New Sci-Fi/Fantasy Category

[Laurel]

I'll try this here. I'm ready to set up the new sci-fi/fantasy category, but I need your help.

Post links and/or story titles/author names for stories that would fit in a sci-fi/fantasy category.

As soon as I have 25 story suggestions for the category, I'll start the new sci-fi category.

Spread the word, and thanks for your help!

 

[Mickie]

fantasy novel

Oh, thank you, Laurel!!! Virgin Princess is a fantasy novel. 6 Chapters are posted so far in various categories. Links as follows:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Thanks again, Laurel.

Mickie

 

[Never]

A Sci-Fi/Fantasy category? Woo-hoo! Now I can post some of my stories..

Wait.
You mean EROTIC Sci-Fi or Fantasy, don't you?
dawg, nab it.
And the sad part is I sat here for five minutes wondering why you'd add a Sci-Fi/Fantasy category to your list.

 

[Ray Dario]

Sci-Fi Story

Laurel,

Here is the link to my story "Station Slut" I would like to have it included in the new Sci-Fi category.

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=10899

 

[Hecate]

would that include

.. the several Vampire stories that are aroun?

Can't recall them from the top of my head but I am sure there are a few ...

 

[LadyDarkFire]

Question.

Would Werewolves fit into Sci/Fi/Fantasy in this sense, since it is mainly humans, or should they still be in NonHuman? If you need an example the story is "Naughty Moon Out Tonight" under this name (LadyDarkFire)http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=16584

 

[Never]

I think that would fit into the Fantasy catagory.

 

[LadyDarkFire]

Thank you

Thank you Never. I am new to writing for Literotica, and I have seen it go both ways when they are shelving in book stores, so I thought I would ask. Thanks again

 

[Weird Harold]

Re: Thank you

Thank you Never. I am new to writing for Literotica, and I have seen it go both ways when they are shelving in book stores, so I thought I would ask. Thanks again

Shelving Science Fiction and Fantasy depends more on the stock levels than it does on the actual genre. Smaller stores will almost always shelve them together unless the owner is a fan of one or the other and separates them on principle.

There is some justification for larger chains shelving them together because many of the labels, like Baen and Tor, publish both genres under one banner and sorting the two into separate shelves is more work than they're willing to pay for.

I don't think there is enough Science Fiction and Fantasy themed stories for Laurel to separate them although as a purist, I would prefer that she did.

Were Wolves and Vampires are usually shelved as Gothic or Horror instead of Science Fiction/Fantasy anyway.

 

[LadyDarkFire]

Terribly sorry for the mistake

I have seen WereWolves stocked in Horror or Gothic, or Sci Fi/Fantasy, so I was asking for a clarification, since the story I was thinking of ("Naughty Moon Out Tonight") does not really contain anything Horrific (unless you count my writing, which I hope you don't) or Gothic. Where would you put it in the Sci Fi/Fantasy vs. NonHuman argument (in this situation)?

 

[Weird Harold]

Re: Terribly sorry for the mistake

I have seen WereWolves stocked in Horror or Gothic, or Sci Fi/Fantasy, so I was asking for a clarification, since the story I was thinking of ("Naughty Moon Out Tonight") does not really contain anything Horrific (unless you count my writing, which I hope you don't) or Gothic. Where would you put it in the Sci Fi/Fantasy vs. NonHuman argument (in this situation)?

From your story:

We are simply a slight genetic step away from humans, still considered part of the species, but of a different breed.

John Campbell, (The Father of modern Science Fiction,) offered the definition that Science fiction is a story based on a single scientific premise that explores how that premise would affect society.

From the single quote I took from your story, I would say it fits his definition of Science Fiction.

If you had explained lycantropy as being of a magical nature, then it would fit in Fantasy; Describe lycanthropes (or Were-folk) in supernatural terms and set them in a victorian or psuedo-victorian world, and they become Gothic; Concentrate on a bestial or cruel nature, and it becomes Horror.

Even the major publishers have trouble clasifying stories involving Were-folk. One of my favorite vampire stories is _Those Who Hunt The Night_ by Barbara Hambly. Del Rey put it in their fantasy line, but it is more Science Fiction than Fantasy, and has a distinct Gothic feel to it.

I suppose that the author's intent is the best guide for placing such a story. If you say it's Science Fiction, then it's Science Fiction even if the critics disagree.

 

[LadyDarkFire]

In truth all I want to do is find the best place for it to be for the readers. If it is in NonHuman, some people who might enjoy the story might never read it since they do not consider weres to be apart from human. But you bring up a good point that it does not fit into a dictionary definition of the new catagory. So it comes down to a matter of where do most people consider it to be placed, which is what I asked. I think that the problem is, while dictionaries are wonderful things for clear cut defintions, one should never base their veiw of the world on said definitions because hardly anything in this world is clear cut.

 

[Weird Harold]

But you bring up a good point that it does not fit into a dictionary definition of the new catagory.

I think you misread my point about John Campbell's definition of Science Fiction -- Your story DOES FIT his definition, and he is the person who, as the most influential editor and publisher of "the golden age" defined modern Science Fiction.

My comments about Were-folk in general being hard to classify were intended as clarification -- not further confusion. It's just my opinion of how I would classify various approaches to Lycanthropy/Were-Folk.

 

[LadyDarkFire]

Sorry for the misunderstanding, I guess it takes a little time to see aspects of a story that you did not write into them intentionally. Thank you for the clear up. I would appriciate any feedback that you have on it.

 

[p_p_man]

SciFi/Fantasy

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=12243

My link to a story I submitted to the Humour and Satire.

Title: A Hero Who Shrank For His Cause

Author: p_p_man

 

[Guest]

I welcome the new catagory.
I'm polishing a story now that may fall into this area.

 

[Eve_of_destruction]

Laurel...

... when can we see the mature section separated into 3 sections? (Mature - both partners, older men/younger women, and younger men/older women would be preferable.) And Loving Wives is so large... How about a separate section, for Slut Wives? These are just two suggestions, but if you separate at least the Mature section, i promise i will send all the links to you for each of the new catagories (it's the least i can do, since i've been begging for this for so long now!)

EOD

 

[Cockatoo]

Commissions

Grrnnn. Laurel, you're setting up new categories even faster than I can write stories for them. I still owe you one for "Anal."

Fortunately, I already have one for sci-fi. "Circles" was one of my first efforts here. It's currently in "Lesbian," where it fits nicely, but hell, it's about time travel, and I can ALWAYS write another Lesbian story. Here's the link:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=7582

We'll adjust my survivor stuff later on. Let me post another before I send you back to the big board. Good luck with the new category!

 

[Laurel]

Re: Commissions

Grrnnn. Laurel, you're setting up new categories even faster than I can write stories for them. I still owe you one for "Anal."

You owe me anal? Wow, must've been one heck of a favor...

I suppose we need to come to some agreement as to what's Sci-Fi/Fantasy and what's Non-Human.

I tend to think that vampires, werewolves, robots, and aliens are Non-Human - while fairies, satyrs, and elves are fantasy. I guess the deciding factor in my mind is setting...when I think of Sci-Fi/Fantasy erotica, it's set in either a mythical futuristic place. A vampire getting it on in NYC, to me, fits better in Non-Human (or possibly Horror, if that category is ever considered).

These are just my random thoughts, and I could be (and often am) totally off base. Your thoughts on my thoughts are greatly appreciated.

 

[SteamyChik]

Just my 2 cents....

I think the vamps and werewolves could easily go into SciFi/Fantasy. Think Laura Hamilton and her yummy SciFi serious with vamps and werewovles in it.

For that matter robots could too. Think Asimov and the whole robot series. That was Asimov, been a while since I read them?

I think of non-human as animals mostly.

I think if the vampire and werewolf stories start getting seperated by setting, some of them will get missed by the readers. Pick a place and put all of them there.

Now, a Horror section would be welcome but wouldn't most of those be extreme?

This is hurting my brain!

 

[DutchMark]

Sci Fi/Fantasy stories

Okay, I hadn't noticed this solicitation before (and I mean that in the best of ways, Steamy!), but here's one I had started to post in another section but fits much better here.

