No Mercy - Book 2: Trek Mi Q'an Series Read online

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  No Mercy

  Book 2: The Empress’ New Clothes

  An Ellora’s Cave Electronic Publication

  In association with author Jaid Black

  All Rights Reserved. http://www.ellorascave.com

  ISBN # 0-9707169-5-8

  © Copyright Jaid Black, 2001.

  This book/e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author and publisher permission. Edited by Lee Haskell.

  Warning:

  The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. “No Mercy” has been rated NC-17, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this e-book are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

  To Giselle McKenzie, a new and hilarious friend—

  this hero’s for you ;)

  Chapter 1

  The Ice Palace On The Moon of Sypar,

  Stronghold of Planet Tryston, Trek Mi Q’an Galaxy, Seventh Dimension

  6040 Y.Y. (Yessat Years)

  Rem Q’an Tal, King of Sypar, High Lord of the Gryok Sectors, and master of all he surveyed, rested his head back upon the lush naked breasts of Yoli, the favored of his bound servants, whilst she massaged all tension from his massively thick shoulders. Lying upon his royal high-bed, Rem’s glowing blue eyes flicked dispassionately about, taking in everything, missing nothing.

  Even whilst Yoli administered to his shoulders, the nipples from her plump breasts jabbing seductively into his back, another naked bound servant sat on her knees beside his reclining form, her hands rubbing about his heavily-muscled torso, her breasts within tongue distance that she might offer him a nipple to suckle of should he desire it.

  A third naked bound servant, and the lustiest suckler His Majesty owned, paid homage to his manhood, her lips and throat devouring the length of his ever-erect shaft. A fourth bound servant administered to his man sac, her eyes closed in bliss as his scrotum began to tighten in her mouth.

  The fifth and final bound servant lay at Rem’s feet, her clit rubbing against the toes of one foot, her lips and tongue sucking the toes of the other. She convulsed repeatedly against the foot her clit rubbed, saturating the king with her woman’s dew.

  Rem spoke not a word as the wenches he had acquired in war saw to his needs. ‘Twas his right as their master to take from them what he would, to delight in the feel of so many lips and lusty tongues running up and down the length of him. Though none of these wenches were slaves to him as his two hundred female Kefas were, they were all bound to him for varying lengths of time, all of them prisoners of war, all of them greedily accepting their lots in life as no more than the king’s sexual chattel.

  Closing his eyes and turning his face toward the plump breasts of the bound servant massaging his chest, Rem’s tongue curled around one of her proffered nipples, drawing it into the warmth of his mouth and sipping from it. She shuddered, running long fingernails through his silky golden tresses as she pressed his face in closer to her chest. Her fingernails found the three braids plaited at either temple, then brushed beneath them to comb through the mass of golden hair that fell below his shoulders.

  The bound servants attending to Rem’s cock and man sac grew lustier, both of the wenches suckling him frenziedly. He groaned against the nipple his mouth was latched onto, luxuriating in the feel of so much female flesh catering to his every whim.

  Or luxuriating as much as was possible.

  For seventeen Yessat years, ever since the High Queen and Empress Kyra Q’ana Tal had snatched his bridal necklace from the severed head of the cunning Jera, Rem had searched the galaxies in an effort to find his true Sacred Mate. He had searched in six dimensions and more star systems than he cared to recall. But alas, it always came back to this...

  Rem’s body convulsed as he spurted into the greedy mouth of Lytch, the bound servant attending to his shaft. He sighed when ‘twas done, wondering to himself how ‘twas possible to spew for these wenches when he’d never felt such a lack of arousal in all of his days.

  Mayhap the average warrior on Tryston, a humanoid male unable to afford the multitude of bound servants and slaves Rem owned, would find such a scenario enticing. And mayhap he would have too, were it not for the fact that his sire had given him his first harem at thirteen Yessat years. For what amounted to hundreds of years in the primitive time-keeping dimensions, Rem’s every moon-rising had been the same. He was jaded. Hopelessly jaded.

