Friday, March 10, 2017

Beauty and the Beast (Part 2)

After a period of uncomfortable silence, a quiet man stepped around the screen. His clothes were more costly than those of the man who sat in the chair to my right. The pale yellow of the doublet looked to be something like the silk that my father had purchased from the East, reflecting the light with a sheen that looked almost golden. The thin man stood at his lord's right hand at a stance reflecting attentiveness. His pale blond hair was plaited into a braid that rested upon his shoulder, with a bow of the same color as his doublet at the end. He would have seemed a dandy except for the solemn expression on his face.

"Auguste," the lord of Winterwood said, "Bring this young woman to her quarters. See that a maid is provided for her, one who is close to her age. You know what must be done." Auguste gave a half bow to my captor and then turned his pale blue eyes upon me as he straightened. Something like pity was in them as he stepped up to me and offered his arm.

"Please, come with me," he said. I looked down at the unfinished cup of wine and then around me, uncertain where to place it. Auguste took the cup from my hand and set it upon the table. I started to take the blanket off of my lap when he returned and lifted it. With a deft hand, he quickly folded the woolen thing and set it back upon the chair where it began. He then took my hand and helped me to my feet.

As he lead me away from the taciturn man sitting at the fire, he seemed to become less tense the farther away we went. We were half way down a corridor when Auguste spoke. "Once a year, he demands tribute. It is not wealth he seeks, but a wife," he said very quietly, "A woman comes for a fortnight and then is sent back to her family. This usually happens in the spring. Winter is a black season for him." I wanted to ask him to explain but his hold upon my right hand hardened. "He is a man of unusual tastes. I only knew of one like him when I was a young man in my homeland. None have managed to ... bring him peace," Auguste continued in his quiet, cautious tone, "Be cautious, Miss. His mood is fickle this time of year. His hungers are stronger because of it."

We stopped before a door that was heavily ornamented. Auguste let go of my hand and took a key out from his pocket. He unlocked the door and lit a lantern within. I walked in and found myself in what seemed an elegant antechamber of sorts. A chaise lounge was before a window that had shutters closed and dark red velvet curtains drawn. Gold trim was heavy upon them, making it all but impossible for a draft to move them. A small desk with a chair sat across the room from it with a painting hung over it. A cloth hung over it. As I approached it, Auguste quickly stepped before me. He lightly set a hand on my shoulder to stay me. "Do not move the curtain," he said, "Never touch it. It is forbidden. As are other things, which Rochelle will explain to you. Abide by the rules and remain as ... quiet as you can, and I expect your liberty will be returned to you with out any harm."

"It is cold in here," I said to him and he nodded.

"I will light a fire in the next room. You can wait for Rochelle there. I will have a brazier brought so that this room will be warmed as well." As he opened the door to the next room, I looked over at the covered painting. Auguste called to me as he lit a fire in the fireplace of the next room, "Unlike the others, you have an excellent chance of his kindness. Even during this dark time of the year. Remember to be careful what you say, though. If he thinks you are inclined towards him, he may not let you go for a very long time."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I asked as I walked into a spacious bedroom. He straightened as the tinder caught and the fire began to snap merrily. His expression as he looked down at the growing flames was filled with something that looked like regret.

"I can not spare you from this fate," he said, very quietly, "I can, however, help you to move through this with as little trouble as possible." He then briskly moved away from the fireplace and began lighting lamps.

I walked towards him. "This doesn't tell me why, sir," I said. Auguste looked over at me, his face seemed older in the light of the fire and the lit lamps.

"There is a monster here," Auguste said, "You have not yet seen his face. Once, there was one who could tame him. She is no more and he seeks another to stand in her place. Others have broken under that weight. I tried to help them. I do not wish to see him suffer but it is far worse to see those innocent souls endure what she did. Remember, Miss. Do not touch the curtain or disturb it in anyway."

He took his lamp with him as he left. When the door into the hallway was shut, I heard the key in the lock. I looked around the bedroom. It was richly appointed. Though it was a comfortable room and far finer than what my father owned before his fortunes turned ill, I knew this room was still a prison. A gilded cage was still a cage.

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Untitled # 2

I am at a loss for words. So much has happened so quickly. I feel as though I am stumbling around. They see me. They know what I am going through. And they bid me speak. But how does one put this into the narrow confines of words? Written words, no less.