LASOLA OF THE SINGING BOW
by DutchMark

The maiden stood tranquilly, her flaming red hair cascading down her back. The loose, flowing white gown served to enhance the lush contours of her full figure. Her deep green eyes were strangely dull, denying the vigor one of her tender age and healthy body should have evinced.
The maiden’s bare feet did not seem to feel the coldness of the marble beneath them. She stood like a statue in front of a stone altar that looked remarkably like a bed with a very high headboard. But the likeness carved into that ‘headboard’ left no doubt this was indeed an altar to some malevolent, hideous deity.
Ringed around the maiden stood other beautiful youths, half a dozen female and nearly twice that number male. Their comely forms were all totally nude, the slight chill of the room making itself felt in the form of numerous goosebumps, some taut nipples, and other such signs.
At the back of the room stood another female, clothed in but a single rich robe of pure scarlet. She was by far the most magnificent of the very attractive company. The woman was slightly below average height and weight, but unquestionably dominated the room by her physical presence. There was an unworldly gleam of ancient and terrifying knowledge behind those preturnatural blue eyes, which had a strongly disquieting affect on what otherwise might seem the face of an angel. Seemingly a few summers older than the rest, the stunning blonde had large breasts that pushed the scarlet material straight out from her body. A golden belt served to emphasize the delicate waist and the generous curve of her posterior, which could only hint at the perfect shape of her legs and feet, those being totally hidden by the robe.
There was a faint, eerie music permeating the room, although the source was a mystery. Black candles burned in numerous holders around the room, giving off a pungent, somehow distasteful odor along with an ominous shade of light. A ceremony was obviously in progress, and seemingly nearing its conclusion.
The blonde woman stared for a moment at the graven image before her. She slowly raised her arms wide as though to embrace a lover, and leaned her head backwards as if gazing through the high ceiling at an object far above. At that sign, the naked youths began a low chanting of an indistinguishable nature, and the maiden slowly advanced to the steps at the foot of the long altar. The chanting rose slightly in volume as the maiden mounted the steps, her eyes locked on that dreadful carved image. As she stood at the foot of the altar, the maiden unclasped the gown, which fell at her feet to reveal her naked, nubile body. Stepping to the center of the altar, the maiden turned to face the blonde, who lowered her gaze hypnotically onto those glazed green eyes. As if receiving instructions, the maiden lowered herself to lay flat on her back on the altar, her head towards the image, her legs slightly parted to expose the tender core of her untouched womanhood.
Still with her arms raised, the blonde walked to the side of the altar, eyes now locked onto those of the carved image. Stopping at the edge of the altar, she murmured some arcane words, then reached for one of the two objects sitting in a niche at the base of the headboard. It was a silver bowl, which had ancient runes engraved totally around its circumference. She placed the bowl on the altar between the legs of the maiden, and the chanting of the youths took on a much more intense tone.
The blonde deftly parted the tender flesh of the maiden to reveal her most secret place. She began stoking the pink folds therein with a light touch, delicately caressing the inner lips, bringing the faintest gasp from the maiden. At the sound, the woman smiled enigmatically, and began stroking more vigorously, sliding two fingers into the virgin channel, then stroking the entire length of the exposed mons. As that delectable mount rose ever so slightly to meet those tantalizing fingers, the woman smiled in satisfaction, and then flicked a fingernail lightly over that nub which represented the most sensitive part of any woman. The maiden gasped almost inaudibly, and the blonde attacked all portions of the exposed womanhood before her, rubbing the clitoris, stroking the labia and the vulva, penetrating deeply with two or three fingers into that previously untouched organ.
Although the maiden’s body did not move from its supine position, the flesh trembled, her sex pulsed as the first honeyed fluids began to drip from her arousal, the nipples became hard and distended, and her mouth parted slightly as her breath became shorter and more ragged. The scene was having its effects on the surrounding youths, as penises became turgid, breasts became flushed and firm, and sexual fluids began to seep from several of the males and females. In only a few moments, the maiden experienced her first and only orgasm, and the woman quickly moved the bowl into position to catch as much of the precious fluid as possible as it spurted from the enflamed nether lips of the young girl.
As soon as the flow had stopped, the woman stepped to the head of the altar and picked up the second object from the niche. The handle and blade of a silver knife echoed the runes engraved around the bowl. Without hesitation she nicked the large aureoles of the maiden’s breasts just below the still distended nipples, and pressed the bowl into the flesh of those globes to catch the blood spurting from those cruel wounds. The maiden made not a sound at this savage action, seemingly unaware of ought but the last vestiges of her subsiding orgasm. When the bowl had been filled with enough blood to satisfy that sadistic beauty, the woman mixed the two precious liquids together with the silver knife, and then raised the bowl as though in offering to the grotesque object of the cult’s worship.
Again the woman mouthed arcane and terrible words, then drank down the normally blessed contents of the bowl. Finished, she placed the bowl and the knife back into their niche, and released the robe from her own body. Naked, she walked to the foot of the altar and mounted the steps to stand above the still mesmerized maiden, gazing down with a strange lust and excitement at the desirable body beneath her. Then she lay down fully on the exposed girl, rubbing her sex against that of the maiden, her breasts against those bloody breasts, and kissed the girl full on the mouth.
The woman lifted her upper torso with one hand, and reached again for the knife with the other hand. Still pressing her sex between the legs of the immobile youth, she placed the tip of the knife against the girl’s chest, directly above the strongly beating heart, and for the third time spoke awful, unknown words. For just a moment their eyes locked, a faint glimmer of recognition and terror flickering through those of the maiden. Then, with a strength seemingly impossible in one of such a small frame, the woman slowly drove the knife deep into the heart of the helpless victim.
As the life oozed out of the supine body beneath her, the woman began to shake as though seized by some unseen, powerful force. Her beautiful face was transmogrified by evil and degenerate lust. The bodies and voices of the youths surrounding her were enflamed by unnatural desire, and they began slowly converging on the gruesome scene before them. As the woman continued to shudder from some bizarre orgasm, the youths pressed themselves above and around the two prone, naked bodies. One of them lapped at the remaining fluid in the bowl. In a hideous parody of an orgy, they gradually completely hid the two figures from view.

* * * *

LaSola of the Singing Bow strode into the town – hardly more than a village – with barely any consciousness, and no concern of how she must appear to the inhabitants. At just above twelve hands high and weighing nearly seven stone, she was a full hand taller than most men, and nearly as heavy. Her unusual weight was not due to heavy bones, but rather to strong thews and well-exercised sinews. Nevertheless, there was no doubt in the minds of any of the onlookers that the stranger was all woman.
LaSola’s dark hair fell nearly to the small of her ramrod straight back. Her lovely facial features were belied by the stern visage of her large, piercing black eyes and the firm line of her full red lips, uncolored by any artifices. LaSola’s shoulders, only slightly wider than the average woman’s, were nearly square across. They bore an unstrung long bow, heavy quiver of arrows, and half-full rucksack with no noticeable effort. The fullness of her high, firm breasts could not be disguised by the light mail armor on her upper torso, nor the lithe comeliness of her long legs hidden by the short leather skirt around her narrow waist. A long dirk, almost the length of a shortsword but with a thinner blade, hung from a wide leather belt. Her feet were enclosed by sturdy sandals with leather uppers laced up to the knees. She moved like a panther, effortlessly and gracefully, but with total awareness and readiness to act. For all of her feminine beauty, no observer doubted that this was a warrior.
Knowing that the headman’s dwelling would be at the center of the town, and the largest, LaSola marched directly to her destination. A single guard stood in front, and LaSola stopped five paces away, showing her empty palms.
“I come in answer to the Summons,” she said simply.
The guard looked at her with some appreciation of both her beauty and her warrior manner, but obviously without any great belief that this woman could be the solution to the problem. “There is already one within who speaks with the headman and the elders,” the guard responded. “He also came in answer to the Summons.” And if anyone might be able to solve their problem, the guard thought, that man would be the one.
“Yet I have come in answer,” LaSola repeated, “and it is my right to be seen.”
The guard nodded agreement. “Stay,” he commanded. “I will inform the headman.”
LaSola waited silently as the guard went inside to declare her presence. So, another had been brave enough to answer this Summons! There had been another Summons, three summers past. It had requested a warrior with no explanation of the problem, but with a fairly large sum offered by the three villages of this district. This second Summons was unusual in many respects. First, such problems were usually solved with the first Summons. Second, this time it was explained that youths from the villages were disappearing, more with each passing summer than in the past. Third, it was said all who had answered before had also disappeared. And fourth, the sum now offered was truly princely, a sum that must nearly beggar the three villages. Of all, this was the most ominous sign.
The guard returned abruptly and held open the way. “You may enter.”
LaSola nodded her thanks, and stepped into the dwelling. As with most of these rustic towns, the first chamber of the headman’s dwelling was a meeting room large enough to host all of the village elders, as well as any other guests to the council meetings. The actual living quarters were all at the back. LaSola looked about.
The headman did not give himself airs, other than to hold the decorated spear which was the sign of his office. He was seated in a sukh, a frame made of wood and leather covered by furs. The elders, five men and four women, were also in sukhs in a semi-circle, four on each side of the headman. Two guards, heavily armed and who looked as though they knew how to use their weapons, stood behind and on each side of the headman. In front of them, with his back to LaSola, squatted a very large, very muscular man with long, dirty golden hair.
The elders stared at her with great curiosity, as rarely did a woman answer a Summons. LaSola appraised the others each in turn, from the headman down to the guards. Finally, the headman spoke.
“I would think you a Shakan,” he declared.
“I am LaSola, called She of the Singing Bow,” she replied, impressed by his knowledge and perspicacity. “I am of Shaka.”
“Then be welcomed, LaSola of the Singing Bow, of whom we have heard your praise sung even in this humble village. Receive our thanks for answering the Summons,” he said formally.
The squatting man raised his head at the sound of her name, and turned to view her as he rose – and rose. He stood at least three hands higher than LaSola, perhaps four, as tall as any man in her tribe, and was more massive than any, weighing at least twelve stone. His shoulders were as broad and flat as a shelf, and from them hung a huge lion skin that covered his massive torso down to the top of his thighs. One bare arm displayed muscles that bulged and rippled even in relaxation. His legs brought to LaSola’s mind a huge thoroughbred horse; massively dense in the thigh, much slimmer in the calve, but with corded knots that spoke of speed and strength, with surprisingly small feet that looked rough, having perhaps never known any footwear.
A wide belt of some metal unknown to LaSola encircled his waist, emphasizing its slimness. From this hung a huge broadsword on one side, and a short sword on the other.
The man’s eyes were a piercing blue, and the sun’s effects could not disguise a fair skin which contrasted sharply with LaSola’s own dusky hues. His features were sharp, angular, as though chiseled from the side of a mountain, although it must have been by a master craftsman, for they were somehow quite pleasant, and masculinely handsome. They were also still young; LaSola judged him to be five, perhaps even six summers less than her own twenty-seven.
“I have heard that name,” the man said, with a voice that spoke of large boulders rubbing together, a deep and pleasant rumble, but without sophistication.
“Then you have the advantage on me, stranger.”
“I am called Crag.”
“Of course. How fitting.” LaSola turned back to the headman. “Have you journeyed to Shaka, or were you forewarned of my coming?”
“No to both. Even in our small towns, we have heard of the great warrior kingdom that lies across the Great Desert. A race of ebony giants, it is said, fierce fighters whom no invading army has ever conquered. On that knowledge, I made a venture. We did not know, however, that those of the Tribes ever hired out as mercenaries, or even responded to a Summons.”
“Normally, we do not. Only under dire circumstances. Because of certain – events – in my youth, I have taken a vow to protect other young people whenever the chance befalls. This is why I have answered your Summons, as the problem is reputed to affect the young.”
“For the most part, that is true. Those who have not attained their majority seem to be the greatest victims of this strange affliction upon our villages. But we have spoken with this champion you see before you, and have agreed to accept his services.”
“Is the Summons then filled?” she challenged.
“Even in Shaka, you must know the strictures of a Summons. Only one can be engaged in answer until they succeed and are rewarded – or fail. However, ours seems to be an unusual case. As you must know, we have had seven answers in the past three summers. None have returned to even shed light on the challenge they faced. The disappearance of our youth remains shrouded in mystery, that of our would-be champions even more of an enigma. Thus have we explained to this stalwart before you, and thus shall we enlighten all who come in answer.”
LaSola stared at the giant youth with frank assessment borne of hard-won experience. He returned her look as a mountain might send back an echo to a querulous shout. Neither evaluation seemed to bear any rancor or superiority towards the other, but neither did they concede a single whit.
“Due to the nature of the problem, we have offered a change to the normal answer, subject to the decision of the first chosen champion. The challenge may either be shared by one or more answerers in the case that the champions agree to join forces – with the offer being shared equally in the event of success – or each champion may undertake the Summons on their own, with the successful champion taking the entire offer. As we have already agreed to accept Crag as a champion, the decision is his.”
The two warriors stared at each other for long moments. Crag broke the silence, as was his right.
“You say you wish to protect the youths. Do you not seek the offer?”
LaSola returned his gaze unflinchingly. “I have come to protect the youth, that is true. But the offer may serve to protect other youths, as there are many on this orb who do good works for the young which need gold to serve their cause. Thus had I intended to invest the rewards of this work, should I prove worthy to the task.”
Crag pondered these words. “I seek the offer, as well as the good name of this deed,” he finally said, with a brutal honesty. “Yet I do believe the good heart and desire of this woman. We cannot, it seems, partner, yet I would not deny her a chance to seek her desire. Thus will I say, we shall both seek the answer, and the victor shall gain the reward.”
The headman and his elders nodded and grunted at these words, and even LaSola marveled at the generous offer of one so young and inexperienced in the world. While they could not be friends, at least they would not be enemies.
“This is well said,” the headman intoned. “And so let it be.” He looked to the famous warrior for her confirmation.
“This is well said,” LaSola attested with a slight nod of her head. “And so let it be.”

