To face ones fears, to find what you seek, you often have to face what you fear to lose, even if it is yourself. So it is with Rh'aan in one challenge of her life.
Sleep, one thing living beings have in common. All have a desire for rest, to recuperate, and to heal. A chance to get in shape for the next ordeal or challenge; the body moves to relaxation, while the mind drifts off seeking out paths in the psyche unexplored during the day.
This is the time of dreams.
The dreams shared by most involve travels and tales led in far distant lands; where they become kings, merchants or a hero or heroin of such legend that generations unborn will remember them.
Some do make such dreams happen, seeking out their own destinies. It is from these folks that true changes, good or bad emerge. For even the darkest hearted villains do have dreams of their own; just different in how they manage or desire to achieve them.
But this part of the night is not for her.
Other folks speak of dreams leading into their past, events and memories of childhood, youthful irreverence, finding out new discoveries each generation relearns; memories in which to cherish, to learn from, or that help in comforting when troubled times reach us.
Once in a great while, one will emerge, “touched” in some “special way.” He or she, or sometimes it, bespeaks of an events to come; often in dire omens and warnings set upon the current path life treads.
Often these dreams are cherished or held up as true ideals and morals; principles to build on, and rightness to hold in our hands. A guiding light of correctness; or a warning of dire consequences if not stopped.
But this part of the night is not for her.
Caught up she is between two worlds, one of life and one of unlife. Of these two worlds she lives in, never fully in either and rejected by both.
A duality of existence is her fate and her curse: life given to death; death is given to her for life. Always she must be on the move, always on the hunt; always it seems to be the hunted and alone between two worlds.
Always she is alone, saves at times for one, and Patches her little raggamoffyn familiar.
She dares not to dream or even to have hope, for often her hopes are dashes and dreams become a nightmare within a reality she wants to escape.
Even in the world of dreams she lives in the dual worlds, not of one or the other – only peace she wants just for one time.
Death comes calling unto to everyone and everything in the due course of time. Some via luck, fate, destiny, or so evade this engagement for a time; yet death himself is the most patient, persistent and relentless of hunters.
When the direct path of the hunt may fail, then brought in is the Master of Hounds; their job, flush the prey out of the sheltered grounds it lairs in.
Employed right, they advance along with the sets of folks blowing horns, beating drums, and in a wide line; driven to paces steady, and relentless, either they catch the tired and doomed prey…or it is driven right to the unseen hunter.
The method is ancient, perfect, and inescapable.
But as even the wiliest of foxes learns soon enough; even the lowliest of rabbits once cornered, needs only one lucky bite.
Her ears flatten down hard to her head, hair flowing in the wind like ribbons. Thorns tear gashes into her remaining cloths, little more than rags now, and tangle within her hair constantly.
“Shut UP!!!” She howls at the best level her air starved set of lungs can manage. Relentlessly the sounds of drummers continues on, and soon will come the horns, indicating to all that the hounds will pursue.
They will be pursuing her. She rips up the remains of one thin outer coat; fine-spun cotton now looking like a gang of mad scissors hit it. Piles of winter snow lay about in the sparkling daylight, sometimes blindingly intense.
In desperation she grabs several branches fallen from the mighty bowers overhead. Swiftly with the coat remnants plus blood covered strips of her shirt, she makes a crude decoy, hoping her plan will work.
Constantly the beat occures, timing perfected over dozens of generations; they know the land, they know the hunters, and they understand their prey. For as in every hunt before all is as it should be, there is no escape.
High in the trees, movement catches the attention of the second line: a mixture of horn blowers, torch bearers, and archers carrying recurred bows. Arrows are prepared, lined up, and then loosed upon silent command.
The flying squirrel glides in haste, making for his favored branch and path to safety. Arrows hissed by just moments before, sending him high and far in a great leap for life. In the landing zone chosen though, a figure sits crouched by the trunk.
Landing hard against it, a savage bite delays attack while a swift leap sends it off to another branch. The figure moves forward inches, soon to be hit by a dozen arrows. Mortally wounded, it slowly falls forward and crashes down to the ground with a meaty, bone breaking THUNK.
