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Elna
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Elna waited in her master's bedchamber, bored as always. One harem
was like another, and the Dark Lord was only moderately inventive.
She hoped he would not be long with his guests this night, since he
had told her there was something new to try. She wondered what it
was; probably nothing she hadn't done before.
It was not that Elna was jaded, exactly, but her background had
accustomed her to nearly everything. She had been born in the
harem of the Pasha of Sud, her mother was a bred slave, the product
of several generations of selective slave breeding, even as she
was. Her father had been an arena gladiator, a hero in Sud. He
had bought his freedom when she was a child, so the news that
filtered in said. She had been trained to give pleasure to a man
from her childhood. Her earliest memories were of her mother, or
the other women teaching her how to properly bathe another person,
and how to use the scented unguents the Nilgard men were fond of.
She had been sold to a noble when she was twelve. There she had
learned to put her training to use. Now, she had been sold several
times and had ended in the Dark Lord's possession. She did not
really fear her master, as some of the others did. She knew what
she was and what she could expect for disobedience. She sighed
again, and glanced at the silver and onyx mirror to check her
flawless reflection yet again. From across the room, the slave
girl in the mirror smiled back at her in a vision of feminine
perfection.
Pleased with herself, Elna reached behind her head, dividing her
hair with her fingers, and swept the two bunches forward so that
they fell over her shoulders to cover her breasts, ever so
slightly. Her master had occasion to fancy this particular look;
it added a touch of mystery to an already enticing package. Using
the mirror to carefully arrange her hair for just the right effect,
she swept the excess back and behind her again. She did not want
too much covered, she was no blushing virgin, but too little
coverage looked sloppy. Wanting an equal amount behind as well as
in front, to appear balanced, she worked on herself for many
minutes. There was no hurry, for if she heard her master's
footsteps, she could always flip the whole behind her again and
resume her position before he saw. Nothing would be lost and there
would always be another time. The look had suddenly appealed to
her and she was determined to make it work. Hopefully, she would
be prepared by the time her master remembered her and left his
guests.
The Dark Lord climbed the stairs of his tower, pondering the
situation he found himself in. There were petitions to be read,
and letters to be answered, in addition to battle-plans and floor
plans and execution papers. And to top the mess off was Elna. He
had summoned her earlier, thinking to take his mind off the work,
but now she seemed just another duty like the other things waiting
for him.
He bounced the double leather cuffs in his hand. They were a gift
from Lady Lavinia of Pergamum. She had sent them as part of the
annual taxes on her establishment. He had been considering a way
to combine the business with his pleasure, even as she did. Lady
Lavinia's business was pleasure, and her house in Pergamum catered
to every whim its patrons might have. It might work.
As he climbed the last set of stairs to his bed chamber, he saw
Elna kneeling on the fur at the foot of his bed, waiting for him in
all her beauty. He noted she had taken the liberty of daring to
cover herself with her fiery red hair, a most becoming look that
invited his immediate attention. She would be the ideal one to try
this on. She was the most limber and the least likely to be
uncomfortable with the position he had in mind. He paused at the
massive desk to gather his paperwork and a quill and inkhorn.
Setting the things he picked up down on the table beside his bed,
he began to strip down. Laying back on the bed, half-propping
himself against the headboard, he beckoned Elna to join him. She
carefully lay down beside him, and he immediately swept aside the
long silky hair covering her right breast, in order to caress it.
Feeling the urge to take her here and now, and forget about the
diversion he had planned earlier, he reluctantly drew away from her
luscious breasts, leaving the left partly covered, peeking out from
behind the thin veil of tantalizingly red hair.
"Business before pleasure tonight, slave girl," he sighed, peering
down into her soft emerald eyes and seeing his own lust reflected
back, coupled with Elna's own burning desires. "Face away from me,
Elna," he said, "and kneel."
Elna complied. He reached for the cuffs. There were two in the
set, both shaped like figure eights. He buckled the smaller loop
around her wrist and then pulled her arm back to fasten it to her
ankle. Repeating the process on the other side, he tugged them to
make sure they were secure. Then he turned her to face him.
"All right, slave girl. If you can arouse me, you can have me. In
fact, I would like to be inside of you by no more than ten minutes.
It will be your duty to maintain this arousal while I work, until
I have time to use you properly. You will have three chances, and
failure is always punished."