* * * *
LaSola was surprised by the difficulty she had in tracking the mountain giant. In fact, it only because his great weight left impressions in soft places in the earth, despite his careful placement and light tread, could she trace his passage at all.
There was no real need to follow the man. The Headman had told them both the same information, little as it was, that anyone knew of the problem.
Young people, generally between fourteen to twenty summers, had been disappearing from the three villages at the foot of the Kredl Mountains for the past forty summers. Such was always true of isolated villages, of course, where wild beasts, young lovers eloping, accidents, and other such perils took their toll on the innocent and unlucky. But the villages had experienced more than their share. In the past ten summers the number had grown to the point where the villages had banded together under the leadership of the headman of the largest of the three villages, Tuscan, to lessen the risk. They had formed patrols, enforced curfews, brought in stored water and provisions to reduce the need to search for such, even forbade youths to travel to certain suspect areas of the mountains without armed guard. All to no avail. Even guards and patrols disappeared. Rarely had any traces of the victims been found, save for a few odd weapons.
The problem became worse with each passing summer, which had led to the first Summons. And now the second.
No, LaSola did not need to follow the young warrior to know whence he traveled – to the areas of the Kredl Mountains deemed most responsible for these strange occurrences. It was because she was vexed, with herself more than with the giant. Always priding herself on rising early to face the day’s challenges, she was mortified to learn the mountain man had left Tuscan before she had even risen. She now trailed him, so she told herself, to learn if this early departure was his norm, or from a desire to best her in this answer to the Summons, and thus to gain the gold and glory for himself in spite of his fair words.
The third day was drawing to a close, and still she did not feel she had made up much of the distance between them. In addition to the time she occasionally spent in regaining the trail, the mountain man was moving very quickly though the woods, certainly more at home as he got closer to the mountain than she would ever be.
The sound of falling water came to her ears, speaking of a small waterfall in the gentle foothills. LaSola was pleased. Her water supply could be replenished with the sweet mountain dew, and she might at least soak her travel-soiled body for a few moments, if not have the luxury of actually bathing. As she approached the falls, she could hear an unknown bass sound, which a boulder might make if it could sing. She therefore came very cautiously to the edge of the woods, where she could spy upon the source of this strange sound.
Lo! LaSola was startled by the scene which greeted her senses.
In a shallow of the pool at the base of the small waterfall stood the mountain giant, Crag, naked as the difference between truth and deceit. The muscles on his massive frame rippled and bulged as he rubbed at his broad back, his bulging pectorals, his hard, flat stomach, his smooth, narrow hips, and his bunched, taut buttocks. The water sparkled in the shafts of light filtering through the trees, lent various hues by the sunset. The sound she had heard emanated from the man’s lips, evidently some surprisingly gentle song sung by his hardy, stoic race.
But the part to which her eyes returned more often than the rest was that which rested between his loins. Even though she was certain the freezing water must be having some adverse affect on the size of the monster, the man's sexual organ was nevertheless in proportion to the rest of his body. Limp though it was, it must be half again the length of her own large hand, and as thick as several fingers. What must that monster look like when fully raised up in righteous anger!
A disquieting sensation crept through the warrior maiden’s core as she witnessed this body, which seemed to have been crafted out of a piece of pure white marble and was amazingly beautiful in her eyes, stroke itself with those powerful hands. Her breathing became somewhat short, the nipples of her breasts became hard and sensitive against the leather of her jerkin. The place between her loins, which had been known to her own hands only a few times and certainly to none other, seemed somehow to be warmer and moister than she could recall, and tingled with an uncanny, pulsating glow that was totally new. All gods of the Skensa and Zoolus! Could this be physical desire, which she had often scoffed at in others of her sex, whom she had scorned as weak and silly? The gods forbid!
Yet she could not deny the response of her body, nor tear her eyes from the magnificent physical specimen before her. She must needs do something, anything to break this pitiful mood. To sneak quietly away would not do; LaSola had never run from any challenge in her life, and this mere physical attraction would not be the first. No, she must face it, show it to herself as the foolishness it was, and conquer her feelings. She must treat this young giant as she would any other warrior, as any other man.
LaSola deliberately made a noise as she left her covering to enter the clearing around the pool. With an alacrity she found amazing in one of his size, the monstrous mountain man leaped from the water in a single bound, snatched his great broadsword from the rock on which it lay, and stood in a position of defense as she appeared from the trees.
“Hold, young warrior!” LaSola declared, proud of how steady her face held. “I mean not to attack you, merely to share this pleasant bathing pool, should you deem it mete.”
Instantly recognizing the woman, Crag blushed a furious red, and lowered one hand from his sword hilt to cover his private parts.
“This pool belongs to mother mountain, not myself,” the man said with a shaken voice. LaSola was amused at this reminder of his innocent youth, helping to regain some of her confidence in the situation. “You may share or not as you wish. I was even now finishing my ablutions,” he claimed, starting to move towards his clothes, which were hung on a nearby branch.
“Nay, let me not disturb your bathing, nor deny you the pleasure of this cooling water, which opportunity may not pass again soon on this perilous quest. As a fellow warrior, I seek only to gain myself some comfort from this water. Let not my presence deter you.”
Not waiting for a reply, LaSola turned to a nearby branch and began stripping off her own clothes as though Crag were another female, or she another male. Obviously still embarrassed by the situation, but clearly aware of the challenge the woman had flung him to stand on equal footing as warriors without regard to sex, Crag hesitated for several moments. Seeing LaSola calmly stripping off with no seeming regard for his nudity, the young stalwart reluctantly laid his sword back on the rock and returned to his place in the pool – although now facing in the other direction, and wishing he could move into deeper waters without fear of being thought ridiculous for his modesty.
Totally nude, and assured of her self-command once again, LaSola placed several arrows and her bow within easy reach and waded out into pool. She too wished she could move to deeper waters. Recognizing the reason for the man retaking his exact previous place, she felt compelled to show no more modesty than her challenge allowed. Rather, she took care to turn in any direction she pleased, splashing and rubbing at herself as though alone in the world, concentrating on removing the dust from her travels and not on the alluring male body a few short paces away.
Glancing over his shoulder, Crag noticed LaSola’s seeming indifference to him, and made somewhat bolder in turning his body so that he could more easily observe her figure – without, of course, being too obvious in the maneuver. LaSola was the first woman whom he had actually seen totally nude, as the mountain clan were very modest (perhaps from the nearly constant chill of their habitat), as well as the fact that liaisons between unmarried youths – or even older adults – were extremely rare.
Crag barely splashed water over himself as he studied the dusky beauty’s body. He had noticed in the headman’s dwelling how tall she was, and seemingly well-formed. Then, however, he had truly observed her as a potential rival in answer to the Summons. Moreover, she was a warrior whose fame had spread even as far as his small, remote mountain village, where prowess in battle was prized over every trait except devotion to family and clan.
Now he noted the distinct, almost sharp features to her aristocratic nose and cheeks, the large, lustrous dark eyes and the generous, sensual mouth. Her neck was long and slender, leading gracefully to deep hollows under her collar bones, emphasized by the muscles that rippled across her wide, straight shoulders. Her breasts seemed larger than any he could recall in his village, in spite of the much more slender frame from which they protruded proudly, firm and straight when she was erect, dangling enticingly when she bent to wash a thigh or an ankle. The aureoles were a generous dollop of dark, rich chocolate on those dusky mounds, and her large nipples were stiff and protruding, no doubt from the chilling stimulation of the mountain waters. Her slim, firm waist showed proudly the hard, flat stomach which swelled downwards to full, womanly hips. Even though her buttocks were also full and round, he could see the strong muscles playing beneath that dark, velvet skin, leading his gaze to long, slender legs that were powerful and muscular, yet were amazing shapely to his eye. And when she turned in his direction, his breath caught in his throat, and his maleness began to rise in spite of the cold.
Her womanly bush, black curly hairs tantalizingly dripped water down into that secret valley between her thighs. It occasionally revealed a flash of pink inner flesh as she raised a long, slender foot to be stroked and washed, and then as she actually rubbed her hand over that delectable mound to cleanse her private parts. As she did so, she could not help but observe the young giant standing as rigid as his mountain home, his own small hill half upright, his hot gaze locked upon her sex.
Instantly, all of her self-delusion was washed away as her nipples expanded, almost painfully, her mound swelled and tingled even more so from the touch of her own fingers, and that strange warmth of desire flooded her body. She stood frozen for several beats of her loud heart, then turned sharply to march toward her clothing.
“I have finished bathing,” she announced curtly.
Crag, his spell broken, also rushed from the water to cover his nakedness. His face flushed once again, much more hotly than before, in a combination of lust, embarrassment, and shame. Fie, that he should have so betrayed the comradely trust the renowned warrior had seemingly vested upon him; that his untutored young maleness should so treacherously have betrayed his good intent!
Avoiding looking at the other, both hastily dressed in silence, not bothering to dry off at all. They made no evening fire, and over the dry provisions each ate LaSola mumbled only a few words, and Crag none. As they curled up in their sleeping rolls, at least ten paces from the other, sleep came hard to both. In each mind, visions of the other naked body, so beautiful, so desirable, refused to depart in spite of the best efforts of the strong willed warriors to conquer that phantom opponent.
* * * *
As they ascended the lower slopes of the Kredl Mountains, LaSola and Crag were much happier in their relationship, having battled and bested the huge boar on the previous day. The squealing, snorting berserker had come charging out of a thicket in a murderous rage, heading straight for Crag. The pair walked some dozen paces apart, as they physically tried to maintain the distance that had sprung between them after the incident in the pool. As large as Crag was, the monstrous beast must have weighed a couple of stones more, with tusks more than two hands long, and foam streaming from its gaping mouth.
The maddened animal closed the distance between itself and the mountain giant in an instant, barely affording Crag time to whip his broadsword from its sheath and assume a fighting stance. Yet before it could fully close upon its prey, Crag remotely heard a deep thrumming from behind him, followed by a singing sound that passed closely by his side, and beheld an arrow bury itself deeply into the heaving breast of the charging boar. The beast barely broke stride, but its reckless pace did seem a trifle abated and its beady eyes wavered just slightly to seek the source of this unexpected injury.
That instant proved long enough for Crag. Like a mountain lion, he leaped a full pace to the side, just enough to avoid the direct path of the boar, and swung his great sword in a flashing arc that deeply severed the throat of the monster. The sword was ripped from his hands, embedded in the flesh of the dying animal, still hurtling along in its powerful momentum. Another thrum, and another arrow sang through the air, this time finding the side of the great beast. But it was merely an assurance; the boar’s front legs suddenly collapsed beneath it, and its great snout ploughed into the ground leaving a furrow several paces long before the animal fully came to a halt. It gave one final shudder of its huge body, then sagged limply to the ground.
Pleased with this efficient teamwork, the two said little as they butchered the huge hog, taking the best parts along with them to be cooked and fire-dried at their evening camp. There was little conversation as they continued their trek, but now the distance between them was much less than before.
As they ate Crag offered, “Now I truly ken the name LaSola of the Singing Bow.”
“And I can see the power and speed with which you wield that mighty sword,” LaSola returned the compliment.
That night they slept on either side of the doused fire, only a pace or so apart, but facing in opposite directions. They both tried to keep their thoughts away from the scene in the pool, and the knowledge that the other alluring body lay so close by.
Now they were truly climbing upon the back of the lower mountain. They had wandered the foothills and lower slopes without any signs whatsoever of any of the villagers, or anyone else. The going became a bit more tedious to LaSola, who was not accustomed to steep slopes, but Crag did not even notice the rugged terrain. Of course, he would undoubtedly be less comfortable on the shifting sands of the deserts and marshy plains from whence LaSola had come.
LaSola knew their travels would grow much more difficult hence, in both the path they trod and the dangers they would face. Somehow, having this quiet young giant at her side, with his knowledge of the mountains and the strength of a god, gave her more confidence than she had ever believed having a mere man by her side could ever produce. It was not that she doubted her own prowess in battle or abilities to face unknown challenges. She merely felt augmented by this additional force, as though she herself had somehow gained new powers, new knowledge, new limbs with which to reach out and grasp the world. It was wondrous strange, and somehow simply wondrous.
* * * *