She whirled upon the youthful lad running right at her. He came on with a grin of purest mischief, or devilry, they all look much the same to her on humans.
Claws unsheathed on fingertips, gleaming with the bits of sunlight coming from the shrubs she hid in.
“Listen, I don’t want any trouble…”
Now her confusion is indeed complete as he flashes by in a blur, arcane forces accelerating his muscles to superhuman speeds. He jumps skywards at the crest of the dune, doing a 720º circle with a 480º series of twists to the left.
She suddenly finds herself upon a nearby tree branch, not far from where he will land; two lovely elven ladies, just in their early second century of life are upon a spread out beach blanket – next to an empty wine cask, basket, their clothing, and two beautiful female squirrels.
Fixated, her attention keeps shifting moment by moment from the two lady squirrels – finest indeed of many he has seen so far today, and the two ladies. The soft panting set of moans from one is distracting, her petite set of breasts shiver against the little wind upon them from the sea.
Those finely tanned hands of hers cover a mouth grinning with fine white teeth – near perfect for an elf. Giggling of embarrassment and joy mix from beneath them; increasing in intensity as the friend of hers continues to move from eating her pussy, to teasing the inner and upper thighs with kisses, pecks, nibbles along with a feathered wand.
The fur on her body bristles to no end from her masters incessant calling…
Keep focused on the spot next to the females; no not those squirrel females, the elven ones…
I wish he would get his priorities straight!!!
She observes her master land on target just next to the twin elven lovelies. Arms spread wide, legs slightly apart, and the greatest of brilliant grins displays his sheer genius and skill to the world. Not to mention these au natural clad set of brilliant beauties…
The strange sensation of linkage to another’s mind is weird already; this however is too much for any familiar to take.
Blinding waves of pain, sharp and wicked mix with rapid speed from several areas of legs, hips, thighs, and loins; it next is followed by the feeling of bone grating upon bone.
Each hip bone splaying up and out instantly, as his smaller tail bone doubles itself in length and half in height. Legs shutter along muscle, bone and sinew, down to the basest parts of his feet.
Those muscles of his gluteus maximus firm and tight as any forged steel, absorb some shock, yet cannot prevent this force onwards, upwards, relentless march.
The waves of compression amplify along his spine, where each vertebrae slams upwards to one above, into the skull and neck.
Long before this point, the brain registers a nearly instant call from a far off member; encompassing sensations of a magnitude like a tidal wave inbound, so much data input is done, so swiftly, the brain shuts down, seeking to savor as possible each micro-moment of the experience.
Her twin sets of teeth shudder from the grating experience, on edge as her fur at these sensations…
The two elven lasses looked up from their respective spots of giver and given (she who gets pussy eaten). There next to them, just inches away as a matter of fact, is a youth of human blood astride the thick log of driftwood they set part of their blanket over.
Laughter accompanied the sight of him sitting there in one frozen moment, grin of sheer stupid brilliance plastered for all to see. Their friends came over, all women, and stood about for a series of portraits with their nude forms.
Many of them took turns caressing his anatomy, breathing hotly onto face, cheeks, neck and ears – to no avail, for the human never moved. Soon growing bored of this game they turned back to more important matters…
Rh’aan watched her master until late afternoon, and then at a shaded branch she curled up and slept away the day and night, pleasant dreams of lady squirrels and good food set out to court them drowned out all the other sounds…
Especially those of the ladies lovemaking continuing…
And some later soft groans of pain from nearby followed by a soft thud.
High inside the branches of a second tree, the squirrel has descended upon safety. Chirping excitedly, he scolds and berates the beaters and their hunt. He takes a moment to consider the terror while his tail twitches rapidly against the wood.
Or at least what he thought was wood.
These furry strokes against her exposed breast continued in a series of swiftly gyrating circles – by chance focusing on her nipple; as it started swelling outward, becoming flush pink from warm blood pulsing into it, surges of static like electric impulses danced to a new portion of her brain.
Left, right, up, down, so it dances and dances; sometimes focusing on one spot and others all over her bosom. His step to the left puts him just perfectly balanced on her flat stomach, with the tail swinging incessantly.