Turning over a small hourglass, he looked expectantly at Elna.
Glancing at the time piece, she saw that it was a five minute
timer. She arched her back, presenting her full breasts for his
enjoyment. They were duly accepted and she felt him begin to stir.
Bracing her hands on the mattress, she rubbed along the length of
his shaft lightly, pressing it between her soft flesh and his taut
belly. It fit nicely between her thighs and she rubbed some more,
aroused herself.
"You seem flammable tonight, my master," she said, looking at him.
Both of his hands were gripping her breasts and he was squeezing
them arhythemically. He opened one eye and looked at her.
"You were not given permission to speak, slave girl. What matters
is not my flammability, but your heat." She arched properly,
leaning slightly forward, and drew him into her before he could
reach for the sandglass.
"As my master commanded, he is within his slave in the allotted
time," she said softly. He could not help but smile at her
proficiency and resourcefulness.
"Good, but that is only the beginning. Turn around, and lean
forward." Wondering what he was planning, and moving carefully
within the bonds so as not to lose him, she turned.
The Dark Lord slid into a more sitting position, so that Elna's
body was flush with his as she kissed the scar that marked his
kneecap. Her back now provided him with a horizontal surface on
which to work and the rhythmic pulsations she was creating would
keep him aroused.
He leaned over to the table, being careful not to dislodge the
girl, and picked up the stack of papers that awaited his attention.
Setting them on her back, he began to sort through his work,
placing the less urgent items on the back of her neck.
The first piece of business was a petition from the ruling druidic
hierarchy of Wax. They demanded his authority to hunt down and, as
they put it, enlighten any remaining followers of Angrith of the
Wood. He saw they were planning a witch-hunt as well, in order to,
as they said, "Rid our gracious lord's lands of workers of ill
fortune and malice, such as consort with evil spirits or worship
other than Our Blessed Mother Celestra." The petition was denied.
Elna quivered a bit when he stabbed the quill down to finish his
exclamation point. The hedge-witches were of no concern to him,
and he could not care less whether one was foolish enough to follow
Celestra or Angrith. He had seen no evidences of any power there,
not even the human sort. The nature worshippers claimed
neutrality, or withdrawal as he saw it. He would not give his
approval to any sect within the Empire.
He set the reply aside to dry. A letter from Rima and Paloken was
next. Jame would be duly brought to court this year. Rima had a
few words to say about his curse, as she called the Power. She
believed it was leaving him now, and praised Vanada for several
lines. A mild oath formed on the Dark Lord's lips at that
statement. If the stupid bitch had crushed Jame's Power, she would
pay. That letter needed no reply.
The third letter was an announcement from Landsend, called Zenia on
imperial maps in honor of the Dark Lord's youngest sister, whom he
had married off to Sharmat, ruler of that province, to seal the
alliance between the Empire and the desert folk who dwelt on the
rich northern coast of the Zeimlich Sea. The letter was from
Sharmat himself, announcing that he and his favorite wife, the
Princess Zenia beht Llewella, would be arriving for this year's
imperial New Year's celebrations. He apologized for neglecting
their duties to do so in the past, but the Princess Zenia had been
heavy with child or exhausted from bearing his sons for the last
few years, and hence unable to travel. She would accompany him
this year, and Sharmat promised gifts to make up for their past
absences. The Dark Lord set the letter aside and grinned broadly.
It had been five years since he had seen Zenia, and gifts from the
northern deserts always proved to be as fascinating as they were
valuable--especially give Sharmat's profound sense of irony and his
flair for the unusual. This letter required no response.
Elna maintained the rhythmic pulses, varying the speed and
strength. Muscle control was important in a concubine, that lesson
had been drilled into her head as soon as she could understand it.
She had kept men aroused for hours at a time this way, and this
looked to be one of those sessions. When her master leaned over to
put a document on the table, she shifted a bit. Her legs were
tingling, and she flexed her toes to keep the circulation going.
The Dark Lord noticed her movement.
"Position a bit uncomfortable, slave girl?" he asked. She nodded.
"With what you're doing I may need to take a breather from the
affairs of state. You make a most tempting desk."
"Thank you, Master," she whispered. She had been breathing
shallowly to avoid spilling the inkhorn he had set between her
shoulder blades. She gasped softly as he ran the end of the quill
along the side of her body, tracing her curves.
