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Cycles of Lust

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Crimson lashes streaked across the violet sky. Cool, crisp winds blew across ancient stones, whistling through the cracks. The wooden beams creaked and groaned, their strength slowly failing. Brennenburg Castle had stood atop the tree line for many a century, bearing witness to countless generations, apathetic to the lives and deaths below. Each generation looked to the impregnable walls and colossal towers with awe and fear. Whispers amongst the townsfolk spoke of the castle and its many secrets. The chief subject among the utterances was the old Baron of Brennenburg. A recluse of a man, the baron rarely was ever sighted by outsiders. Many went as far as to question whether the man was even alive anymore. The fleeting glimpses of him always showed the baron to be ancient. Yet, he never aged nor showed any signs of offspring. Even the eldest of Altstadt had always known him to be unimaginably old. Such whispers never truly went unheard though…

         Cold, amber eyes gazed upon the sunrise with a scornful indifference. Aged hands grasped the worn bannister like an eagle’s talons. Their murmurs of suspicion were not unfounded. Such an observation would have been inevitably made after three centuries. The baron looked down at the vast expanse of pine trees and mountains. He cared little of what simple-minded peasants thought of his lineage. Their only use to him was as obedient cattle for the slaughter. Alas, his time on this planet was finally starting to come to a close, one way or another. With a glance at the crimson horizon, Alexander left the balcony.
         His suspicious lack of relatives and offspring was in no small part because of his birthplace. Alexander had only known marigold skies and vast expanses of oceans. Awe-inspiring mesas and otherworldly forests filled his lush home. A home that he had been cruely banished from. Away from his dimension, Alexander had quickly adapted to most of Earth’s perils. Unfortunately, not all of his body had gotten used to the changes. Such was the nature of his urge to reproduce. The old baron wished only to see his mate again, to hold them once more. He leaned against the back of the ornate elevator as it stuttered down the deep shaft. The tell-tale signs of his next heat were painfully apparent. Alexander knew that there was no proper way to cure his urges without the aid of a mate. Despite his best efforts, there was no stopping the desire to copulate. He quickly descended a nearby flight of stairs, flicking his wrist at one of the servants. It shambled over to a massive iron wrought door and pushed it up with a groan.

Alexander strode through the vast chancel. His crimson jacket shone through the green and blue light of the castle depths. The baron’s bony and pocked fingers grazed over the stone bannister. Its cold, rough texture brought back memories of home, of long nights embracing his lover; their claws running against his red flesh, drawing equally red blood. His mind flitted through countless memories at a feverish tempo. The desires plucked the strings of his heavy heart. Those days seemed so long ago. For a creature such as himself, that was a rather impressive feat. What Alexander would do sate his hunger forever, to stop the turn of the wheel. Each tortuous century had been marked by exceedingly intense episodes of lust. His kind could not help it, he reasoned. It was in their primal nature to crave the act, to grind against each other like slavering beasts. The cycles of lust sowed the seeds of birth, with each heat bringing a new generation of precious eggs. Alas, those same cycles only brought Alexander much pain and longing.

Long meetings with the Council were suddenly a painful session of restraint. At times the pressure in his loins and head became unbearable. The baron would have to excuse himself with a flustered wave of his hand and a quiet departure from the room. Alexander soon learned to fear the sudden jolts of pleasure in his phallus, for it brought to light his true nature. These weeks-long seasons would leave him holed up in his private study near the orb chamber to release himself. The dark yet warm area was another precious comfort. A place similar to their home. Alexander made sure to decorate it in the traditional architecture of his people. When there weren't any unfortunate guests or servants eyeing him, Alexander made expansions and additions to his extra study. Eventually, it became more of a nest to him and he soon designated it with a more valuable use. More and more it became a safe haven to him. A place where he could drop the illusion. To shed his skin and live out those long lost fantasies.

A warm flame danced along the carved tan walls of the nest, A hand-made hole had been carved out and filled with warm blankets and pillows. The rim was crowned with mahogany and carved by a talented hand and trained eye. The worming and spiralling patterns were nothing short of breathtaking. It was truly the image of comfort and safety. Amongst the warm downy blankets and plush cushions, lay Alexander. However, he wasn’t in his usual humanoid form. What was once an imposing, ancient man, was replaced by a massive and regale beast. The pale skin had given way to blood red and wrinkled flesh. Massive patterned fins draped over the long, muscular body. His ribbed chest rose and fell with great bravado, warping the tendons and veins above them. A sinewy tail snaked through the nest and rested beneath the beaked muzzle. At the tip was a hand-like appendage, the gnarled claws similar in nature to the ones on his hand. Upon a wrinkled and frilled neck resided the Baron's mighty head. Only the soft, silvery hair remained as a reminder of his facade. Empty eye sockets stared at everything and nothing all at once. Underneath were rather impressive bags, both from exhaustion and of age. A chipped and scared "beak" made up the rest of his horrid vestige. The mouth was partially open and drooling, the steaming saliva running between the countless thin, needle-like teeth. The sight of such a beast would render any sane man mad. Most would know better than to disturb the Baron's sordid dreams.

The peace of the castle was shattered by shrill screech. A crimson blur shot out of the nest. Alexander's flesh was warm and damp. His chest heaved and his tail lashed. He then collapsed onto the rocky floor, whimpering and mewling like a chick fresh out of the egg. Alexander's body was wrecked by hormones and lust. He could feel the sheath giving way, not realizing that his own hand was fondling it. How could he go on like this? With no lover to pleasure him, to make him feel whole, what was the point of going on? Alexander let out another deafening screech. Even the mindless servants coward at the sound, the sound of unending despair and pain. After letting the worst of his anguish out, Alexander climbed back into his nest. Alas, his ovipositor was not keen on letting him rest. With an irritated huff, the Baron sat up to examine himself. By this point, his ovipositor was fully out of its protective sheath. The prongs on each side of the base twitched unconsciously. Veins throbbed and pounded, making his head dizzy with sexual urges. Alexander ran a tentative claw along the thick shaft, both loathing and savoring the sensation. At the tip was a pronged, creased head; the divide slowly separating and rejoining. The pointed head pulsed and split open at his touch, allowing a few streams of precome to escape. The prisoners can wait, he thought. Alexander glanced at the bolted entrance to the nest. At ease with the fact that no foolish Gatherers would barge in during his most private moment, Alexander sighed with the peace of mind he so desperately needed.