From one breast to the other, breastbone to her stomach, sending a mixture of signals upwards her nerves. Some are of laughter and giggles, and others of warming desires that send moments of distracting confusion to her thoughts.
One point sees the tail join in with its owner in a rolling bit of itch relief across her stomach; resulting in the crossing of her eyes and the painful clenching of teeth down unto lips and cheeks to avoid all out laughter.
The hunters slowly and methodically, search the area in a circle; expanding outwards to a distance of a few hundred feet. Some keep eyes locked on the trees as the others look on the ground, any and all clues sought.
Hounds come forth to find any scent lingering nearby; and large moor hounds, the size of dire wolves and the princes favorite pets, hold silently still awaiting orders to move or to kill.
Each of these moor hounds eyes lay alight with unholy sets of hells own fires.
Oh no, don’t move little squirrel please don’t move.
No such luck, he moves just a few inches forward and to the left; his tail finding the one spot upon which is her own most sensitive and ticklish ever.
In the style of Chinese artworks being painted, his tail sets on a swirling, spiraling movement across this location; she sets an iron-willed command onto each muscle of her leg, so no movement results.
So it continues for many a minute, pressing her reserves of iron-control and discipline to the uttermost limits. She must not move, twitch, or give in; not while her life is on the line from the hunters below.
I get out of this I will have a squirrel dinner; seems to be the meal of my life – rodent of all styles.
Nostrils flare in and out, hot with shallow respirations and awakening desires. Cheeks begin flushing deeper in red, and each vein flowing with hot, life-bearing, life-surging blood builds two passions in her, one known and one just becoming known.
The call for sweet warmed blood of life sends the buds of her tongue and brain salivating. To feel its pulse flowing in her fangs, down her throat, the seductive lust it generates as one gets lost in wild passions…
This second passion though, feeds on desires of life and of union, of her body being used for more than death; a part of her wants life, to conceive, to carry, to birth…
The flicker of movement in the corner of her eyes – one of those moor hounds hellfire eyes looked deep into her own psyche; she needed no further reminders of concentrating on the hear and now, not the future, if she has one…
The squirrel continues on with his tail…
Her mind focuses on controlling her body…
Her body focuses on getting fucked in the future…
I get out of this that squirrel is so going to be dinner.
Once again she looks up at the human master she has. The youth still not much of a mage, or a ladies-man either. This one nut in her little, fur covered, rodents paws is tougher to open than she thought…
He runs up to a trio of young human lasses; mages in the same classes, but different specialties. Flopping down onto his back, he starts making grandiose statements of their unearthly beauty – all the while focusing his eyes, along with his hands upon their bared breasts.
Each of the lasses looks at the other two, and silently all are of one accord in their decision; especially as he does not stop speaking the virtues of each breast in his hands, and the squeezing of them done as well.
“This ought to be good.” She drolly states to no one in any particular area…
Two human males observe the young mage, as she does by their campfire, moving swiftly from over the hilltop; arms moving in circles, mouth open and generating loud noises that hurt her sensitive ears.
The seat of his britches is emanating flames and clouds of smoke, slowly consumed by arcane fires. The two humans grin wickedly at each other, knowing the trio of lasses just over the hillside.
“Hot Pants!!!” They say in union, and roar laughing at the sight.
This story they are going to love the retelling of for some time.
She has to fight desperately to keep eyes from rolling away backwards into her head; and screaming with laughter and ecstasy as that blasted squirrels tail keeps on doing its own thing.
Finally the master of the hunt calls an end to the search; all the men, and the animals gather again, the drummers start their beating, and swiftly, steadily proceed away from her position.
Unknowingly they leave their prey behind, growing silent as the distance opens up. For some time she remains still as death, just incase any surprises remain behind, and to deal with that damn squirrel once and for all.
Right after she releases a long roar of sheer primal lust her body has built up – the orgasms shatters her perch; setting many trees on fire, and igniting the sudden Eden-like birth of new growth for a mile radius.
Her eyes behold the most luscious of sights as she stood on the windows ledge next to the human, who is masturbating himself with the target below being one woman…
Rh’aan slowly put the silken kimono about herself, its jade coloration mixed with three mother-of-pearl pan-li-lungs at play; clung to her slender form like a lithe, second skin, all the right parts accentuated and tantalizingly near to being seen, yet just not.
