Weaving in her cloister,
While the angry winds conspire;
The spider takes no heed
Of all their noise and mischief
And their empty, sullen words.

– The Canticle of Menkeret.

A bead of sweat rolls down between my breasts. I catch it and taste its saltiness. It is the salt of me, the salt of my blood, the blood of the Mentrassa. To me; a woman in the bonds of captivity and the sole representative of my people in this accursed land, that blood is a precious thing. Only seldom now does my bondage cause me to despair and then, it is only because I am unable to alleviate the plight of others. They are, invariably, my fellow slaves.

This night is hot indeed, but its heat does not annoy me. It is midsummer after all in Darrakhai and Darrakhai lies far to the south of Mentrassanae, my home. I lie in my pallet nude but for a long string of heavy turquoise beads. It is a recent gift from a Darrakhai lord, a man whose name I do not care to know but to whom I gave pleasure; pleasure enough, it seems, to warrant such a costly bauble. I wear it now only because I have spoken incantations over it, blessed and purified it with water; dedicating its use to Menkeret, Lord of Illuta, my god.

In former times I would spend long summer nights like this at the very top of my family’s house in Illuta, in the cozy confines of my father’s observatory. He had built a comfortable, velvet-padded cradle inside the tiny room, from which he could contemplate and observe the stars and planets in quiet solitude. He used it rarely after he married my mother and even less after I was born. To me it was a place of refuge from the endless bustle of our great house. Occasionally my father would join me and, nestled snugly together, we would talk. It was of sorcery that we most often spoke.

“No my daughter,” he would say kindly, shaking his head.

“‘T is neither the time nor the season. If you would be the successor to such as Zia Tal Kadzior, the great sorceress, you must study and discipline yourself as I have done; learning the sorcerer’s ways one step at a time. Beginning with that which can do you and others the least harm.”

“But father…..”

“You saw what happened when you opened the sacred Canticle and read from it without my guidance.”

“Yes,” my face began to blush.

Noticing this, he smiled and hugged me. In his quiet, soothing voice he continued.

“You have the potential of being a great and powerful sorceress; you are already an adept, an initiate of our mysteries and you know the discipline of arru-sha. Your studies are far in advance of those of the sons of other members of my guild and I do not generalize when I say ‘sons’. You are the only woman of Mentrassanae to be initiated into the art in centuries. You should be as proud of yourself as I am of you.”

That night’s conversation made an impression on me for a number of reasons, but primarily because it was the first time that my father had acknowledged that I was now a woman. I remarked upon this and he smiled.

“Oh you are a bright girl and a willful child still, but a beautiful woman you have indeed become.”

Later that night, as we gazed through his optical instruments, watching the transit of the volcanic moon Teleia across the face of the giant planet Cavourus, he said to me,

“Much sorcery, you know, cannot be committed to paper.”

“Why? Would setting it down cheapen it, allowing it to be read by the common masses?”

“No. The nature of much of the power is purely instinctive. It comes from your heart and from your mind just as a spider knows how to build a web without needing to be taught how to do so. Trust in your dreams my daughter, in your feelings, in your senses and in your intuition – there great magic lies.”

Tears now bathe my eyes as I recall his words, his kindly face, his gentle touch and his deep green eyes. Eyes just like my own; eyes into which I may never gaze again. I grasp the string of turquoise tightly.

There is a quiet knock at the door. Quickly I stand, dry my eyes and clear my throat. Since my visitor has taken the trouble to knock I know them to be a slave and not a Darrakhai.

“Please enter.”

The door opens and I am greeted by the much lined face of old Talhrana. I hold this old Naeussi woman in high esteem. Of all the many slaves in the house of Heshuzius, she is both the wisest and most advanced in years; having spent more of her life as a slave than as a free woman. She is a veritable fount of wisdom but seldom speaks and maintains her silence now. I know that she must be here at the behest of my Lady Itelyssia for she is one of Itelyssia’s personal attendants. She glances at my naked body and the merest hint of a smile crosses her inscrutable face. She then turns. On the stone floor behind her sits a platter upon which I see a portion of roast pork and a profusion of vegetables and greens, all aromatic and sumptuously cooked with spices. Talhrana picks up the platter and presents it to me.

