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Message-ID: <48349asstr$1088723404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Thirza Flamethorn <thirza_flamethorn@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Derais and the Wizard part 1/?  (MF, Mdom, magic/fantasy; bond, rape, sado, reluc, cons)
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Date: Thu,  1 Jul 2004 19:10:04 -0400
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Please see attached. I tried to copy and paste but Yahoo didn't like it.

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   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Derais and the Wizard, Part 1/?  (MF, Mdom,
magic/fantasy; bond, rape, sado, reluc, cons) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Disclaimer:
If you can't legally read porn, or if it offends you, go away.  You know
who you are.

   If you have constructive comments or criticism about the technical
aspects of this story (grammar, plot, etc.), you may email me by typing
this backwards: moc.oohay@nrohtemalf_azriht - don't bother if you just want
to say you're offended, because I don't care.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This is the
first part of a story.  I haven't written other parts yet.  I might, or,
fair warning, I might not.  Depends on my inspiration.

   There's some narration before the sex in this story.

   'Derais' has three syllables and rhymes with 'Matthias' or 'Anais'.

   ______________________________________________________________________



   Into the land without magic, the wizards came.  From the southern
continent, up through the south of Bretagne, the mage-ruled empire of
Remulus had spread slowly north over the centuries.  They had finally
crossed the Strait, after dominating all the land from Espagne to the
borders of the Rus.  They came in silk and velvet and fine leather, with
magic that made all the spears and axes of the hide-clad barbarians worth
naught in the battles for the land.

   They had penetrated about halfway up the island by now, for they still
moved slowly, consolidating their rule and crushing what resistance
remained before advancing.  They took territory slowly, but before they
moved on, what they held was solidly theirs.

   The wizards did not exterminate the mundane natives, for then no one
would be left to do the dull work.  The peasants were left as farmers,
rough crafters, servants - and bedwarmers, once a spell had been worked to
ensure that no conception would occur, for halfbloods were the worst sort
of blasphemy imaginable.  In addition, the troops that were used to conquer
the land were mundanes, some coerced into fighting against their former
neighbors, some lured by false promises of loot and rapine.

   The leader of the northern invasion force, a man named Lord Dormovelt,
was a terrifyingly cold and ruthless commander, and he demanded that his
subordinates be the same way.  He was up at the front, directing the
advance personally, and had left various governors in place.  The man he
had left in charge of the northwest quarter of the conquered land was Lord
Feldusaime.  He and his staff had commandeered the greatest castle in the
region.  As was the custom in the land, the great hall was filled each
night with long tables at which the resident warriors feasted and wenched,
with the wizards at the high table raised on a dais, watching scornfully.

   This castle still had most of its original servants, and one girl, of
perhaps eighteen years, had captured the Lord's eye as soon as he had
arrived, a few months ago; soon afterward he had her in his bed.  She was
not enthusiastic, but he did not care; he knew she would be, sooner or
later.  For now, it was enough that she was no longer foolish enough to
resist.  Oh, she made token protest at some things, cried mercy prettily
enough when her pain was his pleasure, but she knew now that what she said
would have no effect.  She could not bear to let certain things happen in
silence, but she had learned that she could not stop them.

   The first time he had taken her, she had been a virgin.  It was unusual
at her age, but she'd said something about saving herself for a god.  Such
superstitions these mundanes had.  There were no gods in this wilderness,
and the only Lords were the mages.  He told her as much.  When he pulled
her close, she tried to turn away, as if avoiding his gaze could release
her from his attention when he had his hands on her.  He would not tolerate
such foolishness, and bound both her hands high above her head on the
bedpost, her long hair drawn forward, her back exposed.  With a nine-tailed
whip in hand, he told her what he wanted from her.

   She had been afraid of the whip when she saw it, without even knowing
exactly what it was.  He told her that her shrinking from him displeased
him, that she was his now and he was not going to let her go.  Then he
struck her, lightly, across her back.  She shrieked in reflex, having felt
pain yet not the sort she had expected.  "That..." he whispered into her
ear, "...was just the beginning."

   It was an enchanted whip.  Its nine tails each produced a different
sensation: scorching heat, cold beyond freezing,
a feather-soft caress, a shock as of lightning, the scratch of a cat's

claw, the pain of a deep stab wound, a bolt of intolerable pleasure, the
blunt thud of a striking fist, and the instant prick and withdraw of a
barbed needle.