World-Breaker laughs. It is a beautiful laugh. He simply laughs as I flail about in this queer mixture of terror and elation. I find myself filled with joy for his laughter and shame for my terror and elation. I am so confused, but he just laughs. I would ask him for answers, but he has made clear to me that not all things have answers and not all answers are for me. So I struggle and find myself timid over some of the oddest things.

Ingvi... Ah, Freyr, your laugh is equally lovely. If his laughter is the snapping of a bonfire on a chilly night, full of merry brightness, then yours is the warmth that beckons me to draw closer and set aside the cares of the day. But, you also have been reluctant to answer the questions that arise. You simply smile and tell me that I already know what they are. I am so twisted up that I find myself struggling to tell what direction I am facing. And you just chuckle as I reel and try to find my bearings.

The world about me grows more distressing, but it seems a paltry thing compared to the prospect of utterly abandoning past identities. But, I am not allowed my masks. If World-Breaker is not taking them from my hands and shattering them upon the ground, you are slipping them off my face and pushing me before a mirror to see what I truly look like. And it bleeds into everything.

I can not shunt aside this gnawing terror that I am inheirently wrong on the basis of the fact that I continue to draw breath. And you laugh at this as it is pure nonsense. Where you had been angry, now, you laugh. You both tell me that I am clinging to vestiges of who I was as you chuckle.

And yet, here I am, looking at myself asking is this who I am? A part of me says I should simply let myself fall into this place of respite and comfort. Another part of me quails saying that some one, somewhere is going to punish me for not keeping the masks and clever denials all at hand. But yet, you take my hands and draw me farther along this path.

How is it that I am liberated when I place myself into your hands? How is it that I am stronger when I let myself fall apart under your watchful eyes? How is it that you all know exactly what is happening within me when I say nothing of it? Am I so easy to read?

You tell me that I am more than what I have felt and insisted I am. Now, as you hold up this mirror, I am terrified by what I see. I don't even know why I am so frightened.

And yet, as you both laugh, he sees me. He sees deep into who I am. And he embraces me, and it feels like fire whipping through me. Flame and heat coming together to scald me even as it warms that ice inside me.

What is it that I have become? Why do I fear freedom?

Tuesday, January 17, 2017


The book laid open upon the desk. The poems of Catullus were printed in stark text upon white pages, latin upon the left page and english upon the right. One in particular was set out for me to view.

"Odi et amo. quare id faciam fortasse requiris?
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.'" 
I hate and I love. Why I do this, perhaps you ask?
I do not know, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.[1]

I looked at the elegaic couplet and found myself caught in a strange mix of confusion and distress. A warm hand settled at the small of my back. His voice was quiet as he said, "Behold thyself within the mirror of antiquity. Observe the torment such as the poet felt within his own heart. Doth thou not know this agony, sweetling?" I looked away from the book.

A slender finger captured a lock of hair that fell from my temple and ensnared itself within, tugging lightly and pulling my face back to look on the book. The hand at my back moved around to sit at my stomach as he embraced me. I took in a slow breath, I could nearly taste the coppery scent of heat that came from him. It was something I always associated with heated metal, though I was never quite sure why. His lips brushed against my ear as I looked back at the book. Softly he said, "Thine heart, so full of hate towards such a pitied child. Eyes gazing upon her with such hard anger. And yet, love deep as the river hurling to the ocean overwhelms thee. That girl with eyes like the sky and moods of the ocean hates herself but loves herself. Such confusion. Such pain. How shall we heal her?"

"I don't know," I answered. My heart hurt. My eyes ached with the promise of weeping. "Let me be," I said weakly, "There is no hope for me." The hand that was twined in my hair settled against my cheek. I closed my eyes and struggled with the urge to nuzzle the warmth of that touch.

"Would you know more?" he asked me.

I felt the urge to step away, to flee from him and the feelings that were stirred. I could not, though, because he held me firmly against himself and the desk was before me. "Go away," I whimpered, "Just go. I'm ... I'm not worth this."

He chuckled. "That is not a 'no', dear heart," he said, "I know your lies as my own. I shall tell you the truth, however, because it is what you need." Tears found their way out beneath my lowered eyelids. "All chains shall be broken," he purred in my ear, "All truths shall be revealed. You shall be free, sweetling. You shall be yourself, as you were born to be. And that is good. And worthy. Worthy of far more than me."

