Stone on stone, a loud click right after. The noise was as familiar as fire at that point.
As snow fell through the steel grates high above them, Redory widened the eye at the sight before him. “The fuck are you doing, wench?”
The Dove laid on the stone bed, flakes falling all over the feathers of her robe. Her eyes were closed. “Meditating for the Goddess. What else is a priestess expected to do, pray tell?”
“Meditate on your feet, then.” Redory could see his breath. “You are no priestess, nor do you deserve to lay down.”
The green of her eyes opened, either the most dazzling of emeralds or brightest of jades. “The World is not fair.” Her head turned. “Is this venison I smell?”
*Venison, greasy pork, and fatty goryd.* “Pig shit and other excrements; more than you deserve.” The man seated himself on the floor beside a marble wall, heavy bags on his side. He strapped his silvery gloves to his belt.
“Excrement?” The Dove laughed with clear malice, the most alluring evil of it all. “Have you been reading more?” Silence was the only answer she received. That did not prevent her from giggling sweetly as her heavy robes hovered above the ice on the floor, feathers dancing to the rhythm of her steps. She sat beside Redory.
The Dove feasted as some voracious animal, as a starving wretched not fed in weeks. Redory contented himself with a heavy tome, his The Grandest Feats of Craftsmanship, by Chief Engineer Urreto Barreixo.
The Dove scoffed as she glimpsed at the pages. “How interesting, engravings on some wretched bit of paper.” She tore a piece of goryd. “Do you hope to find it in your dreams, or merely shut yourself away from the World?”
“There is only blood in my dreams, wench. Blood and your sister.” He flipped a leaf, the image of four spires surrounding a fountain to the size of a manor. “That whore hounds me every night, and no matter how much I try, she will not shut her mouth. I should have killed you both when I had the chance.”
Not a second passed before the Dove’s hands wrapped around Redory’s throat, his skin twitching at pulling. He returned the favor, wrapping his sad remnants of a hand around the wench in front of him. “Indeed.” She smiled. “Which one of us would fall first, I wonder?”
In an utterly unexpected act, Redory ground his teeth. “Don’t try me.” He could feel the heat from her body fill his hand. “Let go.”
“Why…” her speech was gagging and faltering, though the smile never left her lips. “We are… playing.” She loosened the grip, and Redory’s throat stopped twitching. Her own came next once the burnt hand released her neck. She moaned as the air went through her mouth, the raw muscle under her eyes stretching. *“*Do you not find it pleasurable?”
*How can flayed bits of skin enhance someone’s features?* “There is no pleasure in pain, you mad wench.” Steam rose from Redory’s mouth as he sighed, his back straight against a wall. “You seem worse than before. Will you turn into some rabid hound I must put down, now?”
“I loathe hounds, worthless creatures that they are. Apes and donkeys, though…” She bit into a bony chunk of venison. “I have raised some measure of appreciation for such. Bumbling and moronic, yes, but they are rather amusing to witness.”
“Then go beyond the sea and fuck one of them. There are none to be found here.” With a disgruntled look, Redory tried to go back into his reading, but the wench’s incessant stare did not go by him. “You are insufferable today.”
“Better than to be insufferable for one’s whole life.” She laughed out loud, spit treading through the air.
*Something’s wrong.* “What gives? You look a drunkard.”
“That is because I am.” The Dove laughed once more, crawling on fours as her dress dragged against the ground. “Eedem was not so innocent. Even gods have theirs sins, you see. She broke her oath, one day, when she stole one of the ceremonial bottles.”
Redory’s mouth was left hanging open. “And here I though your pathetic little sect couldn’t be more ridiculous. You don’t possibly mean they get you drunk as well.”
Her face neared, stinking of meat and grease, but a not a drop of alcohol. “I do not, in fact.” The ridiculous faces she made before were gone, a piercing gaze taking its place. “Who are you?”
“I am the Strangler’s Beast,” Redory told himself, no longer caring whether the words held any meaning.
“Such pretentious title, and a ridiculous name as well.” The Dove erected her back. “You, Redory, are no more than a wretched little man with no purpose or will. You tread from place to place, until death claims you.”
Redory grinned. “And you are a murderous wench, Dove, forever a slave until the end comes for you. Or maybe you will do something stupid, and I’ll end your life myself. Either way, I think we’re both damned.”
