Into the Fray, Unflinching

by gldngrl7

Story 5 in the "Hanging On, Letting Go" series. Follows "Edging Toward Synchronicity". Please heed all Author's Notes/Tags! SYNOPSIS: Unconscious following his meltdown, Mon-El is trapped inside his own mind. Kara must take extreme measures to reach him before he slips out of her reach and is lost forever. But does he even want to return to her?

10. Chapter 10

Title: Into the Fray, Unflinching

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Began: April 21, 2017

Chapters: ?

Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

Author's Notes: PLEASE READ RESPONSIBILY! Warning: there are passing mentions of adult/underage sex in this chapter. The consenting age on Daxam is 15.

Chapter 10/?

After cleaning his member and tossing the cloth on the platform for later retrieval he snaps his fingers, calling the trolling servant carrying a tray of wine goblets. When the man nears, Mon-El swipes a chalice and drains it in a single breath, exchanging it for a second. Thankfully, it's an elixir of restorative properties often used at Lurien festivals.

"When she wakes, offer her something to eat and drink, this restorative will suffice, as well as a branch of alm berries with sweet zabat to cut the bitterness and…is there grilled pylar flank available?" Mon-El places his second chalice of restorative back on the tray.

"Of course, Your Highness," the man eagerly replies. "It's excellent for boosting strength without creating an unpleasant aroma to the breath. It's a staple for these events."

"Bring her a few strips of flank. But not too much. I wish her to be energized…not weighed down by a fondness for food and drink. The only thing I want her gluttonous for is me."

"As you will, Your Highness."

"Very good. My thanks to you."

"It is an honor," the man bows neatly, his tray tilting not a single millimeter, and whisks away to fulfill the prince's instructions.

The Adept, a petite young woman who barely stands to the prince's chest, rifles through the top drawers of a tall, thin chest with row after row of small drawers. Standing on her tiptoes, she can hardly peer over the top of the drawer as she reaches in blindly and fumbles about before withdrawing a small tube. Closing the drawer, she hurries back to the bed and climbs on it, kneeling next to his unconscious concubine.

Leaving her to it, Mon-El stands to stretch his legs for a bit, oversee the audience before walking over to the peg wall.

Drawn to a quartet of sweating, heaving bodies, his eyes alight on Lalla Bevy Han, the rather pixie-ish daughter of one of Daxam's highest Traders of the King's Council. Her father often sends the young Lalla to events such as these to make connections and uncover secrets, learning the family trade early as Lals and Lallas, the entitled children of Intelligence Traders, usually do.

Lalla Han, perhaps more concerned with giving and receiving pleasure than rooting out intelligence, toils energetically, her head between the writhing Lady Fey's thighs. Her knees are spread wide while Praetarch Don-Ec, an olive-skin gentleman of good standing, thrusts vigorously into her cunt, while slapping her flank like he's riding a garat to the goal line. Bringing up the rear of the chain behind Don-Ec, Physician Eminent Pekton Sel, ruts satisfyingly into the ass of the Praetarch, elegantly matching the rhythm of the other man's own pelvic thrusts. Eminent Sel is famously known for his striking lavender eyes, a mutation occurring in his birthing pod that was overlooked by the Procreational Authority of Genetic Enforcement because it was deemed a desirable trait to add to Daxamite code.

On another lounger, Lady Rayen Yar rides the wide, though stubby cock of Lord-Adjutant Telfen Mos, as he slurps noisily at one ample breast. Her concubinus fills her other hole while gripping her board straight strawberry blonde hair with both hands, while she screams in affirmation, hardly aware that the men exist as anything other than rutting flesh appendages that bring her pleasure.

Lady Yar is a lover of old for Lord-Adjutant Mos, first taking her at the nubile age of fifteen in a darkened closet during the din of one of her parent's orgies, when he'd been in his svelte prime of thirty-four. A source of temptation from the time her breasts had begun to bloom in earnest three years before. Mos, straining at the bit, withdrew from her parents' society to avoid the enticement of this too-young obsession. Until he began receiving personal flashes from her on his Daxcess account. Flashes of recorded holograms explicit in nature, leaving no doubt as to the desires of the then-thirteen year-old.