Quietly I wept. Terror flooded my veins, but still he held me. His lips pressed softly against my cheek. "Truth shall free you, dear," he whispered against my cheek. I shivered but could say nothing.

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Untitled #1

I walked through the room with some discomfort. I had thought that I was well now. I had thought that I had fully recovered from my illness. It was with some chagrin that I realized this was not the case. I looked at my 'to do' list with some dread. As I sat down with a glass of juice and looked at my pile of papers, I found myself weary and angry. I was tired from being sick and all the energy it has taken. I was tired simply because I was still sick. And I was angry because I had plans to do many things and a deadline that was fast closing. As I glared at the page before me, a hand settled on my shoulder.

"Must you be a perfectionist?" he asked me with a tone of gentle reproach and mild exasperation. I scoffed and was about to make a droll comment back when a wave of nausea rolled over me. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to breath through my nose. Discovering that having my eyes closed made the sense of disorientation worse, I opened my eyes and sighed with disappointment. "Did you not learn that you have limitations, dear girl?" he said.

"I don't like them," I answered sullenly. "I have stuff I need to do. Things to get done..." I started when he interrupted me.

"Things that other people can do for you. Things that are not critical and that were not part of your original plans even. Things that you should not add on. You should not pile on more work when you are just now well enough to be out of sickbed. You'll put yourself back in it with this attitude," he said firmly. My shoulders slumped and I sighed.

"It is not shameful to be sick or to ask for help, you know," he said as he began to massage my knotted shoulders, "I have been sick and in need of help. I even tried to avoid seeking it out. It made me surly and unpleasant. Father was quite ... concerned." I looked at my pile of work, feeling defeated. "Is it victory you seek? Do you seek it for yourself?" he said, noting how I tensed again and my attitudes towards my work. "I think it is not victory you are looking for. All this frantic work, it is flight. You are trying to run away from yourself again. What have we said about this habit of yours?"

"I shouldn't do it," I muttered. He shook his head and sighed. "Why do you put up with me? I'm so .. so fucked up and broken," I said bitterly. Hands that had been tender turned hard. His grip on my shoulders was suddenly like iron and painful. I gasped with surprise. He took hold of my hair and pulled my head back so that I was look up at him rather than where I had my work arrayed before me.

"One thing you are most definitely not is fucked up. Nor are you broken. I have told you you are not allowed this statement about yourself. This is not to continue," he said sternly looking down at me. Something inside me quailed before that hard expression in his face. For reasons I could not place, I suddenly found tears beginning to well up at the corners of my eyes. A desperate need to argue that he was wrong came to my lips. Before the words could spill out, he tugged harder at my hair, stilling them at the source.

"Those are lies that they told you. It is filth that will not cross your lips e'er again if I have any say in it," he said in an implacable tone, "Do you understand?" I blinked the tears rising out of my eyes and gave a small nod in what limited motion I had available to me. His expression softened as the anger that arose was set aside. In its place, came a look that was somewhere between pity, disappointment, and sorrow, but never quite fully reaching it. He let go of my hair and stepped around before me. As I moved to drop my head and attempt to hide my face out of the horrid sense of shame that came from being the cause of this look, he knelt before me.

His hands cradled my cheeks as he brushed his thumbs over where the tears had fallen. "There is no shame here," he said, "Not for you. Not here. You are wounded. It is unreasonable to expect someone with a broken leg to run a race when they can not even stand. You did not wound yourself, not even by misadventure or folly. They hurt you. They lied to you and then fed you yet more lies, claiming it was medicine."

I swallowed past a lump in my throat that had nothing to do with the minor rebellion happening in my guts. "Look at me," he commanded me softly, his tone tender. I looked from the point somewhere around the middle of his chest up to his eyes. He gave me a small smile. "Hey, there you are, pretty girl," he continued in that soothing, kind tone, "It is alright. You are going to be ok. You have to let yourself rest and recover." I closed my eyes as the urge to sob slammed into my chest. He smoothed the hair away from my eyes. "Be easy, dear heart," he soothed, "You have nothing to prove here. You are worthy of love. And care. And rest."

Tears escaped down my cheek. "But I have so much to do," I whimpered, "If I don't do it ..." He set his fingertips on my lips. It was a queer sensation to have them trembling against his still hand. I took a shuddering breath.