  “Your Majesty,” a feminine voice called out from across the bedchamber, “You’ve visitors to see you.”

  Rem’s icy blue eyes flicked towards the voice. It belonged to Muri, a bound servant owing him but one more Yessat year’s worth of servitude. Topless, her breasts bobbing up and down as she walked towards the royal high-bed, she wore no clothing save the transparent qi’ka skirt all wenches of Tryston donned. ‘Twas only the enchanted Kefa slaves who walked about totally naked at all times. Bound servants, on the other hand, were only completely divested of clothing whilst attending to the master’s needs.

  “Come forward and deliver your message, Muri.” Rem’s dark, shadowed voice rumbled low throughout the bedchamber. His brooding gaze fell to the thatch of dark black curls at her mons, easily seen through a qi’ka so transparent. He wondered idly if she would be able to bring him to a higher peak than the blonde wenches still attending to his cock and man sac. “And remove your qi’ka whilst speaking.”

  Muri bowed low, her nipples hardening at the king’s words. She shuddered with delight, knowing he meant to impale her the soonest. Standing up from her bow, she was careful to keep her gaze submissively lowered whilst she shed her transparent skirt and delivered the message to the king. “’Tis Lord Death and thy brother King Kil to see you, Your Majesty. Shall I announce them?”

  Rem nodded once, his glowing eyes raking over her naked mons and her lovely tanned skin. “Aye. Send them in before attending to me.”

  Muri bowed again, then scurried towards the bedchamber doors. Less than a Nuba-minute later Rem watched his good friend Death and his only non-mated brother Kil stride into his rooms. He paid no attention to Muri who even now was climbing atop his muscled body and impaling herself on his shaft with a moan.

  One corner of Rem’s mouth kicked up into a semi-grin as the two warlord giants strolled towards the raised bed. “’Tis good to see you brother, and you as well Death my friend.”

  Death grunted, the ominous skull tattooed across his forehead crinkling slightly, indicating that the eight-foot mammoth was well-humored. He threw a flat bottle of matpow at Rem who caught it easily during its mid-air flight. “’Tis moonshine from my sector,” he grumbled.

  Kil’s lips kicked up into a semi-grin reminiscent of Rem’s. ‘Twas ironic indeed that two natural brothers so alike in temperament were polar opposites in looks. Where Rem was fair-haired like their brother King Dak, Kil’s dark hair favored their eldest brother, the Emperor Zor. All brothers, however, possessed the glowing blue orbs of the Q’an Tal bloodline as well as the richly tanned skins inherited from their sire. And all brothers possessed the Q’an Tal height, surpassing seven and an half feet or better.

  ‘Twas only Rem
and Kil, however, who had reputations amongst the Q’an Tal brothers as ruthless, merciless warlords. Where Dak and Zor were easily humored and quick to jest, Rem and Kil were not. Of course, the other two Q’an Tal brothers had reasons to be cheerful. Both had acquired their Sacred Mates nigh unto eighteen Yessat years prior and both had become sires multiple times since the claimings.

  Kil nodded once. “’Tis sweet bliss for a certainty, Death’s moonshine.”

  Rem took a deep swallow of the matpow, his throat muscles bobbing up and down as he did so. Finishing the flask’s contents, he sighed lustily, the moonshine having had a more pleasing effect on him than the wenches rubbing and kissing upon his body, even better that the effect of the wench riding him hard. “I hope you’ve brought more for our quest into the first dimension.” He absently reached up and toyed with Muri’s nipples, paying her no more heed.

  Death grunted, a sound Rem had come to learn meant “aye”.

  “Speaking of the quest, I’ve some bad news,” Kil informed his reclining brother. His eyes flicked over the naked wenches attending to him, need coming upon him.

  Rem quirked one golden brow in response.

  “I cannot join you two this go-round.” Kil sighed, running a large hand through his black mane of hair. “Signs of new insurrectionist activity have cropped up in the far sectors.”

  “They’ve acquired a new leader?”

  “Aye. Tibo I’ve heard him called.”