In the fortnight that had passed since their brief battle with the wild boar, LaSola and Crag had faced many perils together. They had encountered a band of brigands, more than a score of the murderous cutthroats. The warriors had killed most of them before the rest had fled in terror and disbelief at the power of the two giants, the pale male and the dark female, believing they must be demigods at least from their appearance and fierce skills in battle. They had faced trolls and quickmire, and even a mountain dragon, fortunately for them one of the smaller variety. The last encounter had nearly cost Crag his life, and he still ached from deep talon wounds in his side. But they had survived them all, and had grown quite close as fellow warriors, although their still smarting psyches from the pool incident would not let either admit to any desire stronger than comradeship in arms.
At each encounter they had evaluated and analyzed, weighing the possibility of that particular danger being responsible for the many years of peril that had caused the Summons. Each time, for various physical, logical and chronological reasons, they had eliminated all of these dangers in their minds as the actual goal of their quest.
At length they came to a dark, forbidding glen in a high valley between two sharp, towering peaks. Each conveyed to the other an eerie foreboding, as though there seemed to be some uncanny, perhaps magical force at work in the way things were shaped, the way in which things were viewed, and the way in which their perceptions and beings interacted with their surroundings. Without any words being passed or even glances exchanged, the two warriors drew nearer to each other, their attention directed to opposing areas in view of defense, and their hands poised over their favorite weapons for instant use.
Several hours passed thusly as they traversed the seemingly endless glen, bringing added tension and alertness the further they progressed into the stygian depths. Suddenly, without any warning, they were beset upon by nearly a score of attackers rushing from out of the trees, and swinging down from the branches on strands of vine.
Although the attackers seemed physically ordinary, mere men of average size and with the usual weapons, the incredible silence and ferociousness of their attack made their normal appearance seem even more bizarrely abnormal. The strength of the men was at least double that of ordinary men, so that the unusual size and strength of their intended victims were severely tested by the vicious attack. LaSola noted their grim silence, as well as the glassy expression of their faces, especially their eyes. The lack of shouts, war whoops, imprecations to god, and such irrelevant nonsense all too common to such bouts of combat made even more terrifying the ringing of steel upon steel, the merciless piercing of flesh with sword or arrow, and the deadly serious grunts of effort or reception of wounds of the combatants, especially among the attackers.
Almost amazingly, as they used no shields, LaSola and Crag had received only minor wounds in the fray. More than a dozen attackers lay dead or severely wounded around them, yet these fierce foes had not managed to pierce the circle of defense the two heroes seemed to create around their backbones, which supported one another in their symbiotic maneuvers.
Just as they began to believe they might be victorious, another score of attackers swirled down upon the pair from the ground and the tree branches. This attack was intended solely to divide the defenders. Although costly, it was eminently successful, in that the duo were driven apart into separate encounters, each facing more than half a dozen obviously suicidal foes.
Having been forced to abandon her bow in the closeness of the fighting, LaSola was reduced to using her long dirk, barely more effective than a large hunting knife. Valiantly though she fought, LaSola was struck from behind with the flat of a broadsword, contusing her head and rendering her unconscious without any significant wound. It seemed as though that must be the object of the enemy, for they instantly swarmed upon her supine form, intent upon capture and not killing.
As there were no shouts of triumph, and Crag was still involved with defending himself against attackers who certainly seemed intent upon killing him, it was a few moments before he noticed that he fought alone. Enraged at the thought he had allowed harm to come to his comrade, Crag fought like a berserker, roaring in his fury as he slashed with his broadsword in one hand and stabbed with his dirk in the other, felling one after the other of the grim warriors. Shortly, they all lay dead around him.
He realized there was no use in calling LaSola’s name. She had been taken, and he had best hasten to follow while the light allowed him to at least gain the direction her kidnappers had gone. He was not certain why they had captured rather than killed the woman, but of one thing Crag felt certain: they had found the cause of the Summons.
* * * *
LaSola became aware of her surroundings quickly, without any of the vagueness of her first awakening. Within the span of a few scant heartbeats, LaSola ascertained three important facts; first, the size and contents of the cell in which she was imprisoned. Second, the strength and limitations of the chains binding her hand and foot to the cold, stone wall. And third, that she was totally nude. LaSola stared about the barren cell dispassionately. Other than her own chains, the only ‘furniture’ in the room was a similar set of chains on the wall directly across from her. There seemed little chance of escape from the solid stone walls, tiny window barred with thick iron bars, and a solid iron door that boasted a large and heavy latch mechanism, no doubt clamped on the outside with a thick lock.
She vaguely recollected the first time she had awakened during the latter part of her journey to this prison. She had been bound hand and foot and hung upside down from a pole so she could not prove any threat to the men carrying her. She also remembered being brought before the seeming leader of these ominously fierce and silent warriors, an extremely pale and beautiful blonde woman. The picture of the woman’s eyes stood out sharply amongst all of the fuzzy memories of the battle and subsequent capture.
Suddenly and without sound the thick iron door swung open, and in stepped that unearthly blonde goddess LaSola had crystallized from her otherwise hazy memories. The woman was even more beautiful than she recalled, her golden hair circling her head like a nimbus, her eyes shining with an ethereal force that seemed to throw out a literal light as they focused upon LaSola. This was a face and body many men might well have been willing to kill for.
The woman was dressed all in white, a diaphanous veil more than a dress, which revealed at least as much as it concealed. She wore sandals of the lightest material imaginable, with only a single circle around her largest toe to keep them attached to those tiny, pale feet.
LaSola looked at the woman dispassionately. Whereas the vast majority would see only youth and beauty, another woman – especially one whose background had made her knowledgeable in such arts – saw the telltale marks of age and evil in the face that stared back at her in cynical appraisal. There were no aging marks around the eyes, yet there were many years of experience lurking behind that bright blue surface, depths of cruelty and unconcern for others that spoke of having witnessed countless atrocities and acts of debauchery. The face was also smooth and the skin unblemished. Yet the little tightness around the jaw and cheeks, the taut, downward cast to the corners of those pouting lips, gave evidence to a jaded outlook on life, a long, long life of self-indulgence that very rarely did not realize its desires. The imperious tilt to the head spoke volumes. Not only did the woman consider herself superior to all other beings, but had enjoyed countless years of having that superiority borne out in the fawning subservience of men, and in the heartless dominance over other women. Yes, the signs were subtle, but plainly to be read by any who knew where – and would bother – to look.
The woman also gained great knowledge from her inspection of LaSola. LaSola’s training had taught her never to reveal that greatest of weapons, secret knowledge, unless compelled to do so. Unlike her, the woman seemed to want to boast about what she knew of LaSola.
“You will do perfectly,” the woman started simply. Knowing another great weapon, silence, LaSola did not reply. The woman seemed slightly annoyed by this.
“In fact, I may enjoy our little – relationship – far more than I have enjoyed any for a long, long time.”
This confirmed two of LaSola’s suspicions. First, that the woman was much older than she looked. Second, that her plans for LaSola, and others who fell under her power, were not pleasant. Still, she said nothing.
The woman’s face clouded a bit with anger. She liked to toy with her victims first, and this large mouse was not cooperating in the least. In fact, she seemed totally unconcerned with the veiled threat or even her current situation. Well, that would all change very quickly.
“You, of course, have no idea who I am. That is because I have kept my existence a total secret from the world, which would not approve of my…little activities.” The woman said this with great smugness, as though very proud of her great accomplishments.
“My name is Miranda, and I am a great sorceress. I was once the mistress of a powerful sorcerer, Tecohlti – who, I might add, is no longer around.”
At the name, LaSola’s eyes did grow wide in recognition and wonder. In her land, where magic was generally accepted and used as a positive tool, the name Tecohlti was a great name, one that principally evoked awe and admiration amongst the leaders of the various Tribes. While there were some rumors of dark deeds and evil spells, for the most part people spoke of various wonders he had created, helping kings, warlords and the very wealthy to create marvelous works of architecture, engineering, landscaping, and miraculous machinery. Yet Tecohlti was also known for performing deeds of great compassion, such as bringing food to starving villages, repairing damage caused by natural catastrophes, or causing rains to fall in parched lands. This last had he done for the Tribes in the distant past.
