Falcolas
02-25-2006, 08:47 AM
“Come with me.”
The words raised gooseflesh on the young Countess, who smiled coquettishly at the tall man who stood still, his arm outstretched towards her. Reasons that she should not accept this stranger’s offer came to her immediately, however one look into his steel grey eyes and his finely toned body drove those thoughts away in a haze of sensuality. This stranger did not wear clothes to cover his body; they merely served as adornment atop his was finely honed and nearly perfect body.
“I really shouldn’t…” came tumbling from her mouth, even as she reached out towards him, clinging to his hand as if adrift in his sea. He took her to the floor to dance, every move of his body choreographed to enhance, to complete his seduction of her. A brush of his hip here, a light breath on her neck there, his fingers searing through her clothes to leave brands on her flesh.
The night became a sumptuous blur of skin, music, silk and movement. Her head cleared long enough to realize that she was no longer dancing, that the music had changed from the live bands to the muted chimes of a music sphere, that she was facing not a dance floor, but a bed. He was there too, on that bed; his silks discarded on the floor, replaced only with a slight sheen of glistening sweat.
The haze of sensuality turned sharp with lust at the sight, and with nary a thought to her house, her husband, or her flock, she ran to him, begging for him to release her from her torment. He relented, spearing her quickly, roughly. He brought her upwards, spiraling further and further up, yet keeping her from the plateau he knew she so desperately needed.
Finally, he brought her to the point of balance, where one thrust of his spear would take her over. He stopped, poised to take that final stroke, and whispered softly to her. “That girl you ‘made an example of’ the other day? She was my sister.”
Against her fear driven struggles, he speared her one final time. She screamed as she crested, her body quaking in need as her mind crawled in fear. As she spiraled down into unconsciousness brought by his sudden onslaught of magic during her moment of weakness, she wept.
Waking in the pens of her very own flock, marked and disfigured to perfectly match those around her, she wept again.
The words raised gooseflesh on the young Countess, who smiled coquettishly at the tall man who stood still, his arm outstretched towards her. Reasons that she should not accept this stranger’s offer came to her immediately, however one look into his steel grey eyes and his finely toned body drove those thoughts away in a haze of sensuality. This stranger did not wear clothes to cover his body; they merely served as adornment atop his was finely honed and nearly perfect body.
“I really shouldn’t…” came tumbling from her mouth, even as she reached out towards him, clinging to his hand as if adrift in his sea. He took her to the floor to dance, every move of his body choreographed to enhance, to complete his seduction of her. A brush of his hip here, a light breath on her neck there, his fingers searing through her clothes to leave brands on her flesh.
The night became a sumptuous blur of skin, music, silk and movement. Her head cleared long enough to realize that she was no longer dancing, that the music had changed from the live bands to the muted chimes of a music sphere, that she was facing not a dance floor, but a bed. He was there too, on that bed; his silks discarded on the floor, replaced only with a slight sheen of glistening sweat.
The haze of sensuality turned sharp with lust at the sight, and with nary a thought to her house, her husband, or her flock, she ran to him, begging for him to release her from her torment. He relented, spearing her quickly, roughly. He brought her upwards, spiraling further and further up, yet keeping her from the plateau he knew she so desperately needed.
Finally, he brought her to the point of balance, where one thrust of his spear would take her over. He stopped, poised to take that final stroke, and whispered softly to her. “That girl you ‘made an example of’ the other day? She was my sister.”
Against her fear driven struggles, he speared her one final time. She screamed as she crested, her body quaking in need as her mind crawled in fear. As she spiraled down into unconsciousness brought by his sudden onslaught of magic during her moment of weakness, she wept.
Waking in the pens of her very own flock, marked and disfigured to perfectly match those around her, she wept again.