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I’m touring the Louvre.

I have a three day lay-over in Paris, and since it’s raining, I thought I would walk through the ground floor of the Louvre, in the rooms devoted to the Middle Ages. Statues of the saints mixed with thoughts of knights and ladies and heavy swords. I had a fascination for this at a young age, and I still have it. I find it restful to lose my soul in the imagined customs of a thousand years ago.

In a room in the Pavillon des etats, I see a tall woman standing before a cathedral sculpture of a martyr, the saint protected by a red velvet rope. Don’t touch, the rope says. She’s quite tall, this woman, thin, elegant looking, maybe fifty years old. She’s dressed in black, with a small white pearl in each earlobe, a three-stranded pearl necklace; a long black ensemble, black shoes, very thin ankles sheathed in sheer black stockings.

We are alone in the room, no one else, not even a guard.

When she hears my footsteps, she turns and looks at me. What begins as a glance becomes a long look, maybe a hint of surprise in her eyes. Does she think I’m a boy? No, darling, I’m a girl, although I’d like to stick my tongue up your cunt — as far as possible — and see how far it will reach. I could reach your liver, if I’m in a decent mood. And when I’m drunk, I can most certainly reach your heart.

Of course nothing happens. I linger in the room, pretending to study another statue, but sneaking an occasional glance at her. At those fine ankles. I wonder which are the ghosts, the stone saints or the two of us, the woman and myself, from the present century. Ghosts looking at ghosts. All these statues with vacant eyes.

She glances at me twice more, each time a second more than necessary, and I’m tempted to think it’s with interest. But I’ve played this game too many times to believe there’s anything here to be developed. She looks rich, maybe American. She has straw- colored blonde hair coiffed in a chignon, tied in back with a black ribbon. So elegant looking. I ought to be put away in an asylum for thinking obscene thoughts about a woman like this. Her interest in the Middle Ages must derive from an interest in the Church, which is a passion more than an interest — look at the black she wears — a woman passionate in her religion, recently a grandmother, a rich husband with a yacht, two fine sons who will someday improve the family fortune. I imagine she’s in Paris to buy clothes and to visit an old school friend who married the French equivalent of her husband.

She leaves the room, and I remain alone with the martyrs.

* * *

The rain has stopped when I come outside, and now I don’t know what to do. Should I go to my little hotel and read? Should I pass the afternoon on the bourgeois Right Bank or the neurotic Left Bank? Or I should go to the Pont de Neuf and throw myself into the river to end my indecision. I climb into a taxi and tell the driver to take me to St. Germain. To the Flore. When it rains the Flore is always crowded inside, and one can at least watch the human race at its maneuverings, the eye games, the mouth games, philosophers eyeing the girls in tight jeans who walk by to show the philosophers their tight little asses.

When I enter the Flore, the tobacco smoke is so thick I feel bodrum escort bayan I’m in a fog bank. I see an empty little table, and I’m just about to walk to it, when there, in another direction, at another little table, is the woman from the Louvre.

When our eyes meet, she tilts her head. Recognition, surprise, a faint smile. I walk to her table and say in English:

“The Louvre was more peaceful.”

She seems surprised. “You speak English well.”

“I practice whenever I can.”

She smiles. “Why don’t you sit down?”

* * *

She’s American, from New York, stopping in Paris a few days after a trip to London to visit her sister. With Americans, you can immediately establish everything important about them in a few minutes. A French woman would amuse herself constructing a mystery. This woman’s name is Helene. Do I live in Paris? Yes, I say, but I’m not here often. When she asks about my work and I tell her I’m an airline stewardess, she seems delighted. What an adventurous life! If she only knew how boring it is, how it’s not much better than working as a waiter, how the hotels in Cairo have cockroaches, how Bombay smells of rotting garbage, how often I get monstrous headaches on a long flight.

I order a Pernod from the waiter and Helene and I talk about the Louvre. At the moment I don’t have any interest in the Louvre or what it contains, only in Helene. The most obscene thoughts whirl in my brain, and now I’m worried that maybe I should consult a psychiatrist and purge myself of these pornographic images. What would Helene say if she knew the images that are passing through my mind. She talks about the Louvre, and all the while I’m thinking about what she has under her dress, my mind imagining, designing, constructing, as if knowing the color of her underwear is absolutely necessary for the continued existence of the cosmos. Does she understand this? There is no hint of anything in her perfect face, a perfect plastic Anglo-Saxon American face, a bit gaunt, but that only adds to the charm. Yes, she must be at least fifty, but I am already infatuated with every square gently aging centimeter of her body. Her breasts appear small, almost nonexistent, but I’m certain the nipples are exquisitely sensitive. I derange myself with my feverish imaginings. I must know more. I ask about her husband. Is he here in Paris?

“Oh, no, I’m travelling alone. My husband is in New York.”

“The freedom must be refreshing.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Sometimes men are in the way.”

She exhibits a faint smile. “Do you think so?”

“I’m lesbian.”

So there it is. She says nothing. Of course she has known it from the beginning, from the Louvre, and we both know she has known it from the Louvre. I don’t work on my appearance for nothing. When I’m in the uniform of a stewardess I suppose it’s ambiguous, but now there is no ambiguity, not for anyone with eyes and a smattering of sophistication. Either I look like a lesbian or someone who wants to be taken for a lesbian. Either way, it’s enough to provoke the interest — if the interest is there at all.

We sit for a long time saying nothing to each other, two American women in the Flore, the tobacco smoke hovering. Finally, turgutreis escort I say:

“I have a flat, but it’s small and uncomfortable.”

And after a moment, without changing her expression, she replies: “All right, let’s go to my hotel.”

* * *

She has a room at the George V, pink draperies and pink furniture, and while I look out the window in the direction of the Champs-Elysees, she orders champagne. I remove my leather jacket and drape it over the back of a Louis XIV imitation chair. All this pink, it makes my eyes water. Who could invent a more suitable place for a lesbian fuck than a pink room? And yet it’s a bit nauseating, like a dose of too much sugar that gets into the stomach and makes you swear you will never eat anything sweet again. But I’m not swearing, not just yet.

After the champagne arrives, we drink a toast.

“To the Louvre,” I say.

She smiles. “Yes, to the Louvre.”

I feel the obligation to make the first move. I put my glass down, make her put her glass down, and I take her in my arms and kiss her lips. What does she want? She wants a girl who looks like a boy, and so I kiss her like a boy. We’re exactly the same height and the kissing is easy. Her scent makes my head swim, my heart pound, my blood heat up as though it were being boiled. The pressure of her slender body against my own brings me to the edge of fainting with arousal. My brain feels awash in a hot desire, a limitless wanting, wanting. I want her. I want to ask her what she likes in bed, but I can’t imagine a woman like this one talking about such things. She’s one of those women who do not talk. She feels, cries, laughs, trembles, but she doesn’t talk. To make a woman like this one talk you need sodium pentothal. And I’m not certain even that would work — maybe she would merely mumble in a private language.

I touch her. I put my hand on her breast, lightly caressing her. She has small soft breasts. As I kiss the side of her neck, I drop my hand down to her belly and I rub it slowly, carefully. She remains passive, not moving. Then I press my fingers further down and feel the mound through her clothes. She moves her legs apart, just barely, but it’s a sign of acceptance, and now I cup her mound, feeling its warmth, while I drop the other hand along her back and down to her buttocks. Her firm little elegant ass. Everything here is elegant. I have the impression that if I make a sudden movement she will shatter into a thousand elegant fragments and disappear.

Silently, I urge her to the bed. She moves, dropping to the bed, almost a collapse, lying partly on her side and not looking at me. Maybe she’s never done this before — for the first time, the thought suddenly occurs to me that maybe she has never before been with a woman. Maybe she’s one of those women who travel to foreign countries to do things they find impossible to do at home. At this point I don’t care, all I want is to fuck her.

“Is this your first time?”

“No.”

That’s that. So I get on with it. Should I remove her clothes or merely uncover the essentials? My instinct tells me to uncover the essentials first, if she wants to be undressed it can happen later. As she lies on the bodrum otele gelen escort bed with her legs dangling over the edge, I bend over her and tug at her dress to uncover her thighs. All black. Black dress, black pantyhose, black shoes. Even uncovering the essentials requires a military campaign, strategy, logistics, tactics. The shoes, the tights, the delicate nylon panties (black, of course).

She has good legs and thighs for a woman her age, firm and shapely, smooth white skin that never sees the sun, not a wrinkle anywhere. Her sex is as elegant as the rest of her, sparse dark blonde hairs around the lips, hardly a forest above that, more like a thin patch on the triangle between her bony hips. She lies with her black dress pulled back on her belly and her legs still dangling, and without any further delay I kneel at the side of the bed and open her legs and start kissing the insides of her thighs.

She sighs and she moves her thighs further apart. She wants it. I can smell her now. My sensitive nose is aware of the delicate scent of her cunt. The lips have parted a bit, and the glint of wetness between them is a good omen. She may lie there like a silent martyrized virgin, but her cunt is talking, making long speeches. I lean forward and nuzzle it, touch it with my nose, the first touch, a greeting, like one dog greeting another. I’m a dog, a sniffing mongrel bitch exploring this little world of soft folds and hair and wetness. I find her clitoris with my nose and rub the tip of my nose across it from side to side. This brings an immediate response from her, another sigh, something that sounds like a moan, at least a vague sound in her throat, and she lifts her knees and opens them, spreads them in a rather obscene way as if to tell me to do more, do everything, take her cunt completely.

I lick everywhere around her clitoris, but never touching it, teasing her, deliberately attempting to drive her crazy. I slide a hand upward, along her body to find a breast, a nipple, my fingers rubbing the nipple through her clothes. Suddenly I become voracious, my tongue, my mouth devouring her flesh, all the wetness sucked inside, my lips now rubbing directly over her clitoris, first my lips and then my nose, faster and faster, as she moans, as she rocks her knees from side to side. When she comes, she heaves her buttocks off the bed to slap her cunt against my face. I suck hard, my face buried between her thighs, in the boiling surf. She comes down. I keep at it. I push her up to a second orgasm, and this time when she cries out it’s a deep groan, a groan from the depths of her soul, her eyes rolled back like the eyes of a medieval nun in a religious ecstasy.

It’s finished. I pull away. I know she expects me to fuck her now, get my fingers in her and make her have another orgasm, but I’ve suddenly had enough.

When I come out of the bathroom, my face is dry, my hair brushed, my equilibrium restored. She lies on the bed like a vanquished virgin, as if she hasn’t moved, except that her dress has been pulled down to her knees to restore her modesty.

“I’m leaving,” I say.

She opens her eyes. She says nothing. She just looks at me, a long steady look. She talks with her eyes, the way a few minutes ago she talked with her cunt.

“Take my card,” she says at last. “There’s one on the dressing table.”

I find the card. Mrs. Helene Huntington, an address on East 67th Street in Manhattan. “Have a good flight home,” I say, and I walk out.

In the corridor in the George V, outside the elevator, I fold the card and stuff it into the ashtray used for cigarettes and cigars.

End

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Author’s Note: Wow, I’m so humbled and flattered by the comments I’ve received, both public and private. This series is so very dear to me and sometimes, I have to let it breathe for a bit before I wrangle it for y’all. Well, thank you all very much for your patience. Without further ado, the Wound in Time series continues with this installment. I know it’s short but it’s one of those chapters.

And as is known by now, the story contains mainly F/F action as well as a plot or so I’ve been told. It’s a lengthy piece and thus, no instant gratification. Please check out the previous chapters if you want extra dirt on the characters. They’re not listed in order but the titles are sequential as follows: (WIT)At First, Blind Borne, Escapade, Felon Failing Fallen, Just Juxtapose and Material Martyr. That said, read on and hopefully, enjoy the story. Please don’t forget to comment….it truly helps the process 8D

TMAJO

As I lay your bed, so you lie on it.

*************previously******************

“Keep your hands to yourself.” Mavin said coldly as she reached the place between Selene’s thighs and ran a finger along the folds of flesh through the moist material. A current of electricity zigzagged up her spine and settled in her brain. She moved her fingers again, and it happened again.

“Or else what?” Selene teased, her mission forgotten for the moment.

Mavin didn’t respond after that. She continued her exploration, still unsure of what she wanted out of it.

“You should know; when all this is over, I won’t spare your life.” Mavin ripped the woman’s thong aside.

********************

The very audible rip was the last she could take. She pulled the dripping material out from under Selene’s skirt and took a step back.

“You tell your boss, I’m not here to play. When y’all are ready to deal, you know where you can find me.” With that the tall butch turned her back and left Selene shivering in the cold.

“What?!” Selene barked. “Who do you think you are?!” She screamed into the frosty air. But Mavin had already disappeared into the mist. “Fuck!”

************

She’d been sleeping a dreamless slumber when the metal clanging woke her up. She groaned at the crude alarm that was soon followed by an equally crude voice.

“Hey you, time to go!” A flash of light and a harsh scraping; she was dragged up to her sore feet by a pair of rough hands. “Someone would like to have a few words with you.”

Bellinda mumbled something in a haze. Her skin crawled from exposure to the foul air. Before she could pick anything else to complain about, the redhead was thrust into a room with overly bright lights. She winced, snapping her eyes shut and attempted to get her bearings. She felt herself being pressed into a chair and as before, it was cold against her skin…jarring her senses.

A few minutes go by and her eyes had adjusted. She scanned the room slowly; taking note of the mirror on the wall that she didn’t doubt was double-sided. She didn’t dare to recognize the figure she saw. Her throat felt dry and her body ached with fatigue…how long had she been here, she wondered. Though, not for long as the door hissed open and in walked a man dressed impeccably in an expensive-looking wool suit wielding a sweating jar of what seemed to be water, and a glass.

She watched as he walked in; his steps calculated and oddly relaxed. He placed the glass on the table in front of her and proceeded to fill it with water. Bellinda kept her eyes focused on the water as it trickled into the glass; climbing higher and higher until the glass brimmed with the liquid.

She kept her eyes on the glass watching the condensation form, and didn’t move, not knowing what to do really. She noticed that the man was standing, waiting for something. She rolled her eyes up to catch a glimpse of him. His face was smooth and considerably charming; dark eyes that danced with a playful glint were capped by groomed brows. His lips were tugged into a tiny smile…a stretch of a smirk.

“Have a drink, I know you’re thirsty.” The tone was disarmingly soft and designed to put her at ease. But the redhead felt nothing at ease in her position. She swallowed hard, trying to kick-start her salivary glands into action.

“What’s in it?” She managed to croak.

“Hydric acid.” He said off-handedly and walked to sit on the edge of the table.

“And now that I know, you still expect me to drink it?”

“Yes.” He replied simply, clasping his palm together in front of him.

“And if I don’t?” The subtle hint of his cologne wafted into her nostrils.

“You fail my expectation.” He said with a small gesture of his hands; the large diamond ring gleaming on the smallest finger of his right hand.

“So what is this, a test?” She eyed him quizzically.

“You can call it that. I prefer to say an extension of hospitality.” His voice rolled with a rhyme, every word assigned a delicate purpose and air.

“No thank you.” Bellinda fought the urge to lick her lips.

“And escort bodrum here we are. Miss Ross, I’m afraid there’s been a sore misunderstanding in these past events. However, simple the error may have been, correcting it would be more tasking for all involved.”

“Spare me the jargon and cut to the chase.”

“And I like you already. Have you heard of the Winston Operation?” He said in a too relaxed manner as though they were old friends chatting up on current gossip.

“No.” Bellinda glared at him, wondering what his angle was.

“Well, I think I just might enjoy telling you about it…of course, while I cut to the chase.” He ran a hand along his angular jaw.

Bellinda folded her arms and contemplated spilling the acid in front of her on him but not knowing what her next move would be was enough to keep her seated. Besides, she figured, whatever information this guy seemed so eager to offer could be of use to her somehow.

“I see that I have your attention.” He said with a smile, showing a perfectly straight set of white teeth. He cleared his throat and began, “During the 1950s the Winston Operation was begun as a government-controlled scheme aimed at normalizing the masses. The American Dream was founded upon the ideals of happiness in suburbia, supplied by business in the urban enclave.

Of course, any type of growth in business was good for the government and if the masses remained too pleased for too long, business failed. So instead of waiting for the unhappiness to settle in by normal course, the Winston Operation was designed to construct it and present it to the people.

And what other way to instruct displeasure in the human psyche could be better than the human psyche itself? Hence the drive to ‘normalize’ the masses; make them believe that there is not only something wrong, but something better and they’ll pay to the heavens for a better fix.

But indeed, it was easier said than done. The government likes to meddle without seeming to meddle. Thus, the task of creating hysteria was placed in the hands of the people themselves…well, those who sought to benefit behind the bureaucratic tape. The people made their own unhappiness and the government profited from allowing the solution.”

“And who are these people?”

“The pharmaceutical industry.” He said and reached for the glass of hydric acid. He downed half of it and set the glass down with a smile. “Refreshing.”

In the same span of time that Bellinda spent wondering what the hell this man was doing drinking acid, it dawned on her that the fluid in the glass was in fact water.

“Drug companies?” Bellinda said, gleaming that much from the story.

“Yes, they make the drugs and then they make the illnesses. Then they sell the drugs and the government shares the loot. Everybody’s happy.”

“You could’ve just said that in the beginning.” Bellinda said, her brows furrowed in irritation as she still couldn’t see the point in her captivity.

“That would put you under the illusion that your involvement in this is moot, when in fact, you now play an important part in the scheme of things.”

“And here we are,” Bellinda spat, borrowing his line, “What do you want from me?”

“Not you Ms. Ross, but your father.” He said with a conniving smile that made his eyes look that much darker.

***********************

“Dude, you need to chill a bit. Your freakitude is getting to me.” Sam mumbled as she watched Mavin pacing from the corner of her eye.

“Don’t tell me to fucking chill! Who are these people?” Mavin exploded, yet again.

“We’re working to find that out and you’re not helping.” Sian cut in as she clacked wildly on her keyboard. It was hard enough trying to decipher the stream of code that encrypted the signal pass ways; Sian had never seen anything like it but she didn’t need an irritable butch at her ear. “Okay I have a primary stream here, what do you have?”

“Deadzone.” Sam muttered in frustration but she wasn’t in a mood to relent. “Hang on maybe I can filter it out.”

The signal they were tied up in came through on the transmitter chip that had been planted in Mavin’s phone. They knew something was out of order when they began receiving haywire signals even though Mavin’s phone wasn’t getting any incoming calls. The signals traveled on idle back channels and due to the coded delay in the chip, Pyro and Maniac were able to pull out a primary stream.

They would’ve have been satisfied with tracking down the caller with that signal but realized soon enough that it wasn’t being generated from a specific point. The behavior of the rest of the waves also struck the twins as odd. There seemed to be a crosshatching effect in the waves that was layered with ‘deadzone’ characteristics. It made no sense at first, second and third glance but they were intent on finding out why.