Refusing to touch her, for once in his life he did the right thing, consigning himself to wait for her to reach the consenting age of fifteen. However, his desires focused, and salivating over her burgeoning loveliness, Mos began sending her elaborately wrapped dildoes of increasing size, letting her know she would need to prepare herself for him. His gifts were well received, as was his final advance to take her against the wall of a coat closet two years later on her fifteenth birthday, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pummeled her soaking wet virgin clutch, one hand clamped around her mouth to control her grunts of pleasure, and the uninhibited whine of her teenage orgasm. Quite insatiable after that first time, they reveled in one another's bodies, so much so that two years later when it came time for Rayen's requisite chancel training to begin, little remained for the Adepts and their guru to teach her. She was certified 'Court Ready' and released from training after only a few weeks.

As a couple they lasted many years, but their proclivities were too similar to be complementary, so their trysts these days are limited to group gatherings such as these, and usually involve the addition of one or more parties.

Against the wall, a wardrobe of mirrors grabs his attention and, trying to distract his mind from the rampant needs of his cock, he approaches and opens its doors wide to audit its contents for something of use.

She drifts in darkness, swimming towards the surface of a black sea, but for every inch she gains, she loses two. Until there's an acrid, bitter odor that burns through the back of her nose and she fears she's drowning in the black until there's suddenly light and air. So much air, and she emerges from unconsciousness, her heart racing, her eyes wide open and there's not a single inch of her body that doesn't ache with use, or throb with delicious anticipation.

"What happened?" she asks the woman kneeling beside her. "Did I win?"

"You passed out, Senya," the Adept replies, shaking her head, a broken glass cylinder in her hand, the source of the acrid odor. Smelling salts.

"My name is Kara," she corrects.

"I am Viona," she introduces herself, bowing her head. "As the prince's personal concubine, you are granted the title 'Senya'. It is a title of great respect, indicating that you bring pleasure to your master. For what greater achievement can there be but bringing pleasure to a member of the Royal House Gand?"

Had she more energy, and a throat that felt less like the Sahara Desert, she might have laughed. "I can think of a few things," she retorts instead. Saving the world, rescuing those in need, foiling sinister plots of alien genocide or world domination, rescuing kittens out of trees, to name but a few. "I don't do it because he's the prince of Daxam." She stops short of saying anything more or implying her true reasons for choosing to be his sex slave, his pet.

"As you say," Viona nods, as though she doesn't believe Kara's motive can or should be anything more than the opportunity to secure the position and stability that comes with spreading her legs for the heir to the throne. Backing off the bed, Viona departs to dispose of the glass vial broken to wake Kara from her slumber. Kara watches her go, catching sight of a male servant carrying a tray approaching her. Discomfited by the intensity with which he bears down her and wholly aware of her listless exhaustion, Kara cast her eyes about in search of the prince. As though reading her mind, the servant is blockaded from her position when Lord Ral steps into his path.

After a few words are exchanged between them, the nobleman takes the tray from the servant and dismisses him. Ral places the tray on the extended portion of the bed's support platform before easing onto the mattress beside her. For reasons she doesn't understand, Ral's presence and nearness feels neither threatening nor intrusive. He brings with him a supportive vibe. "The prince wishes for you to take refreshment," he announces with a reassuring smile. "Do you think you have the energy?"

With a vengeance, her stomach roars to life, remembering that food exists with the mere mention of it. "I'm ravenous," she answers, licking her lips.

"Yes," he drawls, a wistful, lopsided smile on his face, "I think that's been well established. One might even say…insatiable." After a beat, they share a companionable chuckle at his innuendo. "You shouldn't eat laying down. Here…let me help you sit up." He reaches for her, sliding a hand between the mattress and her shoulder, the older going to her waist.

He helps her into an upright position while she tucks her legs demurely off to her side, keeping them squeezed tightly together. At first, making no demands, or even asserting the entitlement the prince quite clearly ascribed to him earlier, Ral's hands linger on her body, warm against her quickly cooling skin, one even caressing her ribs and brushing against the side of her breast before pulling away. Kara feels a sense of loss when his hands withdraw, but then immediately is flooded with guilt and concern.

Balking, not at the thought of his touch, but with the idea that Mon-El might witness it and become angry at seeing another man's hands on her body. Especially this man. Even if just in his mind, she doesn't wish to drive a wedge between Mon-El and the man who meant everything to him. But then, she recalls Mon-El telling her he wanted to watch her fuck Ral and decides that's rather explicit permission for a little caressing.

