Virgininneed
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 8, 2011
- Posts
- 1,874
Aran ducked beneath the stone archway, his calloused fingers stroking the pummel of his sword. The slave trader had lured him with the promise of a rare jewel of unimaginable worth. Aran was both cynical and curious. Whatever 'jewel' the trader sought to sell in a country pillaged and torn by war with his own, Aran doubted he was the first to have his purse burdened by its rareness.
The chamber was lit by a flickering sconce on the far dank stone wall, the poor light only serving to draw him closer. A gilded cage hung suspended from the domed roof, its length, breadth and height little more than his arm span. But its exotic appeal in such plain surrounds could not distract from the glimpse of the magnificent creature bound within its intricate confines.
The expanse of creamy, luminescent skin and soft, shadowed valleys and hollows teased him. She lay on her side, arms raised and crossed over her chest, their delicate wrists framed in leather cuffs tied together. Her legs, incredibly long and lean for what must be a tiny stature, were drawn up. Her crossed ankles were tucked against the underside of her bottom.
A sweep of dark lashes rested against her cheeks, but he knew her not to be sleeping, the music of her racing heart betraying her.
Delicate, tiny and coppery haired, her soft skin unmarred by the harshness of war. His hands itched at his sides to explore her, to discover every curve and hollow with his hands and mouth.
It had been several moons since he had luxuriated in a woman's arms. His beddings in recent times had been born out of fulfilling a need, while his energies and concentration had been fixed on the strategies and complexities of war. No doubt this tempting handful could prove an unwanted distraction.
He stepped closer out of curiosity, and stilled. The subtle blend of jasmine and her own uniqueness reached out to him, seeping into his flesh. Adrenalin rushed through him, her sweet scent inciting his blood. He felt the change draw forth, and pushed it back with a strength of will that almost brought him to his knees. Too late he realised her unusual colouring was both exquisite and deceptive. She was Shaylan.
His body urged him to take what this creature offered him: freedom.
He dragged his eyes from the gilded cage to the thin man at his side. The trader was entitled to his smugness. Aran would be a fool to pretend he wasn't interested. There was only one outcome. The question was how much it would hurt Aran's purse.
Shaylan were a rare discovery, remaining hidden from fear of becoming slave to one of his kind. He had not crossed paths with a Shaylan in over a decade.
They did well to fear. He and his brethren drew their energy from the blood of others. The life force of human blood was more potent than other animals, and the blood of innocents even more so. Shaylans blood was prized above all others, being the most intoxicating and potent, heavy with the old magic.
"She is weak still from her first death." The interruption was unwelcome. Aran glared at the man. The slave trader fiddled with the keys at his belt, gaze dropping.
It went against the grain to kill a creature other than in honourable battle, but the knowledge warred with his Aridiane heart. Shaylan's and Aridiane's were the two races of true immortals. Aridiane's, however, grew into their immortality, becoming so when their bodies matured, often between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. Shaylans came into their own immortality upon their mortal death, whatever age they may be. It was rumoured some Shaylan's bought about their own first death at the age they desired, not leaving it to fate to live for eternity in a frail, aged body.
"By your hand?"
"It was necessary to protect her value. She is young, and pure."
Aran briefly closed his eyes, breathing deep. He could scent no other male on her, but that meant little other than she had not lain with a man in the last several moons. The blood sung within him at the possibility of a female virgin. Shaylans forever remained as they were upon entering their immortality. A Shaylan that reached their first death a virgin, could sustain a warrior such as him without the need or leaving himself vulnerable to finding someone to slake his thirst before and after battles, making their owner all but an invincible warrior.
If she did indeed prove to be a virgin, her value was untold. Aran would be forced to bind her to him in the old ways for her own protection.
He strode around the cage, coming to a halt facing the trader and the entry. Reaching through the widely spaced bars, he drew her long, silky hair back from her partially hidden face. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and he gently rubbed the moisture over fragile skin with his thumb. He could not, would not, feel pity for her loss of mortality so young. He only hoped for her sake the trader had been gentle in his method.