"You have done enough. Rest," he said. I opened my eyes and looked at him, caught up in a wave of utter misery. "Why do you punish yourself? Do you even know why?" he asked. I shook my head and started to look away. His hand against my right cheek stopped me from turning my face away. "Stop. No one is going to punish you for any of this. You are sick. You are not playing or trying to get away with fooling around and fobbing work off," he said.

"But I am going to be in trouble," I said in a voice that was childishly small and fearful.

"From who?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said, struggling not to wail in fear, "I just will be."

"Then I will protect you. Stop and rest. You need it. No harm will draw here nigh you," he answered. His solemn expression turned to a small, rueful smile filled with self depreciating humor, "I'm sure you can forgive me if I haven't a sword. My bare hands may have to do, or I'll pick up one of yours. You have plenty to spare."

I swallowed uncomfortably, somewhere between anxious tears and pure misery. And I realized that had been there lurking beneath the surface all day. "Do you trust me?" he asked. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak with out starting to cry. "Then go sleep and let all this work sit," he said, "I'll mind this and then come join you." I closed my eyes and shivered with this sense of terror. "I'll not leave you alone. You will never be alone," he said, rising up to press a kiss against my brow. With his lips pressed against a childhood scar that I never really liked, he said, "It will be alright. Just go sleep. You need it. Fight again tomorrow. It is another day." He wrapped his arms around me and I did my best to breathe through the tears that threatened.

[Not entirely in keeping with the original intent of the blog, but it remains. I have a feeling things are going to shift here going forward.]

Friday, December 16, 2016


I stood on the pedestal awkwardly. It was not of great height. It was not terribly narrow. Still, I was uncomfortable with this exercise, feeling a curious sense of dizziness and as though I was going to fall if I shifted my weight. A light shone down on me, blinding me to what was around me. I looked forward as I had been instructed, my head bowed slightly in a small gesture to some how hide something of myself. A thin wrap of some sort of soft fabric was wound about my shoulders. I held the edges of it tightly around me with my arms crossed before me. The gauzy white fabric was my only covering. My hair was unbound and fell across my shoulders and into my face. I could hear someone walking around me.

A voice that was stern, if not imperious, said from some distance before me, "Straighten up. Stand properly." I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my head some. The sound of something whistling through the air came moments before a narrow rod of some sort struck my shoulders. It was not painful, per se, but it startled me. I straightened abruptly with a yelp of surprise. A white wand a little wider than my pinky finger came before my face and tapped the underside of my chin. I lifted my head to avoid it. Standing at my full height and with my head raised, I felt uncomfortably exposed.

The walker began to move about me again. The white wand moved at the edge of the pool of light. The discomforting sense of dizziness began to arise again. I felt the wand tap the back of my left knee. "Do not lock your knees," the male voice said from before me again, "It would be a shame if all of this was for naught." I swallowed uncomfortably and did my best to relax my stance. The sound of the footsteps at their even pace suggested that they could continue their efforts for a long hour. I, however, was uncomfortably tense and felt ready to get down off of the low pedestal. "Do you know why you are doing this exercise?" the voice said again.

"Because I must learn grace," I answered.

"Incorrect," he answered. The white rod swished through the air and snapped me smartly across the buttocks. I yelped and reached a hand back to ward off a possible second blow. The fabric began to slip off of my right shoulder and I moved to pull it back up. "Leave it be," he commanded. "Answer my question," he said after a moment, "Why are you doing this exercise?"

"Because I must learn ... something," I answered. I felt myself tense in expectation of another switching. When nothing happened, I shifted my weight from my right to my left foot and did my best to relax my knees. 

"What are you to learn?" he asked and the walker began to move again.

"I don't know, sir," I replied with out bothering to hide my uncertainty or unease.

"My Lord," he corrected me, "It is my Lord, not sir."

"Forgive me, my Lord," I said, casting my gaze downward, "I do not know what I am to learn from this exercise, my Lord."

He made a thoughtful sound. The walker came to a stop off to my left. "Shall I enlighten you, my dear?" he said. There was some measure of amusement in his voice. A shiver ran down my spine.

"If it pleases, my Lord, I would be most grateful for his explanation and insight," I said, struggling with the urge to fidget with the cloth. He chuckled as the one who had been walking around me tapped their wand, possibly against their thigh or their hand. The sound was both ominous and exciting. A measure of confused anxiety rolled through me.