No one had seen or heard from him in nearly a hundred summers, and it was thought he had finally passed away after what seemed like a life of immortality. Some, however, believed he had traveled to some strange place where other great mages exchanged ideas and renewed their youth and vitality.
“Ah, I see you have heard of Tecohlti,” the woman smirked, clearly seeing LaSola’s reaction. “Well, soon you will see how much more powerful is the sorceress Miranda.”
LaSola had great reservations, but there was no denying that, if indeed the woman had learned her arts from the great Techolti, and had, as she thinly implied, had some involvement in the disappearance of that renowned wizard, she must have some significant powers. Although LaSola herself had the Talent, she had received very little training in harnessing her powers. The she understood she must deal much more carefully with this egomaniac than originally thought. It was not that she had thought lightly of the woman – she had learned long ago not to underestimate a foe from mere appearance – but had not taken strong magical talents into account.
Miranda looked her captive over with an even greater pleasure, now that she had seen some signs of respect in those dark, fierce eyes. Fear would not be long to follow.
She admired the aristocratic facial features, the smoldering blaze in those large dark eyes, and the wide, sensual mouth. Having seen many female bodies, Miranda knew it was rare for such a muscular body to also boast large, full breasts. The slim, firm waist and the hard, flat stomach emphasized the generous hips and the round buttocks, mostly hidden from her view. She could appreciate the strong, shapely legs, and the black curly hairs that were displayed at their fulcrum by the forced separation of the ankles, caused by the heavy irons binding them to the wall. Most of all, she was attracted to the overall size of the bronze beauty, the women of the surrounding mountain villages generally being of a fairly small stature.
“Oh, yes, you will do quite nicely,” the blonde vixen repeated, hoping to goad some sort of reaction from her. Again, she was disappointed. She decided to pretend that no response had been desired.
“You see, one of the greatest secrets I learned from Tecohlti was that of eternal youth.” Miranda looked hard to find some trace of astonishment, or perhaps disbelief at this pronouncement, but the regal face before her again displayed no emotion. She could not, of course, know just how familiar her captive was with Tecohlti and his powers. Miranda began to pace slowly around the bound warrior, inspecting the magnificent body with a proprietary interest. “Most neophytes know it is necessary to extract the life force from a suitable donor to gain not only long life, but the strength, the virility of the donor. The secret has three parts, really, although the second is very rarely known by any but the most powerful of sorcerers or sorceresses – or, if known, rarely used. And the third…” Miranda smirked, and seemed lost in reverie for just a moment. “Well, the third is hardly known or followed at all.”
Miranda stroked the flank of the imprisoned woman, who steeled herself to show no reaction to this assault any more than she had of her captor’s words.
“The obvious life essence is blood, of course. The ceremony, the tools, the way to extract and receive the blood, are all very important, yet certainly not more so than the choice of the donor. The blood is the critical life essence, which carries in it a great deal of the life force. Yet, not all. Most certainly not all.”
The smirk became a licentious grin as Miranda cupped one of those large, beautiful breasts. LaSola fought the urge to spit into that grotesquely angelic face, so twisted with lust and corruption.
“The second life essence is the sexual juices of the donor. While the blood carries life, the sexual juices carry the real youth, the vitality of the donor. That is the key to remaining young looking, the skin soft and unwrinkled, the eyes bright, the body filled with energy. Tecohlti was willing to partake of the second essence most of the time, but he would not go the third step, which he spoke of with a great loathing – the fool.”
LaSola was loath to believe this of the man the Tribes had practically worshipped as both a powerful mage and a savior to their villages, yet she knew it must be true. Her body suddenly stiffened as the sorceress gently reached out a tiny white hand to touch her sex. LaSola raged within as that hand stroked her pubic hairs, and a small finger delicately parted the lips of her vulva. But she knew that to struggle was useless, and LaSola would not give this malicious creature the satisfaction she sought as she fondled her in a way that could scarcely be borne.
“You see, to truly gain the entire benefit of the life essences of the donor, to fully accept the life force as it leaves the dying body after being pierced in the heart by the Knife of Angorak, the sorcerer must be in complete contact with the donor. They must be above them as their life force – what some fools call the soul – rises from their dying husk. ‘Complete’ contact, of course, means sexual contact,” the woman breathed, pushing two fingers deeply into the virgin channel of the chained fighter, who was unreasonably furious at herself for her inability to do a thing about this ultimately personal assault.
“Obviously, due to the nature of the sexual fluids, the sorcerer gains very little value from a donor of the opposite sex. Tecohlti needed men – and I must have women.”
The woman’s face was less than a finger’s length from that of LaSola’s, although she had to look up at the face which was darker still in her current mood. She idly rubbed her fingers in the violated vagina as she stared wide eyed into the face glowering down at her, still hoping to elicit some response, either from her words or from her actions. Although LaSola’s body did not respond in the least to the unwanted ministrations, her face betrayed her disgust and condemnation. This was enough for Miranda, who whirled disdainfully away from her captive as though she had attained some great victory.
As she turned away, Miranda licked her fingers sensuously, then sucked on them fully as though to savor some delectable vintage. “Um, a strong, primitive taste,” she said condescendingly, “full of young, sexual vigor and a very powerful life force. Oh, yes, you will do very nicely indeed.
“Tecohlti was a fool,” she again declared viciously, whirling back at LaSola as though to attack her with the violence of this thought. “I was quite happy to be his mistress, even though he was a man, and an old, boring man at that.” She laughed mockingly at the slightly increased look of disgust on LaSola’s face. “Oh, yes, couldn’t you tell, my dear? Being forced to have sex with other women certainly did not bother me at all. Oh, no, quite the contrary.”
She laughed again.
“Whereas Tecohlti could not bring himself to such an ‘unnatural’ encounter, not even to maintain his youth and vigor, I personally have always preferred women. Oh, I was willing to do anything – and I mean anything – in order to keep him happy so that he would not discard me as he had all the others, but I never enjoyed it. Men are alright, my dear – not that you would know, of course – and I do use them occasionally, if they seem particularly attractive. But women know what other women really like, how to pleasure all of the really sensitive areas.”
As she said this, Miranda once again stroked LaSola’s body, as an example of her words. This went on for several minutes, with the small blonde using all of the considerable skills she had acquired over decades of decadence to elicit some evidence of arousal. The large black haired beauty tried to deny the sensations that were starting to creep into her body, no matter how much she despised this woman or the things that were being done to her breasts, her throat, her stomach and hips, and mostly to her sex. While she could control her muscles, however, she ultimately could not keep her nipples from hardening slightly, nor the sexual fluids which her tormentor sought so desperately from beginning to seep as her clitoris was tweaked and rubbed in an unmentionable way.
As these signs betrayed her will, Miranda laughed again wickedly, and stepped away from that luscious body, looking LaSola directly in the eye.
“Oh, my lusty warrior wench, how I would love to keep you around for a while as my plaything! My men told me how fiercely you fought, and I can see the spirit in you is as great as the sensual nature you battle so hard to deny – to yourself as well as to me, I am certain.” Miranda reached out once more to tweak a nipple, and then stepped quickly away from her captive.
“But that is not to be, I am afraid. You see, the sexual essence is much stronger in one who has never known actual coitus, which in some way acts as a release to the pent up sexual force that begins to build from the day of one’s birth. While you would be wonderful to keep around as a lover, you are much more valuable to me as a virgin. I will get to enjoy you once, but, I am afraid, once only.”
Before the corrupted sorceress could tempt herself any further with the voluptuous, nude figure before her, she marched out the door. LaSola barely heard the slamming of the iron door and the thud of a heavy bar being dropped into place.
As courageous as she was, the woman born to the freedom of the desert and wed to the fierce pride of the warrior was shaken by the thought of what the angelic looking witch had threatened to do to her. Not death. That she had been trained to ignore, as the fate of a warrior, and all people eventually. Not even the rape of her body by another woman, as repugnant as that thought may have been.
It was the ultimate threat, the loss of her ‘life force’ to that dark creature, who would suck it into her body, would corrupt its purity as it was absorbed into that vile cesspool of the witch’s own blackened life force! To lose her life was nothing. To lose her spirit – worse, to have it damned in immortal evil – that was everything! She must not allow it.
But what could she do to prevent it from such an obviously powerful sorceress? There was only one course of action she could discern. If the opportunity came, she must take her own life. While her warrior spirit rebelled at this decision, LaSola knew in her heart that it must be done. With such gloomy thoughts, LaSola drifted off into a stupor.

