagan's rigid length swelled inside me, my ankles pinned by his shoulders, my hips held by his hands and his thrusts were hard and fast, and I was close, so close as he drove himself into me as the great stallion rides his mares -- and I was the Khagan's mare to his stallion. I was his wife, his woman, his mare to be ridden and my sex clasped him tightly as he drove himself into me, and he was groaning now, groaning with his need and his desire and his pleasure.

"Ohhhhhh," I wailed again, and I reached, upwards and I gripped my own ankles and pulled my legs back and my ankles down, opening myself to his manhood as completely as I could so that he touched me high inside. I was close, and he was close and over me, his head beside the Khagan's, the prisoner was held upright by the Khagan's guards and how he still had the strength to scream I knew not.

His skin had been sliced to ribbons, flayed from him in strips. His body streamed blood and his eyes were the eyes of a madman, mad with pain and with fear, and his howls and screams were as one tormented by all the demons of hell. I was gladdened, for in his pain and fear and death, my son would be conceived as a warrior and a true son of the Khagan, a true heir to the power and the greatness of a man such as my husband. The son of such a man as the Khagan was should be conceived midst blood and slaughter and death and pain as was of old, and I was gladdened.

"Now," the Khagan grunted. "Give me this traitor's heart and blood... Now," and he was in that frenzy of short hard strokes as he took me, and there was no stopping him now, and I abandoned and surrendered myself to his taking.

Now, after the wild frenzy of that first time as he had reached the end of his taking, I knew what that meant, and I welcomed the fierce harshness of his possession. With every thrust I was closer, closer to that magical moment he had brought me to that first time, and I screamed my pleasure again and again as the Khagan grunted his whilst the prisoner screamed shrilly next to us. His screams were as a woman's screams, high and desperate, one long endless ululation of agony and despair and there were no words now. Only an endless agony until death took him, and he longed for his death as I longed for the little death of my culmination.

Over the prisoner's shoulder Phagpa's face appeared, red now with living blood and his chant was of fire and blood and death and the taking of souls and the conception of a warrior son for the Khagan and those words were the old words of dark magic and power from the endless steppe and the deep woods and cold swamps of the northland from which our peoples had emerged long ago.

Ancient words that I knew, for my family were of the royal blood of the Xiongnu, and I, I had been present at the mid-winter ceremonies where warriors and virgin girls captured from the Tatars were offered to the elder gods in the darkness of the midnight hours, offered to the dark gods below the ground, driven there long ago by the sky gods we worshipped. Those elder gods, the dark gods, while we no longer worshipped them, still they needed to be fed with blood and with death, and I had been there at the feeding, and I had sung the songs of placation as they were fed.

"Your son will be conceived this night," the shaman howled as that prisoner screamed and shuddered. "A son conceived in death and blood and pain, a warrior to be feared, a son before whom the world will tremble."

As he spoke, he breathed the smoke of his herbs into my face, and I breathed in that intoxicating scent, my mind seeing strange visions as I cried out again and again, and the Khagan's eyes were wild with his lust and desire.

"A son," he grunted, thrusting deep and his shaft was swollen and huge. "Give me a son this night, a son to bring the world to its knees."

"Ohhhhhh," I wailed. "Yes... yes... I will give you that son... give me your seed, Lord..." and my sex spasmed on him, clasped him, milked him, drawing on his length.

As he slammed himself into me in that wild frenzy, in my mind I saw the hordes. I saw a storm of horseman flowing across the steppe, the horses hooves as thunder in a summer storm, waves of arrows flickering through the blue sky, turning it dark with the shadow of death, the screams of the dying, the chants of victory and leading them, at their head, a Great Khan, a Khagan, my son, our son, heir to him who now possessed me, a warrior, a leader whom his men would follow through the dark gates to storm hell itself -- and he was my son and on this night he would be conceived and he would bring the world to its knees before him.

"Your son," I wailed, my back arching, shuddering as my nails raked the Khagan's shoulders and arms, drawing blood from him in my wild frenzy. "Give me your seed Lord, and this night I will give you your son in blood and death and pain..."

"Hu - Hu - Hu -- Hu..." chanted the guards -- and their feet and their spears and their swords beat the rhythm of my heart as the great war-drums pounded wildly in the darkness of the night, and I threw my head back and I screamed, but not in pain.