"You truly do not understand, do you?" the man somewhere before me in the shadows said. I was unsure if I heard marvelment or disbelief in his voice. I heard a sound as though someone was standing up out of a leather chair. Footsteps came forward. Dimly, I could see something of a person standing ahead of me. He was tall. He seemed familiar, though I could not place why. He moved towards my right, walking slowly. "You do not know why I have you here," he said slowly, as though he was considering his words with great care, "Perhaps a mirror would be necessary for this lesson." He stopped behind me. The person standing at my left walked away and then I heard something being wheeled forward in the darkness ahead of me. 

The mirror was an ornate thing. It was easily as big as I was tall and mounted in such a manner where when it was brought before me I could see myself easily in it. The daphinious fall of fabric from my left hand just over my bosom managed to some how modestly cover me but also reveal the curves of my body. The scars beneath it seemed but a trick of the folds of the fabric. The softness of my belly and fullness of my thighs was reminiscent of the Grecian sculptures of Aphrodite. I started to look away from the reflection. A hand reached forward from the shadows behind me and took hold of my chin. 

The grip was strong and did not allow me to turn my face away from the mirror. "Look closely, dear heart," he said behind me, "See what I see. Look at the softness of your skin and how it gleams in the light. Behold the fullness of your lips and the blush across your cheek. Note the way your hair lies upon your shoulder with that fine thread of silver through it, glistening like frost on autumn leaves. Tell me, do you not see beauty here?"

"I... I don't know," I answered uncomfortably. In the reflection, I could see his shoulder and part of his side as he stood behind me. His head was bowed slightly, his face hidden by a fall of long dark auburn hair. In the limited light that fell on him, he seemed to dwarf me even though I stood upon a dais that raised me up off the ground somewhat. He moved closer and the shadows on his face looked familiar, though I could not clearly see his face between the way the shadows fell, his hair being in his eyes, and his head half hidden behind mine.

"Your fair eyes are blind," he purred in my ear, "Open them so that you may see more clearly."

"My eyes are open, my Lord," I said, unable to keep the small, anxious whine out of my voice. He chuckled.

"Poor confused girl," he said and his hand slipped from my jaw to wrap about my throat. As he did so, warmth rolled over me. My eyes widened and I gasped. "Keep your eyes upon the mirror," he whispered, "Look and see what I see." As he spoke, I felt as though a caress passed over me. My eyes rolled and his grip tightened. He gave me a single firm shake. My eyes snapped open. I stared at my reflection.

I stared in fascination. My expression was one of pleasure. My body stood taught with aroused tension, my breath frozen in my throat as I found myself anticipating something more. "Do you see, girl," he said quietly in my ear, "The pretty little blush and the open mouthed smile of delight? The soft gaze and eager body? Do you see this?"

"Yes, my Lord," I murmured. I strained to see his reflection in the mirror. He gave me another firm shake. My eyes rolled as I shuddered with pleasure and gave a soft moan.

"Do not look at me," he said, "Look at yourself."

I looked in the mirror as though one who was hypnotized. Perhaps, in a way, I was. For, now I could not help but see how everything in me was bent towards him with yearning. I felt as though I was looking at a masterwork of some old world painter. It was a dizzying moment. His free arm wrapped around my waist as he stepped up close behind me. I took in a deep breath.

I could smell the scent of the deep forest on him. The cold bite of the winter wind and the astringent tang of pine mingled with the musk of fallen leaves and their slow decay. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, relishing the earthy scent. Somewhere in it, I could discern the sharpness of whiskey. "It is you," I sighed.

"Open your eyes," he murmured in my ear. I opened them, seeing his face through the veil of his hair and mine. My head rested lightly on his shoulder, my body arched slightly. "Do you understand?" he asked.

"I will try, my Lord," I answered, sounding almost as intoxicated as I looked. His thumb passed lightly over my pulse. For a moment, it pressed firmly against it. I took in a breath and shivered with pleasure.

"There is no try. You will learn," he said.

"Yes," I answered dreamily. His expression, which had been deadly solemn and serious, turned to a look of mild bemusement.

"My dear, sweet girl," he said with a chuckle, "So confused. But willing. You can be lead to water after all. Now to get you to drink." 