Mavin on her end grew impatient. With each passing moment, her imagination grew darker, more vivid. Her guilt over what almost happened mumcular escort with Selene plagued her even more; the taste, the feel, the scent of the woman drenched her thoughts and then came the nausea at her own impulsiveness. Hot on the heels of that was her desire to inflict pain on the woman, spurred by memory of Selene’s heated moans. What had she done with the ruined panties? It was stashed next to her gun in her glove compartment.

In an attempt to distract herself, she wondered about Senator Ross and if he knew about Bellinda’s whereabouts. She’d never actually met the man but now it seemed, they had much more than a common interest. Ah yes, exactly where her head needed to be. Bellinda…what had been the last thing she’d said to the redhead? -No, better to not think of last things.

Mavin’s mind took off yet again with a tangent and landed on Federal Agent Turner. She wondered about the Oblivion3 investigation and the leads that seemed to point to A.J. Morris. The pompous bastard deserved to have the feds up his ass. A misplaced chuckle found Mavin backtracking to thoughts of Eva and her new job at H&B. She wondered about Kurt Pryce. Outside of the fact that he had a son named Jason, Mavin knew nothing about him. She wondered about the possible connection to José’s death. No…don’t go there.

Every now and then she would tune in to the babble going on between Sam and Sian but when she didn’t hear any celebratory remarks, she would fume, grunt and then repeat the thought process from the start.

*************

Washington D.C.

*************

If she didn’t know better, Agent Susan Turner would have sworn that her jaw was on the floor. In her innate act of digging, she’d come across previously sealed documents that told her far more than she needed to know…nothing.

Sitting here at her desk buried in the thickest forest of highly emaciated wood. Her eyes were tired. Her head throbbed with its own weight. She sat there, mouth agape and brows furrowed with eyes pinned to the pages of dummy records before her, – well, to the untrained eye, they would’ve appeared logical. But to her and anyone worth their salt…it was obvious that something just did not add up. Not only that, new questions as to why the records were bogus took shape.

After a short battle that involved some threats and laundry-dangling, Turner had managed to procure the records of the commission hearings held for the Oblivion3 product and its many predecessors. Other drugs pointed out why Doctor Bright’s findings hadn’t been new at all. In fact, they were recurring forms of the same disaster that had slipped past the FDA despite the blocks at the head committee review board.

Dr. Bright had caught a few and put her foot down, and that had stopped some of the flow but somehow, the drug still wound up on the streets. That was to be expected if the material in the hands of unsuspecting victims was the typical watered-down variety but it wasn’t. It was high-potency product that could only be spawned in a lab that had more than the basic test-tube furnishings.

Susan Turner’s eyes closed as she simmered on the thought for a moment. The doc had been right…on all counts. The feds were trying to cover their asses but they were still a step behind. The ties to Horizon and Beyond were becoming obvious but going after a man like Kurt Pryce on the basis of a whim would be-

“Come to bed honey.” The voice, in the dead of night was loud and jarring yet, pleading at the same time.

“Hmm Chris…you know what this is…” Susan sighed and fought the urge to glance at the clock. She knew it was well past late.

“And it’ll only get worse if you wear yourself out.” Chris’ voice floated back to her.

“But it’s better for you to wear me out?” Susan said tiredly with an invisible smirk.

“You know what I mean…this isn’t healthy.” Chris moved toward her, reaching forward to rub her shoulders.

“It’s my job…” Susan turned around with a sigh. Her tired gaze fell on her husband’s naked form. She dragged her eyes lazily up his body until they locked onto his eyes. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I was unaware we were playing.” His grey-eyed expression morphed into a pained one. “Don’t overdo it Sue.” He finished and placed a chaste kiss on her lips before turning around and leaving.

Susan leaned back into her chair, watching him go…she spun around with her eyes closed and tried to decide what she wanted. She snapped her eyes open before long, “No game.” She whispered to no one and pulled the file into her grasp…another round of perusing.

***************

New York

***************

What was he to do?

“Richie, I don’t like it anymore than you do but I need to watch my back.”

“G.M., relax. Getting worked up about this isn’t going to help.”

“Oh, isn’t that nifty?”

“Listen, if Pryce thinks he can squirm out of the heat now, he’s got problems.”

“Richie, that man is up to gümbet escort bayanlar something. I feel it…I can smell it.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I say it’s time to save skin.”

‘click…whirrr’ The recording device silently performed its task, unbeknown to the subjects.

*************

“Mavin, go home and clear your head.” Sian said firmly, her eyes searching the turmoil in Mavin’s.

“I need to get in touch with Senator Ross. Can you put that through on a cold line?”

“Did you hear –” Sian breathed, “Alright look, I’ll hook that up for you but you need to leave for a few hours…get some air.”

“Yeah sure.” Mavin shook her head.

“Take your mind off things, catch the news. Lose the bitch’s thong.” Sian smiled the look of worry.

Mavin’s eyes snapped wider but she didn’t say anything. Instead she just nodded again and sighed. This was no way to spend the holidays.

**************

“I’m really worried Adam.” Joann sighed in anguish. They’d discovered Bellinda’s apartment and without any proof of a break-in, their call to the 911 emergency line had resulted in a ‘wait for 72 hours before you file a missing person’s report’ response.

“I don’t wanna have to start thinking the worst but this is very unlike her.” Adam said, with his hands clasped in front of his unshaven face. The woes of manhood: constant stubble.

“I’m gonna call her dad right now.” Joann said with exasperation; she had already dialed the number and was waiting to be answered.

“Jack Ross speaking.” The voice boomed through the receiver.

“Dad, Bella’s missing.” Joanna didn’t bother with the bush; rolling her eyes at Adam who slapped his forehead at his friend’s bluntness.

“W-what do you mean missing?” Apparently he had no idea.

“Yes sir, I’m so worried. I haven’t been able to find her. She’s not picking up her cell and no one has seen her over the last two days. The show is coming up and it’s unlike her to ignore things like this, especially not after the recent events….” Jo trailed off with the panic in her tone rising.

“Joann calm down, are you sure about this-“

“Her apartment is a mess! Completely turned upside down, I strongly doubt she was in that much of a rush to leave on her own.”

“Okay, calm down. Who else have you called?”

“I called Mavin but-“

“Who’s Mavin?”

“Oh…that’s er…Doctor Mavin Bright….she’s the one Bella’s seeing but I wasn’t able to reach her there.”

“Alright, give me the information, I’ll see for myself.”

Joann sighed and sniffled as she transferred Mavin’s contact information to Bellinda’s father. She really couldn’t think of why he’d want the number since she had called Mavin already to no avail.

“Call me immediately if you hear or see anything, Joann.” Jack said right before the line was snipped.

Joann sighed in exasperation. She felt completely helpless but couldn’t stop her herself from wishing that Bellinda was pulling a prank on them. ‘Cause if she wasn’t….

************

Mavin tossed and turned in her nap. She’d been forced to. It was either take a nap or call Eva and spread the panic; or call Eva and ask for fuckable company; or call Zeke and plan a black-ops attack on an enemy she hadn’t been able to identify yet. Trying to figure out who would want Bellinda enough to kidnap her made her think of rich exes and José’s killers and of course, the deeper her thoughts ran, the more prone she was to violently lashing out. On what would she lash out? Mavin didn’t want to find out.

She tried not to think of Janet. The woman whose company she’d been acquainted with for the better part of three years. They’d met at Jasmine’s behest, – at one of Jazz’s wild parties where the alcohol practically rained from the ceiling and every attendee were either drunk or smelled drunk. Funny enough, Mavin hadn’t wasted herself that night.

The music had been loud; Jazz didn’t do it any other way. The beats were primal and were designed to drive the mind to the deep end of insanity. Crazy shit happened. People danced close; the alcohol almost igniting from the heat being generated. Mavin had scanned the crowd and had a few appetizers of the scantily clad women. Now, she was looking for a full course. She’d seen Janet earlier but had been preoccupied with the hood rat grinding against her leg. Cecelia had been there too. Watching the tall butch; watching everyone eye the tall butch.

The beats pounded exotic. The girl on Mavin’s thigh was doing a shaky number and throwing Mavin off. She smirked when she realized the girl was having an orgasm. She was tempted to just step away and let the girl pick herself up. There was a huge wet spot on her denim where the girl had managed to balance her hot crotch. Mavin rolled her eyes as the girl clung on with the aftershocks.

Mavin was about to pull away and get her second drink when she felt a soft mass pushing into her back. A hand snaked into her line of sight, presenting a good-looking drink. Mavin accepted it as she turned around. The girl she was dancing with had dissolved into the crowd and Mavin bit back the resentment of having been used as a scratching pole. All that was forgotten just as soon as her gaze landed on the deep, – almost black eyes that were gleaming from the smooth, impish face of the woman standing before her.

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Grace and I worked for hours together unpacking boxes and putting things in the perfect places. All during this time, we got to know a lot about each other.

I learned that Grace was quite the artist as we hung many of her own works around the house. One painting in particular was of a former lover of hers, Bethany. She was lying on a day bed, which now occupied Grace’s sitting room which would soon to become her art studio.

Bethany was partially wrapped by a red satin sheet, slightly exposing her ample bosom. Her pussy was covered, but her long, slender legs were quite visible. Her milky white skin glistening in the candlelight. Her long flowing dark hair seemed to be blowing gracefully in a slight breeze. I later learned that Grace had turned on a large fan to blow onto Bethany to create the effect.

Five o’clock rolled around before either of us knew it. If not for me being near the large bay window of Grace’s studio, I would not have seen David pull up in our driveway in his beat-up Dodge Ram that he used for work at the garage.

“Uh-oh,” I gasped, turning towards Grace. “David’s home. I need to leave before he gets really upset. He’s already going to be angry with me for not having dinner on the table for him.”

“Would you like for me to walk you home, Desiree?” Grace asked, a hint of concern on her face.

“That’s ok, Grace.” I assured her. “I don’t want him going off on you for keeping me away from my ‘Wifely Duties’.”

“I understand, dear.” Grace replied. “But just know that I can take care of myself.”

We hugged each other as I rushed down the stairs and got to the door. Grace was right behind me.

“What about your crystal tray?” she asked.

“I can pick it up later…or tomorrow.” I assured her as I went out the door and across the street to my own home.

When I got to the door and glanced back over at Grace’s house. She was standing in the doorway watching me closely.

Once I opened the door and stepped in, the shouting began.

“Where the Hell have you been and why is there no supper on the table?” David yelled as he met me at the door.

“I…I was helping our new neighbor…get settled in.” I whis-pered softly.

“New neighbor, huh?” David replied, almost calming down…just a bit. “Who is he?”

“Our neighbor is a woman, David.” I told him. “Her name is Grace.”

“A woman?” David said as he went to the door and looked out the window, seeing Grace still on the front porch. “She’s hot.”

I thought about telling him that Grace was bodrum escort bayan a lesbian, but as jealous as he is, not to mention how much of a ass he is…he’d just get mad again.

I went into the kitchen and whipped up a quick meal for Da-vid and sat it on the table. While he ate (he prefers to eat alone these days), I went upstairs and ran him a hot bath. These are the day to day chores I have to do to keep what’s left of our marriage together.

I, then, went to the bedroom to set out his pajamas and turn down his bed. Since his football and work injuries, we have had to get two separate twin beds. David’s is as hard as a rock while mine is considerably softer.

Just then, I heard David’s angry voice shout from the kitch-en.

“What happened to my lunch meat?”

Shakily, I descended the stairs and paused at the kitchen door. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door, eyes lo-wered to the floor.

“I…I fixed a welcome dish for Grace. I…” but I didn’t get the chance to finish as David hauled off with his fist and hit me hard. I fell to the floor whimpering and pleading for him to not hit me again. David just scoffed and stepped over me and went upstairs to take his bath, leaving me crumpled on the floor, my nose bleeding and my left eye began to swell up, almost to the point of closing. I just whimpered for a few more minutes before collecting myself and staggered over to the table and clean up David’s plate and dispose of his empty beer can.

Still aching from the punch David gave me, I sucked it up and continued to clean up the kitchen. Washing the dishes be-came difficult as my nose continued to steadily drip down into the soapy water. David refused to get a dishwasher, saying that as long as I was able to I was going to wash them by hand.

That night, I slept on the couch. Something David made me do whenever I pissed him off.

It was around eleven o’clock when there was a light tapping on the front door. Groggily, and only having use of one eye, I stumbled slowly in the darkened house and finally found my way to the front door.

“Who…who is it?” I asked softly, as to not wake up David.

“It’s me, dear. Grace,” she replied just as softly.

I turned and leaned my back against the door, closing my one good eye and sighing softly.

‘How can I face her like this?’ I asked myself.

Willing up the courage, I quietly unlocked both the dead-bolt and the knob lock, easing the door open just enough to only show my bodrum sınırsız escort right eye.

“I just wanted to see how you are doing, dear.” Grace asked, the concern evident.

“Oh, I’m fine, Grace.” I lied. “Thank you for caring.”

“It would make me feel a lot better if you’d open the door a little more so I can see for myself.”

“I…I can’t. What if David…?” I began. But Grace was too quick and too strong for me as she pushed the door open and stepping inside.

“Oh, my God, dear.” Grace gasped, slowing reaching out to touch my swollen left eye. “Did David do this to you?”

I started to cry, but Grace eased me outside on the porch so as to not wake up David.

“Come with me, dear.” Grace told me sternly as she half dragged me across the street to her house.

“But, Grace…what if Dav…?”

Grace shushed me, but would not take ‘No’ for an answer.

Once inside Grace’s home, she ushered me into the living room and had me sit down on the couch. She left me long enough to go into her kitchen and came out with a tray that had an assortment of herbs and a bowl of cool water.

Grace made a cool compress of calendula, chamomile and fennel blossoms. Having me lie down on my back, Grace placed the compress gently over my left eye.

“Now, just lay back and relax.” Grace admonished. “Let the herbs work their magic.”

As I laid there, feeling the coolness of the compress begin to ‘work it’s magic’, I caught Grace’s eyes slowly take in my nightie-clad form. A soft smile of approval came to her luscious lips. I began to feel like I was a prize ham at a Thanksgiving dinner.

Blushing brightly, my breathing began to get more labored and it felt like my heart was trying to beat a pathway out of my chest. My short, frilly…almost transparent…pink nightie did little to hide my near naked body. I wore a matching pair of skimpy (a size too small) panties. My nipples stood erect and I could feel that my panties were getting damp as Grace subconsciously licked her lips.

‘Oh, my God.” I said to myself. ‘Grace is getting aroused…and so am I. But, I’m not a lesbian…am I?’

Softly, Grace place her right hand on my left knee and gently stroked it. Catching herself, Grace jumped up as if she had sat on a hot burner and turned away from me. I could hear a low sob as she realized what she what she was doing.

Reaching out to her with a trembling hand, I touched her left thigh. Grace gasped, bodrum merkez escort but slowly turned to look down at me.

“It’s ok, Grace.” I assured her. “I…I may not be a lesbian. But I’m not opposed to the idea. If only I wasn’t out of sorts and scared out of my wits…I would not turn you away.”

Leaning down over me, Grace gave me my very first lesbian kiss. It was soft, gentle and brief. I could feel Grace’s lips quiver-ing just as much as my own. I closed my good eye and sighed softly.

Grace sat on the edge of the couch, scooching my legs over just a bit, placed her hands lightly on my shoulders and leaned in once again. This time her kiss was a little more urgent and pas-sionate. I opened my lips slightly to let her warm, searching ton-gue enter and tangle fiercely with my own tongue. We both moaned as Grace’s hands drifted to my satin-covered 36C breasts. She kneaded each in her hands causing my back to arch up, forcing more contact with them.

Grace paused the kiss and slowly sat up, eying my wreath-ing form below her.

“Are…are you sure…you want to go further, Desiree?” Grace asked, like a schoolgirl on her first date.

As a way of answering her, I place a hand behind her head and pulled her back down into yet another passionate kiss, letting my hands drift down her back, around her sides to come around to her v-neck red gown that did little to cover her own 42D breasts. Her nipples were rock hard and straining to meet my touch. This caused a moan to escape Grace’s mouth, right into mine.

By this time, the compress had slid off of my face and lay forgotten in the cushion of the couch as our hands began roaming all over each other’s bodies. Seeking entrance beneath our clothes. Seeking skin on skin contact.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on Grace’s door. It was Da-vid, nearly knocking the door down.

Grace jumped up and went to the door, opened it slightly and was knocked down on the floor as David rampaged into her house before she could say a single word.

He rushed into the living room and found me lying there, my breasts had somehow slipped out during our passionate fondling. David grabbed me by the throat and lifted me up off the couch and held my weakened body high in the air. I felt his fist hit me first in the gut sending all the air out of my lungs along with some blood. His next hit caught me on the right side of the face.

“Are you a lesbian slut now, bitch?” David growled as he stood over me, ready to stomp his boot right into my prone, limp body.

I was writhing in pain as blood flowed down my forehead in into my eyes. My husband of ten years standing above me in yet another drunken rage of fury. Darkness was soon to overtake me, as it had many times before. But, before darkness takes me to oblivion, a thud lands beside me and a flowing gown sweeps past my vision…but only for an instant, then blackness.

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I had seen her many times before, but never had I actually noticed her. Today however there was just something about her that had caught my eye. I had never before found myself attracted to another female. I never even imagined myself with another female. I had been in my fair share of relationships and breakups with men, each always leaving me feeling empty and heartbroken. I don’t know how long I was staring at her. She was the vision of perfection, long tresses of sunset gold against lightly tanned flesh. Her pouty lips seemed to just scream out to be kissed, suckled and tasted. I was actually undressing her with my eyes. Imagining what she looked like beneath that blue strapless sundress that adorned her body, clinging to her perfect figure. It wasn’t until she turned and those eyes like emeralds sparkling like the most magnificent jewel I had ever seen penetrated my own, almost hypnotically entrancing me under a spell. I know I should have glanced away, but I couldn’t move. She had me breath taken. I don’t really know what it was about her that enticed me so, but I had to have her.

She began to walk towards me. Her hips swayed with a seductiveness that I had never seen. Golden curls bounced freely along her bare shoulders. She knew that I had been watching her, obsessing over her, desiring her. As she approached me, my lips parted to allow myself to speak, but no words were found. I had never been one to lack a voice before, but this woman had taken away my breath, my voice, she subdued my mind. I felt as if I was under some sort of spell. When she smiled her face lit up like a full moon lighting the night sky. She leaned forward letting her lips just barely brush along my ear lobe. The warmth of her breath blowing caressed along the sensitive areas of my neck. Whispered words were barely heard. Goosebumps had already begun making that trail over my body; chills ran down along my spine. I could feel my heart beating so hard and fast I feared it would explode.

My actions were led on instinct, for I really had no idea what I was doing. I had to touch her, to feel the smoothness of silkened flesh beneath my fingertips. Impulsively my hand found its way to her bare shoulder. Fingers were set free to roam gently along the warmth of her flesh, slowly moving down to that lining where her dress met just above her breast. I glanced up, letting my eyes get lost within those emerald depths, only for a moment. It was then that I felt the softness of bodrum escort those perfectly ripened lips pressing against mine. My eyes fell behind the prisons of my lashes, locking out the realities around us, letting only the feelings that overwhelmed my body, take control. Her tongue urged my lips to part allowing our tongues to meet together and begin that dance of everlasting desire. If I had even noticed the way her skilled hands began removing my clothing I would not have cared. The only thing on my mind at this moment was to touch, taste, and become one with this woman. My own hands had lowered her dress to reveal those perfectly ripened melons. I could feel her nipples harden beneath my touch as my finger gently toyed with one before moving on to its twin.