"His attention is elsewhere at the moment," Ral points out as though reading her mind, jerking his head in the direction of the prince's location. Following the direction of Lord Ral's indication, Kara sees the prince sorting through items in a wardrobe that appears to be completely constructed of mirrors on the outside. With the armoire's doors open he's unable to utilize the mirrors to see what's happening behind him.

Leaning into her, lips brushing against her the sensitive shell of her ear, he whispers, "Jealousy brings no one happiness and is, therefore, not an emotion indulged on Daxam. Besides…you and I both know he won't mind."

Mortified, she blushes and bows her head. "You heard?" she asks. When her master had informed her that he wanted to watch her fuck his dearest friend, his step-brother, she had thought he had spoken low enough to go unheard by the otherwise carnally engaged observers who making noises all on their own. But, of course, Lord Ral had not been carnally engaged – he had been riveted on her the entire time.

"I don't need to hear," he explains, reaching back to the tray on the platform. "No one knows Mon-El the way I do. I know all his desires and soon…you will too."

In his hand, he holds a chalice full to the brim of a dark orange liquid, which he holds to her lips. When she lifts a hand to take the cup, he shakes his head. "Open your mouth," he instructs. Just as with Mon-El, his tone compels her to comply, a warm shiver running down her spine like a reflex. Without even knowing what the cup contains, though she finds its color questionable, she wraps her lips around the rim of the cup.

Looking up into his angelic face, a lock of blonde hair falling carelessly across his forehead, Kara gets lost in his emerald green eyes.

"Head back," he orders, tilting the cup just enough to allow a gentle stream of liquid to hit the back of her throat. Her skin is luminous, he notes, her pert breasts, swollen and tender from ferocious manipulation, are perfectly formed, with nipples designed for suckling. Every part of her is magnificent, and the erection he's been sporting for hours now pulses with need. "Swallow," he says, unnecessarily, withdrawing the chalice long enough for her to take a breath.

The drink is sweet, a little syrupy, and she recognizes none of the exotic flavors. So thirsty, her lips and throat parched from exertion, the cool liquid hits the spot. "Good," she comments, placing her lips against the rim of the cup for more and waits for him serve her. It takes mere seconds for a warm feeling, as though sunshine has been poured into the marrow of her bones, to spread throughout her body. "Is it alcoholic?"

Ral looks at her as is she's lost her mind.

"Of course, it's alcoholic," she answers her own question.

"It's a restorative," he informs her, pouring another draught down her throat, "and will replenish some of your energies as well as take the edge off any discomfort you may feel, so you should take as much as you can. It should allow you to continue in short order."

"Did I really lose consciousness?" she inquires, after swallowing the syrupy concoction.

He nods, offering her another gulp. This time she drains it dry and he motions for the servant to bring another. "But it's important that you don't feel inadequate, darling Kara," Lord Ral reassures her, placing a hand on her thigh, the pads of his fingers lightly tracing unrecognizable shapes into her skin. "Most Adepts would not have lasted as long, considering the rather vigorous way that he was using you. Our dear prince is renowned for his stamina for obvious reasons. Thus far you've proved to be an excellent match for him."

"That's what I keep trying to tell him."

"Keep trying," Lord Ral, encourages. Picking up the tray, he sets it on the bed before him. It contains what appears to be a bunch of berries, similar to raspberries but a bright magenta in color, a small bowl of something that looks like yogurt, and thin slivers of meat that remind her of prosciutto. "Princes can be headstrong, as I'm sure you can imagine, especially when they think they're protecting someone they love. But I'm sure that's something you can understand."

Her interest piques on another matter, Kara decides to probe further. "You said….obvious reasons? What did you mean by that?"

"Did I say that?" Ral asks, a hand to his chest.

"Yes," she deadpans, pinning him with a glare. "For what obvious reasons is he renowned for his stamina?"

"We can talk about that later," he sidesteps. "For now, you need to eat. Open." Plucking a magenta berry from its vine, he places the berry on her tongue. "Chew."

Biting down on the berry, her mouth bursts with the sour flavor of the berry's juices, which mesh well with the sweetness of the restorative. "Mmmmm," she moans.

"Try it with the zabat," he offers, dipping a berry into the yogurt-like pudding and setting it on her tongue. The look on her face as she bites down is frighteningly similar to one she makes when Mon-El's cock pierces her, and he slides in deep. As if for the moment all the pieces of the universe fit perfectly together and there's not a worry to be found. Their Kara is an aphrodisiac with legs.