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Hilde & Gunther: Second Courtship (Pt 3)

Hilde looked up when her squire walked into her office with a puzzled look on his face. Timothy was a clever young man of Avalonian extraction. He adapted well to the dramatically different life that happened at the Embassy and in the 'modern' world. Thus, when he found a bit of parchment sitting on the sheaf of reports that she was waiting for on his desk, he was caught off guard. Unable to resist curiosity, he looked at it and his confusion deepened. As he approached her desk, he muttered the stanza out loud in a wondering tone:
The mone mandeth hire lyht,
So doth the semly sonne bryht,
    When briddes singeth breme;
Deawes donketh the dounes,
Deores with huere derne rounes
    Domes forte deme;
Wormes woweth under cloude,
Wymmen waxeth wounder proude,
    So wel hit wol hem seme,
Yef me shal wonte wille of on,
This wunne weole y wole forgon
    Ant wyht in wode be fleme.
Hilde tipped her head slightly to the left and regarded the young man before her. He looked up from the parchment and then held it out to her in bewilderment. As he set down the stack of reports on the corner of her desk, Hilde looked at the writing and recognized Gunther's uneven penmanship. "His calligraphy is atrocious," she said with a fond smile. Timothy noted the smile with a bit of hope. Since the curious events of the last three months, Hilde was now far more solemn than before. "I should remind him that interoffice mail isn't for ... this," she said as she turned back to the computer, the smiling fading slowly.

Timothy recognized the silent dismissal and walked out of the office. As he was shutting the door, the knight in question gave a small cough. Timothy jumped with surprise as he looked over and realized he was quite possibly in Gunther's way. He opened his mouth to say something when Gunther placed a finger over his own lips and motioned the squire to step aside. The dark haired knight pulled some nameless wrapped item from his jacket pocket and set it at the threshold of the door. He then gave the door three solid raps before briskly walking off. Hilde called out for the nameless knocker to come in. When the door didn't open, Hilde stood up and walked around her desk.

She opened the door to see her confused squire looking off in the direction that Gunther had vanished in and the white paper parcel at her feet. Hilde leaned down. As she picked it up, she felt something solid within the tissue paper. She untied the single blood red ribbon that bound it shut. Soon, she was holding a set of throwing spikes that could double as hair pins. Hilde ran a fingertip down the length of them, noting with approval the intricate metal work. Again, she smiled. As she reached back and pinned her hair up in a knot with the spikes, her smile grew. She walked back into her office to her work.

At five thirty, Hilde's shift ended. Placing the last of the paperwork in its appointed file, she ignored the door to her office opening. She looked up when Gunther walked up to her desk. He sketched her a small, almost imperceptible half bow. Hilde shook her head with a rueful smile. "That is going to get you into trouble one of these days," she said dryly. Gunther held a hand out towards his wife in a silent offer to help her out of her chair, despite the fact that she was across the desk and half out of it on her own. "One would suspect that such courtesy is a sign of plotting," Hilde said. Gunther's dark eyes flashed with something suggestive, though his expression was one of polite interest, an utter mask of propriety. Hilde chuckled.

Gunther stepped to Hilde's side and offered his arm, as he had done for several days before hand. Deciding to humor his apparent whimsy, Hilde set her right hand upon his wrist. Arm in arm, they walked from Hilde's office down the hall. "You would know better," Gunther said as they went around a corner in the hallway. He turned and stopped before her. Reaching up, he pulled one of the throwing spikes out of her hair. Gunther flipped it up into the air over the back of his hand. Hilde reached up to catch it. Gunther caught her wrist in his left hand as he caught the throwing spike in his right.

He placed the cool steel spike across her palm before closing her fingers over it. "It is well made," he said, "Shapely and well formed from iron." Hilde reached back to replace the spike in her bun when her husband gave her a sly smile. Hilde narrowed her eyes in a look of suspicion. Gunther's smile turned to a grin and she rolled her eyes, scoffing in annoyance. "I have something for you," he murmured as he leaned forward. He pressed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. A person behind him cleared their throat. Gunther straightened and looked over his shoulder.

A captain stood behind him with a look of mild annoyance. Gunther stepped aside. As the superior officer passed by them, Hilde's cheeks were tinged with a faint blush. The man shook his head as he continued down the hall towards his office. He muttered something mingling annoyance with amusement in his tone but his words were indistinct. Gunther looked at his wife and gave her a boyish grin. Hilde's look of mild embarrassment turn to one of irritation and Gunther laughed. He took her by the hand and walked down the hall.