“My name is Briatel,” the woman’s face neared. “Enough of masks and folds and titles. As you said before, it is irritating.”
“Fine, Briatel.” *She almost looks fair from so close.* “Can I go back to reading without you pissing me off?”
“No.” She picked the book of his hands and threw it by the stone bed.
“If the pages are ruined I will–” His words were interrupted by wet warmth at his neck, from the gluttonous woman who suckled at his throat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Must I state the obvious once whenever we meet?” The green of her eyes rolled. “It has been quite a while since we have last done this, and I have taken a taste for carnal comfort.”
Redory hardly knew what to say to that. “This would change nothing. You’ll die by my hand if you think to be an asspawn.”
“You have had your chance and failed to measure up. You cannot end me before I do you, now.” Briatel’s malicious smile returned once more, this one twice as twisted. “All it takes is a touch from my fingers and I could strangle you with your own skin. The Strangled Beast.” The laughter almost made her sound as little girl.
He clenched his fists, even knowing that the wench was likely right. “Maybe we should find out.”
Briatel waved a hand in the air. “There is no need for that, I believe. A promise is a promise, is it not? No more butchery for my sister’s life.” The hand went to his chest, next. “Now, will you give me what I want, or will you act as some chaste bore of a fool?”
Redory looked to the sky high above, knowing what came next. *I truly am a worthless creature.* He sighed, and next came a gasp from Briatel once his arms dragged her to the top of his lap.
“Wise choice. Careful not to te–” It was the feathered wench who lost her words, when her mouth was taken over by Redory’s. The taste of grease and meat was as disgusting was it was delicious.
Briatel backed her head away ever so slightly, her rough hands cupping Redory’s cheeks. “If you wish for death, do that again.”
“Kill me, then.” Redory scoffed before thrusting at the woman’s face again. The skin of his head began to tremble and pull, pain following right after. Even so, Briatel seemed to give as much as she received. *Madness.*
The feathered wench did not lie, though. Once the pain became unsurmountable, Redory forced himself to stop, only for the woman to pull him back in, the pain all but gone. *Insanity.*
Truth be told, it was not all that pleasant. It seemed as if the woman meant to eat his tongue more than anything else, and their lips had neither rhyme nor rhythm. Even so, the exchange of fluids went on.
With the first act done, the two pulled back for a breather. By then, Briatel had begun disrobing with care, Redory doing much the same. Scars and slashes and hair clashed with enough friction to create energy had the two wretched creatures engaging in the act of copulating known what it was.
“Lay down,” Briatel commanded, her arms pushing him away.
“Not today.” Redory pinned the woman to the floor, her lengthy hairs spread all over. “You sicken me.” He caressed the claw marks on her waist. “I sicken myself.” He looked at the woman’s face, waiting for her word.
“What are you waiting for?” The first five were slow and rough. The next went faster, and before long he ravaged the wicked woman. It was a good thing the chamber was soundproof, or else one would think an ass was being mistreated within.
“Stop,” Briatel uttered in her whining, and Redory did as he was bid. The woman stared at him for a while, the anger clear on her face. “What are you playing at? On with it, imbecile.”
Redory shook his head. “This must be some jape.”
Ten more spearings went in before the woman whined once more. “Enough.”
“Will you make up your mind?”
“At it already, moron.” Briatel looked outraged under him, and her hand soon clashed against Redory’s bearded cheeks.
“You really are a mad whore, aren’t you?” *What have I become? Was I always meant to fall so low?* He did not complain about the warm wetness on his low, however.
More asses were mistreated after that, though for how long none could tell. Suffice to say, it lasted until the man came on the floor. They laid side by side after that, their breathing raw and rough.
As Redory stood up to gather his bearings, the Briatel held him. “Do not even think to leave for a moment.”
“It is done. I have no more to give.”
“There is warmth.” She grasped her naked body as snow fell from above.
*Since when do you enjoy warmth?* He meant to ask as he fell once more. *You do not deserve comfort and neither do I,* Redory told himself. *We are murderers and butchers,* he reminded himself, but before long he wrapped himself around Briatel, his white cloak covering them both.
As his hands caressed the flayed bits of her body, he could not help but wonder. *How can a creature so evil be so beautiful?*
The sleep that followed was the most fulling night since the dawn of time.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/n1moc9/final_chapter_of_book_relationship_the_disgusting