“By the grace of our Lady Mistress,” she says laconically.

I take the platter from her, breathing in the wonderful aromas. Setting it down upon my pallet, I notice that she is still standing at the door.

“Talhrana, friend most venerable, would you care to join me? There is far more food here than I alone can eat.”

“Nay, my child, the gods bless you a thousand fold.” she says quietly. “I have my duties to attend to.”

I am disappointed but I understand; it is her way to obey as it is mine to rebel. She reaches into her pocket and draws out a heavy, dark object. It is a key. A key from whose loop hangs a silken cord with a trio of beads; two of gold and a central one of rare lapis lazuli. I recognize it immediately; it is the key to the Lapis Chamber. My eyes widen as she hands it to me, I can barely contain my joy.

“I am commanded to tell you that you are to return this key to the office of the House Steward by dawn tomorrow.”

I take it from her, promising her that I will. She does not add, “If you do not, we will both be punished.” She does not have to.

I thank her and as she departs, she glances again at my nudity. There is softness in her eyes. Perhaps I remind her of her own youth and of her beauty in former times. As she departs I close the door and look at the platter. There is enough food to feed four slaves but if I was to share it, I would certainly incur the mistress’s displeasure. The Darrakhai are not a particularly altruistic people and find it difficult to comprehend selfless behavior in others. They see such behavior as foolish, but they do understand punishment and reward. This food and this key, it seems, are my rewards for having lately pleased the Lady Itelyssia.

I pick up the key. I have attended and served with my body in the Lapis Chamber but never before have I been in possession of the key. I decide to take the food with me and to leave the remainder discreetly in the kitchens where one or other of the slaves might partake of it. I wrap a length of homespun loosely around my waist, tying it at the hip and leave the room. The long corridor outside my cell is silent and lit only by small lamps. I take several turns along the way. On this side of the house the corridor is usually empty and uncluttered so my curiosity is roused as, ahead of me on the floor, near one of the ancient recesses in the wall, I detect an object.

It is just a small, plain slipper, such as the slaves wear, but as I pick it up, I notice several dark drops on the floor next to it. Fresh blood, only minutes old. My mind races and I think of old Talhrana.

“If she passed this way, one as conscientious as she would surely have picked this slipper up. She may not have passed this way, or, if she did then the slipper and blood might be hers.”

I cannot detect a pattern in the drops on the floor but a number of the stones on the wall are also stained and here I can see finger marks.

“Why would anyone want to hurt a woman as old and inoffensive as Talhrana?”

I set the platter on the floor and rapidly check to see that I am indeed alone. Seeing no one, I press my hands against the wall in a number of places, tapping the stones as hard as I can. The wall does not move. In an instant I shut my eyes and concentrate; entering the state of arru – sha. Soon my mind is able to see beyond the stones to a dark space behind them. There are cobwebs, dust and debris but there is also a doorway, just a few paces away. The dust around the doorway is much disturbed and recently. I open my eyes and frown. There is some sinister mystery here. Were I more proficient in the sorcerer’s arts, I would be able to pass through the wall, as once; I had witnessed my father do. For now the hidden door must remain a mystery. As often happens, lines from Menkeret’s sacred canticle now enter my mind. When this occurs, my people believe, it is divine revelation, although the god’s meaning is seldom clear.

Darkness! By the heart of night unequaled;
Sullen wasteland of my tormented soul,
Where I and I alone am doomed to wander
Through silent and flowerless fields of pain.
Lost is today and lost is the morrow;
Mires both, of chagrin and of sorrow!

Ominous words indeed !

After having passed several more junctions in the corridor, I come to a broad flight of steps. These eventually lead down to the very lowest levels of the great house. Darrakhai is an ancient kingdom. There is mention of it in Mentrassan chronicles going back over two thousand years. Its cities have suffered many upheavals; having been overwhelmed and destroyed by natural disaster, foreign conquest and by civil strife on numerous occasions. The house of Heshuzius has not been spared the fortunes of its parent city; the vast, labyrinthine edifice has been added to, destroyed and rebuilt many times, making it a collection of layers, each built upon the ruins of its predecessor. I descend the stairs.