  Rem studied his brother’s harsh features. If insurrectionists were involved, there would be no dissuading Kil from waiting to see to the battling until they’d returned from the first dimension. This he knew. Their mother, after all, had been raped and murdered at insurrectionist hands, Kil having been forced as a man-child to watch as the black deed had been done. “I see.” He waved a hand toward him. “Then I will join you in the battling, brother. I can resume my hopeless search upon the capture of the—”

  “Nay!” Kil bellowed, unable to contain his fierce reaction. He glanced toward Death, noting that the giant appeared worried as well—sweat had broken out on the skull across his forehead. Flicking his gaze back towards Rem, he forcibly gentled his voice. “I think it best do you search for your nee’ka without me this time, brother. If you are unsuccessful I will accompany you on the next quest.”

  Rem’s eyes narrowed into glowing blue slits. “You have been as long without a Sacred Mate as have I, indeed, a few Yessat years longer. Why should I resume questing about the galaxies and leave the blood-work to you?”

  Because you frighten me, Kil thought to himself. “Because this is my battle. And because ‘tis my desire to walk alone. I need not your help to flush them out, brother.”

  Kil’s eyes bore into Rem’s. He wanted not for the King of Sypar to question him further. He wanted for his brother to find his mate. And quickly. Before time ran out. Before Rem began devolving, before the metabolical changes began to take place and he was forever damned to becoming a—

  Nay! Kil thought fiercely. Not Rem. Not the brother he had always been so close to. He could not allow it.

  Were Rem any other warrior, a warrior who had not been forced to endure year after year after year of a bleak existence with no hope for redemption then perhaps he would be faring better than he was. But that was not the case. The years with Jera had made Rem harsh, merciless. The years after Jera’s death, unable to locate his Sacred Mate, had squelched his barely kindled sense of hope all the further, creating a man so grim and frightening that even he, Kil Q’an Tal, the King of the ever-feared red moon Morak, shuddered at the thought of what would happen if—

  Nay...he would not think of it.

  “Go, brother,” Kil said firmly, his tone broaching no argument. “You forget that Death has the need of heirs as well. ‘Tis not recommended for any warrior to quest about without aide into star systems unknown to our people.” His ice-blue gaze so much like Rem’s flicked over the form of the eight-foot tall giant. His mouth tilted slightly upwards in a wry grin. “Though primitive men would have to be as daft as a Yessat day is long to mess with our friend here.”

  Death merely grunted.

  Rem discarded the latter part of his brother’s statement as irrelevant, latching onto the important piece of what he’d just said. Death was in need of heirs as much as he himself was in need of them. He nodded, convinced. “Aye, ‘tis true.” He looked to Kil. “And since I know you to be a proficient hunter I will do your bidding...this once.”

  Death appeared pleased by such news. “I go to prepare the gastrolight cruiser for our departure. ‘Twill be ready the soonest.”

  Indeed, Kil thought, the giant must be extremely pleased to have spoken such a long sentence. ‘Twas only when Lord Death was feeling worried that he deigned to speak in more than one or two word phrases. Well, that and when he thought to woo a wench to the vesha hides. Leastways Death had been quite the talker two moon-risings ago on Morak whilst sampling of the fair Typpa’s charms. “I shall go with him anon to see the deed done.”

  Rem waved Kil away. “I offer you the use of my Kefas and bound servants to see to your needs when I’ve departed, brother.” He kneaded Muri’s buttocks, her woman’s channel still trying to milk him for life-force even after she’d ridden him into her woman’s joy four times. “Muri and Lytch are gifted of tight, wet channels should you desire to rut in them.”

  Kil’s glowing blue eyes flicked over the wenches in question. “Aye. Have them bathed and sent to my rooms the soonest. In fact, send a few more along with three or four of your most talented Kefas. I’ve the need to work out my lust.”

  “‘Tis done.”

  Kil inclined his head to his brother then followed Death from the royal bedchamber. Before he telekinetically summoned the doors shut, he stole one last glance at Rem’s reclining form, watching as he convulsed into Muri’s channel.