The lashes flickered, tickling his finger. They slowly opened, revealing luminous dove gray eyes. Aran was caught, mesmerised. They widened at the sight of him. A soft moan escaped her, and her lips trembled before firming. Her lashes squeezed shut in silent protection, her face tucking itself against her hands.
He knew what put the fear in her eyes. He was Aridiane by nature, massive and golden, with broad shoulders and muscled chest that could not be disguised by the dark blue leather vest and breeches. But she would learn to accept him. In every way.
Silently he traced fingers down her cheek, over the side of her neck, and along her collar bone. He felt her shudder. He ached to taste her, to sink his teeth and cock into her soft, beckoning flesh. She would learn to enjoy the taking.
Forcing his hand to return to his side, his eyes pinned the trader with an intensity that made the smaller man falter.
"How much?" he demanded, beyond the point of finesse. They both knew he would and could pay the asking price.
"A favour," the beady man said, shifting on his feet. When Aran remained silent, merely lifting a brow, the man rushed on. "To owe me a favour."
The silence stretched, while Aran considered the demand. It was a hefty reward, an untold price to be paid some time in the future. Heftier, for Aran did not like owing favours.
The Warlord was a powerful man in his country, second only to his brother, the High King. Aran could raise armies to defeat nations and topple dynasties. To be owed a favour by Aran was to hold the power of the army he held in his brother's name.
Aran could easily take his prize by force, burning this slave trader's hole to the ground, and Aridiane law would not punish him. But his honour would not allow it. Something the slave trader bargained on, no doubt, when sending a message to Aran. He knew without question he was the first to view the copper haired Shaylan, for no other Aridiane would relinquish such a prize.
"The terms are you may only call upon me and me alone to render the favour, and the asking will not cause harm or dishonor to an innocent."
"Accepted," the man agreed hastily. He withdrew a small gold key on a silken rope cord.
Aran took it from the trembling hand, and in its place left a small golden ring with the mark of the House of Arid.
"Get out." He told the slaver. "I am not to be interrupted." The man rushed to do Aran's bidding, backing hastily out of the chamber bowing before turning, his footsteps on the stone steps fading with gladdening haste.
(you play Aran)
Note: this introduction is taken from wishfulthinkings original story. I did not write this. The rest of the roleplay will be written by me. She is one of my favorite literotica writers and is a wonderful inspiration)
The chamber was lit by a flickering sconce on the far dank stone wall, the poor light only serving to draw him closer. A gilded cage hung suspended from the domed roof, its length, breadth and height little more than his arm span. But its exotic appeal in such plain surrounds could not distract from the glimpse of the magnificent creature bound within its intricate confines.
The expanse of creamy, luminescent skin and soft, shadowed valleys and hollows teased him. She lay on her side, arms raised and crossed over her chest, their delicate wrists framed in leather cuffs tied together. Her legs, incredibly long and lean for what must be a tiny stature, were drawn up. Her crossed ankles were tucked against the underside of her bottom.
A sweep of dark lashes rested against her cheeks, but he knew her not to be sleeping, the music of her racing heart betraying her.
Delicate, tiny and coppery haired, her soft skin unmarred by the harshness of war. His hands itched at his sides to explore her, to discover every curve and hollow with his hands and mouth.
It had been several moons since he had luxuriated in a woman's arms. His beddings in recent times had been born out of fulfilling a need, while his energies and concentration had been fixed on the strategies and complexities of war. No doubt this tempting handful could prove an unwanted distraction.
He stepped closer out of curiosity, and stilled. The subtle blend of jasmine and her own uniqueness reached out to him, seeping into his flesh. Adrenalin rushed through him, her sweet scent inciting his blood. He felt the change draw forth, and pushed it back with a strength of will that almost brought him to his knees. Too late he realised her unusual colouring was both exquisite and deceptive. She was Shaylan.
His body urged him to take what this creature offered him: freedom.
He dragged his eyes from the gilded cage to the thin man at his side. The trader was entitled to his smugness. Aran would be a fool to pretend he wasn't interested. There was only one outcome. The question was how much it would hurt Aran's purse.
Shaylan were a rare discovery, remaining hidden from fear of becoming slave to one of his kind. He had not crossed paths with a Shaylan in over a decade.
