Message-ID: <49687asstr$1099696203@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <mmtwassel@aol.com> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel) X-Original-Message-ID: <20041105121109.23255.00000110@mb-m03.aol.com> X-Spamscanner: mailbox8.ucsd.edu (v1.5 Aug 25 2004 09:28:35, 0.0/5.0 3.0.0) X-MailScanner: PASSED (v1.2.8 13998 iA5HBmoE036917 mailbox8.ucsd.edu) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 05 Nov 2004 17:11:09 GMT Subject: {ASSM} {Curmudgeon Fest} Kindler's Feather by Mat Twassel Lines: 375 Date: Fri, 5 Nov 2004 18:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2004/49687> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, hoisingr Kindler's Feather by Mat Twassel (for Denny) Two knights on heavy horses galloped the main road from Gunderweg's castle. Less than an hour down the highway they encountered the solitary man, a tall fellow of indeterminate age making his way on foot with long steady strides. "Doctor Kindler," said the first knight, his horse snorting and stamping. "Doctor Kindler, we're here to provide you escort. King Gunderweg's orders. The girl's in the hut ahind the castle, bout an hour from here iffen you ride with us. Hop up." The man did not pause his step. Sunlight struck his brow when he glanced at the mounted knight. Kindler's eyes were stern, his voice stone. "I'll go on my own," he said, "same as always." "King's orders," the knight repeated. "The roads 'round here taint safe." Sun glinted from his sword, scabbard swaying as the horse pranced and wheeled, but the man, Kindler, kept walking. The two knights looked at each other, shrugged. "Suit yourself," the first knight said, "We tried," and the pair galloped off, dust from the horses' hooves pluming, settling. "What do you think?" the first knight asked his companion several miles later. "Should we have stayed? Insisted? At sword point?" "Kindler knows his spells," the second knight said. "Rub him wrong, he turns stout cocks to flimsy tallow. No way would I chance it." The knight chortled. "He'll have his hands full with this girl, though. She's a rare beauty, but wildcat through and through. The scratches on my thighs from catching her still haven't healed. And she nearly bit my elbow off." "Hah! Better your elbow than your barrel," the first knight said. "But if anyone can tame her, it's Kindler." "Breaking her is one thing; any clod of a king can mount her. Putting a baby boy in her belly by next moon tis something more." The knights spurred their mounts. Their sword scabbards jounced the horses' flanks as they rode, following their erections into the wilderness. Three archers guarded the hut, one at the window, one at the open doorway, and one on the roof. At Kindler's approach the archer at the doorway opened his palm and moved it towards the entry. The long journey's dust cloaked Kindler and his heavy robes. Umber powder softened his step. Kindler slipped inside the hut and made his way soundlessly across the stone floor. To Kindler's left, fire crackled in the hearth. The great tub stood next to it, steam billowing up. To Kindler's right lay the wide bed: an abundance of soft cloths, quilts and comforters spread across; a slim candle burning on each post. In the hut's far corner stood the girl, her back to Kindler, talking into an ancient cell phone. "Toodle-boop," she said. "Oh, Toodle-boop, my love, you must come and rescue me at once. Be careful, my darling. The king's ogres are outside. If they catch you, they'll eat us both. Please hurry, Toodle-boop. Please, please, please." Kindler laughed. The girl startled, whirled, and dropped her toy. Plastic shattered on stone. "Don't worry," Kindler said, breaking the silence. "I'm not an ogre. I won't eat you. Not without cooking your first. Not without salt and sauce. That's only civilized." The girl said nothing. Her eyes were bright, her garb tattered, her feet bare and dark with dirt. Dried mud capped her knees, streaked her cheeks, stained her smock. "Disrobe," Kindler commanded the girl. She studied him for a moment, then did as she was told. Kindler led the girl to the tub. Not a girl, officially: her first flow had ended two days before, which left less than half a moon to prepare for the king. But perfectly girlish she was, this child; beautifully innocent, absolutely intact. She had the soft, gray-green eyes and fierce, fire- red hair that King Gunderweg preferred. She had graceful breasts, just begun, and those longish, coltish limbs with a demur bush between--the sparse nest unable to conceal the shy cleft, the timid bud. She struggled and splashed but for a moment, then sputtered and bubbled under the steamy water. Kindler held her firm, scrubbed her hard with the raspy cloth, hoisted