I now come to a landing where there is a long, torch lit room. Its far wall is dominated by a vast wooden door. Intricate, geometric iron work embellishes and strengthens the ancient timbers of this door, which are as black as a raven’s wing. I pause in the middle of the room to admire the ancient workmanship and to say a silent prayer for the souls of the trees; unsung heroes that they are. This is the door to the mysterious Lapis Chamber but it has not been used for centuries and is an artifact from quite another time. To the left of it, almost invisible, there is another door. This one is small and wrought of telkka wood, cleverly painted to imitate the surrounding stone. It is to this door that I have the key.

The Lapis Chamber is an ancient room; the relic of a bygone age of elegance. Its workmanship is superbly ingenious and of startling complexity. On every wall and in every space of a huge, octagonal room there are mosaics of exquisite beauty; stylized in their design but representing fabulous animals and sacred plants, mystical places, deities and august persons of long ago, whose names are lost behind the mists of time.

The Lord and Lady Heshuzius entertain their most important guests in this room and it is also the scene of family rites and religious ceremonies. But they are largely ignorant of its history and the true significance of its decoration. I have often been amused by the many contradictory accounts of how old the room is, of what its original purpose might have been, of who built it and who the master artists were. The origin of the costly materials used in its construction and decoration is yet another of its mysteries. Of these materials, the rarest is lapis lazuli. There are large, highly polished slabs of it set into the walls at eye level and countless smaller pieces besides. The intense blue of this true lapis predominates, yet much of the room’s colour comes from beautifully wrought glass and ceramic tiles of all shades, made to imitate costly lapis. Elsewhere there is gold, sardonyx and porphyry, mother of pearl and many exquisite materials that I cannot name. That the Lapis Chamber is a sublime masterpiece and a place of mystery, there is no doubt, but of one other thing I am also certain. The Darrakhai of the present day could never have conceived it.

At the far end of the chamber and taking up about one third of the available space is a huge sunken pool. Fed by an underground spring and regulated by some remarkable hidden system, the water is always fresh and constantly cool. It beckons me as I set my platter down upon one of the raised stone benches. These ‘benches’, for want of a better term are adorned with many intricate motifs, but one in particular always catches my eye when I am in this place. It is itself an eye; black, half hooded, with a look of divine serenity, not unlike Menkeret’s sacred eye. I greet it reverentially.

Shedding my loincloth and the heavy string of turquoise, I place these along with the key upon the bench and walk to the edge of the pool. My spine tingles with expectation as I place a toe in the water and send a splash out towards the center. I look up. In the middle of the pool there is a tall pedestal. Yet another notable feature of this remarkable place. Upon the pedestal there stands the life size statue of a richly dressed and adorned woman. As with the rest of the room; many precious materials have been used in the making of this figure. I have secretly contemplated it many times whilst serving here. It is a composite statue made of metal, ivory and stone; richly inlaid and of wonderful construction. Her identity, like so much else in this room, is a mystery. Again I have heard many outlandish accounts of her; each at odds, in the main, with the others. To me she is, simply and assuredly, a goddess.

Again I dip my foot in the water. It is pleasantly cool; again tingles of pleasure shoot through me, just like cool raindrops on my skin. I need no more invitation. I will forever be grateful to Oltos, my lost love, for many things. One of these is that I am a fine swimmer and diver; indeed I would say that my confidence and ability in the water would now rival his. He would have been proud of me. Standing with my feet together, I flex my muscles, extend my arms and lower my head. I dive and say a silent prayer to the unknown goddess before me. Now the cool water caresses my body and soothes my limbs. Long strokes cut cleanly through the water, leg muscles flex, propelling me through the sensuous fluid. Floating on the surface now, I take several deep breaths then dive. Deeper and deeper I go, until the water surrounds me, returning me to the time before my birth.

“Hold your nose and blow my lady,” says a warm, rich, voice deep in my mind. “The tiny holes in your eye lids will expel the air and you can dive deeper. This is how we, the fisher folk, gather corals and sea urchins.”

“Yes Oltos. I remember, your instruction, I remember, my love.”

