Page 18 of Bitter Heat
Another few moments of silence passed as the fire leapt in the grate. “Do you have questions? Or should we begin?”
Kerry closed his eyes, sent up a prayer begging for forgiveness, and then put his tea aside, too. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Follow me.”
Kerry braced himself and did as instructed.
For the procedure itself, Fan led him to a quiet back room with pleasant floral wallpaper and a half-sized bed pushed up against the side wall. He handed Kerry a robe made of soft, white material and said kindly, “I’ll be in there gathering what I need.” He motioned toward a door that seemed to lead into a large closet with an electric bulb hanging down. “You change into the robe, the opening in the back, and make your peace with this. I’ll be back shortly.”
Then Fan went into the closet and shut the door, giving Kerry privacy.
He looked around the room again, taking in the tasteful, framed drawings of flowers, frogs, and oddly, seashells. He swept his gaze over the clean floor, writing table, and bedding. It was suitable enough for what they were going to do, he supposed. Nicer than he deserved, but it was Fan’s home. So, of course, it was nice.
Kerry stripped out of his clothes and folded them neatly on the chair next to the writing table, and then put on the robe backward as Fan had instructed.
His heart hammered, and the cookies and tea started to climb up his throat. He closed his eyes, dropped to his knees, and placed his elbows on the bed, hands raising to his forehead in the prayer position. “Please forgive me. It’s for the best. I never wanted this, wolf-god. I only ever wanted to bear blessed sons for you. But…not this way. Please understand.”
There came a tapping sound from behind the closed closet door, like stone against stone, and Kerry jolted anxiously, getting up to sit on the bed and wait. The window was open, and the fresh scent of pine and earth drifted in. He closed his eyes again and tried not to cry. His chin wobbled, and his legs shook.
“Knock, knock,” Fan’s voice came gently. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” But his answer came out so hoarsely that Kerry had to repeat himself to be sure Fan had heard.
When Fan entered, he carried a small dish in one hand and a tin in the other. He set these down on the bedside table and then took a seat on the bed beside Kerry. He turned to him with a calm expression. “This paste is made from a compound of pennyroyal, false unicorn root, and red raspberry leaf. I’ll put it on the opening to your womb. The paste will cause it to ripen and, gradually, open. These,” he indicated the tin of pills, “are made of sepia and sabina. Strong natural abortifacients. They will cause your womb to contract hard enough to expel the child through the opened entrance to your womb. That part of the process will be very painful. It can take a long time, several hours at a minimum. During this stage, you’ll see blood and, if it’s working properly, pieces of tissue—perhaps even the whole form of the child, but quite small.”
Kerry swallowed thickly, his throat aching. “All right.”
“You can stay here through it, or you can wait and take the pills at home where your pater can care for you. Even if he wasn’t already aware of what’s happening, which you’ve indicated he is, everything about this will still look like an ordinary miscarriage, even to Crow or another doctor unless you tell them. It’s up to you.”
Kerry stared at the tin. He looked around the room, imagined sweating and moaning here, imagined the relief-tinged pain of losing the child he’d been forced to make with Wilbet, and the grief that would come after. All while Fan held his hand and pressed cold towels to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Can I decide after the paste is applied?”
Fan smiled softly, putting the tin aside. “Of course. You can think on it.” He stood and then patted the bed. “This is intimate and a bit embarrassing, but since you’ve endured a heat with that violent alpha you’re contracted with, this will likely be nothing compared to the humiliation of that.”
Kerry felt the heat in his face again, and he stared at the floor. Fan was often a sweet man, but sometimes he could be cutting. Kerry cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump, and then moved as Fan indicated, so that his stomach was against the mattress, his knees on the floor, and his ass sticking up in the air through the opening in the back of the robe.
Fan took up the paste, and then put a firm hand on his hip. “It will be easiest if you assume the lordosis position like when you’re in heat.”
Kerry pushed his ass up higher, arching his back.
“That’s better. It opens you up for better access. Now, I’m going to scoop the paste onto my fingers and press it into you. My whole hand will need to fit inside so that I can reach the mouth of your womb. Because of that, I’ll start by massaging your omega glands for slick. Do you understand?”
Kerry nodded.
“All right. Expect the usual twinge and stretch for this portion. When I insert my hand, it will feel a lot like taking a knot.”
Kerry held his breath as Fan positioned himself on the floor behind him. He grimaced as Fan pressed against his anus with one slick finger, groaning when the finger slipped inside and mashed hard against the omega glands positioned near the beginning of his passage. The sensation was objectively pleasurable, but the situation was not, and so while his body released slick in copious gushes, it didn’t bring him any joy. Fan withdrew his finger, humming a pleased little noise, and then he placed the plate holding the paste—a generous amount now missing—on the mattress beside Kerry. “Take a deep breath in.”
Kerry stared at the floral wallpaper. The petals went in and out of focus. Blue and green dots appeared before Kerry’s eyes, obscuring his vision. He sucked in a small breath.
“Let it out now,” Fan said encouragingly. “And in again.”
Kerry took a second, deep, shaking breath, holding it until Fan whispered, “Breathe out.”
Kerry let it go in a gush, and at the same time Fan’s four slim fingers and his thumb all sank into Kerry’s asshole, along with a good portion of his knuckles, but there his hand stuck. Kerry clenched up tight, squirming in discomfort. The floor under his knees dug in hard, and the bedclothes beneath his stomach suddenly felt rough. He flushed hot all over. He remembered Wilbet’s hands on his hips, gripping and bruising as he knotted him.
“Shh,” Fan said, using his free hand to gently stroke Kerry’s flank. “Let’s take some long, deep breaths.”
