by Regina Watts
At last—after what seemed like a century of teasing, though it had only been an hour and a half at the absolute most—the wicked elf lowered herself upon the staff of my passion.
Her eyes widened along with mine, that smooth forehead of hers furrowing at the lift of her white brows. “Slave! Oh, Burningsoul—Roserpine herself never had a lover half so sweet, never—”
Moaning, completely exposed to my eye while her hands lifted into her hair, Valeria took to riding me with a sensual series of all-body ripples that seemed to my eye reminiscent of her snake’s motion. Her satin lining was, as I had expected, the softest and best-fitting I had ever felt—not to mention, the wettest. She had worked herself into such a frenzy of sensual excitement that she had flooded with lust, and as her body squeezed and tugged at me, she grew only wetter by the second. Her eyelids fluttered as she pounded herself down upon me, moaning high, bracing back against my legs while her hips slammed down, arched up, slammed down again.
“Oh, yes! Oh, slave—oh, I’ve dreamt of this, this big, hard blade, those lovely hands. Touch me, slave—touch me, Burningsoul—”
From her first command, my hands had been leaping to her firm thighs. While I squeezed and stroked them, reaching back to massage her rear, her moans only increased in low appreciation. “Paladin! Oh, nevermore accept that title—you were born to be a stud for me, sweet slave, yes, yes, ah, I think I may well use you for my breeding—oh! Oh…”
The tip of my finger had grazed against the puckered hole between those grabbable cheeks, and as her noise of surprise transformed into another moan of desire, I teased and brushed it whenever I could. Each time, her body twitched wildly around me; each time, her thrusts down upon me grew faster, harder. The wet slap of her flesh against mine filled the room like the scent of our mingled arousal; when at last she descended upon me and drew a long kiss from my mouth, I felt her body’s tension and knew just what it meant.
Accordingly, I slid my arms around her hips and held her down against my lap, my feet bracing into the bed to permit the eager thrusts of my pelvis up to hers. She gasped, moaned, whined with pleasure while I pounded into her. Her mouth open, she looked down at the tool working between us as though in astonishment. Then, soon, she exploded in an almost shocked scream that rattled the room and was accompanied by the quaking grips of her desperate body. Moaning, hammering herself home upon me, she tangled her fingers in her hair and cried, “Fair Roserpine, oh, thank you—thank you, thank you for sending him to me—”
It was no small wonder that Roserpine was the goddess of madness when her high priestess was so seemingly mad herself. At the very least, emotional, and so closely connected with her goddess that she would not have permitted a little thing like the presence of other people stand between her and divine conversation. Even once her orgasm faded, Valeria seemed incapable of the least hint of self-consciousness. She dismounted me with a shuddering moan, then lay upon her back with her legs outspread and her arms open to me.
“Give me a taste of your power, Burningsoul…let me feel all the hard male energy that will be put to better use than warfare now.”
With a groan of desire, I pushed myself up and knelt between her legs. Her body’s embrace was the sweetest thing I had felt in my life and I eagerly made myself at home in it again, taking her by the hips only to be swallowed by pleasure when she bucked up to meet me. I plunged into her to the hilt, then took her with all the vigor I had shown for delicate Lira.
Valeria seemed infinitely less fragile than the slave. Teeth gritted, her voice rising in a scream of feminine pleasure, Valeria clutched the pillow behind her head and braced her feet against the mattress to keep her hips easily accessible to me. “Oh, goddess—a bull, indeed, yes, a real stud. Oh, yes, yes, use that big thing, please your mistress—ah, Burningsoul! I’ll have a few girlfriends up soon and show them your prowess, won’t you love to take me in front of my lesser sisters of Roserpine…”
“I’ll please you in private or in company, Madame…the unrestrained mores of your culture are—ah, I admit, quite exciting prospects.”