With the zabat comes a burst of additional flavor that pleases her, reminding her of a rich vanilla gelato. "Mmmm-hmmm," she moans again, tongue darting out to rescue a bead of zabat from her bottom lip.

Dipping another alm berry in zabat, he holds it out for her, but waits for her to take the initiative. Reading the sparkle of mischief in his eyes, she leans forward and takes the berry with her teeth, their eyes never losing contact. Again, Kara closes her eyes and sighs as the juice of the berry and its sweet dip rolls down the back of her throat.

Licking his lips, as her shiny blue eyes open to find his, her eyelids blinking lazily, Lord Ral says boldly, "I would like to see that look of ecstasy when you get that first taste of my cum, and you swallow it down like the eager girl you are."

Unbidden, her nipples harden again, electric arousal streaking straight to her core, other parts of her body wakening from its slumber. She swallows heavily and shyly tucks her head into her shoulder, damp hair falling like a curtain to shield her face from his view. Her body's reaction to his suggestion – to him – begets confusion. She loves Mon-El, even this part of him that refuses to accept it, this part of him that finds more interest in slaking lust than becoming a hero. But she is also attracted to his step-brother, Lord Ral, and her body is making that abundantly clear. Can she love one man and still be attracted to another?

"You're frightened and confused by what you're feeling right now," Lord Ral sympathizes. "And that's all right." Gently, seductively, he brushes the damp hair from her face and tucks it behind her ear, draping its ends down her back. His fingertips toys with the ends for a moment before trailing up her scapula to the round of her shoulder, and then down her arm. Her skin tingling at his touch, gooseflesh follows his fingertips creating a trail all its own. "Your body wants me, it's clear to anyone with eyes, my darling Kara."

"But Master—" she begins to protest, her eyes cast down to the grey velveteen on the bed cover.

"Is a magnanimous regent," Lord Ral finishes. "What's his is his and sometimes…what's his is also mine. He can be possessive, to be sure, but not at the cost of ignoring your needs," his deep voice coos, wrapping around her like warm blanket in a cold room. "He would never deny you…unless you did something to deserve it. Open," he instructs holding up another alm berry.

Kara accepts what he offers, one after another and another, her mind chewing over his words, just as she chews up the berries. She doesn't understand her attraction to him – how it can be so strong without compromising her love for Mon-El in the slightest? Already she's keen to explore his body, learn it, and catalogue the differences between Mon-El's musculature and Lord Ral's. Her salivary glands send forth another burst at the thought of learning his flavor.

Using an alm berry, he applies a layer of zabat to her lips before placing the fruit on her tongue. She meticulously cleans them of the delicious treat before popping the grape between her teeth, chewing it and swallowing it down. "You. Are. Magnificent," he admires, the pupils of his eyes widening until only a thin diameter of emerald green remains. "When I take you, my darling Kara, I wish you to be certain that you know your own desire." A lopsided smile, she's already come to associate with her master's bond-brother, quirks up on one side of his mouth revealing a single, deep dimple. "But there's no harm in playing, is there?"

Kara smiles, ducking her head again at the dirty thoughts that pop into her head. Thoughts which, if she's honest with herself, invaded her mind and her body, the moment he locked her spread legs over her head, and then bent down to sniff her cunt.

"Is there?" he asks again, his tone indicating he expects an answer.

Casting a glance at her master, who's huddling again with Viona, she shakes her head, hoping it's the right decision and that Lord Ral doesn't lead her astray – or into a trap. "No," she whispers, shaking her head. "There's no harm in playing."

"Good girl," he replies, his smile going full-blown, taking her breath away, just like Mon-El's. "You just let me know if anything makes you uncomfortable, all right?"

Kara nods, a wainscot of butterflies taking flight in her belly. "What…what should I call you, Lord Ral?" she inquires, curious about his preference. Should this go where it seems to be leading, and should her master allow it, Kara would like to know what Lord Ral wants her to call him while he's fucking her.

Ral considers her question, biting on his lower lip as he dips another alm berry in zabat. "Well…your master is your master, and always will be. So…why not call me…'my lord'?"

Kara smiles shyly again, the butterflies making it harder to breathe. "Yes, my lord," she answers, her response coquettish, but unpracticed.