I did not want that kiss to ever end. I was reluctant when she pulled back, bringing her finger up gently to press along my lips, silencing me. My eyes remained closed, even as I felt myself being lowered into the plushness of the thick carpet below me. She lowered herself down over me letting our bare bodies connect to feel each others warmth and passion. Very slowly she began to move her body down along mine, her lips dragging with a featherlike touch along my flesh. I began to moan softly, letting her know that her touches were welcomed and that I craved more. Those lips had found there way around the swell of my nipple, closing around that hardened little bud she began sucking with a hungered desire. My back arched, forcing my breast closer to her. I could not get enough; the heat that ran through me was enough to make my blood boil. I could already feel the glistening dampness between my legs increasing, the intense craving to feel her fingers touch me in my most private place.

As her lips, her tongue and her teeth worked like magic over my nipples, her fingers felt like little rain drops pattering down along my stomach touching me in ways I never knew imaginable. My hand moved up intertwining within those lush gold lengths, pushing down on her head urging her to move lower and to taste of my temptation. The tormenting of teasing continued as her fingers made their way down even lower, brushing along the border of my pubic bone. I pushed my hips up even higher, practically begging for her touch. It felt like eternity before those exploring fingers finally found their way to steaming, moist pussy. My clit was swollen with anticipation, throbbing türkbükü escort for attention. Her finger pressed down lightly upon my clit and began that slow circular motion. My moans grew louder, becoming cries of mercy. She was pushing me beyond the clouds, into another dimension.

My body began to tremble with the electrifying sensations that seemed to reach out touching every nerve ending within my body. My hands tightened within those locks in which they held, pulling tighter. She took my nipple between her teeth, biting down gently but yet harsh enough to let me feel the combined pleasure with pain. Her finger began to move quicker over my clit. I continued to thrust my hips into her touch. She released my nipple from its hold between her teeth. I could feel the warmth of her breath making a gradual decline downwards along my flesh. This is what I had been waiting for. Her finger was replaced by the rough texture of her tongue. Her finger slid down finding the entrance of my ecstasy. As her finger slid within the heat of my passion, burying itself within that moisture driven by her touch, I pushed her head even further into me, forcing her to take more of me, to taste the sweetness of my nectar, and drive me into an orgasm greater than I have known. She took my clit within her mouth, suckling hard upon it and letting her teeth occasionally nibble. Her finger began to slide within my depths, curling within to tickle upon that special spot. I continued to cry out and moan louder. I wanted so badly to cum all over her finger. Though, just as my orgasm was ready to burst forth, her finger pulled out of me.

She rose up slightly looking upon my pained features. She was torturing me. She knew I had wanted to cum, knew how close I had become. She waited for a few seconds, bringing me down slightly from those clouds in which I had nestled. Before I could come down too far however, she was at it again. This time she inserted two fingers within me, thrusting them deep inside, fast and hard. Her tongue resumed playing over my clit, lapping at the juices my body emitted.

Once again I was on the verge of orgasm. This time she did not stop. Her fingers continued to thrust faster and harder. Her tongue moved almost arithmetically to the speed of her fingers. My body shuttered, my back arched, my hips thrusting, my moans becoming screams as I let out those built up juices into an exploding konacık escort orgasm, soaking her fingers in their entirety. Just as I had thought she was done, I was proven wrong. Her fingers slipped free from within me, her tongue moved down to replace them. Pushing her tongue within me she was taking in all that sweet honey nectar she had drawn forth from me.

My body glistened like the early morning dew upon a blade of grass lit up by the rising sun. I was in oblivion. Her free hand began to roam along my sides, sending chills throughout my body. Her tongue was like a magic wand, touching me in all the right places. Her tongue pushed up further within me, drinking in my taste. Her finger had found my clit and began toying with it once more, pressing firmly upon it and rotating her finger in a circular motion, and then taking it between two fingers and pinching upon it lightly. Her roaming hand found its way to my breast, gently cupping that soft swell within her grasp and kneading it within her hand.

“I want to taste you” I begged, beckoning her to allow me the taste of her as well. I had never tasted another woman. She seemed rather pleased with the idea, and without hesitation she was turning her body, straddling her legs over my head and repositioning herself between my thighs. I opened my eyes finally, and looked up at those pinkish lips. Her aroma alone was invigorating. I wasted no time in bringing my head up to allow my tongue to flicker out and take my first taste of a woman. I could not describe the taste, could not match it to anything else. It had a sweetness all of its own and the more of her tasted, the more of her wanted. It did not take me long before I was burying my tongue within her. My finger exploring my curiosity plunged deep within her. I could instantly feel the warmth and wetness against soft walls. My finger began to move deeper within, and then pulling back. I continued this motion, as I listened to her moans of pleasure muffled and vibrating against my mound. The combined sounds of the two of us was musical, the sweetest sounds I had ever heard.

I knew she was about to orgasm. I could feel the way her body shivered. My finger moved faster, edging her on. As soon as I felt that gush of liquidy warmth coating over my finger I quickly withdrew replacing it with my tongue. Just as she had tasted me and drank from my fountain I would do to her.

After we had both orgasmed, we found comfort within each others arms. Laying side by side, our sweaty bodies pressing against each others, we allowed our lips to meet up once more, sharing that sweet taste that still lingered upon our lips. Our hands continued to roam, caressing each others bodies. It was one of the most magnificent experiences I had ever been given the privilege of sharing.

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Please consider the Preamble for Day 1 as an integral part of this episode.

Words: 8,400

…………………………….

Title: Lust on the High Seas: Day 2 – At Sea.

When we awoke the ship was rocking slightly. “I thought you said these modern ships were rock steady in the water?” I asked of no-one in particular.

“Don’t look at me,” my mam replied. “Ask your dad.”

He turned to me and said, “Well you always get a bit of movement over the Bay of Biscay. Give it a couple of hours and we’ll be past it.”

“I hope so,” I told him.

“You’re not feeling queasy are ye?”

“No. Just a bit difficult to walk in a straight line,” I told him, “and it felt a bit weird in the bathroom and the shower. What are you planning to do today?” I asked.

“We thought we’d go and watch the Port Review on La Caruna,” mam told me, “We’ll be there tomorrow. Then there’s a Karaoke competition and a quiz and bingo after lunch, followed by afternoon tea. How does all that sound?” She didn’t look too happy when I told her how it sounded. “Well what would you like to do?” She asked, with a sigh.

“Well… I thought I could have a look around to see if I can find some other people more like my own age? There are the pools, there’s Quoits and Table Tennis and a Driving tent; there’s a Climbing Wall, an…”

“Driving?” my dad queried.

“Golf dad. Golf driving.”

“Oh, you mean those little carts?” he said, sniggering.

Now I ‘knew’ he was teasing. I ignored him. “There’s an Amusement Arcade and even a Casino,” I told them.

“You’re not going gambling young lady,” he declared sternly.

“Dad!” I exclaimed. “I’m stuck on this ship because you two wanted to come and you wouldn’t leave me behind with my friends. Have you not noticed I’m an adult now?” I looked at him with a challenging stare and he knew exactly what I meant. He knew precisely what he was guilty of, and even though I would never do or say anything to upset my mam, he had to back down for fear that she might find out he’d been fucking me.

“You could at least give me credit for having a little common sense…” I added more calmly, “and accept that I’m old enough to waste a few coppers on a fruit machine now and then.” That always seemed a strange expression to me. I’d always thought that coppers were policemen. I’d picked it up from them and although I knew what it meant, I wasn’t quite sure where it came from.

“Oh Michael,” my mam declared. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Do stop worrying now.” She turned to me, adding, “How about if we give you a budget honey? Say, $10 a day?” she asked.

“Oh Mammy. I wouldn’t need anything like that much,” I told her, with a triumphant smile to him.

That seemed to clinch it for my dad. “Oh… Alright,” he said begrudgingly, but he knew better than to challenge me again. I’m not a spiteful or vengeful person, not in the least, but it did feel strangely empowering to know that the result of his rash lusty indiscretion shortly after my 18th birthday, had given me a bargaining edge over him.

So, after breakfast, they went off to play some trivia quiz or other crap, leaving me free to go wandering around the ship. My first stop was the Jacuzzi of course, but there was no sign of Georgia or Clarita. I confess I was really disappointed and I waited there for quite a few minutes in case they might show, but with the ship out in the open sea it was far too cold there and I quickly came to the conclusion that they probably wouldn’t turn up anyway.

During my travels I passed the pool area where I thought I spotted the two Asian looking women that I had seen with them yesterday, but I couldn’t be sure it was them. They were sitting at a table out of the wind, having drinks. As I looked across, one of them spotted me watching and she smiled. I smiled back, but I didn’t acknowledge them further.

I had a quick look in the amusement arcade, but it seemed to be mostly boxing, fighting, racing or war and shooting games. Very little to interest a sex hungry 18 year old lesbian, but I did get a few lusty looks from a couple of the boys in there, one of them nudging his friend indiscreetly and making ‘phwor’ noises as I walked through. In all honesty though, if I had taken any interest in them, I would probably have been guilty of some weird sort of paedophilia.

I began a systematic sweep, wandering through the public areas of the lower decks, as much from idle curiosity than persisting with my search for the Puerto-Rican women. I came to an area where there were a number of shops selling alcohol, tobacco, perfumes, jewellery, and all manner of gifts and memorabilia.

I was looking at the perfumes when I was approached by an unusually tall, slender, Oriental looking young female official who singled me out by bending forward and saying, “Hello there.”

She wasn’t really all that tall, just much taller than me, and her heels made her appear unusually tall for an Oriental woman. Her hair was beautiful, long, straight, black and shiny and bodrum escort as she bent forward I managed a discreet peek down the front of her tunic. She was distractingly shapely, and I had to concentrate hard to return my gaze to her lovely deep, dark eyes. I remember thinking that if she were to stand up straight and I wrapped my arms around her waist, I could probably pinch her nipples between my lips without bending at all.

“Hello,” I replied politely, looking at her curiously.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Depends on what you want to help me with,” I replied with a giggle and a smirk. I could feel a familiar tingling between my thighs and I hoped and prayed it might be that which she wanted to help me with. She just stared at me, clearly un-amused. “Oh. No thanks,” I said, correcting myself while giving her one of my ‘little cutie’ smiles. “I’m just looking.”

“Would you like to join the Children’s club?” she asked me.

‘Oh! Of course!’ I thought. ‘She thinks I’m a child’. Not surprising really as I was dressed in a cute ‘college’ style light blouse top and tight jeans, and I had my hair in bunches. I decided to tease her for a while. “What happens at the Children’s club?” I asked.

She smiled. “Well…” she began in a forced ‘babyish’ sort of voice, “there are drawing competitions and games. We sometimes watch cartoons and…”

“What sort of games do you play?” I interrupted her. I looked up at her with big doe eyes and an innocent, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-the-mouth expression.

She began to describe a whole string of children’s party style games, until I interrupted her again.

“Do you play any other games?” I asked, fluttering my eyelids and gazing at her with a hopefully alluring smile.

“Other games?” she echoed, uncertainly, looking and sounding highly confused.

“You know,” I said, winking. “Grown up games,” I added, speaking softly. “Games for two…” I paused, “or maybe more?” I said with a wicked little grin, cocking my head to one side as I fiddled with one of my hair bunches, twirling it around in my finger. “I wouldn’t mind playing a game with you,” I told her.

She was completely lost for words.

“Could we play a special little game of our own?” I asked. I stared up at her wide eyed. “Just you and me?”

“What do you mean?” She stood up straight and moved back uneasily.

I stepped forward really close and looked straight up into her eyes. “We could play anything you like.” I fluttered my eyes again. “Maybe something… a bit… saucy? I could do anything you wanted me to,” I said, pushing my chest out, and tipping my head to the other side. I’m quite petite and slightly built, so I rarely wear a bra (no need, you see) and I knew my nipples must be visible through the slightly transparent material.

“Oh… I, err… I don’t think you quite understand,” she said. “This is a…” she began but I interrupted her yet again.

“How old do you have to be to join the Children’s club?” I asked, slightly more abruptly.

She faltered for a moment, then blurted out her stock reply. “The age range is from five to sixteen years,” she replied, looking puzzled and sounding significantly more formal now.

“Oh,” I said, giving her a disappointed look. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid I can’t join then… I know,” I said brightly. “I’ll go and play on the fruit machines in the Casino.”

“Err… You have to be 18 to use the Casino,” she said, almost apologetically.

“That’s right,” I told her, showing her my adult cruise card. She looked shocked, but I simply turned on my heels, tossed my head, gave her a quick smile and, “Bye,” taking a few steps away, then I stopped and turned back. “If you change your mind…” I left a long pause for effect, “do you know where to find me?” I asked, putting my index finger in my mouth and sucking it, looking coy and innocent.

She shook her head slowly and just mouthed the word ‘No’.

I shrugged, turned again and trotted off, turning to look briefly over my shoulder one more time, to smile coyly at her stunned expression, just before disappearing from her view.

I gave up exploring as soon as I came to the Casino. ‘So many varied and fascinating ways to waste money’, I thought to myself. I looked around the hall for a while, trying to decide what to try first, when a tall gentleman dressed in a smart black suit came over and asked, “Can I help you miss?” I was about to try the same game with him that I had played with the Oriental woman, but looking up at his slightly stiff appearance I thought better of it.

“I thought I’d like to play on one of the roulette machines,” I told him, “but they don’t seem to be working,” I said, pouting slightly.

“Ahhh… I see. May I see your cruise card miss?” he asked politely.

‘That was far more subtle’, I thought. I showed him the card and he nodded and smiled. “My apologies Miss R****. You do appear very young for your age. I must apologise but I had to check. It’s bodrum escort my job you see.”

“That’s OK,” I told him. “Most people think I’m younger. Do you have a roulette machine?”

“Only the tables at the moment I’m afraid,” he said, “but the minimum bet is $1.”

“Oh. That’s far too much for me,” I told him with a disappointed air. “I only get a dollar a week pocket money.” He stared at me in disbelief. “It’s OK,” I quickly told him with a laugh. “I’m joking.”

He looked down at me seriously. “Best not to make jokes about that sort of thing in here miss. I should really take you to Guest Services and check your ID.”

“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I apologised.

“That’s OK miss, but please don’t make a habit of it. People could easily misunderstand.” He gave me a friendly smile and turned away.

After that I sat quietly at a fruit machine for about twenty minutes until I heard a foreign sounding voice behind me. “You do know you have to be 18 to play these machines?” the woman’s voice said.

‘Oh really? Not again!’ I thought to myself. I let out a heavy sigh and turned, ready to challenge the speaker, only to stop in my tracks just as I was about to launch into a well rehearsed put-down. It was Georgia, and she had Clarita with her. My frown instantly vanished, to be replaced with a broad smile. “Oh! Hello again,” I greeted her brightly. “Sorry… I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.” I immediately realised what I had said, and clasped my hand to my mouth, gasping in horror. “Oh my goodness! I am ‘so dreadfully’ sorry,” I told her. “I know how awful that must have sounded.”

I must have looked thoroughly shocked because they both just laughed. “That is OK,” Georgia told me, in her carefully constructed English, still sniggering.

“Sorry,” I told her, “I just didn’t expect to see you in here,” I told her.

“Why not?” she replied with a warm smile for me, and she bent down to give me a platonic hug and a kiss on the cheek, which made me tingle with delight. “After all, I am old enough to play the tables,” she added, standing and looking at me quizzically.

She didn’t have to say another word. The entire question was in her eyes. I smartly pulled my card from the machine and showed it to her, almost defiantly. “You’re over eighteen,” she said brightly, sounding surprised. I just smiled and said, “For almost six months now,” returning the card to the machine which was now flashing a ‘Please replace card’ alert on the screen.

She turned and smiled to Clarita saying, “Mejor y mejor” (Better and better’).

“I looked for you at the Jacuzzi,” I told her, then immediately regretted having given myself away.

They both smiled. “Iss cold,” Clarita said, hugging herself in a ‘freezing’ mime.

“Too windy,” Georgia explained. “Maybe tomorrow. We will be in port,” she added. “Less wind in the port.”

“Well, I’m done here anyway,” I told them. “Where were you going?” I asked.

“Here,” Georgia told me, “but what do you waan to do?” she asked. “I don’t know. Anything,” I said, shrugging indecisively.

“Anything?” Clarita purred, her eyes wide and excited.

“Well maybe not quite anything,” I retracted, seeing the lustful look in the buxom woman’s face. In truth I would have quite happily let them both fuck me, but I wanted to make them earn it first, and I thought it would be fun to lead them on a little. You know; play hard-to-get, and make them think they were succeeding in seducing me. I wanted them to lure me and capture me, in the most beautiful way of course, but I wanted them to have to work for it. After all, it’s no fun if it’s handed to you on a plate is it. – Is it?

“Maybe we could go for a drink somewhere?” I asked.

“How about the Golden Lion pub over there?” Georgia suggested, pointing across the other side of the thoroughfare beside the Casino. “There is Karaoke there now.”

“Oh no. Not there,” I told them. “My folks will probably be in there. I don’t want to meet them.”

“You are ashamed of being with us?” Georgia asked.

“No. Of course not,” I laughed off their objection. “Not ashamed…” I explained, “but my folks would never approve of me being with you. Surely you saw the looks they gave you yesterday when we walked past you with your friends in the Jacuzzi? You had an arm around one of the Asian girls Clarita. I know my folks wouldn’t like that. They would worry that you might want to get up to something naughty with me,” I told them. I gave them a saucy smirk while trying to hide my enthusiasm.

“Oh, but that is silly,” Georgia replied, smiling kindly, with a cursory glance toward Clarita.

“I know,” I shrugged, “but you know what parents are like,” I laughed. “Over protective,” I said.

” Champagne Bar?” Clarita blurted out, by way of an alternative. “We go to Champagne Bar,” she smiled.

“OK,” I said, “but I need to look around first in case they’re in there. Let’s check if they’re in the pub first, yalıkavak escort and if they are, we’re safe to go to another bar.”

“Good idea,” Georgia agreed. Sure enough we spotted them watching the karaoke, so we went and found ourselves a small table at the back of the Champagne Bar, one deck up and a long walk away, where Georgia ordered some drinks.

When the waiter brought the order he asked to see my card. Georgia was about to defend me but I stopped her and showed my card freely. “It’s OK,” I told her with a smile. “I’m quite used to this. It happens all the time at home.” The waiter went away happy. “After a few days they will get to know me and it will be easier. You can’t blame them for checking can you,” I told them.

“I suppose no,” she reluctantly agreed in her endearing Spanish accent.