“Some slaves are very offended…I prefer ones who embrace their new lot in life—and you’re showing such splendid attitude, oh, yes, yes you are…what a good slave, what a good toy—”
Gripping her all the tighter, I bent down to boldly take a kiss from her mouth without invitation. She gasped, but her eyes fluttered shut and her breath exuded from her honeyed lungs in a soft moan. Our tongues intermingled, caressing one another while I pounded as deep within her as I dared to fit without harming her holy anatomy.
I was exhausted after the many ordeals on my travels, still preoccupied with licking the psychological wounds of betrayal at the hands of my former companions, my shoulder yet burned with the same sigil of slavery that instilled in me the urgency to escape the Nightlands and return aboveground—and still, with Valeria in my arms, her body around mine, our tongues intertwined, I had no troubles or obligations at all. There was nothing outside of that bed—nothing outside of our two bodies, our two spirits intensely connected in ways I could then hardly comprehend. I only knew that from first sight I had fallen into dangerous obsession with the woman who was to be my mistress; and I only knew how grateful I was that she felt the same, for else then I would have been the one driven to madness.
“Oh, Burningsoul—yes, yes, deeper, bruise me with it, yes—”
“You do love it rough, don’t you, Materna…you’re quite a woman to want to be taken by your own slave, used in such a way as this…”
“Oh—oh—oh, your pleasure is incidental, mongrel—if I didn’t want to feel your hot seed drip out of me, I would consider denying you an climax just for that remark. But oh, yes, that’s what I want…I want that strong life of yours deep inside me, slave. Ah, goddess! I’ll loan you out to friends and let you inseminate them, I love this tool of yours so much…yes, yes, oh, yes, I want to see it struggling with lust and dripping with seed all the time—”
“Materna! Oh, sweet Valeria, are you really sure you want it inside?”
“Yes! Yes! I need it—breed with me, fill me with all your sticky human cum. I want it, I need it, release inside me, oh, yes, yes—”
Well! I never have been a man inclined to argue with a woman. Now wasn’t the time to start. Pushing her leg up, gripping it around the thigh flesh of her thigh, I impaled myself as deep and fast as I could apply myself to the task. She looked almost shocked, then threw back her head in an animal moan: the thought of the guards outside able to so clearly hear all the pleasure I provided her gave me an extra ebb of lust, but it was the sound of her elegant voice so crudely demanding, “Yes, slave, yes! Defile your mistress’s pussy, oh, go on—yes, very well, use my cunt as no other man would dare,” that pushed me over the edge.
I groaned, bending down to catch another kiss from her while she screamed my name in an orgasm of her own; we came together, pulses of pleasure surging out of my body and into hers to fill her to the brim with the result of her steady campaign of sexual torture. I groaned into her mouth, the rapid, rhythmic embraces of her pleasure so unbearably sweet that it seemed my climax would never end. When it did, it was gradual; a slow and steady coming back to earth from which she likewise seemed to take her time. Her breast still rose and fell with rapid panting. As she recovered, she stared at me in absolute amazement. Her hand lifted to run along my face.
She looked at my mouth.
I moved to kiss her.
She came to her senses and leaned casually away before I could make contact.
“What a fine acquisition you are,” she said to me, plucking her cup of mead from the stand beside the table and raising it to her lips for a sip. “Your quarters are one room over. Because I am sure you are simply exhausted after your journey here, and a rested slave is worth more to me than one who falls asleep on his feet, why don’t you sleep the dark through and worry about seeing to me only starting tomorrow.”
“Sure you don’t need me aroun
d to keep intruders out of your bedroom?”
“I’m not so helpless that I need your supervision at all times, Burningsoul…and, at any rate, I don’t want you to be confused. You are my slave, my property—not a lover, or a friend, or anything like that.”
“You had more than a few loving words for me just now.”
“Affection and love are two different things. Rest well, paladin.”
She set the cup aside and turned over, waving a dismissive hand through the air. The lights dimmed by some magical means and I repressed an amused scoff. Well! I’d heard of men who were this way with women, but I’d never known such mannerisms to work both ways.