The braid twitched and pulsated slowly, moving back to lying upon her left shoulder in a display of obvious and severe irritation at the intrusion just having happened.
“Great, just great, now I have to deal with a peeping tom on my ledge; why these thieves insist on being annoyingly persistent…”
The realization sinks in with startling clarity that this is her room, her window, and HER!!! She has enacted this scene just weeks before; when that jerk tried to…
The sight of a young, grinning man, in the process of his masturbation routine, plus the rather obvious trio of targets below on the street; her temper roared, visible as waves and ripples of heat bodily flowing off of her body.
Throwing open the windows, she bends outside onto the sill slightly; looking him dead on in the eyes, letting him know that in so many unpleasant and horrendous ways, his own doom was now at hand…
“Okay you perverted peeking tom! Let us see how much you enjoy this!!!”
She shouted a single word of power, in a rare language called true-speak; thus altering the universal harmony to her will for a moment…and unleashing a seductive wave of pleasure that energizes every cell and DNA of her body to rapturous levels of ecstasy!!!
Her body got blue balls from the unreleased desire to mate with a female squirrel.
So that’s what a man feels when denied, funny…
She watches with rodent eyes as the young man descends downwards to his fate…
“And thus,” she declared to the braid on her shoulder, now in the process of transforming to its true form, “one more problem is dealt with…”
The loud crash made both look downwards; her kimono falls open for all below to see her best attributes. Not counting the familiars still observing her, and the scene below.
“Now that has to have hurt.”
Patches, the little raggamoffyn familiar of hers crooned in agreement as she stroked his head.
Rh’aan in the body of a squirrel agrees; as does the quiet chuckle of her master far below…
Prince Madrin, third son of the local satrap shakes his head in disgust. Deep brown hair flows about in great circles, a sheen of sunlight flowing in all directions off of it. Palace, the horse he uses on hunts, struts impatiently.
Like his owner and master, he wants the chase to continue; to culminate in the confirmation of his superiority over all folks, by scoring the sure, swift and true kill.
Malaa, his second cousin rides up to him astride a rich red mare. The deep crimson riding pants and tunic, bound by a small sash and vest that hug every curve and swell, makes his heart race and loins swell in desire.
A short discussion about the hunt leads to her enticingly offering a different quarry; pulling down her front clothing with both hands, she lets him soak in the sight of those two double handfuls of breasts.
His eyes swell to twice their size, threatening expulsion from their sockets. She playfully kneads them singly, each nipple becoming hardened under the touch of her red-set fingernails. Her tongue softly, enticingly circles the outer parts of her lips; then teasingly onto her breasts as she set each one upward to it.
This entire time her eyes are locked upon him; letting him know what she is offering and desires in turn from him.
He reaches outwards and is playfully rebuffed with her riding crop. Her smile broadens, light and shadow playing on cheeks, nose, and eyes in contrasts only heightening his desires of conquest.
“Give me five minutes and then come after, we will see just how much sport there is to be had.”
She sets off, leaving him behind counting the seconds he has left. Once she is out of sight, he knows he has scored today…once a hunter always a hunter. Pulling out a small mirror he starts grooming his hair, for not one single bit of it must be out of place.
“Yes indeed this is a good day to hunt, and to hump, yes that has a nice ring to it…”
“Hunt and hump. Hunt and hump…”
He keeps singing this as in the mirror he spies a flying rat, no a squirrel, looking at him – seemingly in admiration of a human so perfect in every way.
“Yes little squirrel, today the fox is going to play; just too bad the other bitch escaped like a scared rabbit!”
Turning around again to the mirror he sees the squirrel now setting upon the saddle horn, deep eyes boring deeply into his psyche.
He is most upset that your men shot at him and disturbed the female he desired for so long; wants to get even. You know it’s that old thing of honor and such…
The voice seemed to whisper all about him and sends sheer panic into his being. A quick drawing of his tanto-blade is done, yet useless as the squirrel jumps clear, some forty foot glide to safety.