"Do you even know what a flirt you are, I wonder?" He's drenched the second to last alm berry in far too much zabat, because so much remains, and the sweet pudding drips down his fingers as he offers her the fruit.

Her energy returning at last, thanks in part to the food and drink, and in part to the man in front of her, she slides her fingers around his wrist and takes the berry between her teeth, chewing it and swallowing it down with relish. Finding the amount of zabat on his fingers to be wasteful, Kara boldly wraps her lips around the top knuckles of his fore and middle fingers. Ardently, blue eyes search green as she looks for a clue that this attention in undesired but finds the opposite instead. Discovering even more boldness within, she slides the rest of the fingers into his mouth. They pet her tongue as she sucks the sticky, sweet zabat from the digits, while holding his wrist with both hands now, moving her mouth over his fingers as though rehearsing for the moment when it will be his cock in her mouth. Kara is shocked to find herself hoping that comes sooner, rather than later.

"You like that, do you?" he asks, his voice deepening as his arousal thickens. "Do you like the way I taste in your mouth?"

Pulling his fingers from the warm cavern of his mouth, unable to tear her eyes from his, she nods slowly, an innocent again despite the ways she's been used, "Yes, my Lord."

"Last one." Plucking the final alm berry from its dried vine, he dips it again and then lifts it to her mouth, but when she leans forward and opens her mouth to take it, he snatches it away. Chuckling at the childlike pout that forms on her face, Ral makes a show of placing the berry between his own teeth, leaving the ball in her court.

Boldness suddenly deserting her, Kara sucks on her lower lip while her eyes dart back and forth from Mon-El's position at the wardrobe to the luscious treat patiently holding a delicious piece of fruit captive. He says nothing and only waits, hoping she'll answer his invitation. It would be rude not to, she tells herself. He's been so kind and reassuring and it hasn't escaped her notice that he's the only person in the room who calls her by her name. That realization alone is enough to swing the vote.

Careful not to touch him in any other way, Kara leans forward and places her lips on his, allowing him to transfer to berry into her mouth. A flash of memory to a night that seems far away now, when she and Mon-El shared a taste of wine, has her pulling away from the kiss to pop the berry and release its juices and then offering him her lips again. He quickly takes control, though without a hint of urgency or authority, merely exploring, much as her body urges to her to do with him. Kara opens her mouth, making room for his tongue to peek inside, and she shares the flavor of the berry with him, darting her tongue forward to meet with his. Finally, their lips meld together, tasting and sipping, just a bit of sucking here and the flick of a tongue there.

"Gods of Val-or," he breathes as he retreats, pressing his forehead to hers, the room spinning from the simplest of kiss. "Kara Zor-El," he sighs, "you're going to be the end of me."

Kara sighs as well, because she knows, on some level, he's probably right, and Mon-El must know it too. "Maybe we shouldn't…." she says, attempting to pull away.

His hand, striking like a cobra, grabs for her arm before she can escape. "After that kiss? Not a chance, sunshine. I watched you overcome your Kryptonian inhibitions today, don't run scared now. Kiss me again," he flirts, leaving her the option to refuse. Madam Fortis's tenets teach that only a surrender on an even playing field holds any worth at all; it means nothing if your partner is backed into a corner. The Disingenuous Détente, she always calls it.

Taken aback by his flirtation, Kara gives him a look of mock reproach before rolling her eyes at his irrepressible charm.

"Kiss me," he teases, mouth almost close enough to feel his breath on her lips. "You know you want to." And she does, as much as it baffles her. Ral's charismatic smile slips a notch as he notes the crinkle rising on her forehead and her eyes disconnecting from him. "Hey," he says soothingly, "why all these worries?" Reaching up he attempts to smooth away the concern from between her brows with his thumb. "You're afraid of your feelings, but you needn't be. You're afraid of what he might think but allowing yourself only one lover is to live a fractioned life. This is the way he was raised, the way I was raised. It's a part of who we are."

"Am I selfish then, for not wanting him to be with anyone else?" she wonders, speaking her truth.

"Only if you force monogamy on him," Ral says resolutely, his fingers tangling with hers on the bed, learning their texture, their length…their softness. "But our prince has had more lovers than he can count and, he'd never admit this," Ral whispers, "but he wearies of it. He has spent his wildness in the years of his youth and even beyond."