We sat and talked for about an hour, and all the time I could feel Clarita’s hungry eyes on me. My top was quite loose and I made a point of pulling my shoulders back and discreetly jiggling my breasts occasionally so that she could see my nipples moving against the material of the top. She was sitting opposite me and each time I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs, I could see her straining to see my camel-toe pressing into the crotch of my jeans. I could sense she was gradually getting more and more frustrated.

Georgia sat beside me and occasionally her leg would ‘accidentally’ brush against mine, until after a while we were sitting pressed up close against one another, side by side, and that only served to make Clarita even more frustrated and quite jealous.

“Why don you come back to our suite?” Georgia asked at last. Clarita’s eyes opened expectantly. I could see in her face that she was dying to fuck me. She was simply gagging for it.

“What for?” I asked, sounding as innocent as I could.

“Oh no reason,” she faltered. For a woman who I had assumed to be a seasoned seducer, she seemed to be losing her way for a moment. “You say you don waan your people to see you. No one to see you there,” she suggested.

‘That’s better’ I thought, but I wasn’t giving in just yet. “I’m not sure,” I hesitated. “I shouldn’t really.” I let them think I was beginning to fold.

“Come baby,” Clarita urged me. “We have good drink.” Georgia glared at her. She knew that too much pressure could so easily scare off their prey. They had no idea, of course, that to have them get me alone was exactly what I wanted. Even so, I was being wicked. I wanted to keep up the pretence a little longer.

“I’m comfortable here,” I told her, “besides, I’ll have to be going soon. I’m supposed to be meeting them for lunch.” Georgia glared at Clarita again. “Have I said something wrong?” I asked innocently. “You don’t look happy.”

“Iss OK little one,” Georgia told me. “We have to go for lunch too. Why don you come with us? We can order anythings that you waan.”

“Oh, thank you, but I really should go and find my folks. I promised them I would meet them and I don’t want them to come looking for me, do I,” I winked at Georgia, laughing lightly.

“No,” she agreed, with a disappointed sigh. “OK. We go then.”

“Will you be around this afternoon?” I asked. I thought I’d probably teased them enough by now, and if I met them again after lunch I could let them have some fun with me at last.

“I don know,” she said, mysteriously. She looked very disappointed. “Maybe,” she added.

“Where would I find you?” I asked.

“Oh… maybe here. Maybe there. Who can know?”

Now the boot was firmly on the other foot. I had upset her and now she was being evasive. I guessed she wanted to get her own back on me for eluding her; I couldn’t be sure, but I thanked her for the drinks and left. I felt bad that I had led them along and let them down, but I really had promised to meet my folks, and the last thing I wanted was for them to start looking around the ship and find me with those women. ‘Surely Georgia must realise that?’ I thought. I hoped so.

I had lunch with Mam and Dad, then I looked around for the Puerto-Rican women for most of the afternoon but I couldn’t find them. Perhaps they had found another little girl to play with, or maybe they were entertaining their lovely Asian friends, or I wondered if perhaps they were just staying out of sight to teach me a lesson; to make me suffer. I know that would be just what I deserved, but I concluded that even that was a stupid idea. They didn’t even know for sure that I wanted them; well maybe they had a pretty shrewd idea, but it’s far more likely they thought they had simply failed to ensnare me.

I sat for a while at the back of the Champagne Bar again, hopeful that they might return, just drinking diet tonic and imagining what they might be doing if they were with their ‘helpers’. I was staring into an open book, scanning the pages but not really reading it. I was mentally picturing Georgia and Clarita in the privacy of their cabin with those two Asian beauties.

I thought back to when I had asked Georgia about what the girls helped them with, and she had been very cagey about answering. Both Georgia and Clarita were clearly predatory lesbians, there was very little doubt of that. If I was right, and the Asian pair ‘were’ there solely for the older women’s pleasure, they would probably have had to agree to submit to almost any whim demanded of them.

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Gaius Baltar was being held prisoner on a Cylon Basestar. All he could remember seeing since leaving New Caprica was the inside of one little room which consisted of a bed, chair, and coffee table. He was under constant surveillance by a Centurion (Cylon robot killing machine) which did not respond to anything he said and refused to let him pass.

The truth is he had long since stopped caring how long he had been in that room. The only way of keeping track of time now was monitoring the growth of his beard and hair.

One morning he awoke to a warm/moist sensation on his penis. He opened his eyes to see the angelic Six. She took her mouth off his dick and looked at him soulfully in the eyes.

“I’ve finally convinced the others to let me visit you.” She said.

“Oh God Six. Please don’t leave me again! I’m so lonely. I’m going quite insane here. “

“I’m so sorry Gaius. We have decided escort mecidiyeköy to keep you here for the time being, but I’ll see what I can do to get you some company in the days to come.”

She lowered her body, impaling herself onto Baltar’s engorged member. He was quickly forgetting all of his problems and slipping into what Cylon’s refer to as projection. All of the sudden he was vividly picturing Six and he conversing on a warm beach on Caprica.

When he awoke again, God knows how many hours/days later, the bed was wobbling from accommodating the weight of eight naked model 8’s.

“Gaius” Six said from the corner of the room. “I’d like to introduce some familiar faces. Kissing your cock right now is Boomer, the one who shot Admiral Adama.

“Mmmhhhh. It’s a real honor Dr. Baltar” Boomer cooed.

The other Eight’s were busy massaging every escort istanbul inch of Baltars body in bed while Boomer took him sloppily in her mouth. She savored his dick and swallowed every drop of his seed hungrily. This ended with great applause by the chorus of Boomers sisters. Gaius spent the rest of his day mercilessly fucking these identical Asian ladies in every variation his brilliant mind could come up with.

The next day Baltar was tortured with electro shock therapy for 20 straight hours by the cruel Diana Troy (Number 3 for anyone whose counting). The only saving grace for Gaius was projecting his mental state away from the pain, and back to that beautiful island with Six. After what Diana guessed was an odd religious experience for him, she gave up trying to question the good doctor.

Gaius was growing weary of passing out and being woken up topkapı escortları by genital stimulation. But that all changed when Diana was riding his cock screaming about how sorry she was and how she wanted to make it up to him for what she had put him through.

“Oh God, its alright. This just about does it. I think.”

“Oh no Gaius. Please let me try. I think I know just what will make you happy.” And with that she let out a piercing whistle.

Gaius’ room was immediately flooded with model Six’s, Eights, and Three’s. They were dressed in various fetish outfits which they’d purloined from the 12 colonies of humanity after they nuked them to cinders.

A six wore a naughty, French maid outfit. An Eight wore a school girl uniform. A different Diana Troy wore a white latex nurses outfit. Another Six was a sexy cop. Boomer was a fireman stripper. A Three was a dominatrix. Another Six was a cheerleader.

In the next eight months until Gaius Baltar was returned to the Battlestar Galactica, he was given every sexual pleasure imaginable by some of the most gorgeous women ever designed. It would be difficult to say he enjoyed every minute of it, but c’mon… Who really feels bad for this guy?

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Aurora, Wayward Series, Pt. 1

Synopsis: A long-forgotten wayward people. A War Hero was rescued and given a new lease on life. Every lease has a cost. (The follow-on Series to Astra)

Inspired by so many things but not endorsed by any of them. © EmotionalStorm March 2020. This story cannot be transferred to any other site besides Literotica.com without prior authorization in writing from the author and EmotionalStorm must be credited for this work.

Prologue

Forgotten to all but a few in the Hybrid Eternal Council, the Drakor, and some Terran historians. The wayward penal Colony of Pena rose from the ashes after 4,500 years and returned to space. They settled other worlds in their system that ‘happened’ to be habitable but had not traveled beyond it yet. They continued to expand to these new worlds over the next 700 years.

The Terran hybrids; true to their word, never entered this system. The civilization that rose knew little to nothing of its foundation. Not the agreements, or the promises of the Drakor’s return to seeking them out again in the future when they rediscovered FTL travel.

They knew themselves as Penans; not humans or Terrans. Their languages evolved separately as a mashup of multiple languages with new words. Most body expressions had only a little overlap after all that time from the Terran languages. They had several civil wars between the various colonies within the system.

Pena Prime, the moon around it, known as Trisan or ‘Shadow Walker’ in their language. Trisan was the only habitable moon in the system. The other 3 habitable planets traveled in the same orbital path at the same distance appeared, always 120 degrees away from each other. They were slightly cooler. Those 3 worlds that were terraformed years ago unbeknownst to the people of this age where Drisan, Ridan, and Gresan.

All named after their ‘founders.’ Four planets and a moon in the ‘habitable’ belt of this system. Five worlds that often stood divided. Then, during one of their small and petty internal wars, between Gresan and Drisan, they were invaded by another species.

Gresan was attacked. The accord signed by the hybrids stated they would never enter that system unless they attacked a Terran colony. The treaty never discussed what would happen if humanity invaded them.

Authors note: While all of these worlds developed separately for the sake of clarity, I will use the Standard Calendar in reference to dates. I write as a form of therapy from Traumatic Brain injury and am on disability for a number of issues. I never plan to be a professional writer. If you find a word mix up or grammar issue, I will apologize in advance to the overly observant English majors. I do the best I can.

—

The year 2451 (Year of the accord from Terra with the Pena system. Where Human hybrids vowed to never enter this system even if the Pena humans requested assistance. Unless they attacked another Terran colony, at which point the human hybrids would be on their front door knocking hard.)

Year 7735, March 29th (Privately owned, non-government sponsored Terra colony invasion of Pena launched from the Incar system.)

—

Year 7738, June 12th

Location Mixtios in the Tau Ceti System (Hybrid Eternal Council Chambers of the Home Guard)

The council consisted of three married coupled at this time, and they were married across blade colors. Rosa Parker (Head of the red blades was married to Vince Parker, the lower of the blue blades.)

Johnathan Travus (Twelve generations removed from the founder Jack Travus) now led the purple blades and the council as a whole. He was married to Rebecca or Becca Travus a fiery red blade that went along with her Irish roots and flaming red hair.

Then Brenda Travus Lee the lower of the purple Blades (Great, sixteen times removed, granddaughter of Johnathan Travus and Akio Travus. Also related to the former President turned hybrid Negotiator/Statesman.) She was married to Lee Bo the head of the blue blades of mostly Chinese descent.

He was a fourth-generation hybrid. Lee Bo was known as “The Doctor” as he was a child genius who became a medical doctor, pediatrician, doctor in xenobiology, and a surgeon for all of the above. His IQ as a hybrid measured at the highest during this time at 250. He was the one they called in when an issue arose between interspecies breeding and procreation.

If medical issues arose within the offspring of such unions; If they could be fixed, he was the one who could find and work the solution. That included if the carrying partner was in health trouble. That kept him and his wife traveling aboard his dreadnought constantly. Today was different. The entire council was assembled at the request of the Drakor.

They had connections to all colony leaders either physically present or watching over distant communication. It was also being broadcast into the Alien Alliance building; escort merter a hybrid equivalent of a United Nation but for this Galaxy. It was located on Mixtios. All member races were guided by being graduated Drakor Hybrid species who had Home Guard treaties almost verbatim to the one used by the humans.

This was an unprecedented meeting asked for by the Drakor. Everyone waited as a Drakor Advanced Scout landed. Unlike previous meetings, they did not come as 3 Drakor. Instead, there were 21 of them, 7 appeared to have 2 bodyguards each. They walked in three abreast but the outer 2 columns watched the people in the gallery.

They scanned the room and paid little attention to the Hybrids they were meeting with, other than scanning the crowd. They acted very much like bodyguards. They walked into the middle of the room as a second ship, a smaller Drakor shuttle landed. The Drakor from that one guarded the two ships. The reason for the second ship was unclear and again highly unusual.

The one in front looked at all the screens and the bracelets to every dignitary watching as they lit up. He spoke mentally to everyone.

* This is what you humans call a ‘good news, bad news situation.’ The good news is the Drakor Nation is ready to place an Embassy on Mixtios. I am Profound Justice, your Ambassador. Behind me is our council if you will, including the one you know as Justice Incarnate, who as the head of our council, selected me to fill this position.

Your ancestor Jack Travus was a great human and a strong and capable leader. He was not the best at treaties. I should say those who wrote and confirmed the treaties of those days. They did not consider all the variables that could happen. The human you know as Jackson Fedrick Carter has created an intergalactic incident.

He launched a private terraforming colony expedition with 32 war class civilian vessels operated by AI units and 6 colony carriers of various types 3 years ago. Over the last 7 days he invaded, he attempted to invade, one world named Gresan, occupied by a pre-FTL civilization.

A clear violation in Interstellar Law. The local population managed to overwhelm the colony ships in numbers; he destroyed several of the enemy battleships and destroyers by ramming them; this brought down his ship’s shields. They were in conflict with Drisan at the time, another colony world in the system, and his action took no notice of which forces ships he destroyed.

The AI ships refused to fire upon the enemy ships in the system they were invading. Instead, they attempted to block both sides from firing on each other as they attempted to shield the colony ships to a point. Until they were ordered to pull back because they were blocking the few weapons on the colony ships from being able to fire and then their shields were failing.

Carter destroyed 7 of his own AI battleships in the exchange in order to get his lead ship to the surface of the planet. Another 5 AI battleships fell from being shot at from multiple parties. They had no air cover; the enemy did not accept surrender. Likely because they did not understand the language at that point. The second ship in the group was destroyed prior to atmospheric entry.

The other four were disabled and boarded. The presence of children slowed and then stopped the slaughter. Mostly women and children remained. The last 20 AI ships were boarded as their shields were down and they had never fired at either party. They blasted through the shuttle bay doors.

Even internally they would not fire to prevent this boarding action as it was against their programming. The list of technology given away to these people includes some of the latest human and AI systems from your people to engine and weapons technology.

The AI units are, or course aiding in the efforts of these people to understand the technology. Speeding this process along; somewhat. The engineers do not like taking direction from AI units. They have been in a technology and arms race within the system since the fighting stopped just days ago.

All trying to quickly adopt this new technology into their existing airframes and warships. A small project on Gresan attempted to use the invader’s ships. They made quick repairs to one of the FLT enabled colony transport shuttles.

They put it together from three destroyed craft with the aid of the AI units. Yesterday they attempted an FTL jump. It lasted less than 1 minute before a distress beacon was activated. Yet they did get a ship into FTL, which alerted us to begin their evaluation as a species. They are now centuries or more aptly put millennia ahead of where they should be.

One of Gresan’s greatest war heroes, from this attacked planet, attempted this FTL test. The pilot was wearing an EVA suit at the AI unit’s insistence. He had lost a couple istanbul eskort of limbs previously from his war injuries, making him an ideal candidate for this testing because of his expendability. He was days away from what would have been his forced military retirement given the end of hostilities. All based upon communications we intercepted.

He is now awaiting the choice to become a hybrid or Drakor as his ship was recovered by the Drakor. He is in stasis for now awaiting your arrival. Limbs already attached. He has yet to select a blade and your assistance in that process is being requested by the Drakor Nation. This falls to you, Hand of Justice Johnathan Travus, to resolve. *

Johnathan looked over. He spoke telepathically as well as verbally, “First, welcome Ambassador Profound Justice. Why did the AI units stand down and why are they helping them? We should send members of our diplomatic corps to work a negotiation with these people to recover the colonists.”

He heard him sigh mentally, * Your treaty forbids it. The AI units were programmed to not attack humans. The people do not see themselves as humans but they are related to you. They call themselves Penans.

They reside in the system you call Pena and by treaty, you are forbidden to go there unless they attack a Terran colony. You cannot provide assistance in a crisis, even if they request assistance. The treaty never covered what would happen if a Terran colony attacked them.

Terran Hybrids are barred from going there and they are gearing up for war against the pink-skinned aggressors. Their skin has taken on a dusky red color and their hair colors vary with deep red, black, and silver being the predominant colors. They have no body hair except thin eyebrows and the hair on their heads which they tend to let grow long for both sexes.

They have five worlds, counting the one moon, colonized in the system and they were in the middle of a civil conflict when this outside aggressor forced them to unite together. They attacked only one planet, yet they mistakenly attacked both parties in this fight. Which drew the attention of the other 3 militaries in the system when they arrived.

This brought a forced truce in hostilities. As both military fleets suffered significant and heavy losses forcing them back to the table and an end to hostilities. They each took 4 of the AI ships to their own worlds. Their customs are nothing like yours. There is no marriage between males and females. Names are individual names with a family name assigned by the mother of the child.

Based upon who she believes the father is or who she would have preferred him to be; correct or not. They move from partner to partner if they do not find an attraction or the attraction dies, then they simply separate. Sometimes taking on other lovers while still together with the first partner or partners.

It is chaotic to understand to say the least. They have no religion but a belief that they are ‘the superior being’ that many races have is prevalent. Your ancestors referred to them as sub-human. Now you have 2 billion of these sub-humans with your level of technology circulating.

They appear to be uniting against this outside threat and working to build this technology into their ships. Quite poorly I might add. Your treaty said no aid if requested by them. This aid is being requested by the Drakor.

To work as an intermediary to try and resolve this before they take the next step and attack the nearest human colony in retaliation. It would take them years to get to it but that is not the point. They gained the information about where this force launched this attack through the AI units’ cooperation.

This action would force you to respond. The question to you and the council. ‘Would it be justice to allow this to happen?’ Considering it was your people who were the aggressors against a lesser advanced foe. In violation of Interstellar Law?

Many of the colonists sent were taken as slave labor and sex slaves on the planet they invaded; you are in a de facto state of war and their rules of war allow for wartime slavery. *

The Terran President Jenny Gallows looked over, “I will make 3 of my Dreadnought Carriers available to aid in the protection of the nearest Terran founded colony. We are calling on the Home Guard to transport them to that location. Based upon my charts that is the Incar system that they would have had to launch from.”

The colony leader Simon Vess sighed, “We have resisted any assistance from Terra directly, in many cases. Provided they do not instigate war and work to act as a shield first for our colony we would welcome the support in the short term only until we can resolve this peacefully. We do not want them launching an offensive from our system.”

Becca looked at Johnathan, taksim esc “We can get 6 of our own Super Dreadnoughts to that system as well.”

Johnathan nodded, “Do it with all fighter, and warships deployed from the ships. I want to show this new hybrid the futility in trying to attack this colony. Showing them an image of the forces we can have in place within days, let alone the years it would take them to travel to that location.

Knowing that if they do so we would move in to eliminate them if they did not stand down. As called out in the treaty we would work to neutralize all their space-based craft. Until they mature enough to be members of the larger community.

They killed all of those colonists they have enslaved and all bets are off on how far we go with them. I know they are ‘less advanced than us.’ I also know they are humans who turned their back on Terra, the technology that Hybrids brought to bear, and killed thousands of children with Drakor blood in doing so.

The Terran Government and the local colony should have ambassadors and negotiators ready to meet with a delegation of these ‘people’ and determine a way to free the colonists. Else the Terran military could act on its own. We would not be able to stop that course of action. We may be called upon to assist in the transportation of those forces if the time comes.

They need to know that is a real possibility if our people are not returned. We would ask the Terran government to not instigate any further action into this system. Give diplomacy a chance first; in their eyes, you are the aggressor.

Even though it was done by a private citizen. You, as the central government, will be held accountable for the follow-up actions within the Alien Alliance Assembly. All of them will be watching how we react to this situation.