The water caresses me like the touch of a thousand soft and soothing hands. I swim the total circuit of the pool twice; diving several times to examine the richly decorated floor. What a people these ancient Darrakhai must have been to create this; a place so unlike anything built by their modern descendents. When I serve in this room, one of my duties is to rescue drunken guests, of all shapes and sizes, who fall into the water. Oh the indignity! But now that I am here alone, the room is wholly mine; I am its lady mistress. But my solitude is all too brief.

For faintly, I here a sound. It is the sound of the door opening. Several quiet footsteps follow and I see a tall, black clad figure enter slowly. I slip silently back into the pool before I am seen and float motionless, observing the intruder’s approach. It is a man; a dark and lithe individual, fine featured, fine limbed but curiously graceless as he looks about with astonishment at the wondrous room around him. It is Jaano.

As he slowly approaches the pool a smile forms on my lips. I silently take several deep breaths; my eyes unblinking as I watch him staring at everything around him like a traveler newly emerged from the desert sands. But he fails to see me. I let him take a few more steps towards the pool and I dip my head under the water. Legs and arms work hard to pull my body down. I have more than enough strength to allow me to dive to the very bottom of the pool. Once there I enter the state of arru – sha. At once the water becomes weightless upon me and I feel tremendous energy building in my limbs. Veiled in a golden spindle of pulsating light; I feel my feet touch the smooth bottom of the pool. Tentacles of visible light, alive and heavy with a thousand colours emerge from my spine and I send them writhing up out of the water to where poor Jaano stands. I can see him in my mind’s eye. Now I raise my arms above my head and push the water aside as if it were air, my legs flex powerfully with the forces that course through them. I rise! Up and up, I gain speed with each second and break the surface with a loud splash. I see Jaano’s face and I come level with the head of the statue upon its high plinth, then I am above these and close to the ceiling. Now I regain control as gravity takes hold of my body at last and I begin my descent. Water droplets fall with me as I position myself for a dramatic landing. With my arms outstretched, I alight twenty paces before him, smiling maniacally and still shrouded in golden light that I allow him to see.

“By all the gods!”

To say that he is astonished would be to grossly understate the matter. He holds up his hands and steps back uttering several Zonovon profanities. As the tentacles retract, the light around me fades and after the last of my companion droplets hits the floor, I speak.

“Mind what language you use before a goddess Jaano.”

“Is…is that what you are, a goddess?”

His voice trembles slightly as he looks into my eyes momentarily. He then averts his gaze and drops his head, for to look too long upon the face of a divinity is sacrilege in Zonovon.

“No, it is of that lady yonder, upon the plinth that I speak. I am merely…. Kayla.”

“Then you are indeed a powerful sorceress, beauteous lady of Mentrassanae.”

Suddenly I can see my father’s disapproving face looming in my mind. I approach Jaano and offer him my hand. His own hand emerges, still cold with fright, from his black robes. I press his wrist with three fingers in friendship; as is the custom in Zonovon. At last he smiles.

“Nay, you are mistaken my friend,” I whisper.

“Then what am I, a simple musician, to make of such as thee?”

“The black nets of the Darrakhai trawl far. I am but a humble stick of driftwood that they have ensnared.”

He looks at me doubtfully and I smile, changing the subject to more mundane matters.

“Why are you thus attired?”

“This is the garb of the ‘Sublime Chamber Players of the Lord Deichellys’, as we are known, rather fancifully, by our master. Deichellys is Lady Itelyssia’s eldest son.”

“I know him. How old is Deichellys? Ten?” I laugh, but Jaano looks at me somewhat defensively.

“He is quite mature, educated and refined…… for a ten year old and for a Darrakhai.”

I laugh again but now I am intrigued.

“You are a musician?”

“Aye, I play the Zonovon sondar and the oud but I am most proficient on the dilruba.”

“The dilruba? What manner of instrument is that?”

“It is a type of fiddle with a long neck and steel strings; the body is made of hardwood covered in goatskin. I play and compose songs and melodies for it. In the ancient tongue of my people its name means ‘robber of the heart.’”

For a long moment I look at him. I am impressed but eventually and unintentionally, my eyes unnerve him.

“A beautiful name Jaano, robber of the heart. Why are you here?”

“I was ordered to come here by the Lady Itelyssia herself. One of her maids gave me directions.”