her out dripping like a drowned kitten, and laid her on the bed. He blotted and buffed her dry and fluffy, but left her bare upon her back while he tended the hearth fire, building it up to a roaring blaze. The girl, unabashed by her nakedness, turned to her side and with wide-eyed attention watched Kindler work. "I see you've mastered shamelessness," Kindler said. "Let's see how you do with your next lesson. Sensitivity." From his robes Kindler produced a small white feather. The tip of it he touched to the girl's nose. She twitched and smiled. He nudged the feather against both fledgling nipples just enough to make them point. The girl frowned. The feather dipped abruptly, swirling the shallow scallop of the girl's navel. She giggled. "You're missing the point," Kindler said. "Remain impassive, I'll set you free." Kindler continued the game of tickles, teases and touches. Back and forth the feather stroked her beneath her chin. The girl quivered. Nipples, nose, navel. She squirmed and sighed. A caress at the instep of each small foot brought her legs up, her ankles against her ears. When the feather brushed her bottom, the girl moaned, and moaned more when feather-touches whispered to her softest spots, the heart of her moon, the soul of her moor, the shy patch of special skin between. It played and plied, this feather, fluttering and flicking, stroking, shuffling, soothing--soothing, shuffling, stroking, until at last the girl's belly clenched, her body shook, stars trembled and twinkled, and white feathers fell through night sky. One delirium was not enough. Kindler's feather took the girl through two, three, four feverish falls, each harder, deeper, farther than the last. Logs shifted on the grate, embers flared and fluttered to ash, and the white-tipped feather, wetted, whisked the girl from one new ecstasy to another. "I can't," the girl mewed after six. "Please no." Kindler's eyes said she could. The feather frolicked. The girl bucked. Fresh spasms swallowed fresher ones. "Oh, oh, oh," the girl wailed. The pleasure wouldn't stop. Kindler wouldn't stop. The girl fainted, dead asleep. Hours later, awake at last, she asked, "What's impassive?" Kindler laughed. He pulled out a fresh feather. The game began again. Nose, nipple, navel. Mound, moon, moor. Fall after fall after fall. The next day, new wood in the hearth, it took but a touch of Kindler's feather to the girl's ear, her nose, her kneecap, and she'd fall. "More," Kindler commanded, and the girl bunched herself on the bed, bottom raised up, and fell with the feather still inches from her crux. "More," she moaned, then yelped when Kindler's palm busked her bottom flesh. "Ow!" Kindler spanked harder, red patches flaring both sides of her peach. "Oh! Ow!" Her lips opened. Her womb roiled. "Oh, oh, oh." She rolled to her side, then onto her back, her knees lifting, her legs spreading. "Please." "No." "I itch so much inside. I want you there. I need you there. I'm on fire for your ... your ..." "My? My?" "I don't know what it's called. Your ..." She stretched a leg lazily, lifting Kindler's robe. Her second leg followed the first. Underneath, her feet found Kindler's erection. Her toes traced its length, up and back, ten toe tips sliding stiffened skin. "Oh, foo!" Kindler cursed. "Foo?" the girl said, amused, but continuing her slow stroking. "Foo bar," Kindler sighed, stopping the girl's feet with his hands. "Foo bar? For real? What a strange name for it. Fit it in me, please. I'm burning for it." "I can't. Burst you, it's me who burns. Spoil you, it's my bones kindle the king's supper, my skull rolls downhill, my cock crows feast upon." "Cock," the girl said. "That's what I want. Foo bar me with your cock. Please, please, please." She withdrew her legs from Kindler's robe and lifted them over her head, ankles by her ears. Her gray- green eyes went wide, imploring. Her lips quivered. "Please. Foo bar me now." Kindler frowned. He knelt. His nose nuzzled the soft amber floss of her little mound, inhaling a scent sweet and mild as spring meadow. He kissed in quick succession the umber pout of her peach, the pink petals of her flower, the bruise-red bud of her ruby berry. Upon the last he lingered, letting his lips bunch about the swell, nipping it lightly with his teeth, tasting it as if it were a small seed, trilling the fattened tip with the tip of his tongue until it shivered, until her flower opened, until her sap soaked his chin. He mouthed the kiss of her essence, swallowing the salt and sauce of her. Kindler leaned back. "So beautiful," he intoned. "So perfect." As lightly as he could he caressed the delicate hymen, stretched so thin now as to be almost translucent. Fresh syrup welled up. Kindler wetted