Due to humanity’s involvement, we will keep a member of our council in place to brief the council of the developments and keep them up-to-date on our progress as we investigate this further. Including all events surrounding this invasion.

If you are heavy-handed it will reflect poorly on us all; even the human hybrids who are barred from entering this system. The Home Guards’ responsibility is called out in that treaty already.

If a new treaty is to be called for then they would have to be at a stage of development in order to qualify for entry into the Assembly. In short, they would have to accept the hybrids that will be coming their way within their society.

Until their society has a majority of acceptance from the population and graduates as a species a treaty cannot be had with them and the Home Guard. That was in the founding documents for the Alien Alliance Assembly inclusion.

While technically human there was no provision in this treaty, when they departed, to revisit it or revoke it. It was ‘for all time.’ The Terran government and the Incar colony are free to do treaties as they see fit. If it does not involve Home Guard support called out in these treaties.

If it does then this council, the Human Hybrid Eternal Council must agree unanimously. That will be a hard sell given the death of so many of Jack Travus’s children to the monster who led this exodus.”

The President in Terra, Jenny Gallows, nodded, “Agreed. We will send a few diplomats and negotiators there to work with the colony negotiators in what can be done to secure the release of the enslaved colonists with the least amount of violence. We request the Drakor set up a meeting location and the Home Guard to take one of our carriers to that location for the meeting when that time arrives to do negotiations directly.”

Johnathan looked at the Ambassador, “Did he have an AI aboard his ship?”

Ambassador Profound Justice looked at him, * Yes, he has a female Terran AI aboard his ship. We are unable to communicate with her. She appears to be programmed to not interact with Drakor, not that she could.

You are incorrect on the treaty. As it was founded prior to the Alien Alliance it could be reworked and reworded by the three parties in question. That might even be a desired goal. *

Johnathan nodded, “Your comment is noted for the record. Your shuttle can dock with my Colossus. We will take it and bring his ship aboard as well as him still in stasis. I cannot directly help him. I can help his AI to help him; the best I can do to work around the strict wording of the treaty. It will also give us the location for the Terran Military request to bring their diplomats to this meeting location.

I can add a couple of modifications to this new hybrid to let his AI communicate with him mentally. That is to aid the AI in relaying information to him in mass. Everything from the treaty to the Drakor firepower that could come crashing down on them. If they attempt to take on your technology in a similar manner as ours. They are dealing with civilian battleships.

They would not have had the latest weapons, armor, or shields. Let alone the other electronics for those ships. AI ships are 5-6 generations behind our military and reactionary forces by design. They need to understand they would be sending the AI ships into a firing squad to be destroyed.

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Ch. 3: David loses Ainsley

Author’s Note

“An Artificial Life” is the first story I have written, an exploration of general-purpose artificial intelligence — how that might come about and what that might mean. I am enjoying exploring the creation of sentience as it relates to the creator, to the created, and to the rest of the world.

This is the third chapter, and it represents a substantial departure from the first two chapters. For one thing, the shift in point of view is obvious. Stick with it, you may learn about the shift in the chapter.

While there is sex in this story, I try to make it part of the story rather than the focus of the story. All sexual scenarios presented involve individuals who are at least eighteen years of age or older at the time the scenario is presented.

Let me know your thoughts. Please vote and comment as you desire. I am open to useful suggestions and constructive criticism. I will completely ignore inappropriate comments or trolling.

Thanks for taking this journey with me. I have enjoyed writing this and reading your reactions.

This chapter has been re-posted to reflect edits. I somehow lost half of the first scene when I originally posted it, and I did not catch the error before hitting “submit.” My sincere apologies to any readers who were confused. I am still very new to this. Thanks to SpookMeister and Ravenna933 for the editing suggestions. Any remaining errors are all of my doing.

–DD

*****************

Camden Psychiatric Institute

“This is all just fantasy,” Detective Carl Fordham stated to the rest of the room. “He obsessed over her and killed her. It’s just that simple.” Carl saw the world in black and white, but mostly black. As far as he was concerned, the kid was just a pampered loser that spent way too much time playing video games and lost touch with reality. “I mean think about how much time he spent playing ‘Kill or Be Killed.’ He did it.”

He was getting frustrated, they had been assembled in the clinical conference room going over the case file. “We have been at this for hours.”

Dr. Angela Sinclair agreed, “Yes, it is fantasy, Detective Fordham. But it is very real to him. It is clear that he suffered an acute psychotic episode, but I don’t believe the evidence indicates he killed her or anyone for that matter.”

Detective Fordham, was right about one thing, she thought. They had spent too long in the room without a break. This conference was tedious, but essential, she considered as she looked around at her companions weary expressions. On the wall screens surrounding the long conference table were report findings and highlighted portions of documents, paused videos, and gruesome images of the poor girl who had been fished out of the drainage channel. Following the anonymous tip, the victims identity had been confirmed: Vanessa Amante was dead.

“Carl, there is no evidence that the victim had been to his apartment recently, and the bank’s video footage showed her at the teller counter,” a rugged-looking man sitting at the head of the table addressed his colleague. “And don’t forget the video footage shortly after of her going in to her apartment and leaving. She cleared out on her own.” He was tired, and tried not to let it show.

“Think about it: none of the victim’s fingerprints or DNA were found at his apartment, but they were all over the computer lab and at the school. It is more likely the poor woman was just robbed, killed and thrown in the drainage ditch.” Special Agent Henry Caldwell reasoned to Detective Fordham and the rest of the team.

“I know, I know,” Detective Fordham said, “but I can’t shake the feeling he did this. What about the hair? Some of the hair samples at the lab matched black hair at the apartment …”

“That’s easily explained as transfer material,” Deputy DA Connie Francis piped in. “We know the two of them worked together in the lab. But the bulk of the black hair was from an unknown female, so let’s move on.”

“Let’s take a break, everyone. We will reassemble after lunch.” Henry said to the room. Binders closed, and chairs shuffled as the team made their way out of the room. Henry grabbed a remote and pressed a button, causing the wall monitors to change to a panoramic scene of a mountain clearing with spring grasses and flowers gently moving in the breeze. His mood lifted as the crime scene diagrams and photos of the victim’s caved in face faded away.

He had wanted to find justice for Vanessa. The initial theory of the case involved Jackson, and he thought this would be an open and shut case. He had been called in because Vanessa Amante had been in the program, and she had been found dead.

Henry had known Vanessa’s parents, he had gone through the academy with them. They were good people, and had been assigned to the Organized Crimes Division as analysts. He was surprised when both of them left the Bureau suddenly, but the Bureau wasn’t for everybody.

When escort beşiktaş he was assigned Vanessa’s case file, he learned what had happened to his friends from long ago. Her real parents had been informants, and they were killed presumably by the terrorist organization they had been informing on. Vanessa had survived, and his friends adopted her, entering the protection program and abandoning their careers to keep her safe.

Vanessa’s parents had been heroes, he read, and Agents Sara and Michael Donovan made sure the Bureau did not forget its debt to Vanessa. Their names had evidently been changed to Amante, and they had disappeared.

The dossier noted the Donovan’s had died a few years back in a crash the Bureau determined was “not suspicious.” They clearly believed they were in no danger, having removed Vanessa from the program when she turned eighteen. He wondered if she had ever known the real story of her adoptive parents, and knowing the professionalism of Sara and Michael, he doubted she ever did learn the truth.

Now that Vanessa had died, the Bureau was taking a hard look, and they assigned him to her case. He had wished they had more on file: her fingerprints, her DNA, anything at all — but the files either were sealed away or no longer existed. At least he couldn’t find them, and he was known to be very good at finding things. The one set of dental x-rays from the University dental clinic was sufficient to make the identification. It was good the locals had found the x-rays, otherwise he would have never been brought in.

Special Agent Caldwell had an impressive reputation for following every thread, unraveling several complicated conspiracies that very few people in the Bureau, and no one in the press, ever knew existed. Only four people were aware of the true reasons Vice President Tracy had resigned years ago. And only two people were still alive who knew why President Victor Donald Goldstone III did not seek a second term. In both cases, Henry Caldwell was one of them.

Everyone else assumed that it was due to the president’s claim that Washington was too broken to fix, and that he wanted to spend time with his wife and travel the world. Washington was broken, Henry thought, but at least he didn’t have to listen to that idiot anymore. The next president had been a more skillful idiot, but he wasn’t Henry’s problem.

Special Agent Caldwell’s assignment to Vanessa’s case came with a very clear mandate: investigate whether the death was related to the victim’s relationship to the program or if the death occurred “outside of the concerns of the Bureau.” It was basically to determine whether the Bureau could pass this off as someone else’s problem. “Henry, do we even care about this?” was actually what he was sent to find out, he could hear the deputy director’s voice during the assignment briefing.

Thank god the Bureau had gotten on this before the press got a hold of it. The press only complicated things and made the witnesses scatter, and the ones desperate for their brief five minutes of fame invented stories that later became conspiracy theories and dominated talk radio for months, even years.

No, Caldwell thought, this was much better. He liked being able to work quietly in the background, with the freedom to investigate leads without the bright lights and cameras following his every move. Not that the press wasn’t useful in certain cases, but more often than not, they were a nuisance.

Most likely it had been the section of town in which this had happened: away from the sprawling university and bustling skyscrapers, hidden where homeless and drug addicts staked their small claims.

At first it had seemed plausible that they had the right guy. This suspect fit the profile: lonely, mediocre, failing at school, sexually frustrated, obsessed with Vanessa. All of this came out from the interviews of witnesses at the university. They didn’t say these things exactly, but Caldwell was trained to see what wasn’t said amongst the niceties of an interview with a concerned friend, colleague or teacher.

No one described the suspect as “well-liked” or “brilliant” or even “smart.” He was a “nice guy,” a little “nerdy at times,” and “kept to the lab.” When asked about his friends, he heard three variants: “I didn’t know him that well,” “I think he has friends back home” and “Vanessa.” No one knew of a girlfriend or boyfriend, not one offering “maybe back home,” and a few ventured “I think he likes Vanessa, but she’s not into him like that.” And his school project was unknown to most, with even his advisor calling it “a little research project on AI … I’m not sure how that’s going.” Not a picture of a well-adjusted, socially involved, successful grad student.

When the suspect finally started talking, he claimed he hadn’t seen Vanessa after she withdrew, and that he had been alone in his apartment since he had left his lab, not even leaving for food. He refused to speak further when escorts istanbul confronted with the evidence of vaginal secretions taken from his penis, face, torso and back; the semen stained laundry in his hamper; the black hair of a woman found in his bed, shower and dryer lint trap; and the drying, but previously sopping panties found in his bed, tangled with the sheets hurled to the bottom.

The theory from Fordham was that Vanessa had given him what he wanted, but told him she was leaving when he snapped. The suspect had ransacked his own place, to make it look like he had been robbed when his real plan was to get rid of evidence. Caldwell thought this was nonsense, no hard core gamer would ever trash his own gear like that.

Fordham was a good man, but he let his feelings get in the way of the evidence, Caldwell concluded. There were just so many holes in his theories — why didn’t the suspect get rid of the panties, or why didn’t the suspect take a shower? Still, you had to admire Detective Fordham’s passion.

It would have been easy to accept Fordham’s theory and let this hapless kid take the fall. But the day Henry showed up was the suspect’s lucky day — he had the Bureau working the case. Special Agent Caldwell had the tools to find out if the suspect was right for this case. He would use them.

And that is how Jackson wound up here, Agent Caldwell smiled, as he walked through Dr. Sinclair’s institute. One of the only good things President Goldstone had done, in Henry’s opinion, was to force through a series of anti-terrorist laws which gave an extensive suite of tools to the Bureau to fight terrorism. “But not torture … we don’t torture — even though they deserve it, am I right?” the president had said winking to his followers during one of his rallies.

These laws had blossomed over the years so that if the Bureau suspected terrorism, the Fifth Amendment could be suspended, and a suspect could be required to speak, even compelled to speak (but not “tortured” to speak).

When Agent Caldwell arrived, he took over the investigation, and it suddenly and secretly became a terrorist investigation until proven otherwise. He obtained the proper warrants and moved the suspect to Dr. Sinclair’s psychiatric facility. Dr. Sinclair was able to perform a chemically-assisted interview allowed by the warrant.

During the interview, Jackson appeared cooperative and told a fantastical story where he essentially admitted turning Vanessa into what Detective Fordham concluded was “a mind-controlled sex slave.” That was a stretch, Agent Caldwell thought, but it was interesting nonetheless.

Jackson could not explain how he was found, with his apartment essentially ransacked, his computers and game systems all taken. The suspect was most distressed regarding the loss of the “Creator Terminal” and, even with the assistance of the drugs, became distressed and agitated to the point of requiring sedation.

The interview seemed promising to both Detective Fordham and Agent Caldwell. Clearly, David Jackson was making things up to avoid admitting his guilt.

Jackson couldn’t bring himself to say it, even though he could come close by creating a fantasy. He had sex with Vanessa and killed her, Fordham emphasized. Jackson’s story became ever more delusional and desperate as he denied any involvement with “that woman” pointing at the pictures.

He insisted that he did not have sex with Vanessa, and that Vanessa was alive. He claimed the pictures were of some other woman, that she looked nothing like Vanessa screaming at them “Vanessa had red hair” which contradicted earlier admissions.

When presented with the overwhelming evidence that Vanessa had been murdered, the suspect broke down sobbing, and became unresponsive, asking for Ainsley who he claimed was Vanessa. At one point, he suggested it “was my fault,” but when pressed he said he allowed Vanessa to become Ainsley and should have said “no” but he could not refuse her.

Fordham insisted he was making this all up and trying to create a defense of insanity, but that Jackson had committed the murder. Agent Caldwell gave approval to conduct an interview with the suspect placed under chemically-induced hypnosis. If Fordham was right, they would know.

Hypnosis places a subject into a state of relaxation and overcomes their natural inhibitions, allowing them to act on impulses that they actually desire. At least that is what is popularly known. Under chemically-induced hypnotic interviews, the subject is given strong hallucinogens and the interviewer is able to get a subject to relay highly accurate accounts of events with no fear of discovery or recrimination.

CIHI (pronounced “key-high” for some reason) was far more invasive than a chemically-assisted interview, and the restrictions on its use were onerous, but Agent Caldwell had already covered the eventuality of its use in his earlier warrant application.

Caldwell had witnessed interviewers convince escort bayrampaşa subjects that they were confessing to a priest during last-rites, or describing a movie of what they saw. Only highly conditioned agents had ever been able to defeat the artificial realities imposed by the drugs and a skilled interviewer. Dr. Sinclair was one of the best interviewers, having been involved in the development and research of the technique.

Dr. Sinclair got to know her subjects better by giving them a series of questions and playing a word association game with them while they were given a cocktail which consisted of a sedative and a smaller dose of the same drugs used for chemically-assisted interviews, along with a few other drugs to induce a state of euphoria. Applying her technique to the suspect, she found he fancied himself an author and he found tropical beaches and Japanese-styled gardens to be peaceful settings, although he had never been to either, and he had never written anything other than computer code and papers for his degree program.

Dr. Sinclair then administered hallucinogenic agents and convinced the subject that he was a skilled author, and he was writing an autobiography of his experiences so that others could understand and feel what he had been through. Using sounds and wall panel displays, she imposed a reality of a private tea house overlooking a secluded quiet Japanese garden surrounding the interview room.

She told him that she was his personal assistant and that she would write down everything he said for him. She encouraged him, telling him she was sure his novel would be a best-seller if he took the time to include detail and draw the reader into his story.

Agent Caldwell and Detective Ford watched the interview through monitors as it was happening. Dr. Sinclair was good, very good at her job. She guided him to the portion of his story that preceded his encounter with the victim on Sunday morning. The two listened to the interview begin and heard the suspect David Jackson dictate the lines of his first, epic novel:

“I had just spent the last thirty-six hours reworking a section of code trying to understand why I was getting the behavior I was seeing …” he began. Dr. Sinclair occasionally interrupted, asking for additional description or more technical details where appropriate, and prompting him to fill in background necessary.

As the interview went on, Detective Fordham stomped around, saying “that’s bullshit!” and “the little fucker is beating the system,” while Caldwell just looked on. He doubted Jackson was that gifted, it made very little sense.

“You need to trust Angela, she knows what she is doing.” Caldwell assured his local colleague. “I’ve seen Angela convince a drug lord that he was a DEA agent, and had him plan out a take down of his entire operation.”

Ford looked at him in disbelief. “Maybe so,” he said grudgingly, “but this kid’s playing us, I can feel it.” They watched the entire interview, and reviewed the tapes afterward. Summaries of the interview were prepared and analyzed.

And then the forensics came in. Vanessa’s fingerprints did not match any fingerprints found in Jackson’s apartment, and her DNA and hair samples did not match the hair samples or female DNA taken from the suspect’s body and bed after he was found. He had been with a woman, just not Vanessa.

More importantly, the fingerprints taken from Vanessa’s body matched fingerprints found at the university lab where she worked. The suspect may have killed Vanessa and dumped her body in the draining canal like Detective Fordham strongly believed. But to Agent Henry Caldwell, the case against David Jackson didn’t add up.

Yes, Henry thought while taking a gulp of his coffee before heading back to the conference room, it was lucky for David that he’d been assigned the case. David clearly needed mental help, but if it weren’t for Henry’s involvement, David would have found himself charged and convicted of the murder of Vanessa Amante. He’s just a fucked up kid. Now to convince the rest of them.

Agent Caldwell sighed as he headed back to the conference room. Somebody had killed Vanessa, it just wasn’t David. Caldwell noticed the shift in his thinking now that he no longer considered David Jackson to be a suspect. David’s just a kid who couldn’t cut it in grad school.

The team reassembled in their chairs and the wall monitors redisplayed the violence of Vanessa’s end of life. This was day three of the investigation, and this conference was necessary to decide David’s fate. Either they would agree to his release, or he would be given a very quiet trial in front of a special judge and sent to a very secure cell to live out the remainder of his days.

Special Agent Caldwell took charge. “Let’s summarize where we are,” he began.

Deputy District Attorney Connie Francis began running the case. The autopsy report revealed the victim died most likely from blunt force trauma to the back of her head, although significant abrasions were found on her back and arms and perimortem injuries had seriously damaged her face. No signs of sexual trauma were present, although it could not be ruled out. The one set of dental records that had been found from the University dental clinic confirmed the identity of the victim.

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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Hello again! A special thanks to everyone who has read the first two chapters I’ve submitted so far; I’m really glad to see people are enjoying this story and my take on this scenario. To answer a question several people have asked: Yes, I do have a full story mapped out, complete with a definite conclusion. With that said, on to the next chapter.

Ch. 02 Song Titles

Buy Me a Boat (Chris Janson)

The Devil Went Down to Georgia (The Charlie Daniels Band)

When I Fall in Love (Chris Botti)

*****

An Unforgettable Melody: Ch. 02

Mike awoke on the sofa, Melody still wrapped in his arms. Stroking her deep red hair lightly, he recalled the events of the last twenty-four hours. The art sale, that mysterious locket, the puzzle opening it, all of it had led to this girl currently lying on his chest. She was apparently a genie, bound to be a sexual servant to whoever released her from her vessel. Mike, being uncomfortable with her subservient nature and the idea of owning her as a slave, wished for her to gain as much free will as possible, and for her to be an equal partner to him. Her gratitude for him making such a wish had led them both here, lying on the sofa with him half naked.