Yet, whatever she said—I knew it was calculated. Without a doubt, her sensual astonishment and in-the-moment enjoyment had been genuine. Whatever dreams she had been given of me, she seemed to believe that they really were of me. Owing to her position as Materna and the strict standards enforced for women of her position when it came to interactions with slaves, she could not openly share any passionate feeling she may have had.
And I could not believe that, after all that happened between us that first night, she did not feel the same passion for me that I found myself feeling for her.
DREAMS OF DESTINY
TO SAY I had not slept so well in years would have been an understatement. I was well-worn from the day and, as this sleep in a bed was my first since departing on my journey to reclaim the Scepter, all elements of reality conspired to tranquilize me as soon as my head hit the pillow. Weltyr blessed me with a thick, dreamless sleep that night—a great black void that saw me come back to consciousness the next bloom with my first thought one of disorientation, and my second thought one of thrill for Valeria.
It was one thing to make love to such a woman, but another thing to awaken after making love to such a woman—better still, to awaken and still have her in one’s future. Perhaps it was the religious scholar in me, but I was never much interested in casual one-time flings as a matter of course. When I liked a woman, I wanted her until she didn’t want me…and just the thought that Valeria would surely want me again made my blood boil with anticipation through my every vein. Memories of her sweet mouth and fiery embrace made me ache to relive everything we had experienced. I lay in bed like a boy on a holiday, anticipating the moment when I would have no choice but to start time back into motion.
Sadly, the life of a bureaucrat’s manservant did not make for a very sexually exciting experience a great deal of the time. If I did not have Valeria to look upon during the long hours of my duties, I would have torn my hair out—but she was a relief to me from the second she slunk out of her bedroom, a new immodest scrap of a priestess robe barely covering her breasts and shielding the apex of her thighs. The lucky snake slithered over her arms, its white belly contrasting brightly against her onyx flesh.
“How your eyes move over me, Burningsoul…be careful how you look upon me in front of others. Your impudence is amusing in private, but cannot be permitted in mixed company. Don’t worry…as pleasing as you were to me last dark, I expect the manner in which I intend to use you this dark will be even more satisfying to us both.”
It was some consolation for having to stand around in her throne room, dying of boredom for the next eight hours of my life…only some. The truth is that I have never been interested in formal events and find myself far closer to Weltyr in battle than in Mass. This meant that I had little interest in the political and formal lives of the durrow. Valeria’s primary duty was not, I would find, the assessment and appraisal of new slaves; in fact, that was but a small subset of the concerns that were brought before her. She seemed an arbitrator of conflicts, a giver of advice, on oracular seer to whom durrow brought their hopes for better careers or pressing relationship dilemmas. I gathered gradually, as I had only lightly gleaned the day before, that Valeria was by far and away acknowledged to be the wisest woman in El’ryh.
If she was as painfully bored by the mundanities of her work as I was, she did not show it. She only gazed dreamily into the middle-distance whenever she was not being directly addressed, and sometimes when she was. Her hand would trail over her breast or along the body of her snake, and I often swore I could feel her body pulsing with the desire to turn her head and look upon me. So far as I was aware, she always resisted, and in fact went so far as to never look at me at all. The amount of effort—and constant thought of my presence—this must have required was flattery in and of itself. No, she did not look at me at all, yet while we were separated by a fair distance in a room full of other people, the tension of sex rose between us like the thunder of a chorus. I was feverish with desire for her by the time the day was done, but to my great annoyance there was still more to be accomplished.
Dinner—well, I supposed I could appreciate that. Having been given only a small ration of food that morning, I was famished, and much to my relief my mistress explained to me that favored slaves in the tower ate nearly as well as any durrow with a few exceptions. A banquet had been arranged in a dining hall to which Valeria led me, and after instructing me to find us both food, she went to recline in a longue that was quickly surrounded by a bevy of lovely hangers-on.
