To more fully enjoy this story in living, breathing HTML, please visit our website at: /~vivian Now offering over 140,000 words of pure prurience! -------------------------------------------------------- Sangrelysia by Vivian Darkbloom Exploring the Inner Recesses It would seem ordinary enough for the male member of the coalition to awaken with a touch of stiffness. This sensation was not so differing from the accustomed morningtime stimuli, but for the encircling of soft warm flesh, which prompted the opening of eyes in order to determine whether the source of this warm encircling were or not cause for panic. Through the sleep-wrought haze of vision, I could perceive a shape beneath the covers, a spheroid of the Princess' head, which with covers lifted, turned out to be watching her fingers explore regions of mine which were revealed to be heretofore unknown by such extremities. Sylvia grinned out at me. "This is fun," she said. "It goes up and down when you touch it." "Holy gracious," I lamented, somewhat nonsensically, but it was the best I could come up with at that hour (whatever hour that was -- I could see daylight streaming in from the skylight above). "Now I understand the dreams I was having." "Dreams?" she raised her eyebrows curiously, still exploring the wholly polar region. "Cantilever bridges. Going up and down. Crikey, what do you think you're doing down there?" She frowned. "Crikey? What's that?" "It's a versatile word often used to express amazement, in this case meaning `What now, does the Princess think she's found a new toy?'" Her smile lit up again. "Yep. I never had one of these to play with before." "You did have it inside of you, that one day," I remembered fondly. "Really? It seems too big." "Do we need to check and see if it still fits?" Her eyes gazed up at me, glimmering emerald green set in the snow-white purity of innocence. A twisted smile played across her cute little face as she considered. "I don't know if this is really a good idea, anyway," I cautioned. "After all, you're the Princess, and you'll be Queen someday, and. . ." "The stuff that comes out of the end," she said, "What's it taste like?" "I don't know. Never tasted it. But you really shouldn't be. . ." "I love the way it smelled, when little drops of it came dripping out from inside me." Absently, she fingered the opening she was referring to. "That's very nice, but you should be really thinking about your position as a member of royalty, and you are after all her royal highness. . ." "You'll just have to have that little conversation with yourself, because my mouth is about to be too busy for talking." ". . .and especially since you're only ten years old, I'm not sure if it's really dignified or appropriate to, omigod. Where did you learn how to. . . whoa. Oh, that's good. Yes!" She had thrown back the sheets, so that I could see in full the pale thin figure of her slender body, the flesh-colored flesh of her tiny areolae, little twin disks staring out either side of her little-girl's flat chest, her smooth tight little butt like two half-moons separated by a curving crack of delight. I watched with slow, undulations as the surging heat propelled my sensitive delicacy against the delicious gravel-like gnawing of her teeth, the not unpleasant sensation like that of sand between bathing suit and skin after a day spent on the beach in the sun in the presence of other half-naked bodies. My hands gently cradled her skull, softness of her tousled hair against my palms, mesmerised at the show of my wicked rapier penetrating the soft intimacy of her sweet little royal mouth, the roughness of her curious tongue probing, importunately harping on the excruciatingly ecstatic aperture. I felt the stirring inside me. "Oh baby. Here it is," I said, as the gift of sweet release made its way from the depths of my being into the cleanliness and innocent purity between her tiny cheeks. I felt her tongue lapping up the drops as I pushed each one delicately out against its moist, rough surface. She grinned up at me, slurping sloppily as she swallowed. Out of breath and covered with droplets of hot sweat, I fell back on frowzled sheets. "Your turn, I think," I said. "But you'll have to wait a minute." "I can wait," she said, drawing the sheets back over us and snuggling up warm against my side. ____________________________________________________________ Our present contains the whole of our past. Every movement or gesture, from the inflection of the words "Good morning" to the sullen or hopeful expression that colors one's face at sunrise, from tying of shoelaces to the intention and bearing expressed in the stride walking to the house of a friend. Every action and posture is the culmination of years or perhaps decades of habit, the collective