As they made their way down a flight of stairs, Gunther was talking about a project he had assigned to one of his subordinates and the minor frustrations that came of it. Hilde had tuned him out as her thoughts turned to her own work. Caught in her thoughts, she didn't realize where they were headed to until they stopped before one of the doors into a training room. Gunther opened the door and gestured for his wife to enter before him. No sooner than she had crossed the threshold did Gunther shoved her squarely between the shoulder blades and knock her forward off her feet.

Hilde fell to the ground and rolled forward. She came up in a half crouch and glared over her shoulder at Gunther. Gunther's grin had returned. He tossed one of the short swords in the rack beside the door towards her. Hilde caught it as she straightened. She swung it in a circle with her right hand before bringing it forward to guard position. Gunther picked up one for himself and tossed it up into the air. He turned sharply on his heel and caught it behind his back before turning to face her and bringing his weapon forward with a flourish. Hilde scoffed at her husband's dramatics.

"Force a win," he said. Hilde's expression turned to one of pure irritation. She hated the game of using live steel and combat like chess. She hated it even more that the goal of the 'chess' match was to keep the opponent fighting but also creatively (and convincingly) deliberately lose. Hilde dropped the sword to the side.

"Done, now let's get dinner," she answered. Gunther laughed and came forward. Hilde stepped to the side, gripped hold of his sword arm, and threw him to the ground. He started to try to evade when she took hold of the sword's hilt just beneath the quillions. With a mighty pull, she ripped it out of his hand as she kicked the one she dropped out of his reach. Gunther looked up at her, mesmerized by the look on her face. There was the simmering suggestion of anger, irritation, and a humorless look that she nearly always wore when she hit the point that she was ready to force a situation to her will. It was a synthesis of looks he had seen on her face in past lives and one she had worn in this prior to her full Awakening. As he stared up at her, Gunther found himself unable say something witty or droll. All he could think of was how fierce she looked and the urge to kiss her lips until the stony expression melted hammered in his head.

Deciding that he wasn't going to prove an opponent after all, Hilde stepped away and fetched the sword she kicked away. Gunther said quietly, "Falcon eyed, Hnoss, I am at thy mercy." Hilde looked over her shoulder. Gunther rose to his feet and approached her slowly, careful to present himself as clearly as possible that he was not a threat. Hilde turned her attention back to restoring the weapons to their proper placement.  As she started out the door, Gunther caught her left hand in his. Hilde glanced over at him and the amorous light in his eyes managed to cut through her frustration with her dinner being delayed. She gave a tiny half smile before walking out of the room, slipping her hand free from his grasp.

Gunther's heart leapt. Hilde wasn't given to being intentionally flirtatious. Still, that subtle look did more to thrill him than someone giving a lavish description of romantic exploits. He swiftly darted out the door and caught up with her. Walking at her left shoulder, he leaned forward and muttered in her ear, "Doth thou favor me, green maiden? Was that fetching smile my own reward?" Hilde walked a little faster, giving her husband no answer as she made her way down the hallway. She stopped at an elevator and pressed the call button. Gunther moved to wrap an arm about her waist. Hilde set a restraining hand on his arm. He looked briefly at her hand and then to her face.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Filled with people on their way to various places in the Embassy, it was obvious that shift change was in full effect. Hilde stepped in, well aware there was no room for Gunther beside her. His expression turned puzzled as she leaned slightly to the side and pressed the button for the floor she desired. As the doors closed, again, she gave that bare hint of a smile that would have put the Mona Lisa to shame. Gunther looked at the indicators to gauge what direction the elevator was going. An arrow indicated it was ascending.

Gunther darted to the stairwell halfway down the hall. As he stepped in and began to go up the first flight of stairs he met, he found himself stymied by a pair of high ranking knights talking as they walked casually up the steps. Gunther resisted the urge to grind his teeth as he was forced to take a more sedate pace up to the next floor. When he reached it, he moved quickly down to the elevator. He arrived just as the doors were closing. For a brief moment, he saw his wife's sly expression. He looked over and saw that the elevator was now descending. "Damn it," he said before hustling down the stairs. Again, he met someone who slowed his passage. When he reached the second floor below, Gunther stepped into the hallway and looked towards the elevator.