  He was changing. Kil had noticed it for the first time three Yessat years past whilst warring together in a sector plagued with insurrectionists. The years had taken their toll, the grimness of Rem’s countenance a constant.

  During the following three years the signs of his brother’s change had worsened in their intensity, Rem having had near-delirious bouts of madness overcome him on a few occasions. ‘Twas so bad on the last of these occasions that the Q’an Tal men took Rem to the Chief Priestess Ari for spiritual and sexual healing. He had rutted in the beautiful Chief Priestess’ channel for nigh unto a straight fortnight before feeling well enough to seek his own palace.

  And the signs continued to grow worse, to become more fully developed. Death had informed Kil that not even a full sennight ago Rem had lost control of himself whilst arguing with a visiting lesser king. The lesser king had damn near died, had almost been telekinetically suffocated to death by a low-growling, nearly crazed Rem.

  ‘Twas the growling that made Kil uneasy for it was the most recognizable of all the signs and the one closest in proximity to the inevitable metabolic changes that would slowly metamorphosis Rem into another, baser self.

  Kil thumped Death on the back, wishing him well. “I bid peace and prosperity unto you, my friend.”

  “And I unto you.”

  Kil hesitated before taking the twisting ice-jewel staircase that would see him to his rooms. “Please have a care for Rem. I ask that you keep him from all situations that might cause him to—”

  “’Tis done.” Death inclined his head, knowing the king’s thoughts for they were already his own.

  Kil met his gaze. “Summon the Chief Priestess if need be. Ari is the only amongst us powerful enough to give aide should he begin to...devolve.”

  At Death’s grunt Kil nodded once, then disappeared up the winding staircase to have his comforts seen to.

  Chapter 2

  Shoreham, Australia

  Present Day Earth

  Giselle McKenzie’s mouth pinched together in a tight-lipped frown as she regarded her dinner date from across the slight expanse of the small, intimate table
for two in the restaurant where they were seated. Had it come to this? she thought grimly. Had she truly become so desperate for male company that she was willing to give away her virginity to this hog in men’s clothing?

  Giselle’s nostrils flared wickedly as she watched Anthony slurp up another helping of spaghetti from his plate, sauce clinging to his chin as he attacked his entree. The scene playing out before her brought to mind a pig dining at his trough, except for the fact that pigs usually don’t make such a horrid mess of themselves.

  She sighed, her expression remote as she set her elbow atop the table and plopped her chin down onto the palm of her hand while she watched him eat. “Are you enjoying your meal?” she asked blandly.

  “Tremendously,” Anthony intoned through bites of the sticky red pasta.

  Giselle winced, the sight of the half-eaten spaghetti strands showing between his teeth more than she could stomach looking at. She closed her eyes briefly, then took a steadying breath and straightened up in her seat.

  No matter how bad Anthony’s table manners, she told herself firmly, she would see this evening through. After tonight she would no longer be a virgin. After tonight she wouldn’t have to carry around the secret shame that came with the knowledge that she’d never known a man’s bed...and she was thirty-six years old.

  Where had the years gone? she asked herself nostalgically, the state of her maidenhood still somewhat surreal-seeming to her. It wasn’t that she was a prude or undesirous of male company—that was most definitely not the case. It’s just that the opportunity for a relationship with a man had never presented itself at her country doorstep. And she had never gone out of her way to remedy the situation—until now.

  But now, after thirty-six years of spinsterhood, of having never known a man’s touch, she was determined to change the course of her existence. And she was determined that it would change tonight.

  Giselle had spent her early twenties as a shy and withdrawn girl. She had preferred perfecting her equestrian skills over worrying about snagging dates with members of the opposite gender. By the time she’d finally overcome her shyness in her late twenties she hadn’t had any time to commence an active social life then either for her father, at the time her sole surviving parent, had become ill with a rare blood disease and had needed her constant attendance. As is the case for most people world-round, their family hadn’t had enough money to hire a professional nurse, so the job had been Giselle’s from the first—not that she had minded.