They did well to fear. He and his brethren drew their energy from the blood of others. The life force of human blood was more potent than other animals, and the blood of innocents even more so. Shaylans blood was prized above all others, being the most intoxicating and potent, heavy with the old magic.
"She is weak still from her first death." The interruption was unwelcome. Aran glared at the man. The slave trader fiddled with the keys at his belt, gaze dropping.
It went against the grain to kill a creature other than in honourable battle, but the knowledge warred with his Aridiane heart. Shaylan's and Aridiane's were the two races of true immortals. Aridiane's, however, grew into their immortality, becoming so when their bodies matured, often between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. Shaylans came into their own immortality upon their mortal death, whatever age they may be. It was rumoured some Shaylan's bought about their own first death at the age they desired, not leaving it to fate to live for eternity in a frail, aged body.
"By your hand?"
"It was necessary to protect her value. She is young, and pure."
Aran briefly closed his eyes, breathing deep. He could scent no other male on her, but that meant little other than she had not lain with a man in the last several moons. The blood sung within him at the possibility of a female virgin. Shaylans forever remained as they were upon entering their immortality. A Shaylan that reached their first death a virgin, could sustain a warrior such as him without the need or leaving himself vulnerable to finding someone to slake his thirst before and after battles, making their owner all but an invincible warrior.
If she did indeed prove to be a virgin, her value was untold. Aran would be forced to bind her to him in the old ways for her own protection.
He strode around the cage, coming to a halt facing the trader and the entry. Reaching through the widely spaced bars, he drew her long, silky hair back from her partially hidden face. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and he gently rubbed the moisture over fragile skin with his thumb. He could not, would not, feel pity for her loss of mortality so young. He only hoped for her sake the trader had been gentle in his method.
The lashes flickered, tickling his finger. They slowly opened, revealing luminous dove gray eyes. Aran was caught, mesmerised. They widened at the sight of him. A soft moan escaped her, and her lips trembled before firming. Her lashes squeezed shut in silent protection, her face tucking itself against her hands.
He knew what put the fear in her eyes. He was Aridiane by nature, massive and golden, with broad shoulders and muscled chest that could not be disguised by the dark blue leather vest and breeches. But she would learn to accept him. In every way.
Silently he traced fingers down her cheek, over the side of her neck, and along her collar bone. He felt her shudder. He ached to taste her, to sink his teeth and cock into her soft, beckoning flesh. She would learn to enjoy the taking.
Forcing his hand to return to his side, his eyes pinned the trader with an intensity that made the smaller man falter.
"How much?" he demanded, beyond the point of finesse. They both knew he would and could pay the asking price.
"A favour," the beady man said, shifting on his feet. When Aran remained silent, merely lifting a brow, the man rushed on. "To owe me a favour."
The silence stretched, while Aran considered the demand. It was a hefty reward, an untold price to be paid some time in the future. Heftier, for Aran did not like owing favours.
The Warlord was a powerful man in his country, second only to his brother, the High King. Aran could raise armies to defeat nations and topple dynasties. To be owed a favour by Aran was to hold the power of the army he held in his brother's name.
Aran could easily take his prize by force, burning this slave trader's hole to the ground, and Aridiane law would not punish him. But his honour would not allow it. Something the slave trader bargained on, no doubt, when sending a message to Aran. He knew without question he was the first to view the copper haired Shaylan, for no other Aridiane would relinquish such a prize.
"The terms are you may only call upon me and me alone to render the favour, and the asking will not cause harm or dishonor to an innocent."
"Accepted," the man agreed hastily. He withdrew a small gold key on a silken rope cord.
Aran took it from the trembling hand, and in its place left a small golden ring with the mark of the House of Arid.
"Get out." He told the slaver. "I am not to be interrupted." The man rushed to do Aran's bidding, backing hastily out of the chamber bowing before turning, his footsteps on the stone steps fading with gladdening haste.
(you play Aran)
Note: this introduction is taken from wishfulthinkings original story. I did not write this. The rest of the roleplay will be written by me. She is one of my favorite literotica writers and is a wonderful inspiration)