his forefinger with the slickness and eased it past the barrier, careful not to compromise the small shelf, the tender coin of maiden skin. "Don't move," he said. His forefinger, a slippery inch inside the slim aperture, ruffled the special spot. "Slow," he said. "Just sip. Don't suck. Don't gulp. Don't--" "Can't," she said, sucking, gulping, gushing. "Control," Kindler said. His finger rode the girl's fall. With his other hand he palmed her mound, pried apart her petals, pinched her bud. "Control," he said, bringing her off again, again, again. "Control," he said, making her fall four times and four times more, and again into a final collapse. "Was I bad?" the girl asked, having awakened from her slumber. "No," Kindler assured her, "you were good. Very, very good. I'm proud of you." The girl smiled. "But ..." Kindler said, his own smile playing across his face, wry wrinkles. "But what?" "Expect a slice of pain when Gunderweg pierces you. He'll take pleasure in your yelp." "King Gunderweg ... is he ... is he a bad man?" Kindler chuckled. "Gunderweg bad? Not compared to Genghis Khan or Adolph Hitler or George W. Bush. He's just a man, though maybe not just. But take pleasure in his pleasure, give it up to him, to his hardness, and you'll find the rub of his crown soft as a skinned plum. That place I pressed--lock his ridge against it. Ride it. When you feel a flutter lower, let it lick his tip, nibbling while your core milks him hard. He'll calm quick after he's come, and as long as he gets a boy baby out of your belly, you'll be fine." "A baby boy?" "Yes. A male heir to carry on his line. To rule and rove and rape without reproach. To slay enemies, enslave serfs, seduce virgins. To sire more sons for the greater and everlasting glory of God and Gunderweg." "How do I make sure it's a boy?" "Why, girl, that's what this training is all about! The last lesson. Be greedy enough for his seed and you'll have his son, your safety, and his kingdom." "What if I don't want it? Don't want any of it? Safety, kingdom, son?" "You have no choice," Kindler said. "That's the last lesson. Having tasted ecstasy, you'll now be kept on the cusp of it, aroused relentlessly, concupiscence without cease, but a maddening inch from release, a single elusive twitch short of satisfaction. Deprived of the full fall until your cycle is at its ripest center, the apex of fecundity, you'll pray feverishly for Gunderweg's greedy thrusts; you'll beg for his battering; you'll grunt and squeal and swoon at the fertile pump and plunge of his royal seed." "I won't! I won't! I won't!" Kindler showed her the feather. The girl shuddered. The feather moved closer. The girl's lower lip trembled. Flushed, she cried, "Why can't you be king?" "It's not in my blood," Kindler answered. "And anyway, my job is more important. To teach you the trick of boy babies." "Your job! Pah! You're just a man!" And before Kindler could protest, before he could resist, before he could do anything but stand paralyzed, the girl was under his robes, her lips around his erection. Impassive, Kindler let her suck. The steady swell gave confidence to her lips. The slow surge rewarded her tongue. Kindler frowned at her quickening skill. Earlier he'd chewed arrowroot to make his seed bitter, but the girl sucked and swallowed and smiled as if the spew were sweetest cream. The feather fell. Light as light it drifted down. The stone floor cracked. "There," the girl said, licking a last droplet from her lower lip. "Just a man, a man who'd foo bar me without knowing my name." Kindler picked her up and kissed her. The girl kissed back. "Teach me," Kindler said. "Teach me, please." They embraced like trees grown together over the ages, like wind wearing down mountains, like man and woman in love. In the forest the archers' arrows flew. In the moors the knights' swords flashed. Kindler and the girl held each other, and too soon the king's men came. "Hop on up," they said, hoisting her to their mounts. Kindler waited in the hut. That night he heard Aieka cry out. "Oh, foo! Oh, foo! Oh, fuck!" He felt the blood trickle her inner thigh. In the forests the deer hung, dripping. In the moors the knights' swords plunged. In the hut Kindler waited. Night after night Aieka cried. Moon after moon Kindler waited. "Oh, foo! Oh, foo! Oh, fuck!" At last Aieka bore her child. "My sweet Toodle-boop," Aieka sang to the baby at her breast. "My lovely little darling." The road was long and dusty and difficult, but with Kindler walking at her side and with her baby, her sweet little girl, in her arms, Aieka didn't mind. Soon they would be there. Soon they would join the others. === Kindler's Feather by Mat Twassel -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+