"Three more documents and then I'll stop for a bit," he promised,
feeling her clench tightly around him. The soft odor of her
arousal was beginning to reach him. It was a scent he preferred
over most of the perfumes many of his harem girls wore. It
affirmed his power over them, that he could drive them to such
states of need while he remained mostly unaffected, using them
merely because he wanted to, not from any great need. He mused
absently on the fact that his sexual needs had never been unfilled
for more than a month at a time since he had discovered the drive.
The names and faces had long since blurred into a long continuous
spectrum, where only a few remained distinct. Putting the next
line of thought, concerning how many lovelies he had owned and
discarded in his past, out of his mind, he reached for the next
document, Elna's musk growing stronger all the time.
After the second piece of work, he found he could no longer
concentrate; the scent was too strong. A small pool of dampness
had collected on his belly from her, and she had nipped his kneecap
more than once. Admirably, she had not convulsed or even tensed
strongly as so many of his more orgasmic girls did. She had
concentrated on controlling herself so that she might not disturb
his work.
He cleared her back of papers and set the inkhorn carefully on the
bedside table where it would not be disturbed or overturned. He
slid back down to a three-quarters lying position, and turned her
back to face him.
"Enough of this, slave girl. Finish what you began," he commanded.
She knelt atop him, her cuffs securely holding her to the position.
She began a slow spiral of her hips as she raised and lowered
herself the scant distance she was able to. Tired from the day,
and his head aching from all the requests, usually written in an
overly flowery manner with highly inventive spelling, he relaxed
and let Elna soothe him.
Soft whimpers came from her as she moved on him. He watched
through half closed eyes, roughly massaging her perfect breasts.
He could see why her type was bred in hopes of producing more
slaves. He might have just that done before the two in the dungeon
were eliminated. They were strong and one had seemed intelligent,
a fit match for the lovely slave. He slid a careful thumb into the
cleft of the mons. Finding her engorged clitoris, he rubbed it
gently, not wanting to hurt her. She arched her back, rubbed
against his hand harder and cried out in ecstacy.
Elna rubbed the swollen saddle between her legs against his stomach
and thumb, trying to move sensuously, but knowing she was not. Her
movements were too strong, too desperate. As the shock waves shook
her, time and again, she rubbed more desperately, not wanting the
sensation to end.
"Enough, slave girl. You are exhausting me just watching you."
Elna collapsed in a sobbing, gasping heap on his chest, barely
maintaining enough control to keep him inside. He carefully braced
her and rolled them over. Elna lay on her back, with her wrists
cuffed to her ankles, and her legs spread wide.
She was still warm and tight as well as soaking wet. He noted with
distaste the damp patch forming beneath her was already the size of
a gold piece. Hazards of multi-orgasmic women, he thought,
beginning to pump her. The stain would soon turn white and give
trouble to the girl with laundry duty. He would make Elna change
the bed before he slept in it tonight.
She writhed beneath him like a wild creature, but never fought.
The motion enhanced the pleasure for both, and was well worth it.
Most laid so still while he took them, perhaps only stroking or
kissing him. He considered summoning Elna more often; or perhaps
just keeping her up here for a few days until she had exhausted her
repertoire.
He climaxed at last, the pleasure tainted by the thought of the
work yet to be done. He rolled off of the girl, and drew her in
awkwardly, hampered by her odd positions and the fact that she was
still writhing a bit with her eyes shut. As he kissed her, he felt
the last tension in her body go limp and she opened her eyes. He
carefully unbuckled the cuffs, releasing the slave girl from her
awkward position.
"Thank you, Master," she said, her voice still husky. "Not often
do you have time to heat me to that point, and a slave girl is
grateful."
"It is not every girl I own that is as responsive as you are, and
it is a pleasure to have you so aroused," he responded. "Even if
it is only your duty," he added sharply. "Now I have more work to
do and I need your back again." He scooted back into a sitting
position. "Drape across my lap on your belly... That's good."
He retrieved his work and set to it again, leaving Elna, still
aroused, to her own thoughts. The time passed interminably slowly.
The quill tended to tickle if her master used too much pressure,
and the location of the inkhorn was again arousing. He had
inserted the slightly pointed tip into her, and she knew he would
retrieve it covered with both of their juices.
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