Melody looked up at him, kissing him softly on the lips. “Hey there, sleepy. Did someone tire you out?”

Mike stuck his tongue out at her. “You know damn well what tired me out.”

She giggled her trademark laugh. God, Mike loved to hear her laugh. “I hope that was ok, taking what I wanted like that,” she said. “I’m still figuring out this whole free will thing.”

Mike kissed her forehead. “You were amazing. Knocked me out cold. How long was I out for, by the way?”

“Not long, maybe twenty minutes,” she said, sitting up. “We’ve still got the whole day ahead of us. Whatcha wanna do now?”

Mike eyed her knowingly. “I see that look in your eye, Miss ‘I’m up to no good.'” Melody tried her best to put on an innocent look on her face.

“Honestly,” Mike said, sitting up, “I’ve got lots of questions, mainly about your powers. You mentioned that tingling I feel in my head when I make a wish. Did you say you were reading my mind?”

She shook her head. “No. Reading your mind without your permission is explicitly forbidden to all genies, from servants up to the most powerful King Jinn. It would be an invasion of your privacy, and a major ethical breach. The tingle is my attempts to hear the thoughts behind your wish, ensuring I interpret it properly and give you what you intended to ask for. However, if that bothers you, I will gladly refrain from doing so.”

“No, that’s fine, as long as it only happens when I wish for something. I didn’t realize that was something genies were capable of doing. That’s why I was trying to phrase those first few wishes very carefully. The last thing I want is a poorly worded wish backfiring on me.”

Melody nodded. “That’s understandable. Many of the legends you may have read about jinn and genies are rooted in actual events.”

“Like Aladdin and the genie of the lamp?”

“Yes, although that specific account is merely legend. Jinn and genies such as myself are fulfilling our primary purpose for existence. There are sexual servants, household servants, and political advisors, just to name a few. Some genies, however, are bound to an object, such as a lamp or bottle, as punishment for failing to follow our code of conduct. Genies facing such situations would commonly twist their masters’ words in an attempt to gain their freedom through a poorly conceived wish.”

Mike nodded in understanding. “Ok, so basically, it’s only with my permission that you delve into my thoughts, and even then, you only draw information pertinent to the wish. Is that correct?”

Melody smiled. “Exactly.”

“Alright then… oh, you mentioned both jinn and genies. What’s the difference?”

“That is merely a gender distinction. Males are jinn, while females are genies.”

“Are there still many in existence?”

Melody closed her eyes for a moment in thought. “I cannot say for sure. It’s certainly possible, but we genies are unable to detect each other’s presence. This is another failsafe for the protection of our masters. In the past, some masters desired to gain power over multiple genies, seeking out other masters and pitting their genies against each other, necessitating this rule. If we were to encounter one, I wouldn’t be able to know if it was another genie or not, though I would certainly detect a magical presence in the area, as would they.”

“Cool. Ok next question. While you were performing the, um, most awesome, mind blowing blowjob in the history of the world…”

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Melody shot back.

Mike laughed as he tried to stay on topic. “…There was a moment when I heard you speaking in my mind. Are you able to communicate telepathically?”

On cue, he heard her voice in his head again. Yes, but only with you.

Openmouthed, Mike could only reply, “Wow. That’s cool.”

“Why escort çapa don’t you try it?”

Mike cocked his eyebrow. “How?”

She giggled. “It’s easy, silly. Just think what you want to say, and direct it to me.”

Mike concentrated. Like this?

Perfect! You’re a quick study. Since you are my master, even with the free will you wished for me, I am never more than a thought away from you.

Really? Even if we’re nowhere near each other?

Of course, Melody replied. We could be universes apart, and I would still be with you in a moment’s notice. That’s how strong my connection to you is.

“Very nice. Although, I have to admit, I love hearing your voice in reality,” Mike replied. “Your laugh has got to be one of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard.”

She giggled. “Yep, that’s the one,” Mike said.

Melody kissed him on the cheek. “You really are the best. A better master than I could have ever dreamed of.” She moved closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “What other questions did you have?”

Mike thought for a moment. “Honestly, I want to learn more about Melody the person. Likes, dislikes, interests and such.”

“Well…” she said, seductively raising her eyebrow.

“Besides sexual interests!” Mike laughed at himself for not anticipating her response.

Melody chuckled. “Fine, fine. I haven’t actually developed any likes or dislikes. I mean, I was only born about twelve hours ago, and I’ve only had free will for a little over an hour. If I’m going to find out about my interests, as I can tell you would want me to, why don’t I start by finding out more about what makes Mike tick?”

Nodding, he responded, “Fair enough. Let’s see, I’m 26 years old, born and raised here in Atlanta. Went to school at Auburn University and Florida State University, became a professional musician after that. Currently play second trumpet for the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra.”

“Ooh, a musician! How delightfully sexy,” Melody interjected, twirling her hair between her fingers.

Mike laughed. Being a band nerd never did him any favors with the ladies in high school. Man, how times do change.

“Outside of that,” Mike continued, “I’m pretty introverted in my personal life. I try to avoid dealing with people unless necessary. Of course, the ones I actually choose to keep around as friends, you included, aren’t people,” he said with a wink. “But typically, a relaxing day for me is being a homebody, watching superhero movies, and playing video games.”

Melody’s eyes perked up. “Video games you say? That sounds like fun.”

Mike looked hopefully at her. “You like video games?”

She smiled. “Well I’ve never played them, obviously, but based on knowing the concept of what they are, I think they’d be something I’d enjoy quite a bit.”

That was all Mike needed. “How bout we fire one up? I’ll show you the ropes.”

He stood up and moved over to his entertainment center. Checking through his game collection, he ran through several titles looking for the perfect first gaming experience for Melody. Call of Duty? Nah, too violent for her first game. NCAA Football maybe? Eh, probably not, the controls are pretty complex. Oh, perfect!

He pulled out one of his favorite games ever, Mario Kart Wii. “How about a race?”

“I’m game,” Melody replied excitedly.

Mike powered up the system and handed her a controller, giving her a basic rundown of the button configuration. She picked up quickly, and they were off on their first race.

“Ok, I’ll make sure I go easy on ya. I want you to have fun, after all.”

She shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Damn! Little trash talker!

Mike won the first race; mainly due to Melody being so entranced by the game’s graphics that she forgot it was actually a race. The three walls she ran into didn’t help either.

“Crap… this is harder than it looks,” Melody sulked.

Mike laughed. “Well it doesn’t help when you constantly say, ‘Ooh, what’s that? Hey that’s pretty! What’s over there?!'”

She stuck her her tongue out at him. “One more go! I got you this time!”

Mike chuckled. “You got it. Just no crying.”

Their second race was much more evenly matched. Mike was still going very easy on her, but he noticed she was quickly getting very good. Just as he thought he was going to win, she snuck up behind him with the dreaded Blue Shell weapon, beating him at the last second.

“YES!” Melody squealed with excitement.

“Dammit!” Mike couldn’t believe how fast she had caught on. If she hadn’t just been born today, he’d have sworn she was hustling him. “Ok, from here on, no more going easy on you!”

“Bring it,” she whispered seductively.

Mike eyed her warily. “I don’t think I need to remind you of how unsportsmanlike it would be to use any kind of sex appeal to your advantage.”

“Fine…” she said rolling her eyes.

Starting up their third race, Melody got off to a quick start, but a couple of well thrown banana peels from Mike put him back in the istanbul escorts lead by the start of the third lap. Rounding the halfway point of the track, he got hit again with the Blue Shell, Melody zooming past him. It took every ounce of skill he had, but he was finally able to trip her up rounding the final curve and pass her at the last second for the win.

Mike pumped his fist in victory. “That’s what I’m talkin about!”

Melody flexed her sore fingers. “Wow, you’re good when you go all out.”

“So are you,” Mike replied. “How’d you get so good at that?”

“Not sure,” she said, shaking her head. “After the first race, it just seemed to come so naturally to me.”

“Hmm…” Mike thought for a moment. “I wonder if has anything to do with that ‘ideal woman’ thing you mentioned? I’ve always been really impressed by, and attracted to, girls that aren’t afraid to hold their own in video games.”

“That could be it,” she mused. “Let’s play another one! What else ya got?”

Mike hesitated for a moment, before suggesting, “Well, Call of Duty is a lot of fun, and as fast as your reaction time was in Mario Kart, I think you’d do really well at it. Only thing is, it’s a pretty violent, shoot-’em-up game. That ok with you?”

With zero hesitation, she replied, “As long as it’s all make believe, that’s totally cool with me.”

Well alrighty then, he thought to himself. Mike switched over to his PS3 and grabbed a couple of controllers. After firing up the game, he went over the controls before they played a practice round. Mike hid his character somewhere on the map, and Melody had one minute to find and shoot him.

Upon killing him for the first time, she jumped in shock, adrenaline pumping. “Wow, this is intense!”

“Yep,” Mike agreed. “The developers worked hard to try to make it as realistic as possible. Ok, I’m hiding. Let’s go again.”

She found him much faster this time around, quickly getting a feel for using the radar and how the maps were structured. After two more rounds of hide and seek, he had Melody hole up in a central location to practice being attacked from various directions. At first, he easily bested her each time, but she eventually got better at her aiming and reaction time. By the end of the ten-minute round, Melody was surviving around two of every three encounters. Seeing her rapid improvement, Mike felt she was ready for the next level.

“Well, this should be fun. You ready to go online?” Mike knew the online players would be in for a shock when they went up against her.

“Sure,” she said with a smile. “You wanna use those?” She pointed to his two gaming headsets charging in the TV stand.

Mike got a wicked smile on his face. “Definitely, but lets keep the fact that you’re a girl a secret until we start thrashing these losers.”

He activated the Bluetooth connections on the headsets as they entered the pre-match lobby. Muting his microphone momentarily, he turned to Melody. “Just remember, some of these guys have a huge bias against girls who play video games, particularly if they’re better than the guys. If they start acting like assholes, be strong, and don’t take any crap. You have full permission to put them in their place.”

She smirked. “Random dudes acting like jackasses who AREN’T my master? So not a problem.”

Atta girl.

They spawned into their first match, taking place on a pretty large map. “Ok, stay out of the open on this one, there’s lots of sniping spots,” Mike cautioned.

As the match progressed, Mike got taken out more than typical, but was always in good position to callout sniper locations to his teammates. Melody, using a stealthy setup with a silenced weapon, was able to constantly sneak around the map, taking out said snipers from behind. One particular player kept returning to the same sniping spot, allowing her to constantly ambush him with little effort.

“SON OF A BITCH!!” He had now died five times in a row. “Who’s the little pussy who keeps doin’ that?” Hearing his complaining through the headset, it was all Mike could do not to laugh in his face.

Anticipating that he would change his tactics, Melody was ready, planting a land mine in the spot she had been hiding in. Sure enough, he attempted charging the position, only to be blown to smithereens. Melody couldn’t help but unleash her trademark laugh as he raged into the microphone, finally revealing that a girl was the one dominating the match.

“No fucking way,” he seethed. “The hell is a fucking GIRL doing here?!”

Melody giggled. “Last I checked, she’s kickin’ ass and takin’ names.”

“Shut up and suck my dick, bitch. That’s where you belong.”

Mike had expected this kind of reaction, but that didn’t make him any less enraged at this idiot’s treatment. Just as he was about to unleash on him, Mike felt Melody’s hand gently stroking his knee.

Melody calmly replied into the headset, “Unfortunately for you, the only blowjob you’ll be getting is the land mine you just stepped on. escort bayan etiler Oh, and this frag.” She tossed a grenade into his hiding spot, killing him once again.

“FUUUUUCK!!” As his rage grew, now even the other players were laughing at him. As much as some guys had a stigma against girl gamers, this group was apparently able to recognize true skill when they saw it.

“Damn, girl,” one of the others chimed in. “You good. And you sound hot. Looks like you in the ATL with me. Wanna hook up?”

Mike rolled his eyes. Like this douchebag has a shot with you, he thought to Melody.

He’s so cute. He has no clue just how out of his league he is, she thought back.

As the match ended, she replied in a sultry voice, “Sorry boys, but I have eyes for only one smoldering stud of a man. Say hi baby!”

“That would be me,” Mike said with a sense of pride.

“Well that’s enough fun for us today,” Melody continued. “Now we’ve got some real work to do…” They signed off as catcalls and whistles echoed through their headsets.

“That was fun!”

“Sure was. I still can’t believe that tear you went on,” Mike replied. “You just annihilated them out there!”

As they basked in their post game glow, there was a knock at Mike’s door. Walking over to check the peephole, Mike could see it was his upstairs neighbor, Sandra.

As he opened the door, Mike heard the now familiar greeting from bubbly single mom of two kids. “Miiiiike! How ya doin’ son?” She immediately grabbed him in a hug before he could even think of protesting.

Sandra seemed in a particularly good mood today. Dressed in a white tank top and loose sky blue workout shorts, she had her straight, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Mike had never been attracted to black women, merely out of personal preference, but he could definitely appreciate that she was quite a good-looking woman. Slim and athletic, her light black skin and warm eyes easily helped her appear younger than the late thirties she actually was.

Mike gently hugged her back. “I’m doin’ pretty good, Sandra. What’s got you so excited today?”

“It’s Tyler’s birthday next Wednesday, so I’m throwing him a pool party today.” Tyler was her twelve-year-old son, soon to be thirteen. “My brother’s cooking burgers and dogs on the grill. You’re welcome to stop by for some free food, Mr. Starving Musician,” she said with a wink.

“That sounds awesome, though I don’t have a birthday gift or anything…”

“Mike, hush,” she interrupted. “After you’ve helped look out for him these last three years, helping with homework, being that positive male role model, just being there is gift enough. That boy really looks up to you, ya know.”

Mike knew it was true. Three years ago, he had given Tyler his first trumpet lessons. Even though he only stuck with it for two years, the two had connected very well. Mike had used those lessons to teach him not only about music, but important life lessons as well. Staying on schedule, avoiding procrastination, refusing to settle for anything less than his best effort. All of these things had helped keep the boy from straying away from a difficult path to follow.

Ultimately, Tyler’s greatest respect for Mike had come just over a year ago, during the winter storm of 2014. With the entire city iced in and the interstates clogged with abandoned vehicles, Mike had been walking from his apartment to the Baptist church across the street, checking in to see if there was any assistance they required to help Atlanta’s stranded travelers. As he made his way back, he had seen Tyler with a group of three of his friends from the public school he attended at the time. Clearly a rough crowd, Mike overheard them talking about all of the cars stuck on the interstate as easy targets for “free samples,” as they called them.

As Mike approached the group, clearing his throat in the process, the group scattered, except for Tyler. Staring silently at Mike, Tyler knew he was likely in big trouble. Realizing that the kid was easily the youngest of the group, being subjected to peer pressure was a constant threat. Mike called Sandra, letting her know that he had met up with Tyler while out walking, and that Mike would make sure he got home safely before dark.

Mike explained to Tyler that there were some things he needed to see. While talking with his friends, Tyler didn’t have any reason not to go along with them. Mike planned to give him just that. As they walked along the main road leading to the interstate, Mike stopped at one car with a middle-aged man leaning against it. The man introduced himself as Carl. He worked construction around the city as an independent contractor, and explained he got paid in cash every Friday, with no option for direct deposit. It being Saturday, Mike could safely assume that he had his pay from yesterday in the car with him. Mike asked him what would happen if someone were to come along and steal that money from his car. As Carl eyed Tyler, he could tell what Mike was getting at, and confirmed that losing that money would result in him falling behind on his rent and having to make some tough choices between paying his heating bill or being guaranteed to be able to buy enough food for his family of six for the week. Mike thanked Carl for his time and insight, shaking his hand as they parted.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

One could not technically call it meditation, given her attentiveness to the muffled noises floating out of the innermost shrine. Cinna sat cross-legged outside the curtains and the door to the sacred space, assuming the posture and serenity of a meditative effort. She remained in place for hours. At a glance, no one would have suspected otherwise, and in fact she felt calm and peaceful. She also felt pleased, and more than a little aroused.

The moans and whimpers of the high priestess were music to her ears. Ariella had a way of reducing all of her partners to helpless wrecks. Cinna thought—lovingly—that it was about time her mentor had a taste of her own medicine.

The acolyte hoped she might experience such a treatment, too.

Footsteps approaching from the other side of the main chamber pulled her from her reverie. Cinna’s head lifted, just barely, to greet Zenobia as the other acolyte’s sandaled feet brought her to a halt before her. The younger acolyte had not run, but a sense of urgency was plain in the pretty brunette’s expression. “Prince Alaric is at the entrance,” she announced softly.

“He is not to enter,” said Cinna.

“He understands,” nodded Zenobia. “The prince did not come alone. There are a pair of Companions with him, and one and two of the royal servants.”

“Then we can expect some semblance of diplomacy from him this time,” Cinna frowned as she rose. “Your hood, Zenobia,” she reminded gently.

Zenobia blinked and then blushed, tugging the hood of her robes further down her forehead to cover the eyes. Strictly speaking, the hoods were not entirely necessary or required, but they offered a measure of distance between the acolytes and the laypeople of the city. An acolyte could pursue lovers all she wanted in her free time, but Zenobia’s duties of the day made her a face of the temple and the goddess, and not her own personal interests.

The matter did not lead to further reproach. Among the comforts and rewards of service to the goddess was an almost palpable affection shared by those who lived and served in the temples. Romance, intimacy and passion rose and fell like the tides within Aphrodite’s temples. Even at their lowest ebb that context of frequent intimacy colored all matters between them. The only limit seemed to be that of the individual priest or acolyte’s natural attractions… though when it came to her acolytes and priesthood, the goddess seemed to generally select those attracted to both sexes.

The younger acolyte walked beside Cinna, though deliberately falling a step behind. “No one has ever told me of the prince’s offenses,” she said quietly. “I know that he is unwanted here, and that he has laid insult, but not the details.”

“Alaric suffers from common delusions and failings of ego,” Cinna explained in flat, matter-of-fact tones. She walked with purpose, but did not hurry. “That we have not told you of his ‘highness’ should tell you how much thought and attention he deserves. Suffice it to say that he takes us all for whores—and he thinks whores are beneath him. Neither of these opinions endear him to the goddess or her servants.

“He has petitioned the temple more than once, seeking to experience the sacred rites and to learn the arts, always offering some flimsy reasoning for his requests. Each time, we have found him without a shred of humility or honesty or piety. He seeks only a night’s pleasure, and thinks his royal blood and wealth should earn him special consideration. Naturally, he has grown frustrated, and has difficulty keeping his resentment in check. As with all petitions, we keep his secret,” she added meaningfully.

“He also longs for Ariella,” Cinna frowned, “but only in the basest manner. She would at best be a pretty trinket on his arm. He seems to believe this would be an honor.”