   When he struck her harder, she whimpered.  When he struck again, and
again, relentlessly, the sound turned to screams that were sweet to his
ears.  She was already nude; between blows he shed the rest of his clothing
and then applied the whip until her cries had him so hard that he could not
stand the desire any more, and unbound her and threw her on her back on the
bed.  He knew that even the silk she lay on would be agony, for though her
skin was unmarked, her nerves remembered still, and would for some time. 
She could not find the strength to resist him, or had realized that it
would do no good; as he parted her thighs and plunged into her tight sex,
she was silent, her face turned away again, her body limp.  It was enough,
and at the thought of how his weight on her must be pressing her back into
the bed painfully, his pace increased and his pleasure rose.  Moaning in
ecstasy, he slid his hands up to her back, and scratched his nails hard
down over her skin as he thrust

   faster and came inside her.

   Now, sitting on the dais overlooking the assembled company in the
feasthall, he thought back to that first night, and smiled to himself.  He
hadn't used the whip in a while.  Perhaps he would get it out tonight. 
Perhaps he would teach her to like it.

   When the girl was not in his bed, she served ordinary duties in the
castle, as his servant when he had things for her to do, usually as a
kitchen helper when he did not.  Tonight, she served ale among the men at
the common tables.  He watched her graceful form, her swaying hips when she
faced away from him, the curve of her breasts under her shift as she turned
toward him.

   He was not the only one with an eye on her body, and the ale flowed
freely.  One man, emboldened by drink, reached out and pinched her rear. 
She jumped and slapped his hand away, nearly spilling the pitcher of ale
she carried, and had to steady it with both hands.  Other men reached for
her, stroking and groping her hips, her thighs.  She tried to escape, but
they would not let her go.  Lord Feldusaime decided that was enough.  He
raised his wand, spoke a single word, and a bolt of green light flew across
the room to strike precisely at one man who was pawing her.  The man fell
back, screaming in agony, then passed out.  Silence fell.  The girl slowly,
hesitantly, looked up and met his gaze.

   "She is *mine*," he said into the silence, "and mine alone." He did not
need to raise his voice.  "And the next man who touches *what is mine*
shall be turned into an ox and roasted alive to feed the rest of you." He
did not ask if that was understood.  He did not care.  "Derais," - her name
- "put that down, and come here."

   Still staring at him, she blindly extended the pitcher of ale over
toward the nearest table.  The men shied away.  She could not set it down
on the table without touching them; the hall was that crowded.  One man
reached out and carefully took it from her without touching her hands.  She
felt the weight lifted from her hand but, still held by the Lord's gaze,
could not think to let it go.  The man said in a quiet voice, "We've got
it, lass," and she blinked and looked over, then let go and becan slowly
walking up toward the high table.  As she passed between the long tables,
the men on the benches pulled away from her as far as they could.  No one
wanted to be tomorrow's roast beef dinner.

   The only sound in the hall apart from people breathing was the rustling
of the rushes on the floor as she walked over them.  She met the Lord's
eyes briefly before lowering her gaze to watch her step.  It would not do
to trip over a bone or a dog.  His eyes were silver ice.  His hair was
gold, straight, waist-length; softer than silk, she knew from when it
brushed against her skin.  His body might well be envied by a god, lean and
strong with wiry muscles, his hands strong and deft at inflicting pain and
pleasure with equal ease.  She knew she was lucky, that of all the wizards
there were who could have claimed her, she had been taken by one who was at
least not physically repulsive - far from it.

   But she wished that she had not caught anyone's eye.  Well, except
perhaps for that of the young man who hovered at the entrance to the
kitchen now, a mundane messenger who waited to see whether he would be
needed.  Willem Orlend was his name; she had met him here some weeks ago,
right before the Lord had taken her with him on a tour of the country he
controlled, and Willem had been elsewhere acting as a courier all that
time. Tonight was the first night back in the castle for her and Lord
Feldusaime and the rest who'd been with him.  Willem claimed he loved her;
he'd said so when she went to the kitchen at the beginning of the feast. 
He'd tried to kiss her but she had pulled away, certain it would anger Lord
Feldusaime.