“Was that old Talhrana?”

“Nay.”

“No matter, continue.”

“The girl, Shuusa it was, said I would find the door open. She said my task would become apparent to me once I arrived. But here I find only you.”

“Only me…?”

“Nay, I am pleased to see you again but perhaps you can shed some light on why we are here?”

“Perhaps, but first, let us eat.”

Jaano is still visibly shaken by my little display earlier so I do my best to calm him. He is also wary of the food and I explain that it was given to me as a reward by our mistress. My eating some of it seems to reassure him and he partakes at last. Despite being cold, the pork is charcoal roasted and delicious, the vegetables simply divine. While we eat and talk, he tells me of his career as a musician; and it seems he is quite a distinguished one at that. We speak of his compositions and finally, of his family.

“My wife and I had only been married two years before the war with the Darrakhai and my capture. I lost her and our unborn child.”

“I grieve for you my friend.”

“I thank you, O kindly sorceress of Mentrassanae.”

“My name is Kayla and I am not a sorceress quite yet.”

“Well, I am but a simple dilruba player and lately, a slave of Lord Deichellys.”

I smile and see the pain etched deep upon his brow. How much deeper must it be etched into his heart!

“Tell me of your wife.”

“She was the center of my world; she was brave and clever, a sculptor – good with her hands, good with a bodkin, if need be, and a kind and giving woman. Articulate, beautiful and true. I miss her but, in faith; she dwells now in the company of the gods and of her ancestors. There, I know she is welcome.”

“Aye.”

“And what of you Kayla, the sorceress to be?”

“As I said, I am but a stick of driftwood, a plaything of the sea and the winds.”

“Will you not tell me?”

“Oh…… my family despair of me and I had a lover once; a true love, but his heart belonged to the sea. I was a fool to think I could claim it. His life, his beauty and his courage were god-given. Those whom the gods love they reclaim. He died bravely, fighting to defend our homeland.”

“Then I too mourn for you, O fair lady of Mentrassanae.”

“Let us mourn when it is the appointed season my friend, but let us also do those whom we love and lose the honour of living as they would have wished us to live.”

“Wise words Lady Kayla, and true.”

My eyes regard him closely for a long while as we sit close by in silent contemplation. Now he seems not to be ill at ease in my presence. I regret having earlier frightened him so. I turn and face him and we look deep into each others eyes. There I see deep seated longing but it is a longing for the past and soon recedes as does the darkness before the first rays of dawn.

“Let us pay homage to the past Jaano but let us also rejoice in the present.”

He nods and smiles sadly. “Such as it is.”

We kiss.

It is only for a moment but the tenderness of that moment lingers long after our lips have parted. He looks away from my face towards the door and sighs. Now I turn his face back towards mine.

“Be at peace Jaano and believe me when I tell you that this chamber is ours for the night.”

He looks at me with increasing uncertainty. I pick up the key and wave it in front of his face.

“Did you steal it with your magic?” He whispers.

“Nay, it is my reward from the Lady Itellysia, as indeed are you.”

“Me?”

“Aye, you are now the slave of a slave my dear Jaano; the lowliest of the low.”

I laugh and he smiles.

“You mock me Lady Kayla, but strangely, I am glad.”

Our lips meet again and this time there is a fledgling ardour in our kiss. We explore each other’s mouths and lips; tentatively at first, then with growing abandon. Sweet and sensual, our lips embrace and slowly fire the passion of our bodies. As always, I am the aggressor; I take Jaano’s head in my hands and bear down upon his mouth. Hungrily I devour his lips and soon my ardour inspires him to greater efforts. He darts his tongue into my mouth, playfully teasing mine, then circles my lips and sucks my bottom lip; taking it all into his mouth. I am impressed and I renew my onslaught on his mouth. Moments pass and I feel as if we are upon the brink of an eternity of intimate pleasure. When, after some time, we pause I see his misted eyes.

“Ah, that is what I miss Kayla, the indescribable pleasure contained in a kiss.”