Snorting at the critter, he chides himself and Palace for a needless scare. He swings him about forcefully, desiring to now chase Malaa and consummate their relationship upon the snow, bare skin to bare skin, and by force if he has to do so.
The sudden sight of a beautiful, if somewhat smallish set of breasts causes him to hesitate; shifting downwards he sets eyes on their owners face. A giggling, bubbly wood nymph smiles impishly as she hangs upside down from an branch.
He takes her head into her hands, hair tangling among his fingers – softer and finer than the finest fawn hairs could be. And bent her forward to engage in a fully passionate kiss she will never forget.
“You know something my lord?”
The playful music of her voice in his ears aroused him as did drinking in all the various scents of her being. Gently their cheeks caress one to another, her soft little kisses to the ears sending buzzing sensations to his brain.
He lets the tanto-blade drop out of his hand, knowing there still are his hidden stilettos up the sleeves. Softly, cooingly he caresses her neck, feeling the life blood pulsating within her jugular; just as it surges into his swelling cock.
As he savors the ease of this conquest awaiting their final consummation, he eases his cock out of his pants, pleasing himself with thoughts of a good fuck to come.
Rapid strokes up and down, with concentrations on each bit of its head leaves him euphoric; such bliss today, take a wild nymph and Malaa as well. Maybe both the girls could be induced – at blade point to hump each other.
He whispers soft words meant only to be heard between a woman and the man whom desires her beyond anything found on this world. Her squirming, giggling response is getting him hotter and hotter with rut-like lust.
Her own words seductively given, each layers of pleasures veiled in desires and tantalizing glimpse of what is yet to be done. Some he swears beyond the possible until those fingers touch in promised spots, driving him wild nearly to the point of self-immolation.
Once again she softly whispers the question with words of the sweetest honey bound by gossamer silks.
“What is that my dearest lucky woman?”
Yes he now knew what he would do; take the nymph by force here and now; right on the backside of his own horse.
Then drag her over to where Malaa is at, and, after the two get into a few showings of girl-girl love making he will have his fun.
Then when he is satisfied, he shall turn both afterwards to his men for the pleasure of seeing them raped repeatedly. A pair of wild women such as these must learn their own proper places in the universe after all.
“You know a rabbit only has to be lucky once.”
The scents of her neck and cheeks sweep deeply into his nostrils, catching him up in the multitude of meanings and hidden possibilities hinted at within. Ah yes such scents she had, wild and tamed, flowers and floods, all mixed in just the right amounts.
Malaa rides up slowly on her mare with no clothing on in any spot. Hand on hip, harness in the other she shows him every well proportioned bit of her body. Once, twice and thrice she circles about and motions with her finger for him to look at the nymph.
He does so, figuring his luck just got perfect as possible to have both here to fuck at blade-point. Until he sees those lustrous eyes of mother-of-pearl; and remembers those bit of words…
And the final smell of rut-lust mixed with coppery scents of blood.
Indeed only once does the rabbit have to get lucky.
He feels the drawing of all life out of him, two punctures deep into the neck. Lifeblood bubbles forth, cascading in a series of spurts and simpering flows down neck and chest to stain shirt and coat true royal-blue blood colors.
Deeper and deeper those fangs bury themselves into that flowing, pulsating jugular – life and death; death and life in one whole, one union, one consummation.
His last conscious thoughts is of raw desires he finds, a bit of sensuous bliss hovering about; ecstacy heady as the fine wines and hard liquors he fancies could almost equal these experiences.
“Exquisitely done my darling, exquisitely done…”
Darkness claims the fox on his last hunt.
She rolls swiftly down to the ground as the now shriveled corpse falls off of Prince – now bolting away at greatest of speed possible.
In one graceful tumble and twirl upright on her feet she becomes; licking the last vestiges of the lords blood off her fingers and forearms. Her heart beats fast and fiery as the savor of her latest kill catches up into her nose and deeply into the lungs.
The coppery scent of freshly spilled blood intermixes with that of a freshly desiccated corpse; this compares to the headiest of wines ordinary folks drink at the grand feasts.
Her hearing picks up the steadily approaching of the ladies horse; each soft plop declaring its exact location as loudly as drums in a small building or city block.