* * * *
LaSola became alert at the sounds outside of her cell. She did not know how long she had hung from her bonds, lost in the hopelessness of her position. Somehow, she felt that the moment of crisis may now be at hand, and prepared herself mentally to fight or die if any opportunity arose. There were a couple of muffled thuds, some grunts of pain, then the sliding and thunk of the heavy metal bar being lifted from the door. LaSola’s body tensed with the automatic reaction of a fighter, preparing to launch her body into the fray in spite of her stout bonds.
The door swung open, and in stepped Crag, blood dripping from his sword. LaSola stared in pleased amazement, while Crag briefly drank in her nude form, then abruptly looked away.
“By the gods of the Skensa and Zoolus! How did you manage to get in here? And what took you so long!”
“The guards were not as diligent as they might have been,” he replied, still not looking at her. “And it took me a while to find your weapons,” he said, holding out her bow and quiver, her dirk tucked into his belt. “I did not see your clothing,” he said apologetically.
“I’ll take what you offer with my thanks,” she asserted with grim amusement, “and fight all the better for being lightly encumbered. And, if you can find some means of releasing me from these bonds, you may certainly look upon me without shame, nay, with my blessings, as is needed to perform such a feat.”
As though performing some terrible task, Crag observed her bonds, trying to keep his eyes from those appealing curves as much as possible. The clamps around her wrists and ankles looked too strong to break without some sort of cutting tool, and to smash them would probably damage her bones. The chains also looked fairly strong, although he was certain he could pull them away from their wall anchors if he could find a stout bar to apply leverage. To break them enough so that LaSola could move freely enough to fight, however, might prove more problematic. Perhaps there would be some tools in the torture chambers he was certain existed nearby which could help free the chained woman.
Crag tested the strength of the anchors, putting his foot against the wall while exerting his massive muscles. He could feel the anchor actually beginning to yield to this raw use of strength when the door suddenly swung wide open, having only been partially closed. The mountain man swung around to see a blonde goddess enter the room, followed closely by two of the silent soldiers.
“My, you’re a big one! And so strong looking. Are all of your muscles as big and exciting looking?” the woman asked, as Crag whipped out his broadsword and crouched into a fighting stance. Crag looked straight into her deep, blue eyes.
“Now, you aren’t going to need that huge weapon just to subdue little me, are you?” she asked seductively, her voice taking on a constant, quietly insinuating tone which the young giant found irresistible. He tried to look at the two soldiers, to face the challenge they presented as opposed to this tiny, scantily clad female, but somehow he could not take his eyes from those bottomless wells of blueness. “You have a much better weapon to use on a helpless female, don’t you? And you want to use it on me, don’t you? You want to touch me all over, to taste every portion of my body, to take me over and over again, don’t you?”
The woman’s voice droned on and on. Crag felt as though he had drunk barrels of strong mountain mead, gradually losing all mental control, all feeling from his body, all sense of anything but that voice, which poured over his mind like a dense, warm, enveloping fog. His weapons dropped from his hands as he stood limp and helpless in front of the enchantress.
“Chain him up against the other wall,” Miranda ordered her soldiers in a much more businesslike tone. Without any resistance from the giant, the soldiers silently obeyed orders. Their task accomplished, they left the room at a wave from their mistress.
“Well, my dear, what should I do with your would-be rescuer?” Miranda asked the chained woman, who glared at her, but still made no sound. “He seemed quite familiar with your body. Might the two of you be lovers?”
Miranda laughed mockingly. “Yes, I can see it in your eyes.” She looked back at the giant, who stared stonily straight ahead. “And why not? He’s quite a handsome young specimen, and no doubt a virile lover. I wonder if indeed his ‘weapon’ is as large as his body would portend.” She turned back to LaSola. “Is it my dear, and is it pleasurable in its thrusts and parries?”
LaSola bit her tongue in lieu of a sharp riposte, hating the pale bitch for her conjectures, fully as painful for only being half the truth. In her head, LaSola knew the older woman taunted her out of spite, having examined her body to discover she was still a virgin. Still, her heart, burning equally with anger at the vile vixen and with some unknown passion for the pale giant, told her that the words so mockingly spoken were in some manner nevertheless the truth.
Other than the contortions anger brought to her captive’s face, the woman saw that she would gain no further reaction from her sultry captive. “Oh, well,” she sighed languidly. “I suppose I shall just have to discover for myself then, shan’t I?”
She stepped casually and sensuously over to Crag’s side, careful not to shield any of her actions from the black beauty by intervening her body. If she could not torture the maiden directly, then she certainly would vicariously.
With deliberate motions, she undid the belt at Crag’s waist and lowered his buskins to the floor. She delicately removed the loincloth tied around his private parts, looking at LaSola out of the corner of her eyes as she did so.
“My, my!” she exclaimed in approval as Crag’s manhood was revealed to their sight. “He is a big boy, isn’t he? Whatever is this monster like when wholly rampant?” she asked her other prisoner, whose clenched fists betrayed the thought of what those hands might be doing if unfettered for just a moment. “I hope you don’t mind if I discover some of your secrets, do you, my pretty?”
Again pretending she was not irritated to receive no words in reaction to her taunts, Miranda decided to see how far she could push the bound woman before wresting some sort of sound from her. She turned back to the vacant-eyed youth, being sure not to stand directly in the way of LaSola’s vision of the proceedings.
She stroked the object of her conversation, thinking that it might be pleasurable to fully enjoy the delights of this magnificent young stallion. It would be especially sweet if it brought jealousy to the real object of her desires, whom she could not sexually molest without losing precious life essence. Her perverted nature found this situation almost as satisfying.
“What a huge and wonderful weapon is here to wound the bodies and hearts of poor, innocent young maidens!” the temptress husked again in her seductive, hypnotic voice as she continued to caress Crag’s member. “It is growing much larger and harder with every touch, becoming more aroused as I run my hand along its wondrous length, becoming more enflamed with passion as I flick that huge head thus with the tip of my finger, and stroke that pulsing vein which runs along its base, filling with the combined life essences, filling with the need and desire to fulfill its ultimate purpose by penetrating the tender body of some eager wench.”
What portion of Crag’s bewitched senses may have battled against the intent of these lustful and wicked words were drowned in the raging hormones of his strong young body as those soft, skillful fingers did their magic. Miranda was becoming aroused as well by her own words, in addition to the sight and feel of the enormous, iron-hard staff she now held in both of her small hands. The blonde sank to her knees and licked delicately at the bulbous head of that mighty tool, reveling in the taste of the first few drops of precious sexual essence that oozed from its tip. She tried to engulf a portion of its length with her mouth, but could barely encompass that head, contenting herself with sensuously running her lips and tongue over and around that flaming red fruit. As she felt the first pulsing of that magnificent member in her mouth, Miranda’s ardor grew as she gained her first true triumph over the will of these incredible warriors, her own jaded body responding to the eroticism of the scene. The thought of these two fierce warriors, chained naked to the walls of her castle and subject to the pleasure and whim of her own small, delicate self, their formidable bodies to be used as objects of torture or her personal pleasure, sent Miranda into physical and mental ecstasies that she had not felt in decades.
LaSola watched the wanton actions of the woman with mixed emotions. Certainly anger that her companion’s body was now being manipulated by this foul creature, as hers had been earlier, which was fueled by contempt and disgust for the sexual perversions thus far displayed. Still, she must admit to herself, there was some strange feeling of jealousy, from whence she knew not. Could it be that there was more than a mote of truth in the woman’s jibes of her desire for this man? Was she in truth desirous of conducting similar actions upon that fair body, actions she had never even contemplated before, and was even now loath to admit could exist within her thoughts?
Even as these fantastic cogitations raced through LaSola’s synapses, further enflaming her senses, the woman rose from her knees to whisper some words in Crag’s ear. As much as his bound hands would allow, Crag lowered his upper body as though settling down upon some invisible seat, and the sorceress turned to face her original prisoner. The bloated look of arousal in her eyes and face left little room for concern over LaSola’s presence, obviously with a mind more tuned to satisfying her own overweening lust rather than as another ploy to add to the other’s torment. Pulling her diaphanous gown above her head, Miranda turned to face the other woman directly, put her hand behind her back and again grasped that great engine of pleasure. She then slowly lowered herself upon its tip, her labia already well lubricated with the first effusions of her own carnal fluids.
Miranda’s predilection for women had ill prepared her for acceptance of such a prodigious shaft, in spite of the numerous times she had indeed submitted to being thus invaded. It was therefore more painful and difficult than she had imagined to encase its full size. Nevertheless, aroused as she was by the circumstances and determined to experience the full pleasure of this scene, she resolved to sit upon the young giant’s great haunches as though it were a throne, and to fully encompass that mighty scepter. With Crag’s body ensorcelled into being as rigid as that imagined throne, Miranda was compelled to perform all of the work herself. She wriggled and twisted her own voluptuous figure in the attempt to become fully impaled, lowering and raising her beauteous buttocks gingerly, taking a tiny bit more of that immense length each time, groaning with pain and pleasure as she worked her vulva around that great girth. Finally her entire vagina seemed filled as never before, as though it could take no more, and still her entire hand was wrapped around the base of that incredible rod!