   It would anger Lucels.  That was his name.  Lucels, Lord Feldusaime. 
She knew it, but she never spoke it; he was always 'my Lord' to her, to
everyone except Lord Dormovelt.  She had only met *him* once, and with his
unnaturally pale skin, dead-white hair and red eyes, he looked like some
monster, a spirit from the grave untimely ripped.

   She had reached the high table now and moved to the Lord's side.  He was
in the center, as the highest-ranking wizard present.  He pulled her down
onto his left knee and kissed her, his tongue probing between her lips, his
left arm around her waist, his right hand holding her chin as if she'd be
foolish enough to pull away from him in public.  She let him do what he
would, but did not respond.

   He ended the kiss and whispered, in her right ear so that none of the
assembled company could see his lips move.  "You'll find something else to
do at the feasts from now on; if those men can't keep their hands off you,
they don't deserve to have you among them." The words were neutral, but
when he said 'you' she could hear that he meant 'my property'.  "For now,
go to the kitchen, eat, then return to my chambers; I'll see you there
around midnight." But his hands did not release her yet.  "You might use
the time to reflect on how fortunate you are to be *mine*, and mine alone.
Otherwise, all those men would be lining up to bend you over the table and
fuck you until they'd had enough.  *All* of them," he repeated as if she
hadn't heard him the first time - or as if he savored the thought of
watching them do so.  "And when I arrive I want to see you wearing
something out of that chest that arrived today.  *Now*, kiss me, like you
mean it this time."

   He took her mouth again, and she closed her eyes, thought of Willem, and
parted her lips, letting her tongue stroke his.  This was the first time
she had returned his kiss, and she'd been untouched when he found her: this
was the first time she had kissed anyone like this, the first time she had
let anyone's tongue into her mouth, caressed it with her own, felt herself
merging with him in one exquisite sharing.  The sensation was overwhelming.
Against her will, she felt a wetness between her thighs, something that
usually took more effort on his part to achieve.  Her left hand rose to
stroke his chest, then curved around his neck.  His right hand wandered
down, fell to her hip, slid up to stroke her breasts.  When he broke the
kiss, they were both breathing heavily.  "*Much* better," he whispered. 
"Now - go, before you provoke *me* into bending you over the table and
taking you in front of all these men."

   She stood and walked away; the kitchen entrance was to the high table's
right.  Willem stared at her as she passed him with eyes downcast.  From
the scraps pile that fed the servants, she distractedly placed some burned
meat and overcooked vegetables on a trencher.  As she sat in an unoccupied
corner to pick at her food, Willem stormed up, raging.  How could she do
*that*, kissing the wizard like that and looking as if she had liked it? 
She'd never kissed *him* like that!  (She had never kissed *him* at all.)
He called her a slut, the wizard's whore, a traitor to her kind, and worse.
He was nearly shouting.  Through the open door to the great hall, she saw
one of the female wizards turn to see what the noise was.  She couldn't eat
anymore.  She'd be sick from what Willem was calling her.  She stood up. 
"You say all that - and you claim you *love* me?  You're worse than him. 
No matter what he says or does, he never speaks *that* lie."

   "It's not a lie!  I do love you!  That's why I can't stand to see you
playing his harlot!"

   "You seem to think I have some choice in the matter."

   He didn't seem to have considered the fact that she didn't.  She left
the kitchen for the hallway that would take her to Lord Feldusaime's
chambers.  "At least give *me* what you're giving him!" he called after
her.

   She turned.  "I *give* nothing.  One way or another, he *takes*." She
left, knowing he would not follow since he hadn't yet been given leave.

   In the Lord's chambers, she found the chest he had mentioned.  She
hadn't looked in it yet.  It was tied with a silk ribbon; to that was
attached a note that said 'To Lord Feldusaime: For your woman to wear for
you.'

   The chest was very light.  She opened it and pulled out silk, thin as a
whisper, opaque as a sunbeam.  It shimmered, iridescent white.  She could
see her hand through two layers of it, without even holding it up to the
firelight.  It was cut as a simple nightgown, sleeveless, with moonstone
buttons from the square neckline all the way to the ankle-length hem.  The
gown would have been modest, if it had not been nearly transparent.  The
next piece in the chest was a robe to match the gown, sleeveless as well, a
bit less translucent.

