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From: lividrose@hotmail.com (LividRose)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 7 Dec 2002 16:49:38 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Tymesia Ch. 1 (fantasy MF rom, mild bdsm elements)
Date: Sat,  7 Dec 2002 16:10:03 -0500
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USUAL DISCLAIMERS APPLY. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 OR OFFENEDED
BY SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIAL.

This is what may become the first part of an ongoing story. Any
comments, feedbacks, or suggestions for possible future installments
are most welcome. Write to lividrose@hotmail.com.

Please enjoy.


	I found her at the slave auction at Kymeira Square. An acquaintance
of mine, the Lesser-Lord Elonis Gal, pulled me along to the place, as
he wanted to survey the load of petite young Kyssan pleasure-girls
that had just arrived. I had business with him, and grudgingly obliged
to accompany him out of courtesy.
	I watched the small ladies led onto the stage, stripped, displayed.
Some of them were pretty enough, but I was irritated and tried to push
my business with the boorish Gal. He was, alas, more interested in
finding Kyssan girls with a tight bottom he might enjoy reddening with
his whips . ..
	Gal had already made several purchases when one of the final groups
was brought to the front. And then SHE was there.
I am not sure how she came to be mixed with them. She was of a sturdy
build, yet generously curved, as I could see even under the bulky robe
she wore. The slave-masters led her onto the stage with two of the
petite Kyssans, then pulled the loose robes from all three so that
their features might be fully displayed in nakedness. It was a chill
morning with a mist of rain, and the two small Kyssan girls shivered,
but she stood steady and proud, oblivious to the cold.
	And she had reason to be proud. My eyes grew wide as I admired her
body. Shoulders squared and strong, yet arms tapering to hands that
were almost dainty. Proud breasts with nipples standing out in the
cold like tiny pink fingers. Below them, the curve of her soft,
rounded belly . . .Her hips flared wide, dramatically so, and my gaze
was drawn to them and the image of feminine fecundity they seemed to
represent, the dark curling hairs between the softly padded thighs . .
.One of the slave masters turned them, and I had a good view of her
broad back, body tapering towards her waist, then broad again at her
full and luscious buttocks. Her long brown hair hung in a braid, down
to the small of her flawless back.
	When they turned them again, I saw her face. Dear Goddess, if my
loins had been stirred before, this was the moment my heart jumped.
Those eyes, big, wet, some color I almost couldn't name, maybe grey?
They were downcast but once I saw them turn up, quickly scan the
audience, I imagined they met mine . ..they  were set under bold
eyebrows and a flawless forehead. A delicate little nose, and a mouth
..Ahhhh! The mouth was wide, lips full and pouting, suggesting pride
and vulnerability at once. Lips I HAD to kiss. There was no choice.
	A slave master held his open-palmed hand above her head, signal for
the bid. My arm shot skyward and I placed a bid of 20,000 Gessae. Gal
looked shocked at my sudden intensity and willingness to spend; the
bid was indeed rather high to open. I did not care.
	It was not challenged, and in a few moments she was mine, only a few
debit papers to sign. While I waited to collect her, a slave master
handed me her pedigree, and I read it with hands strangely quivering.
	It said she was a Lady from a minor house of the island of Knelle, a
nation defeated several years before on the Grand Fleet's centennial
voyage of conquest. I recalled that most of the people had been
destroyed in earthquakes and a rain of fire which our mages brought
down . . .Still, for a Lady, 20,000 might not be so bad a price. She'd
formerly been owned by an Outland estate, the name of which was not
given. A scrawled note from her former master noted her as fairly
obedient, but too withdrawn for his tastes.
He also stated that her response to the whip was indifferent. For some
reason, the idea of those strong shoulders and soft back under the
lash coiled my stomach. Of course, there would be no scars, as the
slave-masters employed expert healer-mages to polish up their wares
and hide evidence of such previous use . ..
I had almost forgotten about Gal, until he met me at the holding pens,
where I was to collect my new acquisition. He had two tiny Kyssans on
either side of him, being fitted with traveling-chains. One of the
girls was red-faced and crying.
"Hush!" he barked. "When I get you home, I'll bend you over and give
you good reason for that. Save your cries for when I can relax and
enjoy them."
He turned to me, his pudgy face studying me as if I were a mad beggar
on the street. "20,000 for a Knellian wench? My friend, I do hope you
find some use for her."
A slave-master called my name. And opened a side-gate. There she was,
my newly-bought beauty, clad in her rough robe again. She stepped
forward slowly, her head low. Yet there was grace in her step, a
strange surety, and she did not hesitate to walk towards me, accepting
her fate, her new master.
"Look at me," I commanded.
The face turned up, those wet grey eyes met mine, darted away as if
looking at something in the distance, then locked on mine again . . .
She extended her arms, hands palm up, a surrendering gesture. Her full
lips quivered a moment, then she spoke, a melodious and umistakably
feminine voice trembling only slightly. "I am yours," she stated, the
traditional greeting of slave to a new master. "Use me gently if you
will."
I stayed close by her side as she was fitted with traveling-chains.
The slave-masters told me she would be delivered shortly, they had a
few others to escort to new owners in the high manors. I nodded, and
locked eyes with her before heading home, only hoping that they would
hurry, wanting to see her and touch her as soon as I was able . . .
	