Zenobia blinked soberly. “Such a shame,” she said. “He has a pleasant body.”

“You may find grander bodies of humbler origins,” predicted Cinna. “None would blame you or criticize if you wanted to give the prince a chance, but not one of the other acolytes has seen fit despite his physical appeal.”

“No,” Zenobia replied, “I hear your warnings. If a man does not want to give as much as he receives, I think he is a waste of my time… sacred rites or no.”

She didn’t see the faint smile of approval on Cinna’s lips. “I will do the talking with the prince. Thank you for summoning me.” Their steps and their conversation carried them to the foyer of the temple, and then to the grand doors beyond. While those doors were closed, a simpler side entrance behind the tall marble columns of the entrance allowed for subtler exit and entry. Cinna moved to that smaller door and stepped outside into bright sunlight.

Repairs to the Plaza of the Divines would take months to complete, but many were already underway. Across Cinna’s field of vision, she could see stonecutters taking measurements for broken blocks that had to be replaced and other workers carving out the most damaged pieces of the walkways. Burned and withered escort fındıkzade plants had mostly been cleared away. She saw a horse-drawn cart loaded with new greenery waiting to be settled into its new homes.

Across the Plaza, clerics of the god Frey performed their work in front of the ruins of their burnt-out temple for a flock of farmers and other supplicants while workers hauled away wreckage. Frey’s temple received the most attention of all the aspects of the Plaza. Cinna couldn’t argue with that, even knowing that Aphrodite’s temple would not have received as much attention had their fortunes been reversed. The world needed love, but people needed to eat. The god of the harvest had to be honored.

The Temple of Aphrodite gave generously to the cause of rebuilding Frey’s longhouse. Aphrodite’s servants in the city had given generously to other shrines as well. The shrine to Athena might well be rebuilt largely through that support.

Unfortunately, Cinna’s duty here was not to survey the reconstruction, but instead to attend to the least interesting matter present in the Plaza. She’d have preferred to haul out broken bricks with the workers.

The visitors waited on the steps of the temple: four of his Companions, two men and two women in a mixture of chain mail and leather, along with an attendant in fine clothes and a long coat that marked him as one of the royal household servants, and Alaric himself.

“Your highness,” she said with her clear, deliberately flat voice as she bowed, “you grace us with your visit. How may I help you?”

He wore no shining armor today, but rather something like casual finery: a silk black shirt under a fine leather vest, with dark breeches and high boots. Naturally, it was all festooned with gold and silver studs, embroidery and jewelry. His broad and feathered felt hat could shelter the egos of any three ordinary men. Prince Alaric inclined his head ever so slightly in response to her bow. “I am on the town today,” he declared. “I thought to look in on the… hero of our recent battle. I am told that Davos came to the temple this morning with one of the acolytes. Is he still here?”

“He is, your highness,” Cinna confirmed.

“Fetch him for me,” said the prince. “I much desire to speak with him.”

“My lord prince, I beg your forgiveness,” Cinna replied, though her flat tone carried no semblance of begging, “but the high priestess meets now with him in private. It is forbidden for anyone to interrupt.”

Alaric’s brow furrowed. “Indeed,” he frowned. “This Davos is one of the faithful of Aphrodite?”

“His reverence and devotion has been ascertained,” Cinna nodded deeply. “Of all the gods and goddesses, Davos of Murried holds Aphrodite most dear. He and the high priestess had much to discuss. She guides him in worship as we speak.”

“Worship,” Alaric repeated, tactfully keeping the sour tone out of his voice.

“Yes, your highness. I assure you, with all respect that you are due, that Davos is deeply embedded in sacred matters.”

* * *

Many folk would think this perverse, thought Davos, but I doubt many men could resist. “Tell me if this hurts,” he whispered into her ear from behind Ariella on the bed.

The naked beauty on her hands and knees before him simply gasped and pushed back at his hips and his cock with that wonderful ass. “Take me,” she moaned in sincere need. “I want this.”

He kept her spread with his hands, slowly pushing up into her tight flesh with his cock as hard as ever—if not more so. The oils slathered on his shaft and down the crack of her ass were almost as arousing as the reality of the act they now committed. No act of lust was forbidden or foul in this space and if done with consent… but as Ariella had said, the presumed taboo that so many others held against this act enhanced the excitement for both of them.

They’d shared over an hour of intimate touching, probing and preparation of her body. Thorough attention to cleanliness had been assured before they even met, but Davos and Ariella saw to every aspect of readiness just the same. Tenderness and reassurance were just as important as naughty desire, though now that the moment was upon them the latter dominated all their other emotions.

Davos penetrated into her warm, tight hole slowly but relentlessly. Ariella let out a low moan and arched her back. He couldn’t read anything from that tone–it could come from discomfort, or fear, or from pleasure–but the way her ass pushed back against his intruding cockhead made the surest statement.

“Goddess, yes, please,” Ariella groaned as Davos worked his way slowly into her, “let me have all of this man!”

He pushed in another tight, warm inch, loving the constricting feeling on his cock and reveling in the beautiful view. This new intimacy left him feeling intoxicated and powerful. He’d heard before that such acts caused discomfort at first, and sometimes pain and even bleeding, but he and Ariella had been quite careful and now shared istanbul escort only intense pleasure. Perhaps all that lengthy preparation made all the difference, or maybe it was simply the blessing of Aphrodite at work. Maybe it was both.

Regardless, Davos continued his slow and relentless penetration of Ariella’s ass to their mutual delight. “Oooh, Davos,” Ariella moaned loudly when her ass was fully up against his groin and he’d invaded as deeply as he could, “it’s so good.”

“Yes,” he growled, leaning over her possessively. He couldn’t embrace her like he wanted—couldn’t seize her breasts and also support himself, not with everything at and below his hips charged with electric ripples of pleasure—but he could still get close to her ear and emphasize their union. “So good.”

“Mmhh. You like it?” she all but whined.

“You’re amazing,” he said, pushing just a bit to experience a little motion. The oils seemed to do the trick, enabling him to move within her without unpleasant friction. In truth, he would not have said her ass was better than her soothing, welcoming sex. He would not be the one to initiate this up in the future—and had not been the first to suggest it now—but none of that meant he wouldn’t savor this moment.

He didn’t lie. She felt amazing, and the mere reality of this act drove them both wild. Many cultures forbade this as an act of perversion; others spoke of it as if it should shame both partners. Even where it was not stigmatized, it was not spoken of. Yet here they were, engaged and wanting—”More,” she said.

Davos withdrew, feeling ever more potent and confident as he saw his length pulling out of her, and then pushed back in once more. “Better?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” Ariella replied. “I’m getting used to this quickly. I could get very used to this with you.”

Her partner smiled. He would not ask for this in the future, nor did he think it better than other more conventional intimacies… but he would never, ever turn it down, either.

Davos reached for the small bottle of oil and dribbled a little more into the valley of her ass just for good measure, and then increased his tempo ever so slightly to work the oil in and to enjoy their coupling. When he leaned forward again and reached around to her front, bringing well-oiled fingers to the lips of her wet sex, his partner shivered and bucked against him.

Ariella whimpered out something unintelligible. He knew exactly what she meant by it, and so he kept going.

* * *

“Very well,” decided Alaric. “A prince should respect the piety of his people.”

“Yes,” Cinna agreed, flatly and unbidden.

The prince blinked at that. He couldn’t tell if she said it to scold him or if it had been completely genuine. Perhaps she didn’t realize he had more to say just then. Of all the acolytes in the temple—presuming he could tell them apart, as he rarely remembered their names—this one always seemed the most difficult to deal with. She was also, naturally, the one he had to face most often.

“I understand that Davos has been provided with lodgings at the Singing Lion. It is a fine establishment. I visit there sometimes myself. Would you be so kind as to relay to him that I will be there tonight, should he care to join my Companions and I for a friendly dinner and perhaps a drink or two? I would get to know him before he is thrust into more formal settings with the crown and court all in attendance. It may help him feel more comfort, as well.”

“A generous offer,” Cinna observed. “His highness is most kind. I shall relay your offer. I do not, however, know how long his business in the temple will keep him. If he cannot join you, shall I send word?”

The thought of it caused the prince some obvious consternation, but he held his reaction down to a brief expression of annoyance that quickly passed. “That would be appreciated, yes,” the prince said. “You may go now.”

“Humbly, your highness,” replied Cinna with another short bow before she went back inside the temple.

The prince spun on his heel to face his entourage. His eyes first went to the man in castle finery close beside him. “You may go relay all that to Edward or my mother or whoever serves between you and the steward,” he said irritably. “I trust I have not done anything embarrassing in your eyes?”

The servant put on a good face of deference and apology as he bowed. “Goodness, no, your highness,” he said. “The steward merely wanted me to accompany you on this errand in case you needed—”

Alaric’s raised hand cut him off. “Spare me,” he sighed, “it’s already been explained before. I know you are here as a minder. I’m sure I can be trusted to my own devices when the rest of my plans are personal in nature. Or do you need to watch me and my Companions shop and tour the city?”

“I beg your forgiveness, your highness,” the man bowed again, “and I will go.”

The Companions all stepped closer as the servant scurried off with whatever dignity he could muster. “You came escort bayan fatih down on him a bit hard, didn’t you?” asked one of the women, though with more humor than sympathy.

“Don’t start, Terrwyn,” Alaric snapped. “The man was sent as a babysitter from my mother or from Edward, nothing more. As if I cannot simply invite a commoner to eat with me without needing supervision.”

“Peace, Alaric,” said Terrwyn, her gloved hands raised. The leather of her new armor still made tiny crinkling noises as she moved. It was too bad her last set couldn’t be salvaged after the battle, but at least it did its job. Terrwyn stood side by side with the prince when the goblins broke and ran—many of them straight through the Companions’ line. She had also, pointedly, waited for the prince to declare how many of them he’d killed before claiming a lower and therefore less accurate number. The man’s ego had to be handled as delicately as elvish crystal.

“I don’t mean to criticize,” the warrior continued. “He’s simply doing what was asked of him.”

“Yes, and he’s doing that now, too, thankfully. And I’ll ask you to drop it.”

“So that’s it, then?” piped up Majella. Like Terrwyn, her armor was comprised mostly of leather, though darker and lighter for functional purposes. Where her longtime partner relied on a skilled sword arm and ready shield to cut through their battles, Majella leaned more heavily on speed, stealth and guile. Her delicately pretty face tended to lure men into underestimating her in a head-on fight, too, which suited her just fine. “Dinner and drinks at the Lion this evening? Perhaps we should drop by and warn Thaddeus or Juliana that we’ll be there so they’ll be ready for us?”

“I’m always up for it,” said Geoffrey, clad in chain mail and leather much like Terrwyn’s. He slapped Baldwin on the arm. “I’m up for waiting there all night for our new hero friend to turn up.”

“We might not be in such a state for actually meeting him by the time he does,” snorted Baldwin.

Alaric rolled his eyes. “You may do as you wish, but I’ll not waste my time on catering to the caterers,” he grumbled. “I have better things to do today.” With that, the prince turned and gruffly walked away.

Terrwyn snatched him by the collar and yanked him back. Though the prince gave a grunt of surprise, no one heard it over the racket made by the cart that overturned in front of him in an effort to come to a sudden halt. Bricks and debris tumbled out where the prince had nearly stepped.

“Gods, no!” the driver of the cart shouted too late, but then his fall from the cart had him fully occupied. He tumbled to one side as his load scattered everywhere, but managed to avoid injury. Though startled, the horse realized it could only drag the cart only so far whilst on its side. The animal looked completely unharmed.

The driver looked extra fearful when he recognized the man he’d almost hit. “Your highness! I am so sorry, are you alright?” he blurted.

“You oaf!” Alaric shouted. “Watch where you’re going! Or are you too stupid to do such simple work as moving blocks from one end of the street to another?”

Baldwin snickered. Geoffrey managed to keep his laughter in check. All work around the group ceased, with some laborers looking on in shock and others immediately going to the driver’s aid. Majella was quickly at his side, too, offering a hand to help him up.

“No harm done,” she said, looking the driver over with a nod and then turning to her comrade. “You’re all in one piece. So’s he,” she nodded brightly. “Nothing gets hurt but a cart and a pile of broken bricks, eh?”

Alaric jerked his shirt back into place. He glanced back at Terrwyn, and while his eyes held no reproach, the man plainly wasn’t happy. “Peasants,” he seethed.

The driver bowed deeply. “I am so sorry, your highness,” he repeated.

Alaric stormed off, hardly waiting for the crowd of men and women that had gathered to part. “Make way!” Baldwin shouted loudly, recognizing the prince’s mood. He and Geoffrey followed close behind. “Make way!”

Neither of the women rushed off after them. Majella looked up at her tall friend as Terrwyn stepped up to the driver. “You are unhurt? You’re sure?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady,” he nodded. “Only my pride and… well, my coinpurse now,” he added glumly. The look on his face as he stared at his cart spoke to his plight.

“How much does a cart like this cost?” asked Terrwyn. She paid no mind to the rise of Majella’s eyebrow in response to her question.

“I paid twenty-five gold for it,” lamented the driver.

“It sounds like a fair price,” said Terrwyn, pulling off the glove from her right hand, “though I don’t know the market well.” She took a small emerald ring off of her little finger. “Here. See what you can get for this.”

The driver accepted the ring with obvious surprise. “Thank you, my lady! Your generosity will keep food on my children’s table!” He looked down at the ring, then glanced at the wreckage and said, “This will help limit my losses, though the day’s wages are clearly not—”

“Don’t push it,” Majella said, rolling her eyes. She tugged Terrwyn’s arm to get the warrior moving along with her to follow the prince and the other Companions. “One could get much more for that ring than a workman’s cart,” she noted as they walked.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Another Little Piece

I had to cleanse myself of my booze addiction. I’ve not touched a drop for eighteen month. Not since I woke up naked on Hampstead Heath after a vodka binge a year-and-a-half ago.

I’m doing okay now, but the first couple of weeks into the not drinking was a nightmare. My body shook for a week after my last bottle of vodka. I heard voices and glanced after darting shadows and stretching darkness. My body felt like it had shrunk, and my brain was soaked in depression and confusion.

But maybe, I’m a liar. A cheat. Replacing one vice for another.

I put my twelve-skin reefer in my mouth, it was fuckin’ huge! I built it like an ice-cream cone and when I lit it, it went up like an Olympic torch. I took a large drag and my lungs filled with brain-numbing skunk weed fumes. I exhaled, I blew out so much smoke, you’d swear I’d been set ablaze.

When I smoke weed it makes me so horny. Making my cock as angry as a Megalodon. It’s better than Viagra. Most of the time, when I’m high, I’m trying to hide my hard on, wearing loose fitting jog pants; I have no place to put it: having no girlfriend and can’t afford a brass every time my cock wants out.

I swapped a liquid addiction for a smoking one. My dealer is as clean as a laundered sheet. To myself, I call him Daz, it amuses me; his name is Simon.

Last week, when I was buying my stash from him, I was telling him of my younger days up North, when I was taking acid. He enjoyed my stories. When I bought from him yesterday, he told me he had put a bit extra in my wrap of weed. When I got home and opened the wrap, I found a tab of acid within. Shit! The last time I took acid was about thirty years ago.

It was a beautiful July morning. I was sitting in the garden drinking iced coke and smoking a joint, it wasn’t Olympic sized, just run-of-the-mill sized. I had rolled six the same size as I was planning a walk on Hampstead Heath. I was off work for two weeks holiday, I’m visiting my brother in Scotland on Monday; we’re both leaving for Amsterdam on Wednesday.

I took a long drag on my joint. I exhaled smoke from my nose and mouth, it fogged up the acid tab I was looking at in the palm of my hand. My heart was beating faster with anticipation of taking the tab, I palmed it into my mouth and washed it down with iced coke. I swallowed with a gulp and it was gone. I took a long drag of weed; I exhaled a long line of smoke looking beşiktaş eskort up at the deep blue sky as the smoke drifted off into nothingness.

The day was airy and warm. I strolled onto the Heath, passed the ponds and up onto Parliament Hill. I stood at the summit of the hill and looked at the city of London and the tower at Canary Wharf. I turned and walked onto grass land, heading toward Golders Green. I felt as if my feet were sinking into the grass and that it was sticky and gooey, like a green treacle. My cock felt hard and my body buzzed, it was the LSD, it was starting to kick in.

I stepped off the sticky grass and onto a black tarmac path. I looked ahead and the path stretched out before me like long black rope, stretching into the distance. The birds singing about me became more pronounced, like someone had turned up the volume, it was sweet twitter but loud. I listened as I walked, it was rhythmic and melodic. I felt as if I had a little dance in my step, but hoped I didn’t start skipping down the black tarmac path, like that scarecrow fucker in the Wizard of Oz.

As I walked my tweekies head was rubbing on the inside fleece of my jogging pants, it was turning me on. My legs and spine tingled, that feeling I get when I’m being sucked off, although I’ve not had that pleasure for a while. I felt myself cum a little and it felt great. I decided to head for the cover of the woods and find a quiet spot for a wank, with this LSD starting it should be electric.

I walked through the wood looking for an isolated spot where I could get my cock out in private, today was not a good day, it was a lovely day, it was Saturday and there was folk milling about everywhere. I spotted a small thicket of bushes in a clearing, I walked into the clearing, but it was odd, the clearing was a circle, tall trees marked the perimeter, and in the middle was the thicket of bushes, they were also circle in form and set in the middle of the circle clearing, like they had been put there purposely, placed in the centre.

I walked round the bushes; they looked a solid mass of green leaves. Then the leaves started moving, as if being rustled by a light breeze, but it was a beautifully calm day. Then the leaves made a distinctive rustling sound, like crisp packets being scrunched up. The bushes en masse began to shake and rustle urgently, intertwining leaves and branches shot into the istanbul escortları air, quickly forming a conical shape, like an Indian Tepee, like on them old western movies. I stepped backward, stumbled and fell on my arse.

I looked at the ten-foot leafy wigwam and thought this acid is good. But then the acid got even better as an entrance to the bush wigwam appeared and a voice whispered my name.

‘come in Paul,’ said the voice. ‘Don’t be afraid, it’s me Little Piece.’

‘Who the hells Little Piece?’ I asked.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re just an illusion.’

‘Illusion,’ said Little Piece. ‘No, I’m a wood nymph Paul. Don’t you remember?’ Come in and see for yourself.’

I walked up to the entrance of the leafy wigwam. ‘come inside Paul, I can make you happy,’ said Little Piece. Cautiously I entered.

Inside, it felt cool, like it was air conditioned. It was spacious and airy, more so than it looked from the outside. A small fire burnt, flickering blue flames, in the middle of the space. The fire became agitated and the flames grew longer and taller, reaching the height of me. The flames moved and flickered, like they were dancing. My name was whispered as the flames took on shape, a human shape, the form of a lady, a woman, a beautifully shaped blue lady.

‘Hello Paul,’ said the blue lady.

‘Hi,’ I replied.

‘It’s good to see you again Paul,’ She said.

‘But we’ve never met,’ I said.