polishing of the water's path down the streambed by each moment of our lives. The simple brushing back of a strand of hair contains the darkness and light of every moment in which that motion has been executed. The sequence of neural and muscular patterns have been choreographed by our history, so that even the smallest fragment of motion: the opening of a hand to take up a book, the turning of one's head to the sky to assess the time of day or weather. Each tiny atom expresses the whole of our history, from the ancient day when unicellular organisms reigned supreme up to the present arrogance of the complex biological systems presiding over the illusion of dominance, repressing the understanding that, in the end, all will be reduced to similar dust. I awoke, and turned to find the Princess still dozing, having drifted to the other side of the bed. I watched with fond admiration, her placid unkempt vulnerability as she snored softly nose skyward, until abruptly there was a shift in breathing, and she stirred beside me. I grinned with sinful lust. It would soon be her turn to lie in groggy stupor while I chased her chewy jewel with the tip of my tongue, but for now I reached out my hand, taking hers in mine. She peeked out with youthful gaze, her fingers closing around mine, our collective grasping of each other across the decades, years, hours, and seconds. And so we lay for some minutes, until my devilish streak drove me to dive under the covers and surface in the sweet crevice at the intersection of her tiny legs, plundering the unpolished regal gemstone with my ages of experience. Elicited were the moans of sweet surrender, as the yearning that had collected like leaves against the root were swept away by the wind, and I found my face amid juicy pelvic gyrations, shaped by millenia of evolution, yet fresh with the morning light of the sturdy explorer reawakening to the timeless dance, figure-skating in loops of curlicues, gliding up and down the hills and valleys, which grew taller and deeper until at last they exploded with the brilliance of a thousand suns. I could feel the faint twitching around my probing fingers, and there was a brief pause, yet still more was to come. More deliberately now, with greater meaning, the mountains and canyons of sexual flexion refined their seeking, until finally the projectile struck the bulls-eye, releasing the Princess to the furious nirvana of convulsive abandon, accompanied by the song of affirmation, "yes, yes, yes!" And once more a pause, and yet still another climax to be reached, as my decades of hardened memories collided joyously with the softness of her tender years, and once more the sweet tremors rocked her delicate extremities, until finally she drew me up so she could rest, and then we kissed. With eagerness spoke in the historical tongue of girlfriend oration, her lips met mine and parted as we caressed and joined, brushing together surfaces rough and smooth, wet and dry, stroking vibrations into teardrops, trembling toes and fluttering eyelashes, the tawny markings of autumn against the snowy whiteness of fresh springtime. But she had yet to be filled with the yearning she had now awakened in me, the knot beneath the growing Excalibur. We threw off the covers, at last finding ourselves face to face in the harsh light of the unavoidably brutal honesty of collective weakness. And there we were. Was it spurious to utter the words? "Sylvia, I love you!" The sense of need to convert our subtle and refined entwinement into clumsy verbology that tripped over the tongue almost negated their meaning. So the words fell away into the swordplay of the day, as she opened her morning-soft dewiness to the hardened ferocity of my afternoon. Our bodies spoke in the ancient language of evolution, calling out across the ages with the savage cries of guttural pleasure, the ingenious simplicity of shared delight as I stirred in her the same rushes of heavenly light, the premonition of loving oneness beyond the fathoming of the mortal mind, the lucid dreaming of stardust alive. "This feels so good," she whispered. The game of life, check and mate, swashbucklingly fencing off our territory. The "ours" of two, sharing the simple sweetness of the feast of each other, the devouring of delight. On one level, a facile stimulation of mutual pleasure centers, but at the same time a profound declaration of "love," in the sense defined by our histories and gestures. And finally the candle burned down to the explosive, as my built up erotic burst forth inside of her, melting together our hearts, fusing our spirits, blending our minds, as I dissolved into the vastness of her empire. Chapter 16 _______________________________________________________ For more stories, please visit our site: /~vivian