	When she first arrived at my house, she was skittish and tense,
flinched at my touch, turned her head ever so slightly as if to
deflect my kiss. She bore my attentions quietly and obediently, but
she did not enjoy them, those grey eyes ever  wide in some state of
mild panic that never left while my touch was upon her.
	Something in those trembling eyes touched me, yet I tried to shrug it
off. She was after all purchased for my pleasure, to be used as a
vessel for my lust. Why need I concern myself with her fears or
discomfort?
	I had my servant Azal purchase a padded collar for her neck, and a
gilded chain. I myself fitted the collar on her, and secured it with
its tiny golden key. As the lock clicked, she closed her eyes, then
opened them slowly, those wet orbs open wide, staring at me. She knew
her fate was in my hands now . ..
Her cell was a small closet off of the hallway close to my bedroom,
fitted with silken cushions and a high barred window through which the
moon could shone brightly on many nights. I had used it for some rare
meditations previously; now, it would be her home.
That night, I visited her cell. As I ran my hands over her voluptuous
body, enjoying the softness of her skin, my touch wandered up across
the exquisite pillow of her slightly curved belly, towards the proud
breasts, each the size of a ripened sun-fruit, not too large but a
firm handful, enticing and haughty somehow in the way they stood out.
The aereolae were a deep coral pink, and I remembered how her nipples
had stood out in the chill of the auction . . .
	I slid my finger around her right nipple, slowly, teasingly, and felt
her shudder. But this was a different kind of shudder, deeper, and
perhaps, just perhaps not borne of fear . . .and I felt the nipple
grow taut, extending. I slowly rolled it between two fingers, and she
shuddered again, and moaned.
	I leaned down and took her left nipple into my mouth, suckling like
an infant. Her legs kicked in an involuntary motion, her eyes going
wide.
	Her former master had called her withdrawn? What rough touch had he
used on her?
	I pinched one nipple while continuing to suck on the other, then
nibble. The slightly salty taste of it teased my tongue, and there was
something else, a scent in my nostrils, musky and primal and pungent.
.Had she that quickly become aroused?
	Sliding my hand down from her nipple, down over the soft belly, I
guided it over the soft curls between her thighs, felt a sticky
dampness, then softness as my fingers slid over the lips of her sex . 
.. she moaned again.
	I slid a finger inside, slowly. The tightness of the spongy passage
was amazing, conforming to my finger as I slowly slid it deeper . . .
I had heard of women who maintained a natural tightness sometimes
exceeding that of virgins, and was retained with experience . ..but
this was new to me, and incredible.
	My finger fully nested, I used my thumb to slowly rub her clitoris,
hidden under the pink flap of her prominent clitoral hood. She gasped
and let out a series of rhythmic moans as I continued to fondle her
there . . .all the while her taut nipple still in my mouth.
	I had to have her! I pulled my hand and mouth away, and she let out a
soft sigh, as if of dissapointment.
	I pushed her to her back, pried her legs apart. My phallus stood
before me, hard and angry and red. I saw her womanhood glistening in
the moonlight with her sticky flowings, and aimed for that vulnerable
target . ..
	I had intended to be gentle, the civilized part of my mind still
fighting against my lust. But when I moved forward and those soft, wet
nether lips of hers kissed the head of my male weapon, my hips
responded to some low instinct and with an animal grunt I thrust full
into her, into the embrace of the tightest silken sheath I could ever
imagine.
	She let out a pained gasp, like a soft scream, and her face
contorted, eyes closed, teeth clenched and brow wrinkled in pain. One
part of my wanted to keep thrusting, to use this flesh without regard
as I should rightfully do with my property. But another, more tender
part won out.
	I stopped thrusting, feeling myself nestled in her warm belly. I
stroked her cheek and softly kissed her forehead. It smoothed again,
her eyes opened, she looked at me as if questioning. "Shhh," I said.
	I felt her relax under me, and slowly I began thrusting again, so
very slowly. The friction of her tight passage was still amazing, I
could feel the soft contours massaging every inch of my member as it
slid in those moist confines . . .So slowly, tenderly, I moved in and
out.
	Her mouth parted slightly, and she began a series of soft gasps,
enjoying herself now. I picked up my tempo slightly, thrusting full in
at the end of each stroke. I pulled her legs up to my shoulders to get
as deep as possible, wanting to experience as much of her as I could,
wanting the head of my phallus to kiss the mouth of her womb . .
	Her climax came without much warning, starting gently and shortly
growing more violent. Her moans took on a  sharpness, became louder,
her face and shoulders suddenly flushed.
	And then the squeezing commenced. I felt a low throbbing around my
member inside her, as if her womanhood was conducting the pulse of her
heart. The throbbing became a sort of churning, as her eyes flew wide
and her mouth opened and she loudly began a melodious moan, a single
utterance of pleasure broken only by the breaths she was forced to
take, growing in loudness and pitch.
	I stopped moving, buried deep inside her. Her passage churned around
my phallus, kneading it, milking it, like a thousand silken fingers
stroking every spot, from the base to the flared head, and I felt my
moment aproach. My male eggs clenched in their sac as my body prepared
to deliver the issuance which would complete the coupling.
	I was fighting now, her spasming passage so tight that at times it
seemed it might almost force me out. I would not let that happen; the
animal part of me  was quite determined complete this mating in the
proper manner.
	I grabbed her shoulders, and held her close and tight, feeling her
breath on my ear as she moaned, tasting the sweat on her skin. I
thrust harder, deeper than before, and began to shake as my climax
hit.
	I felt the first pulse as a pressure building in my loins, then an
ecstatic fire coursing up my member. Her moans had been growing more
soft, but as she felt me throb inside her she made a loud noise, and I
swear I saw her smile . ..
	With each spurt inside her, my head jerked slightly. One, two, three,
my entire body working for only one purpose, to fill her with my seed.
I could feel the increased moistness as I added my essence to her
fluids, and I kept emptying myself, shaking, panting. Four, five, six,
the ecstasy as my member pulsed and spat again and again . . .Until
the seed began to run out of her, and I felt it warm and sticky on my
egg-sac as it ran out of her to puddle on the silken cushion under her
fine posterior.
	When it was done, I lay there inside her for some time, as if in a
stupor. Only after a time did I ebcome aware that she was softly
stroking my cheek, and smiling at me . .
	She let out a dissapointed sigh as I pulled my flesh from hers. We
were both soaked in sweat, the smell of our mixed fluids pungent in
the air.
	She was still smiling. I kissed her softly, once on the lips and once
n the forehead.
	Azal soon brought moist cloths and a bladder with warm water. I think
he was startled when I insisted on cleaning her, inside and out,
myself.
	Afterwards, as she settled into sleep, I left her, retiring to my own
bedchamber with a feeling of sadness. Some part of me would not have
minded spending the night with her in that cell . . .