Kara snorts a sarcastic laugh. "It doesn't seem that way."

"He does this for you," Ral explains, "though he would never say it. He tells himself that he wants you to go and that by showing you all of this…him…you'll run from this place. And a part of him believes that's true, although I think he's learning that you're made of stronger stuff."

"Stranger stuff, you mean," she mumbles, wondering why she's not normal, like other women she's known.

"There's nothing wrong with you, sunshine. Look around you…we all have our quirks and fetishes." Following his advice, Kara does look around the room full of naked flesh, most now inert, taking a breather from their activities. Lord Ral points at a tall man near the back with a wiry, but muscular frame, and a cock that seems perfectly proportional on the body to which it was assigned. "Viceroy Bak'rum likes his body to be confined in intricately tied ropes and hung from the ceiling. Personally…I don't see the attraction, but to each his own. Praetarch Don-Ec would rather be running naked through the Harkum Wilds, hunted down like sexual prey. "Embrace who you are without reservation," he advises. "Don't be afraid to demand more for yourself. Be fulfilled so that you never leave this life wondering what you missed. Drink deep of all of its pleasures. This is the Daxamite way, my darling Kara."

His words strike straight to her heart. Has she not witnessed the evidence of this throughout this experience? Women and men changing partners like Kara Danvers changes into Supergirl? Women making their own choices, empowered by their sexual agency? And had she not promised herself, while her master was buried deep inside of her and making her come, that she would embrace Daxamite philosophies and refuse to suppress her primal urges ever again?

Before she can lose her nerve, Kara takes his mouth with hers again, sucking lightly on his bottom lip, tasting it as if is another grape to be devoured. He tilts his head, to reposition her mouth, sliding a hand into her hair, and darts his tongue past her lips. It's not frantic or passionate, but exploratory; tongues touching lightly to each other and then, emboldened, they seek new texture, like the smooth glide of well cared for teeth, or the bumpiness in the hard palate. Breath is heavy, but not heaving when he tears away.

"There's a good girl," he coos. "But best not to dive too deep on our first adventure," he says, his breath slightly labored. His eyes are glazed as though the power of their kiss has taken him completely by surprise. She doesn't know why, when it is no shock to her. Picking up a bowl from the tray, Ral says, "You seem much restored, but there is still flank to be eaten, and Mon-El will not return to you until you've been replenished. Open."

A sliver of meat, so thin it is nearly transparent, is placed on her tongue and it nearly melts in her mouth. Kara need hardly make the effort to chew. And its flavor, like a well-seasoned prime rib, has her moaning in appreciation again. Lord Ral emits his own noises in response to hers as he hands her another slice.

"Ask your questions," he instructs, perhaps a little gruffly. "Take my mind off of how badly I want to sink my cock into you."

His instruction now makes his organ an item of curiosity for her, though earlier she had meticulously avoided looking at it, choosing instead to focus on his eyes. His shimmery, linen pants are no match for the snake that slithers down one of legs. Daxam men may spend half their adult lives with an erection, but at least their trousers won't cause discomfort.

Shaking off thoughts of running her tongue down the length of his dick, she asks, "Y-you mentioned that his stamina was renowned for obvious reasons…?"

"Jealous, darling?"

"I was referring to the 'obvious reasons' part. The reasons aren't obvious to me. It can't just be because of practice," Kara suggests, emphasizing the word with a raise of her eyebrows. "Because I look around and it seems like everyone gets plenty of practice."

"Ahh…yes," Ral sighs, pursing his lips together. "Much like on Krypton, Daxamites are born through the use of birthing matrices, the products of which are overseen by the Procreational Authority of Genetic Enforcement. It is during a process called 'Advancement' that a potential's code is tweaked so that they may better serve the community as a whole. Commander-Lord Raines over there, likely had his genetics manipulated in Advancement so that his musculature would be denser, or that his aggression would override pacifistic tendencies, or that his brain would be gifted at problem-solving strategies. He's still his parents' progeny, but his Advancement has leaned their genetics in a very specific direction."

"Towards the military," she infers.

"Precisely. Just like his mother. Open. What do you know about Mon-El's Advancement?" he asks, the meat's flavorful juices dancing on her tongue before sliding down her throat.