   The second gown was shorter, to about mid-thigh, and a sapphire blue. 
It tied on with ribbons draped artistically; it took her a few minutes to
figure out where everything went.  When she had it on, she looked in the
mirror and thought: it looks like something found on a fairy that's been
flyswatted with an iris.  It went back in the chest.

   The third item she pulled out was a creation she blushed to see before
she even tried it on.  It was a sensuous purple color, and abandoned all
pretence at concealment, going for pure adornment instead.  It cupped her
breasts, leaving the nipples and upward completely exposed, the minimalist
'bodice' held up by tiny straps.  From there, it fell only to her waist at
the sides, with fore and aft two pointed hems falling to midthigh.  It
would have covered like a loincloth, if it had not been so sheer.

   The fourth and final item in the chest was black, lace and sheer, and
was a thing of beauty despite its basic indecency.  It fell to her ankles,
but was slit in front almost to the juncture of her thighs.  The diaphanous
material was not completely transparent, rather just showing the outline of
her body underneath it.  The black gown was held up by straps perhaps the
width of a finger.  The fabric at the top was lace sewn into two curved
pockets that cradled her breasts, displaying rather than attempting to
conceal them.

   She looked in the mirror wearing that one, and stared.  Where *had* this
come from?

   She decided to wear the iridescent white gown and robe; nothing in there
was exactly modest, but those were the simplest things she had found.  She
could not resist looking in the mirror again.  When she opened the robe she
could clearly see her nipples and dark thatch of pubic hair through the
gown.  She appeared clothed in mist like a goddess, and the silk felt
heavenly against her skin.  She began to stroke the fabric and stopped when
she realized she was stroking herself through it, her hands roaming over
her breasts, gasping at the feeling of her fingertips grazing her nipples.

   She knelt by the fire and stared into it, thinking about him.  That
first night, after taking his pleasure of her the first time, he had lain
beside her and pulled her to him.  She felt no desire for him, but could
not quite manage revulsion, for his physical beauty, his scent, the feel of
his body all combined to reach past her will and subtly convince her mind
that he wasn't really all *that* bad.  She lay quietly, not resisting his
touch, aware that his lips caressed hers and his hands stroked her skin,
aware even that her nipples were hardening as he teased them and that
between her legs the pain of his forcible penetration was being replaced by
the warmth of arousal.  Still she did not respond.  The pleasure heated her
body, but she remained unresponsive.  He knew the effect he was having on
her, for he whispered to her that he could feel her becoming wet, her sex
welcoming his invading member this time, but no matter what he did he could
not rouse a sound from her thro at or an embrace from her limbs.  Finally
he spent himself again.

   There had been so many nights; she had been his for perhaps three months
now.  Sometimes she slept alone, when he was at a council that lasted all
night, or when he had to go elsewhere for a period of only a day or two. 
She had gotten used to having his familiar body near her.  Some nights he
merely slept beside her, too exhausted to do more than strip, fall into
bed, and entwine his limbs with hers.  Sometimes he took his pleasure
without adding the spice of pain to the experience.

   Most nights, though, he did more.  He had a way of tracing his wand over
her skin that trailed bright green glowing lines of pain and other
sensations.  He had the spell he'd used tonight in the hall, that wracked
her entire body with convulsions of agony, which he liked to use on her
when he was reaching orgasm.  He had a thousand ways of hurting her, and by
now she secretly craved some of them.  He had a thousand ways of pleasuring
her, and by now he had managed to bring her to the peak of ecstasy many
times no matter how much she tried to resist it.

   Until now, though, she had never deliberately given him what she wanted.
She had never embraced him, never returned his kiss until tonight, never
initiated any sexual contact.  Tonight, she knew, might change things.  She
could not ignore the way it had felt to kiss him.  She had surprised him,
she knew, with her unexpected eagerness.  She had surprised herself.