The droning of insects and chirping of birds continues to return again – stopping during the brief disturbances made by her having dinner. Malaa dismounts her horse and sets over in Rh’aan’s direction, stopping just momentarily by the remains of Madrin.
Ghostly drums sound in the distance, faint echoes unto her ears; death knells of hunts long past locked into the lands for all of time.
“Good work girl, I always figured his dick would be what finally did him in. I have hated him for years, many a time he wanted to bed me – rape and molest me actually.”
Moving up behind Rh’aan she asks her a simple question.
“So would you like the surprise I promised you dearest?”
The drums stopped their movements, beating in symphony their ghostly chorus in steady and eerie harmony.
Clarity descends upon her mind in dead certainty.
Swiftly turning Rh’aan caught the wicked smile upon that face; in time to feel a sharpened bolt from a nearby archer crossbow enter her back. Two more caught her from each side, biting deeply into her heart.
The phantom calling of ghostly drums reached into her ears and the very being of her soul.
She did not recall falling to the ground, as Malaa came and stood over her; three men bringing clothing and mounts.
“So now little rabbit you understand another part of those who hunt. One fox may indeed die, yet two foxes insure the kill is made.”
She looked deeply into the eyes of the woman, wondering at this betrayal.
The sounds of the ghostly drums fall silent; their job is now done. The hunt is completed, the hunter having made the kill.
“Now I am the great hero, me, Malaa who avenges the one killed by the vampire; my now deceased lord Madrin. Oh the irony of it…”
What Rh’aan saw lying within those eyes both terrified and thrilled her. A face, a force, a being as ancient as that of the cosmos itself, one all eventually face..
For death was looking back, his hand extended to carry her on the final journey.
“So,” she asked him as she struggled to keep her eyes open for a moment more. “The prince was used as the beater of the hounds; and she was the hunter?”
“Yes my dear,” he declared as the visible world closed out of view, “that is correct.”
And so her peace came unto her at last; two worlds united in one part – death.
Thunder echoes throughout the library, shaking her into a half-state of sleep and awake. Slowly she becomes aware of the smells and scents so familiar now over the last few weeks; those of Master Lu-Bu’s library right next to the room they share.
In the doorway stand several of the new students; fellows of all species and genders who seek to learn the arts of true-speak in all its ways. Looks of horror and revulsion line their faces, frozen in a mask she has seen often…
Her arms are still entwined about his neck, she astride his form; both clothed, but his hands now holding position on her bared lower back. Her mouth residing upon his neck, just at the jugular with her fangs extended…
In growing horror, as the realization of what she has done to her sensei – her one being who has shown her so much kindness. Hands fling curled to her mouth, face scrunched up in purest denial of the obvious.
“No. Please no…I didn’t mean to…”
The students move in, small lights glimmering in their own hands; forces of elemental essences meant to rend her in rightful judgment and justice.
Patches lands upon the back of the chair, eyes glowing in a deep gold never seen before; as does Lu-Bu’s familiar, the flying squirrel known as Nuss.
“I didn’t mean to…”
She cannot keep tears from flowing down her face as one sees in a cascade of rapids. Sobs wrack from her, each is more deeper and powerful than the last.
“Damn it…I just wanted you to love me…like I do you…”
Instead she knows the meaning of the dream, death at last has come to claim her; their dance is over, the one she had hoped for with her and Lu-Bu, before it could even start.
Through the tears each of her eyes lock on those last, lingering depths of golden coloration fading from his own; a sign she knows is his life leeching out in the last…she is determined to see it through, while awaiting the rending to come – so rightfully earned by her actions.
Swifter than a thought she moves eye to eye, watching in interest as the deep black hues of his returns. Now indeed she is totally confused…unsure of anything…
Turning to face the students, “What is going on here?”
No one says anything, their faces and movements frozen in a time separate from her own; the time flow only those so rightfully damned understand…
He suddenly pecks her on the cheek softly with his lips. It literally sends her jumping into the air from shock. At least ten feet cleared, his arms catch her on the way back down as he explains a lesson of caution to the youngsters.