‘We met one night when you had been drinking that awful stuff you call alcohol. It was a magical night.’

‘Why? Why, was it magical.’ I stammered.

‘I will show you why,’ said the blue lady. She stepped toward me, I was looking at a beautiful illusion, something I felt more than I saw, she was more of an image in my head, like a daydream. I felt a warmth come over me, not hot like fire, but warm like human skin; as if I were being touched everywhere, she felt soft and warm. My mind’s eye pictured her soft blue lips, which I kissed. Her neck was long and slender, which I ran my tongue down until I met the swell of her soft tit, they were petite and shaped like pears. I kissed her tits and ran my tongue to her left dark blue nipple, it was like a dark-blue cherry on a light-blue Bakewell, I nibbled at it, I licked at it, I sucked at it; I wanted to eat it. I swapped over to her right tit and paid it the same attention, escort fatih I took her left tit in my left hand and closed my hand around it, squeezing gently, opening and squeezing; the blue lady moaned erotically, as I sucked on her right nipple and groped her left beautifully soft tit.

My cock was solidly erect, I could feel it pushing against my joggers. ‘Make yourself naked,’ said the blue lady, ‘it’s me Paul, it’s Little Piece.’

I felt my body buzzing with LSD as I looked upon the naked blue lady in my mind’s eye, I was tripping out of my mind. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘It’s you, it’s another Little Piece.

I pulled down my joggers and my boxers to my ankles. I took my thick sultry hard on in my hand and wanked a bit, it felt electric, my cock felt massive in my hand. ‘Can I hold your manhood?’ asked Little Piece. I let go my cock and watched Little Piece take it in her hand. She began to pump it slowly. ‘You have a manly manhood,’ said Little Piece. Then she took me in her mouth. It felt like I’d been plunged into a sea of warm candyfloss, all sticky and gooey and warm. Little Piece pumped my cock faster, her slurping and erotic moaning made me cum faster as I felt myself erupt like a tidal wave……

‘You fuckin’ Purv! Hoy!’

I stared in shock at a man with his dog heading toward me. Little piece and the leaf wigwam were gone. I had my cock in my hand, I let go of it, pulled up my boxers and joggers, turned and ran.

‘You pervert!’ Shouted the man. ‘I’m calling the Police!’

I ran toward Kenwood. I ran amongst the trees, through the wooded areas. My heart was pounding, and I was breathing heavy. I had to stop. I leaned up against the trunk of a large oak and caught my breath. I looked about me, there was no sign of the man and his dog. My hand was slick with cum, I wiped it clean on the grass. ‘What the fuck!’ I said to myself. I headed for the road and a way off the Heath. I walked down a long path that took me to Hampstead Heath Overground station. I spotted an off licence, I walked to it, went in and bought four cans of Sella. I headed home. On the way I opened a can of Stella and gulped the whole can down. The alcohol mixed with everything else which was swimming through my bloodstream. I felt a wave of euphoria come over me and I took a wobble, corrected myself, and marched on.

I closed my front door behind me and headed for the garden. I sat down and opened another can. My hand shook as I drank. By the third can my hand was steady. I lit up one of my pre-rolled joints and opened my last can. I felt pissed and stoned. My cock went hard again, and I thought of Little piece. I wanted more to drink, I didn’t want lager, I wanted a bottle of vodka.

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It was a sunny afternoon the day I came to my aunt Amalthea’s estate in Atlanburg. It would be an understatement to say I was tired. After a day and a half riding in a carriage through the stinking metropolis, the suburbs and out to the country house I was not in the best state. I stared up at the letters carved into the archway above the door: Murray Manor 13901. The word looming is overused somewhat universally but if ever there was a place made for the word, this was it. The stone manor looked like a castle and it’s great thick walls did loom over me. Smartly arranged planters were an extension of the perfectly manicured lawn and the smart cobblestone lane leading to the house. The place oozed money.

That’s why my father had sent me here supposedly. His sister was a world-class businesswoman and knew how to run a household, his exact words. It didn’t seem to matter that the city-state of Atlanburg still used its undesirables as human chattel. I couldn’t understand why father would send me to a place that violated every human rights agreement we held sacred. Yet here I was.

I had been waiting for some time and thought about knocking again when the door abruptly swung open. The woman inside was not my aunt but a thrall dressed in a dark maid’s uniform. I tried not to stare at the tattoos on her neck.

“Um… Stara Murray, here to see the Lady Amalthea,” I stated.

“Yes Lady Stara, right this way,” she replied. Once inside I followed her bustling form down the hallway. The maid was about my age from the look of her with her shiny blonde hair tied up in a bun. After a few more turns we came to the Lady Amalthea’s office.

“Thank you Jema, you may go..” The maid turned on her heel without having to be asked twice, leaving me alone with a woman I’d only met a couple times. Her face was as stern as I’d remembered it when I was a girl with her graying hair tied up tightly. She had a reputation for being hard and relentless. Her office certainly projected that at first glance. Everything was in perfect order among huge, intimidating polished shelves of mahogany. The only decorations were modernist sculptures of cold steel.

“Welcome to Murray Manor Stara. It’s nice to see you again and how fares your father?”

“He’s well Lady, thank you.”

“Very good. I don’t like to waste time so we’ll start immediately. You are to accompany me on matters with Duke Harinn’s people shortly but before we do there are some matters on which I must instruct you. Being from New Brunswick I believe you are not familiar with the ways of criminal justice here.”

“On the contrary, Lady, I learned in school how people do their penance here,” I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral.

“But you have never commanded a thrall with their true name, correct?”

“That is correct my lady.” I didn’t like where this was going.

“Jema, come here!” The maid came rushing back in.

“As you can see, Jema is in service to me. She is repaying a debt to society and I have been given her true name. As such, she will do anything I say quite literally.”

Oh no.

“Jema, put your hands on the desk.”

The young woman complied as if yanked forward by a pulley system and then pulled her hands away immediately.

“So you see if you want to keep a thrall somewhere you must specifically state so or they will not be made to comply. Let’s have another example.”

“Oh that won’t be necess-…”

“Jema, do a handstand and hold position.” I watched helplessly as she immediately sprung down onto her hands and stayed there. It was humiliating to watch let alone what the thrall must be feeling as her skirt fell down onto her torso, exposing her underwear. Mercifully her face was at least covered but mine was blushing in embarrassment and anger. Amalthea strode over to the woman and pinched her hard on the inner thigh, forcing a shriek from her.

“As you can see she will stay in this position until her muscles give out.”

She stayed there for a few more nerve wracking moments on trembling muscles until the Lady called out to release her. When she stood up her face was neutral and she stared at the wall but her chest was heaving up and down from exertion..

“Dismissed Jema,” Amalthea called out and the woman practically ran from the room.

“Your face says you do not approve but these are things you must learn while you live here.”

“You could have just told me Lady Amalthea.” My tone was icy but fear kept me in check..

“No child. You needed to see. Now I will give you one more instruction,” her face was inches from mine and cold in a way that made me hold my tongue, “If you listen, you will hear the Duke’s men arriving just now. They have come to talk business and brought with them a new thrall. A gift of good faith and possibly a spy. He is not to be trusted.”

I looked out the window and indeed there was a carriage being emptied of men outside.

My aunt spoke low into my ear, making the hair at escort beşiktaş the back of my neck stand up, “You may not appreciate this now but you might if you need to defend yourself. I won’t put my own relation in danger. His name is Arendi Cantus Aliatheni.”

I couldn’t stop myself from gasping. She’d said his full true name carefully, with the proper intonation. I felt the weight it carried.

“Yes, now you understand. I would never deign to test your morals,” her voice dropped with sarcasm, “but when you need it you must say Arendi Cantus Aliatheni obey my commands immediately and completely until I release you. This will bind him to your will.”

She grabbed my upper arm and twisted to make her point. “Repeat that phrase I have just told you word for word.”

She had a hard look on her face and I didn’t see what difference it would make to repeat them now where the poor man couldn’t hear me. This name had been ripped from him by the oracle after he’d been sentenced for a crime and I didn’t plan to participate in this barbarity.

“Arendi Cantus Aliatheni.. obey my commands immediately and completely until I release you.”

“Good,” she said calmy, releasing my arm, “they’re coming now.”

Indeed they came into the office a few moments later behind Jema, the duke’s two emissaries dressed in fine clothibg and feathered hats. Another younger man with a shock of black hair, slightly too long was with them. I had never seen a thrall as marked as he was with tattoos winding their way down one half of his face and chest where it met a simple white shirt. The other half of him was unmarked. It was striking. Whoever had that done to him clearly had a flair for the dramatic. He kept his dark eyes pointed down, hidden under long sooty lashes but I had the feeling he was still aware of every movement around him. He made brief eye contact with me and inexplicably my face grew hot. I quickly looked down to the floor. He was the type of man who was not only handsome but pretty. It wasn’t hard to guess what his duties at the Duke’s castle were.

The duke’s men were as arrogant as any who had come to father’s court and introduced themselves in an embarrassingly grandiose manner. A certain type of small talk continued until one of the men, the one with a large blonde mustache, changed the subject.

“How rude of me, I haven’t introduced the thrall yet.” Cue the cruel laughter from the two men. “Let’s get the two of you better acquainted and talk business.”

“Very well,” my aunt addressed me now, “Stara please leave us and get situated in your room.”

I nodded to the duke’s emmissaries and hurried out but I couldn’t help staying outside the doorway for a moment. I heard them clearly from that short distance talking politics and finances.

“So I suppose we should take care of the transfer of goods then. Kneel. I trust you have his name?” I assumed it was the thrall who I heard kneel on the ground.

The Lady Amalthea spoke clearly then. “Arendi Cantus Aliatheni, obey my commands immediately and completely until you are released.”

“Very good. Arendi Cantus Aliatheni, you are now released from my service.” One of them said with a chuckle. It sounded like he was handing over an old book rather than a human being.

“Now that we are completed with that, I suggest we go sit down to supper if you gentlemen are not opposed.”

“Not at all.” I jumped a bit as I heard that and scurried down the hallway to get ahead of them. Finding another servant woman down the hall, this one with no tattoos, I asked and she was kind enough to lead me to my room where my bags had been taken.

After we arrived there I inquired as to her status in the house.

“I am here as a free woman my lady. A little over half of the men and women in service to the Lady Amalthea are the same. I wish there were even fewer thralls here if I’m being honest.”

“Why is that ma’am if you don’t mind me asking?”

The older woman smiled in a condescending manner. “You’ve really never been out of New Brunswick then. These people are criminals dearie, regardless of what those bleeding hearts in the papers might say they deserve what they get. They should lock them up or execute them instead of letting them be out among decent people. But I’m sure the Lady of the house will be vigilant about your safety.”

“I see,” I said, effectively dismissing her, “thank you for your help.”

She bowed slightly and excused herself.

I thought about her words after she had left. She seemed ghoulish to me now but how much of what she said could be true? I wasn’t naïve enough to think every criminal was harmless but the thought of having my free will stripped away made me queasy. I would have to wait and see.

Walking down to the supper hall the Duke’s men and Lady were already seated with their drinks. I sat down and a few of the staff brought out food, some with tattoos and some without. The new thrall was nowhere istanbul escorts to be seen. The more the men ate and drank the fine wine the more drunk and rowdy they became until Lady Amalthea left the dining hall to set up accommodations for them. The trouble started when the young thrall, Jema, entered in to pour more wine. Emboldened by the Lady’s absence one of the men made a grab for her and encircled his arm around her waist. His other hand was busy grabbing a handful of her hair to press his wine soaked mustache against her own mouth. From the look on her face it was clear she didn’t want his attentions but she didn’t resist actively, only clenching her hands into fists at her side. Until the other man lifted up her skirt. I watched in shock as the man kissing her slid his hand up her thigh and in between her legs That was apparently the last straw. At that she tried to pull away but he held her fast. Her hand raised up and finally there was a deafening smack as she struck him across the face.

It happened so fast I didn’t know how to respond right away. When I did find my voice it came out in a yell, wavering but loud, “Stop it! Let go of her! NOW!”

My aunt chose this opportune moment to reenter the room while the second man still had his hand up Jema’s skirt. The new thrall was with her, scanning the room cautiously but not alarmed.

“What is all this yelling about?” she asked angrily.

“This feral animal slapped me!” This from the man shaking Jema by her hair.

“They were assaulting this woman!” I shouted.

“Is this correct? Were you acting in a lewd and inappropriate manner in front of my young charge?”

I mean… I wasn’t that young.

“We are sorry my lady,” one of them slurred.

“Unhand that thrall and I will see to it that she’s punished. Meanwhile you two may retire to your rooms and in the morning go back to the Duke with my regards. That will be all.” Her voice was carefully neutral but there was ice and fire under that façade.

The men must have sensed this too and quickly fled to their rooms.

“You two, come outside with me,” Amalthea said referring to Jema and the new thrall, “Stara you may go to your room.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong-” I started.

“I said you are excused,” she snapped.

I walked out looking at each face in turn and decided I must know whatever was to happen. Rounding the corner I headed straight to my room and waited several minutes to sneak down the hall and out a side door. When I came to the courtyard the staff was gathered around Jema. Over 50 people standing in a circle but I could see between them to the terrified woman in the middle.

I heard the Lady Amalthea command her to strip and she slowly removed her dress and undergarments until she was completely nude. The next command was to kneel and she did so extending her hands out in front of her. I felt a blush creep into my cheeks as she was displayed for everyone present and then horror as I heard her next command.

“You, Aren, step forward. You are to give her 25 lashes for striking out guest and don’t go too easy or I will restart the count,” she stated handing over a wicked looking whip with 6 different tails to the new thrall.

“Begin.” The crack of the whip on her skin was nothing compared to the sound of Jema shaking and sobbing. The thrall took his mistress seriously and did not hold back too much. Her screams became louder and then quieter as she came close to losing consciousness. By the time the count reached 25 I had stuffed my fingers into my mouth and was biting into them to keep from making any noise. Her back was covered in red welts and blood. Everyone began to disperse and I hid myself behind the wall. There were only a few people left to witness Jema still kneeling on the ground.

“Now you can stay there until morning and I hope you will have learned your lesson.”

“Pardon me my lady,” I heard Aren say, “might I take her to treat her wounds first? She may get an infection and cause you further trouble.”

“There’s an idea.” She seemed to think about this for a moment. “Aren, you kneel, hands in front.”

His body moved in that unnatural way I’d come to associate with the commands and mirrored Jema’s position.

“You’ll take her place and stay here until morning.”

Jema was released and another woman helped her walk to the servant’s quarters while the other was left to endure there. I went back to my room but tossed and turned, looking out my window to see him still kneeling there.

The next morning I saw out my window my aunt go to the thrall, still kneeling in the courtyard and release him from the strained position. He struggled to find his feet but hobbled on and out of sight before long. That wasn’t the last time I would see the lady of the house cruelly punish the thralls in her service.

I tried to learn as much as I could, though I felt a seething hatred toward my aunt. I was set to stay escort kağıthane here for another 6 months and if I couldn’t get along I might not be able to bear the shame of being sent back to my father. The other problem was the distraction I felt whenever the dark-eyed thrall Aren would appear and yet I found myself looking for ways to be around him. He didn’t always talk much, mostly just did his work but I could feel myself becoming infatuated with him, especially after I’d seen his kindness towards Jema. The reason for his arrest and enslavement were unknown to me and I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Truth was, I didn’t want to know.

One day after a particulary frustrating “lesson” from my aunt I went out of the house to get some fresh air. As I walked out I saw him weeding the garden and I sat down in the grass a few yards away, not too close to make him uncomfortable I hoped. He was shirtless with intricate black lines running along his back and arms. They were beautiful to look at over the taught muscle below.

“I like your tattoos,” I called out and then cringed. Why did I say that?

“Thank you,” he replied, not turning around.

“Did those hurt?” I asked, looking at the thick black bands tattooed on his wrists and ankles. The keenly resembled shackles.

“I wouldn’t know, can’t feel pain when you’re unconscious.”

“They put you under for that?”

“Put me under? All they have to say is ‘go to sleep’ and I won’t wake up until they say so.” He replied, as if explaining to a very small child.

“Do they… do they do that a lot?” I asked, more than a bit taken aback.

“Of course, it’s an automatic shut off switch for people. The handlers generally do that for tattoos, piercings, any painful modifications the lord or lady wants completed before the thrall is handed over. Unless of course they’re into that kind of thing and they want to watch,” he said nonchalantly, plucking some more weeds.

I couldn’t help looking away, my stomach clenching at the thought of being paralyzed while people hurt me and made permanent alterations. It made my blood freeze.

“Seems like something lady Amalthea would enjoy.”

“Not really,” he pulled up another weed from between the rose bushes, “She’s cold-hearted but it’s all business with her. She’ll have a slave beaten or altered to make a point but she doesn’t enjoy it.”

I mulled that over for a moment. He paused and looked at me with dark eyes, maybe worrying he might have said too much.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just came out to grab a little air, maybe get a little time away from the lady of the house…”

“It’s no bother Lady Stara.”

He seemed to relax a bit but went silent after that, continuing with his work. I felt awkward that the exchange had become too personal and after stealing a few more glances decided to go for a walk in the wooded area by the garden. It was getting hot and the breeze in the shaded grove felt wonderful.

After a few minutes I came across a little stream and sat down by the banks against the trunk of a tree. The leaves shook in the wind like a whisper and the air was so fresh and soothing it wasn’t long before my eyelids started to droop. With my eyes closed now drifting into sleep I heard a rustle of leaves not far from myself, maybe a squirrel or a bird. It came again louder this time. I opened my eyes and jolted awake at the sight of Aren only a foot away, his face pale and eyes wide. Letting out a shriek, I scurried away on my hands.

“I’m sorry!” He said and held up his open hands in a conciliatory gesture, “Please my lady, I only saw you sitting here and came to speak with you.”

“You followed me!”

He looked pained then and kneeled next to me as thralls were trained to do, knees apart, hands resting palm up on the thighs and head slightly bowed.

“Please, I don’t mean you any harm Lady Stara. I only wanted to apologize to you for earlier when I misspoke about the Lady Amalthea. What I said…I didn’t mean any disrespect to you or her. I hadn’t realized you were her niece.”

Someone in the household told him we were related and a transformation had taken place in his body. Where once had stood a confident young man now he kneeled in submission, his breathIng shallow and shoulders slumped. I realized then he was terrified I would inform Amalthea what he had said in the garden. He must have thought the punishment for speaking to me that way would be harsh considering his reaction.

“I’m not going to say anything to her about it.”

I watched as he let out a slow breath he’d been holding through full, pink lips. My eyes followed the patterns that flowed down his neck to broad chest and finally to disappear into the waistband of his pants. It was a nice view that could make a lady wonder what designs were underneath and where.

When I looked back up I found him staring intently at me and my face flushed in embarrassment from being caught staring at his crotch. I tried to compose myself and then crawled closer to him.

“Really, it’s okay. I’m not her biggest fan either,” I said, smirking conspiratorially, “I’d never tell her anything.”

“Thank you,” he said, but his eyes were still nervous, “We haven’t been introduced but my name is Aren.”

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