	One night, a few weeks later, she sang to me.
	After an intense session of pleasure with her, we had collapsed onto
the cushions, still soaked in sweat. My copious seed still dripped
from her. I had used her well, yet tenderly as I had become
accustomed. And in exchange for my two spewings inside her, I had
given her innumerable moments of climax, wonderful to me, seeing her
shake and moan and smile softly just after each  . .
	I did not get up to clean myself or her, yet she didn't seem to mind.
She lay with her back to my chest, breathing softly. One of my arms
was draped over her chest, and she clasped my wrist tightly with her
dainty hand.
	She made a small noise, like a whispered hum, and she started to
sing.
	It should have startled me; after all, she had rarely even spoken
before. But I felt so at peace with her, the flood of moonlight
soothing our souls, and her singing seemed like something I had longed
for, the missing element I did not know was needed.
	The words were Knellian, mostly unknown to me. But the rhythm, the
emotion carried them . ..the song turned from happy and light to
somber, the melody becoming discordant then harmonious again . ..and
certain words were repeated, savored, then the song moved on . ..
Atrellus, Gnorlleian, Renia . . .
	Names, I suddenly realized. They were names!
	I had seen Imperial lineage lists of  course; I was keeper of my own
family's records, sketchy though they were, since the Brillean
conflict had destroyed our records at Korsus. I wondered; was this
something similar? Certain words of the song, repeated with the names,
must mean married, begat . .. The entire song was a lineage list! How
many generations, fifteen, twenty? If it was like the Imperial lists,
it must be going forward in time . . .
	Tymesia, she sang softly, then words of joy, an etheric melody . .. 
	Then, after a minute, her voice broke for the first and only time,
and the song turned dark, her voice more low and rumbling than I could
have imagined. I felt her clutch my arm even more tightly, and she
seemed to shake.
	The melody lifted slightly again, still the song centered on someone
called Tymesia, and now another name, at first unrecognized in her
lilting song, but then . .I realized ..
	It was MY name. This part of the song was about HER life. She was
Tymesia!
	The song ended abruptly. She released my hand, and rolled to face me.
Her face was streaked with tears, her lips quivering. I kissed her
gently . ..
	"Tymesia, " I said softly. "Your name is Tymesia."	
	She nodded.
	I couldn't say what I wanted to then. What I felt. I was much too
afraid. I gazed into those wet eyes, stared at those quivering lips,
and she reached out and stroked my forehead as if I were the one
needing comforting . ..
	"Tymesia," I told her. "I will always take care of you. I swear to
keep you safe."
	She nodded again, but her lips stopped quivering and there was the
trace of a smile. Then, for the first time, she leaned close and
softly kissed ME.
	That night, I slept in her cell at her side. Azal commented on it
later, and I told him I'd had too much drink and had expired after
enjoying my slave.
	I couldn't let my servant, or anyone, know the truth: that the
pleasure slave Tymesia had sung a song of generations, and stolen my
heart before it was over.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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