“Soft hours of tender idleness
Await both you and me
For splendid colours of forgetfulness
Now clothe the placid sea;
Banishing our cares and sorrows
And all that makes us weep,
As the sea from the sunset borrows
A veil to hide the deep.
Soft hours of tender idleness
For you and me to share;
Upon our sea of joyfulness;
A sea beyond compare.
With tender sighs and sweet caresses
I strive to honour you
And with hours of languid kisses
Upon our sea of blue.

I have entranced him with this little song and his eyes stare eagerly and expectantly into mine. “Forgive me, I can not recall the rest.”

“Never mind, it was beautiful.”

“It is an old Mentrassan ballad from the north. You kiss well Jaano.”

“I am as inspired by your beauty as I am and humbled by it.”

My first impulse is to laugh at this, then I think that he is not mocking me, but that there is an earnestness in his heart; an honesty that his eyes cannot help but radiate. I am reminded of my lost fisherman.

I kiss him again and this time my hands caress his fine featured face; pulling him closer. After long moments his hands rub my shoulders and my back tenderly. His strong palms and supple musician’s fingers trace the contours of my shoulders and slowly, ever so slowly, work their way down my spine. My body tingles and my heart speaks to me. Now Jaano clasps my waist and I lie cradled against his body. He is gentle and his gentleness tells of his regard for me. His wife was indeed a fortunate woman. But I am not a lamb in need of tenderness; I am a tashk, a lone hunter of the high northern mountains.

I pull away from his embrace and look down at him; my face is now a mask, my eyes are aflame with mystery and my teeth are bared. He looks up at me wide eyed but before uncertainty crosses his face, I descend upon him like the noble tashk diving for the kill. My breasts heave and press into his chest, my muscles flex as I kiss his lips with unremitting fire. I suck the very breath from his lungs and toss my raven locks about his shoulders as the sea tosses its waves upon the hapless shore. My hands are not idle, and soon I have teased his body out of the black robes. Looking down once more upon its nakedness, I am mightily pleased.

I place each of my breasts in turn into his mouth and delight in the feel of his tongue and teeth upon my nipples. My soon nipples harden and protrude and I see that I too have pleased him. His cock twitches into life and comes to rest, without my having once touched it, against his bare abdomen. I grip its length now and tease it gently, gradually letting my hand slip to its base where I pump against his heavy balls. I feel them react to my pressure and begin to retract but then I take my hand away. Jaano has a beautiful cock; thick and tapering, elegantly proportioned and curving upwards in pleasing lines. The Lady Itelyssia must have paid handsomely for him. But for the moment, his fine-looking cock belongs to me and I would have all of it in my mouth.

My tongue loves the feel of his flesh, my mouth devours him hungrily. I pay close attention to every part of his cock; returning time and again to the head; but not too often, for I desire him to last the distance with me. Jaano lies back and without having to ask, he gently gathers my hair, allowing himself to witness the fine work I am performing with my mouth. He groans as I feel his cock twitch, pulse and grow hard rapidly. I take it from my fiery lips from time to time, to blow cooling air upon it and I rub its glistening head on my face, then return it hungrily to the depths of my mouth. I would happily continue thus but now I feel his hand upon my shoulder, pushing me back.

“Recline and rest my lady and, if it is your wish, I will caress thy inner depths with my tongue, my fingers and with my entire heart and soul.”

“What refined manners, what uncommon civility, what graciousness Jaano and all from a mere musician. Pray proceed.”

Even though my tone is mocking and it is not in my nature to be humble, I immediately see that he is sincere in his desire to please me and I regret having spoken to him so.

I recline upon my elbows and slowly spread my legs. I can hear Jaano drawing breath as he contemplates the scene before him. His mind is easy to read; early doubts and apprehension when he first encountered me here, have now quickly given way to desire and I will nurture that desire until it blossoms into lust. He paints long, moist lines with his tongue along my inner thighs; tasting their softness and enjoying the ivory smoothness of my skin. Each time he approaches his ultimate destination; closer and close but never quite attains it. I like this kind of play and once more, I admire his dark skin and muscular frame. Jaano has a beautiful body but I will not tell him so, not just yet.