Perhaps this might have been an opportunity to get to know my fellow slaves—an ideal chance to begin sowing the seeds for how I would find my way out. Yet, seeing Valeria surrounded by her lovely comrades, I thought of the baths the previous day and decided I couldn’t miss a moment of my mistress’s moving about the world. I hurried back with plates burdened with food, my own meal far lower priority than the one I held for her. My first instinct was to hand it over; then I remembered my present rank and knelt beside the edge of the longue, resting my own plate upon the stone floor while balancing hers upon my knee. I fed her a handful of sweet purple berries while she smiled in approval, the brushes of her lips across my fingertips like the searing of dragon’s breath.
“Isn’t he a fine specimen,” she enthused to her favorite courtiers once she swallowed her mouthful of sweet fruit. “It’s not often one acquires a slave with so much enthusiasm right from the start…their pride usually keeps them from admitting what a pleasant time they’re having, at least for the first few months.”
“He does seem very eager to please,” agreed a long-limbed durrow with an aristocratic nose and a high white up-do constructed of elaborate curls that were pinned in place with a spider-shaped gem. “Wherever did you find him?”
My mistress repeated the story of Indra and Odile while I contemplated her other three friends. All the durrow I had seen were beautiful, without exception—it was the way with elves, I had found, that their faces and features were like unearthly caricatures of human ideals—but there was not one among them who was half so searingly gorgeous to my eye as Valeria. The natural pout of her contemplative lips, the hint of ruby in her cheek that echoed her lovely tongue, the sharp and watchful scrutiny of bright eyes to indicate a mind always at work—I longed to kiss her even there, in front of that mixed company about which she’d warned me. Instead I settled for pushing nuts into her waiting mouth. She chewed, and watched me, and once she swallowed she said, “And he has many more uses than just killing spirit-thieves.”
“Oh,” gasped a durrow with short hair sculpted back upon her head, “have you already used him? What’s he like?”
“Very fine indeed. I thought perhaps you lot should come over tomorrow—he has one last bit of business that I have agreed Odile and Indra are owed, and thereafter he’ll be fully mine. You all must come try him out, oh, there hasn’t been a concubine so fine in El’ryh for decades.”
“How exciting,” enthused a curly-haired, somewhat curvy woman who sat at the priestess’s feet and had gazed at me with open appreciation for most of the conversation. “I’m glad to know he serves like he looks.”
“Just wait…even better than he looks. It’s so refreshing to encounter a man who can handle both kinds of swords. Thank you, slave”—she took the plate from my knee before I c
ould offer her a bite of fig—“go on, eat your food.”
I did, anticipating I would need a great deal of energy that evening. And, as you may imagine, I was right to show prudence. Once we had returned to her chambers, my mistress called on me again; this time, her kisses were more liberal, her affections all the more hotly whispered. And whatever she said, her attention and enjoyment of me never felt like the excitement of an owner for a new piece of property. In fact, that second night of my employ with the durrow of Roserpine, she told me when I came to a panting finish, “You may rest with me for a time, if you would care to…but sleep lightly if you fall asleep. I would hate to think of you failing in your intended purpose because my leisure uses for you sap your strength.”
“Far from it, Madame…making love to you is a tonic for the nerves, yes, but an expedient for my strength. You make a man feel like an ox.”
Chuckling, patting my chest with a condescension that somehow reminded me she was a century older—maybe more—my eternally youthful lover stretched out along her side of the bed and drew the red sheets up over her waist. “I should think you need no help feeling such a way as that, Burningsoul…I do look forward to hearing my friends’ reports.”
“How strange to hear you say such a thing! Aboveground women’s heads would spin to hear a female of any race express such a thought.”
“Well? You liked seeing me in the baths, didn’t you? Why should I feel any differently?”
“I suppose that’s a fair enough point. But—I suppose I’m also something of an exception to the rule. Most men are far more jealous than I.”
“Because they have too much pride…a little pride is a healthy thing in a man, but that transformation into arrogance—now that’s the danger.”
“That’s just what I like about you,” I answered teasingly. “I took one look at you and saw an arrogance that was just palpable.”