Knowing she had taken as much into her as she could at that moment endure, Miranda placed her hands upon Crag’s steely thighs and raised herself up until only the head was still within her. She then lowered herself back down until once again filled as completely as possible, perhaps a tiny bit more than before. The intense pressure was lessening somewhat as she continued to impale herself, up and down, slowly at first, on that hot, hard shaft, which felt to her as though it were a bar of steel encased in kid’s flesh, caressing and warm to the touch, stiff and massive in its penetration. It was the most fantastic male member she had experienced in more than two hundred summers of existence, and almost made her desire a more pronounced proclivity towards other members of the opposite sex.
As the discomfort lessened and the gratification built towards ecstasy, Miranda began to lose her consciousness in the oblivion of sensual fulfillment. Grasping those cordlike thews beneath her with a grip of iron, the enraptured slut pounded her flaming pudenda faster and faster, harder and harder down upon that pole of pleasure, filling her flowing vagina as thoroughly as possible with each stroke, her taut breasts bobbing with each wild ebb and flow, her head gyrating wildly and her golden hair flying in all directions with every movement of her body. Now totally in the grasp of her erotic frenzies, Miranda allowed her normally stringent sexual control to be lost in the rare delirium of orgasmic frenzy.
As she spasmed over and over again, Miranda was totally oblivious to having achieved that which she had originally sought, a strong physical reaction from her female prisoner. LaSola had watched this display with all of the control she could muster from her years of training and experience as a warrior. Yet, in the end, she had not been able to master the emotion wrought from this incredible display of physical beauty, primeval lust and transmental dominance played out before her unwilling yet unblinking eyes. Without a sound more discernible than the chinking of her chains, LaSola raged through the latter part of the libidinous display with legs churning to race to the licentious scene, arms and hands clawing as though to rip those lust-filled eyes or engorged breasts from the sensuously filled female before her, and sunder those sexually heaving bodies apart, denying that ultimate release from pent-up desires which neither she nor Crag could at that moment truly realize.
Yet, when Miranda finally came down from her cataclysmic crescendo, and could once again focus on the face of the woman she had merely wished to torment with her lewd actions, she saw only the taut mask of fury she had originally observed, and a body tense with anger and the desire to once again be free of unnatural restraints. Miranda had no concept of the true depths to which she had conquered the emotions and envies of her concupiscent captive.
She saw only the fury palpable in that heaving body, and mistook it for indignation as to her own power over mere mortals, and perhaps a fear as to what might happen to that chained wretch herself when Miranda made good on her earlier threats of spiritual conquest. In this state of relative ignorance, she disengaged herself from that mighty organ, which had not in the least satiated itself in spite of all of her frenetic throes, and smirked at the scowling woman still straining at her bonds before her, not in the least understanding the weaknesses she had displayed in her mental and genital indulgences.
Miranda, with a look of haughty triumph upon her fair features as she retrieved the gown from the floor, was tempted to make some passing remark to the dark warrior as to the similar, yet much worse fate, which awaited her other prisoner when she chose to make it so. Yet two things made her pause in this action: first, the still rigid state of the giant’s sexual organ, which should have been utterly spent by her own erotic throes, and second, the strangely knowing look which the black beauty bestowed upon her, as though, in spite of all that had immediately transpired in that room, the dark warrior nevertheless knew some arcane secret that would eventually bring her success in this seemingly hopeless conflict.
Not wishing to appear in the least disconcerted by these disturbing signs, Miranda said not a word, merely flouncing her golden hair in a maneuver intended to imply imperious dismissal of these bound and helpless prisoners, and marched from the cell. Nevertheless, she could not entirely dispel the feeling that something was terribly wrong. As she exited the cell and gazed upon the bodies of the two guards whom Crag had killed, and which for some strange reason had still not been cleared away, Miranda determined that she would invoke the transmutation ceremony on the following morning.
* * *
LaSola stood tranquilly, her long, dark hair cascading down her back. The loose, flowing white gown served to enhance the lush contours of her full figure. Her bare feet did not seem to feel the coldness of the marble beneath them, as she stood like a statue in front of a stone altar that was highly reminiscent of a bed with a very high headboard. Ringed around her and the altar stood other beautiful youths, all totally nude, and at the back of the room, directly behind LaSola, stood another female, a small blonde, clothed in but a single rich robe of pure scarlet.
There was a faint, eerie music permeating the room, although the source was a mystery. Black candles burned in numerous holders around the room, giving off a pungent, somehow distasteful odor along with an ominous shade of light. The ceremony in progress was rapidly nearing its conclusion.
The blonde woman stared for a moment at the graven image before her, then raised her arms wide as if to embrace a lover, and leaned her head backwards as if to gaze through the high ceiling at an object far above. At that sign, the naked youths began a low chanting of an indistinguishable nature, and LaSola slowly advanced to the steps at the foot of the long altar. The chanting rose slightly in volume, and the dusky maiden mounted the steps, her eyes locked on that dreadful image. As she stood at the foot of the altar, LaSola unclasped the neck of the robe, which fell at her feet to reveal her naked, nubile body. Stepping to the center of the altar, LaSola turned to face the blonde, who lowered her gaze to stare hypnotically into those large black eyes. As if at some unseen sign, LaSola lowered herself to lay flat on her back on the altar, her head towards the image, her legs slightly parted to expose the tender core of her untouched womanhood.
Still with her arms raised, the blonde walked to the side of the altar, eyes now locked onto those of the carved image. Stopping at the edge of the altar, she murmured some arcane words, and then reached for the silver bowl in a niche at the base of the headboard. She placed the bowl on the altar between LaSola’s legs, and the chanting of the youths took on a much more intense tone.
As the blonde woman began to stroke at the lush bush between her legs, virtually oblivious to the upper half of her body, LaSola rotated her right arm slowly but steadily upwards towards the second object in that niche. Barely noticing the caresses applied to her most intimate bodily parts, LaSola methodically grasped the hilt of the ritual knife, as the others in the room remained totally oblivious to her actions.
As LaSola withdrew the knife from its resting place, her body twisted back towards the petite form of the woman still performing erotic actions upon her private parts. The woman finally noticed the unusual actions of her intended victim, and stared at her with equal parts amazement and disbelief.
“Hold!” she cried, overcoming the momentary shock she had felt. “You are in a deep trance!”
LaSola did not bother to respond that the woman was in deep trouble, as she smoothly lunged forward from her waist to drive the knife with both hands towards the heart of the crouching enchantress. Although still in a state of shock, Miranda sought to parry the blow with a sweep of her forearm, which caused a deep slash to her wrist. Save for the strange music which permeated the room, all other action and sound seemed to stop at the strange and unusual action in progress.
Miranda stared stupidly at the gaping wound to her wrist. Her life’s blood, much darker than it should have been, poured profusely from the gash. The others in the room still stood rooted in some seeming trance, not reacting to, not even comprehending such forcible resistance to the priestess of their cult. In the span of a few breaths, in which all others stood frozen in their places, LaSola sprang to a crouching position, the knife thrust away from her body with both hands, her eyes and upper torso swiveling rapidly in all directions in anticipation of an attack from the followers of the evil enchantress.
A few of those crazed servants, either deeply enthralled due to their natural proclivity towards the depravity espoused by their mistress, or having served for an unusually long time under that tyrannical yoke, rushed towards LaSola in an effort to restrain her from a renewed attack upon their leader. These LaSola dispatched with ease, her warrior training far outweighing the numbers of this untrained, unarmed and chaotic pack. The rest stayed back, stunned into stupefaction at this unimaginable occurrence.
During this brief action, Miranda clasped her free hand over her injured wrist and tried to stem the flow of blood. As her life’s flow continued to seep between her frantically clinging fingers, Miranda watched in complete stupefaction the efforts of those few of her followers who strove to save her. Having never conceived of such an event, she had never devised a counteraction.
Her few attackers quickly eliminated, and the rest shrinking back in fear and amazement, LaSola returned her attention to her greatest nemesis, who had staggered backwards a few steps from the dais. Still in a crouch, holding the knife, dripping with blood, out thrust from her body in an attacking position, LaSola stared down at her incredulous foe.
“You…you must do as I say,” her would-be dominatrix said with a faint voice. She raised her hands and advanced on LaSola as if to continue the ceremony, or to cast some damaging spell, or to do what LaSola would never know. Not waiting to learn the answer, she stabbed the knife deep into the chest of the smaller woman, hoping to pierce what excuse for a heart may still have been left in that evil body.
Again, Miranda stared at the knife protruding from her breast in shock and disbelief. “I cannot be killed,” she insisted. “I cannot die.”
LaSola said not a word, nor did she move. She merely watched, with as impassive a face as possible, as the woman before her, blood gushing from her slashed wrist and the wound to her chest, slowly sank to her knees, then toppled over, and then died.