To encourage him, I spread my soft lips; like a flower blooming before him and offering its precious nectar to his parched mouth. He laps up my offering with relish. I feel his tongue exploring my every fold and snaking its way luxuriously into my hidden depths. Now Jaano turns his attention to my clit. We of Mentrassanae hold this part of a woman’s body to be sacred; it is the essence of her, the nub of her femininity and the wellspring of her most intimate pleasures. Jaano needs no instruction as he circles it with his tongue and caresses it with his lips, exquisitely massaging my flesh with his mouth and drenching me with his saliva. We are sweetness and salt combined – a m?nge that I find most pleasing. Now I grind myself against his mouth; his hot breath adds to the sweet sensation already produced by his lips and tongue. After several intense moments, my flesh quivers with pleasure. I reach for his hair and pull his face closer to my pussy. His response is to delve deeply into me with his tongue, feeling and tasting my innermost horizon.

“Jaano”, I call his name softly and he ignores me. “Jaano, stop, stop,” now he obeys.

He stands and I grasp his cock, rubbing its entire length until it is at its firmest then I gently guide it towards my pussy. His muscles flex and he steels his entire body for the task ahead. Although he enters me slowly, his cock fills me almost immediately and my pussy adjusts to its glorious thickness. I am even wetter than before so Jaano finds it easy to fill my yearning slit. Now as he arches over me, I once again admire his body – a prize indeed; owned by the lady Heshuzius perhaps, but at this moment it is all mine to enjoy and to savour. Jaano props himself over me and steals an admiring gaze. But as he begins to thrust, he diverts his eyes. Does he still think me a goddess? I take his head and turn his face towards mine. There is indeed a hint of meekness in his eyes. I smile at him and roll my eyes back as his cock increases its efforts deep within me. He is reassured and now as our eyes lock we lose ourselves; each in the other’s gaze for a long while until I draw his lips to mine again. His tongue is purest honey, his eyes are polished onyx and his face; contorted with pleasure, is the very image of lust. Yes! I would have him lust for me; me above all others!

My legs encircle his waist and I rest them upon his back; drawing his cock even deeper into me. This is the mode of sex I love best. My hands play with his body; my nails trace the glyphs that form the name of Menkeret, my god, upon his muscular back. I silently consecrate this rite of love to him; Menkeret, Lord of Eleision. Jaano tosses his head back and I feel his buttocks clench as he thrusts into me with growing abandon. Rhythmically, like the pulse of a drum he thrusts. I meet his every beat with equal force, I answer his every moan with a growl of pleasure, I return his every caress with tenderness and my eyes reply to the lust burning in his own. I have yet to meet the man who is my equal, but Oltos and Jaano have come closest.

We are as the wind and the waves; moving in unison through untraversed expanses of pleasure. He is the fire in my heart; I am the breath in his body, together we wordlessly extol the exquisite virtues of the flesh. His is merely the body of man, mine is merely the body of woman, but when we two meet a glorious, ethereal radiance is unleashed.

Jaano stands and I also rise. I face him, placing my joined hands behind his neck. Then with the utmost relish I impale myself again upon his cock. It is as a thorn in my body but a thorn that imparts pleasure, not pain. Jaano grasps my hips and together we are locked in a double embrace. I feel his cock pulse as it thrusts into me, sending wave after wave of tingling sensation through me. Jaano holds me firmly and presses his hands protectively into my flesh; thus I am comforted and bounce up and down now upon his manhood, edging gradually towards release. Jaano’s body tenses now too as his eyes feast upon the spectacle that is our love-making. I leer at him like an animal, my eyes hooded and my hair framing my face in wild disarray. I know that he likes this; I can sense it clearly in his thoughts.

“My tender sighs, my sweet attentions
I render unto you,
Upon a mystic sea of passion,
A boundless plain of blue.”

These words are enough. Upon one final stroke, Jaano groans and stands still. His iron grip tightens upon my flesh as he unleashes a torrent of hot man-seed deep within me. The sensation is exquisite and immediately, beginning with my clit, I feel my body shudder profoundly, tingle and rattle with wave after wave of ecstasy. After long moments, we settle upon the floor, both of us exhausted, dripping wet and breathing hard; a fitting testament to our exertions.

There, amidst the glories of the Lapis Chamber, we do not speak, we cannot speak; we are simply lost in an instant, beyond mere words, beyond time itself.

Stay tuned for part 7 of ‘The Slave Princess.”

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