I screamed in that agony and that ecstasy of pleasure that overwhelms the mind, arching my back as the Khagan plunged himself into me -- and the prisoner screamed as the razor sharp steel in Phagpa's hand plunged down, slicing open the prisoner's chest, carving through the rib bones and the blood gushed out and over the Khagan and over me, coating us both with the hot red blood of life and of death.

"Ohhhhhh," I wailed yet again as the Khagan thrust hard.

"Ohhhhhh," I wailed as Phagpa cut a piece of the living heart from the screaming prisoner's chest, feeding it to the Khagan who swallowed as thrust himself into me and the Khagan lips and his tongue were stained red with the blood of the yet living sacrifice as he took me. This, this was the oldest of the dark magics of power, the eating of the flesh from a living man.

The eating of his soul while he yet lived and while his eyes saw his own flesh cut from his still throbbing heart and consumed before him while he yet lived. This was the magic to bring power and good fortune and strength and courage, for this prisoner had been a warrior of courage and skill to make this attempt on the Khagan's life.

"Ohhhhh," I wailed as the Khagan thrust hard and he touched me high inside, and his blood-reddened lips possessed mine, and I tasted the blood and I ate of the flesh that the Khagan fed to me with his mouth.

The prisoner choked, his eyes rolling and wild, his mouth opening in a soundless scream. His head was jerked back, blood flowing from his mouth as a sword tip emerged from between his teeth. His body, released by the remorseless hands that held him, fell shuddering and twitching to the bed beside us as the Khagan's weight came down on me fully again, crushing me beneath him.

The Khagan crushed me and he spread my thighs wide for his plunging shaft, impaling me with his sword of flesh as the prisoner beside us was impaled on that sword of steel, and the Khagan's body rode me brutally hard. His lips possessed mine as he began the short strokes, the hard strokes, the final strokes of a man ravishing a maiden midst the blood and the bodies of the men we had together slain and that body which was beside us, touching us, and the blood was everywhere.

Close, I knew he was close, and I writhed in helpless surrender beneath the Khagan, my sex convulsing on him -- and his manhood throbbed and pulsed within my sex. His harsh lips fed magic and power to my soul, and I tasted the blood of the sacrifice again, and the body beside us shuddered in its final death throes as the Khagan pounded me down onto the bed in that last frenzy of a man's great need where his overarching desire to reach his culmination overwhelms all else.

"Hu - Hu - Hu -- Hu..." chanted the guards.

"Give her your seed, Lord of the Wolves," the Shaman howled. "Give your woman your seed while the magic is strong," and his hands smeared blood from that freshly slain corpse across my cheeks and face and onto my thighs as the Khagan's manhood throbbed and spurted his seed within me, and I screamed again. I screamed with the pleasure and the wild joy of my own culmination as I crossed my ankles behind my Lord and Master's back. I clasped him, and I milked him within myself, as he flooded me with his seed -- and my body knew.

"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes... yes... yes..." for I knew in that moment that the Khagan's seed was potent. I knew that my time was right, that I was fertile, and that the old dark magic was strong this night. I knew deep within myself that on this night I would conceive his son -- and I cried out, and I screamed, and I wailed, and my sex convulsed again as the Khagan thrust deep, and he emptied his seed within my body in great spurting rushes that flooded me.

I welcomed that flood, I welcomed those throbbing emissions, for our son conceived this night would unite the Mongols and the Xiongnu as one, and all the tribes and peoples of the steppe would bow to him -- and he would bring the world trembling to its knees before him.

My sex spasmed on his manhood, and I cried out as the Khagan emptied himself.

Milking his rigid length, I bucked, and I kicked, and I wailed my pleasure.

Knowing in my heart that I had been taken as I desired to be taken.

Surrounded by the bloody bodies of the men he had slain.

Made his midst death and cries of ecstasy and pain.

My sobs and cries carrying far into the night.

Giving honor to the Khagan's prowess.

As he ravished me in the old way.

Midst blood and slaughter.

One night in Xanadu.

And a final note from Chloe: Uh, well, yeah, okay. What can I say. Hope you enjoyed? Or should that be "hope you survived?" Anyhow, I really enjoyed writing that, and I do hope you enjoyed reading. As always, votes and comments more than welcome. Although after that story, mere comments may be a bit anti-climatic. Anyhow, I'd love to know what you think. Love it? Hate it? Over the top? Want more? Do let me know, because it does almost feel like it should be the kick-off for something bigger but maybe that's just me.