At first, Kara's shakes her head. "He didn't even tell me he was the prince. Oh, wait!" she exclaims, a memory of the last time they had been alone in her loft coming to mind. "I thought he was just a palace guard then, but he mentioned that he had been made to be a 'breeder. I had asked him why they would want to breed a palace guard and he said he had good genes."

"At the King's request, Mon-El's Advancement included a few uncommon adjustments." Ral places another sliver of meat on her waiting tongue, as he struggles internally with how much to reveal to her. "It's not unusual for a man to want his son to be virile, or gifted in the phallus department, as if that somehow reflects upon him entirely, but King Vir perhaps took these desires a bit too far. But he's the king, so what can you do, right? Anyway, during Mon-El's Advancement stage, the King had the prince's genetics adjusted so that his virility would be unparalleled, his refractory period almost nil – as you might have already learned – because his body creates only a small amount of the hormone that triggers it. The speed at which his reproductive system produces seed was altered as well."

"Altered?"

"His system creates seed faster than he can spend it, which is why the faucet hasn't been reduced to trickle yet. In theory, he can come a thousand times back to back and never run dry, never need time to replenish. To be truthful, this is closest he's come to truly putting that theory to the test." Lord Ral grins. "Pun intended. Lucky girl," he teases, a pointed glance downward at her clenched thighs, bits of her master's cum still drying on them. "And then there's the reproductive materials itself…."

"What about it?" she inquires, her eyes widening with curiosity.

"Most males are manipulated in Advancement so that only twenty-five percent of their reproductive material is viable for fertility. We all receive injectable birth control measures, but this prevents accidental breeding or even the intentional rebellion against Daxam's reproductive status quo. But it also ensures that only the most viable genetic component is available for use by PAGE."

"But Mon-El?"

"Has viability of over ninety-six percent," Ral reveals. "All of it…prime spawning material."

"So, he's a baby-making machine," she concludes, shoving down the sadness that tries to reach the surface.

"Just the way his father wanted him," Ral replies, no small amount of bitterness in his tone.

"But why?" she inquires.

"For that answer, you will have to ask him," Ral indicates Mon-El, who stands, arms crossed, legs spread, in front of the peg wall, as though debating his options.

"And you?" she asks, her eyes darting to his pants leg. "How were you tweaked in Advancement?"

Ral grins, appreciative of her interest. "All potentials are screened for health problems and undesirable mutations. This ensures the production of healthy children who fall within an acceptable guideline of 'normal'," he clarifies. "But my parents were a love match and thought it romantic to have a child gifted to them by the gods. So, outside of the baseline, I wasn't genetically manipulated. No tweaking for me."

"Not even this?" she asks, tentatively reaching for the long, thick bulge in is trousers. She cups her hand around it, caressing it until she can feel the heat of it through the thin material.

"Kara," he sighs, leaning forward to capture he lips with his. Without prompting, she opens her mouth for his questing tongue, sinking into his kiss as her hand and thumb rub up and down is covered phallus. Knowing that the best course of action in their current situation, is to leave her wanting more, he summon enormous amounts of self-control and draws slowly away from the kiss.

"No! My lord?" she whines as his lips separate from hers.

"You can't possibly know how it makes me feel to feel how much you want me. And that you're beginning to accept it. But for this to go farther, it will require the full knowledge of your master and not the slightest reservation from you. Do you understand?"

Reluctantly, forced to ignore the clamoring in her body, Kara agrees, bowing her head. "Yes, my lord."

"Good girl." Rewarding her for her agreement, and perhaps to torment her a little, he flicks a thumb against the clamp on one nipple, setting it free; the clamp now dangling by the connecting chain from the other breast. Leaning down, Lord Ral draws the freed nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth, sucking and sucking and sucking until he wonders if might not be able to stop. Staking just the tiniest of claims upon her.

Increased blood flow to her nipple makes it hypersensitive, and his mouth provides just the right amount pressure to turn her entire body into a boneless mess. "My lord," she exhales, her fingers slipping into his thick blonde curls. Gripping tightly at his hair to hold him in place, her head drops back, her neck unable to support it as her clutch pulses with rapidly growing need.

Disconnecting from her breast with a wet pop and a lascivious smile, he retreats, reaching for the tray. "Another time," he promises, licking his lower lip as though to catch one more taste of her. Picking up the tray and standing up, a significant tent in his pants, Lord Ral leaves her burning for more and walks away as if they aren't both desperate for relief.

TBH