“Now then class,” he started, “you have all seen first-hand the dangers of dream walking. You have seen memories of life through a familiar’s eye; yours and others linked in a basic communion of minds. Each unique view can be seen, shared, and experienced; but doing so more than two or three at a time endangers madness or even death.”
“Sensei Lu-Bu what happened between you and Rh’aan?” This coming from Jarvis, one of the more simple, yet most promising of students; his clever and insightful mind the best asset he possesses.
“She walked into a deep, dark nightmare; and shared it. A lesson in and of itself to all of you.”
“Now then, back to your duties and studies; remember that time is never to be wasted.”
Through this whole lesson Rh’aan never lessened the death grip she held upon his neck, nor had the sobs stopped. Once again she has managed to surprise him, the intensity of her memories lingering forever burned to the core of his mind and psyche.
He sits in his favorite of chairs, feet propped up on a foot stool. Cradled up on his lap, legs drawn up to her chest and arms about his neck, Rh’aan’s fingertips stroke the small feathered choker. The magic contained within pulsates all but visibly to her eyes.
“Thank the powers that be you had this with you sensei. I would have killed you without it; I never meant to hurt you or anyone here…I just wanted to…want to…say…”
“What Rh’aan?” He stroked her cheek with one hand, the other stroking her side softly, seeking to keep her calmed down. “What do you want to say?”
Minds once linked so, they understand each other better in part than most; yet so, things still need to be heard, as well as shared in an embrace.
Something simply sparked between the two of them, for in a moment of time both pulled the other closer together. A sharing of minds has occurred, and now both bodies seek a formal consummation with wild fires unleashed.
Hands go to her overcoat and the tunic underneath, while hers go to the vest and sleeveless shirt of his. Lips nibble and explore her bared breasts as she holds him, letting out little yips of wild delight; each one audible to the students observing via scrying devices or true-speak magics.
Her hands reach down his bared, muscled back, rubbing in fiery intensity as her body heat threatens to unleash in near total immolation. He lifts himself back up to be face to face with her; embracing her in fierce kissing and whispers of deep desires, affections, and of what can soon be for the two of them.
Thunder shakes up the room, along with most of his home. For one time he does not pay attention or care, for now he does not want to care.
He allows himself to unleash desires long held in check; to dare that for him affection can be shared by another for who he is…not what he does…
Waves of heat dance about the room, and time seems slow for the two soon to be lovers. The eternal dance, never to change and yet always new continues. Both understand in this dance their night, their moment is at hand.
One hand of his presses softly on her lower back while the other works its way down into her britches. Her kisses on the cheek and neck drive fire into him, as do his nibbling of her ears do to her.
The seeking hand finds its goal, that one tender and secret place she has never let anyone touch. From her thighs he moved to the doe-soft downy hair, seeking in its depths the womanhood of hers.
When she suddenly doubles the iron-tight grip on him, and inhales so greatly his ears pop from lowering air pressure, he steadily and slowly goes to work; to bring a new sense of pleasure and delights into her life.
Head resting on his shoulder, eyes closed and sunk deeply away, she moves in rhythm to his hand craft. Faster and faster she moves, cycling towards a culmination of efforts about to burst forth; he locks his free hand higher onto her back to keep her from falling away…
Rasping hard she squirms about even more; each moan is of short and high intensity that is pure natural music. His kissing of her breasts and neck, then the base of her chin sets her over the edge of resistance…
In one wild moment of release her climax hits…
She screamed out a word of such power, raw, pure and of the truest form. For miles around, the streets, buildings and wilderness sprang forth into new springtime blossoms. The winter ended abruptly for days before returning in force.
Master Lu-Bu however looked about him with a mixture of disbelief and chagrin. His library cum garden has turned into a forest of wisteria vines, violet and rose plants, tulips of every imaginable type and coloration have sprung into existence.
Rh’aan looks abashed and embarrassed; hands held over her mouth to cover her grin and flushed cheeks. Delight of the sheer intensity of this first orgasm stupefied her. She gives him a series of soft kisses, hoping for more new and great discoveries made with him.
“You owe me an new chair lass.”
The two laughed incessantly at the sight of his chair, now transformed into a fountain; displayed about it are two figures, male and female – looking suspiciously like them – twined in erotic embrace.