* * *
An undeterminable time later, LaSola stood before the still semi-rigid form of Crag. She had recovered her clothing and weapons once more, which she now wore after having rinsed the blood from her body. Now that their mistress was dead, the spell that held them seemed to have been broken, for she had encountered no further resistance. It seemed that all of Miranda’s former flock were either leaving the castle or wandering around, still very much in a stunned daze.
Crag was in essentially in the same physical state as that in which he had been left, which is to say naked from the waist down, wrists suspended from the upper braces and ankles locked in the lower, and legs squatted down in a supporting position. The formerly rigid limb was now rather limp.
“Crag,” LaSola intoned in a commanding yet strangely gentle voice, “can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he replied dreamily. “I hear you.”
“You have been asleep, but when I clap my hands you will awaken. You will remember all that has transpired here, but you will no longer be under the power of the woman Miranda, for she is dead. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
LaSola clapped her hands once. Instantly, Crag stood up, his great thews stiff and aching from the strain of having been in a squatting position for many long hours. He saw his weapons and loincloth lying on the floor, and blushed at his near nakedness, then blushed even more furiously as he remembered the scene he had been forced to enact in front of this woman, whom he so admired. LaSola unlocked the manacles from around his wrists, then handed him the key.
“Here,” she said. “Finish freeing yourself. When you are dressed, I shall be waiting outside of this cell.”
As quickly as his still aching body would allow, Crag dressed and joined LaSola. She handed Crag his pack, and slung her own over her back. They walked side by side through the dungeon and then upwards into the castle.
“What happened?” Crag asked simply.
“Miranda sought to use my life force to replenish hers. I pretended to be under her spell until I could gain a weapon, and then used it to fight her. I – I have seen that ceremony before, once, and I knew a special knife was involved, and that I would have access to that knife if I was patient.”
“But she was a great sorceress!” Crag marveled. “You must also possess great magic to have resisted her, and then to have killed her.”
“I, also, believed the woman was a sorceress,” LaSola admitted. “I had great fears of her powers, and had resolved to end my life rather than let my life force be absorbed into her evil spirit for the rest of eternity. But then, when I witnessed her…use of yourself…well, I understood what should have been obvious to me from the actions of all the others.
“You see,” LaSola said as they walked through the various hallways, “her actual powers were very limited. She must have learned a few simple skills from observing the great Tecohlti, such as mesmerism, which she had obviously perfected over many dozens of summers – perhaps hundreds. The way the soldiers fought, skillfully, yet with no will, no seeming desire. The way everyone in this castle moved and acted. Those of her inner cult must have been desirous, to some extent, to participate in such depraved acts, or she could not have controlled them so totally. Those who were less malleable, she used either as sexual slaves, or as she wished to use me, to take their essences. True magical spells can force a person to do anything, but, within limits, mesmerism can only guide a person into doing something that they are otherwise willing to do under the right set of circumstances.”
“But how could she have performed such a ceremony if she had no magical powers?” Crag asked as they found the kitchens, which were also deserted, and began to fill their packs with provisions for the upcoming journey.
“Recall I said they were limited, not nonexistent. As she was his favorite, she must have been a part of the ceremony many times as performed by Tecohlti, who was a master. This was, in fact, the source of their disagreement. Tecohlti, it would seem, wanted only the life essence, and would not perform the sexual part of the ceremony necessary to retain his youth and virility. Miranda wanted it all, and doubtless grew to despise his appearance, and so she eventually killed him.”
“How could she kill such a powerful sorcerer!”
“The ceremony only restores what is already there, it does not imbue imperviousness to the normal frailties of the body, such as to heat or cold, or a knife in bed, or poison in the wine. That is why very few true mages are so foolish as to actually sleep with another, when they are unable to cast spells of protection. Tecohlti must have trusted this vixen very much.”
“Is that why so many youths have been taken these past few summers, because of the deficiencies of the ceremony?”
“I am certain of it. Her relative lack of true magical powers to gain all of the benefit of the ceremony, as well as her advancing age, must have forced her to enact the ceremony more and more often. If we had not stopped her, it may have become a daily ritual in only a matter of a few more summers.”
“But how is it you have witnessed this ceremony?” Crag wondered as they left the kitchen and sought the exit to the castle.
A grim look came over LaSola’s face, and Crag thought for a moment she would not answer. Finally, she gave him a brief, steely look, and then stared straight ahead once more, her jaw muscles tensed.
“You said I must have some power myself, even greater than Miranda’s. You were correct. My father practiced theurgy – for the most part. He was the greatest mage of our tribes, and thus do I have such knowledge of the arts.
“When I was very young, I greatly admired my father and all he had done in the service of the tribes. I wished to follow in his footsteps, and he reluctantly began to teach me. I thought his reluctance was because I was a female or perhaps because I was only a child. However, one night I accidentally came upon him performing a ceremony which involved a young boy. He told me that he had devined a great danger to the Tribes, which could only be averted with a terrible sacrifice, a human sacrifice, that of an innocent youth. I chose to believe him, for whatever reason, although afterwards I had great doubts about an art which could demand such an evil measure to accomplish supposed good.”
LaSola fell silent as they strode through the huge gates which took them out of the gloomy castle and back into the sunlight. She looked about her briefly, as though amazed such wickedness could exist in the heart of such beauty. Then she turned to look Crag fully in the face, and he could see the terrible pain in her eyes.
“Then, almost five summers later, I witnessed it again. There could be no such impending danger to the Tribes so soon, and, having gained some knowledge of the arts, I discerned the true nature of the ceremony. I immediately asked the elders to be allowed to begin training as a warrior, which is allowed in the Tribes, although some find this very strange.”
“In our clan, it is also common for women to fight side by side with their mates,” Crag murmured.
“So now you know my story,” LaSola said, almost as a challenge.
“Yes,” the gentle giant said simply, not wishing to offend her with sympathy.
“And now you may go back to the headman in Tuscan and claim your reward,” she said brusquely.
“You will not return for your share?” Crag asked in surprise.
“No. As I have stated, I have no need of wealth.”
“Yet when in Tuscan you also declared that you would accept the offer, if victorious, in order to give it to those youths who were in need.”
“Because of my past, I have sworn an oath to aid young people wherever they were in danger. I now fully understand that such is my quest, not the search for gold. Let others aid in acts of charity. I will act in matter of the bow and the sword.”
“And…is there no room on this quest for another sword, one which may also aid in serving young people in danger?”
Now it was LaSola’s turn to be surprised.
“You would spurn the wealth offered by the villages to join me in such a cause?”
“I have as great a need for gold as any other man – but no greater need. I would venture with you if you would permit.”
LaSola briefly considered, then shook her head.
“No. There are things between us, with which I must first come to terms.”
“Is it – because we have seen each other?” he asked timidly.
“No, it is not that.”
“Please. I would know.”
“It is – I told you that, under mesmerism, a person cannot be forced to do that which they absolutely would not do under any circumstances.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Know that I admire you for your generous spirit, that I honor you as a fighting companion. But, for now, I cannot travel with you.”
“I understand. I am not worthy. Then, in the spirit in which you first spoke in Tuscan, I shall return to the headman and his elders, and I shall tell them to give their wealth to the families who have suffered such losses at the hands of the witch. Then I shall also quest for good, and perhaps someday we shall meet again.”
“Perhaps we shall,” was all that LaSola would permit herself to say to him, although she wished to tell him the complete truth.
Crag stared at her for another moment. “Until then,” he said, “I bid you farewell, LaSola of the Singing Bow,” and he turned to begin the long walk back to Tuscan. He did not look back.
LaSola watched until he disappeared into the trees, fighting the urge to call out to him, to tell him that he had only half understood her. She knew that her longing for this youth could only weaken her resolve to carry out her oath, that her real quest was to purge her own spirit, which she knew she must do on her own.
“Fare thee well also, Crag of the mountains,” she said softly as he slipped from sight.
But, perhaps one day, they might meet again. And, perhaps, by that time LaSola would have cleansed her mind of the vision of her own father molesting a dying boy, and of her own hands, dripping with her father’s blood after she had stabbed him to death with the ceremonial knife.

 

[Mickie]

Goddess Of Winter

Virgin Princess~Ch. 7

Here's a couple more, Laurel. Thanks!

Mickie

 

[SteamyChik]

DutchMark confused me with: Okay, I hadn't noticed this solicitation before (and I mean that in the best of ways, Steamy!),

I'm usually confused, but I have no idea what you are talking about here

 

[peterpan]

I would quite like to move my Q&A tale from BDSM to SF when it appears.

It has lots of the trappings of BDSM, atleast it definitly earns a B, but it isn't about pain and is very much Science fiction.


http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=22972