   Midnight sounded on the clock, and died away, and not long afterward, he
was there.  By then she was sitting on the bed, leaning up against one of
its four posts, facing the door with her feet drawn up beside her.  He
walked in, a vision himself in spotless white on white, a long formal
embroidered robe over brocade tunic and plain loose trousers.  He smiled
when he saw her waiting for him, and quickly stripped off robe, tunic and
boots, draping the clothing over a chair, coming toward her wearing only
pure white from waist to ankle and nothing else.  His body was tanned and
hard, his chest smooth and hairless, his waist-length hair a curtain of
gold.

   He beckoned to her; she stood, the robe partly open, covering her
nipples but not hiding the shadow between her thighs.  She could see the
material at his crotch rise into a tent as he grew hard looking at her.  He
reached out and opened the robe fully, stroking her breasts as he did so.
His hands followed the lines of her body down from her breasts over her
waist to grasp her rear and pull her against him.  She felt his erection
pressing into her flesh.  He kissed her, she opened her mouth as before and
let her tongue meet his, and he pushed the robe the rest of the way off her
shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

   The bed was exactly the right height for him to fuck her without
stooping or bending.  That was convenient, since she was about a handspan
shorter than him and when they stood his hard cock pressed into her
abdomen. Now he pulled the hem of the gown up to her waist, lifted her and
put her at the edge of the bed, lying on her back with her legs apart, and
with a whispered spell bound her knees to the two posts at the foot of the
bed so that she lay spread open for him.  He removed his pants.  Even his
cock was a thing of beauty, rising up from a nest of golden curls, smooth
and straight, long and thick.

   She never knew whether he would begin with pleasure, or with pain, or
with both.  Lying there, looking up at him, she hoped her kisses, opening
to him at last, had pleased him enough that it would not be pain.  He was
unpredictable.

   His hands moved to her knees, fingertips just barely touching her skin,
stroking slowly, unbearably toward her inner thighs, reaching almost to her
groin and then retreating.  His light touch drove her mad with desire and
she gasped, stifling words that might beg.  His hands continued their
teasing journey slowly up and down the skin of her inner thighs, from her
knees all the way up almost to her sex, and then back.  She could feel
herself becoming wet already.  Her hips bucked up and her pelvis thrust
forward, trying to spread herself open even further, wordlessly pleading
for attention.  He looked down into her eyes and smiled, watching the
motion of her breasts beneath the thin sheer fabric.  The touch of the
silken cloth against her erect nipples was another agony of subtle
pleasure.

   He lowered his head to let his lips trace a path along her skin behind
his fingertips.  The feathery kisses and the soft flicks of his tongue sent
her into desperation.  "Please..." she whispered quietly.

   He ignored her, or seemed to, and continued what he was doing. 
Accidentally or deliberately, a lock of his hair fell forward and brushed
against her skin.  She was aching for him to touch her sex - and then he
did.  Without warning, his tongue flickered across her clitoris, and the
fingertips that had teased her skin now began lightly stroking her labia.
"Ohhhh.....  *please*...." she moaned, wishing he would bring her to orgasm
soon, knowing that she had no control over whether he did or not.

   She felt his lips close over her clitoris, and his tongue moved over it
in slow circles.  His hands both moved back to her thighs, and using only
his mouth he brought her to the edge of ecstasy, and kept her there until
she cried "Oh...  my lord....  *please!"; then his tongue sent her
screaming over the edge, writhing and incoherent.  As her first orgasm of
the night began to subside, his mouth pulled away and he let the head of
his cock brush against the entrance to her sex, feeling the wetness there.
Slowly, intently, he slid into her, just a little at a time then pulling
back a bit, then sliding in further.

   She found herself moaning again.  She wanted him to fuck her.  For the
first time, she wasn't just limply tolerating it; she burned with the
desire to feel his cock taking her, sliding through her wet heat.  This
slow penetration was torment, and he knew it, was doing it deliberately. 
She tried to move her hips back and forth as his fingers moved up to stroke
her clitoris, teasing it for a while, then driving her into orgasm again as
he simultaneously thrust into her hard and fast, moving in and out in a
rhythm that drove all thought out of her head, sending her into continuous
ecstasy as he plunged in and out of her with merciless speed, maintaining
the pace for a length of time that would have surprised her if she'd ever
known another man.

   Finally he climaxed with a wordless groan, bent down and kissed her,
unbound her knees from the bedposts and lay on the bed, pulling her up to
lie beside him.
   

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