A knot of people had exited the elevator and were retreating down the corridor towards the second floor officer's lounge. He walked quickly after them. As they went into the lounge, Gunther tried to peer around the man walking ahead of him to see if his wife was with them. Inside the officer's lounge, a pair of carts with choice menu items from the mess hall were arrayed at the far wall from the entrance. The officers he saw before him were in the midst of carrying on their conversations and getting their meal. One looked over and saw Gunther with his puzzled look.

"She went to the fifth floor," he said, immediately knowing who the sergeant was looking for. Gunther swore under his breath as he walked out of the room and back to the stairs. As the other man watched Gunther leave, he looked over at his companion. "I think after months of his needling her, she just might be getting even," he said. The red haired man beside him scoffed.

Gunther ran up three flights of stairs. As he did so, he questioned why she didn't get off the elevator earlier. He was a little irritated by the time he had reached the floor where their apartment was located. Gunther exited the stairwell and looked down the hall towards their apartment. He could nearly have sworn he saw the door close as he laid eyes on it. Gunther walked swiftly to it. He reached for the handle. When he tried it, he found the door locked. "What are you up to, woman?" he muttered as he checked his pockets to find his keys. He dropped them, picked them up, and unlocked the door.

As he opened the door, he found the apartment was dark. This was something of a surprise considering it was nearly summer and still daylight outside. The gloom enforced by the lined curtains on the windows briefly stymied his vision. It was a very brief moment of night blindness, but one that happened none the less. The ray of light cast into the apartment from the hallway through the open door seemed garish to him as his eyes adjusted. Gunther stepped in and shut the door quietly behind himself. "Brynhildr," he called in a quiet tone.

He moved into the living room area of their apartment cautiously. As he did so, Hilde watched him from the small closet near the door, hidden in the deepest shadows and behind a filmy curtain that replaced the louvered door that was originally there. "Brynhildr," he said, walking towards the door to their bedroom, "Talk to me." Satisfied that he was truly unaware of her location, Hilde stepped out of her hiding space and crossed the room stealthily. He stood in the doorway of their bedroom, looking at the bed with an expression of frustrated confusion.

Hilde slipped up behind him. As he turned, reaching instinctively for the knife at his back at the feeling of someone behind him, Hilde lightly reached up and covered his eyes with her hands. Gunther stilled. His puzzled expression turned droll. "Is that really the best you can do?" he said dryly. Hilde pressed herself against his back, smiling at how his actual knife pressed against her hip.

"Keep your eyes closed," she said in a husky purr. Gunther shut his eyes. Lightly, she ran her fingertips down along his jaw to his throat. As her hands passed down to his shoulders, she could feel tension coiled within him. Hilde let her hands glide over his right shoulder and on to his chest as she stepped in front of him. A faint scar on his chin made him look as though he had a Cary Grant cleft chin in the right light. His expression was still, though the faint suggestion of a smile curved his lips.

Hilde took a step back and lightly tugged him forward. Gunther followed meekly along, crossing his arms as he stepped forward. Hilde stepped away from him. As she disrobed, Gunther gave a soft noise of long suffering patience. She laughed. "Don't open those eyes," Hilde said, "Or you'll ruin the surprise."

"Surprise?" he asked mildly, "I've seen every inch of you, dear." Hilde said nothing as she opened the package she had sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed. She lifted the leather 'armor' that an eager and excited 'fan' had sent her. As armor, it was patently ridiculous. The forest green leather bodice had strategic gaps in coverage that served to exaggerate her cleavage and her waist. The tooled leather that was fashioned in panels that made up a skirt that only barely covered her thighs was lined with a buttery, soft fabric of the same color. She laced up the bodice after slipping the affair over her head. Taking a moment to settle her breasts more comfortably in the bodice, Hilde then paused a moment to glance in the mirror across the room. Looking it over, Hilde was affirmed in her assessment that her gift of 'armor' was little more than leather fetish gear, though it was quite well made and pleasing.

Hilde straightened and looked at Gunther, who wore a quizzical expression. He could smell the oil and the leather. He heard the noises of how the material sounded as Hilde manipulated it. Hilde smiled at him. "Open your eyes," she said. Gunther did so and his expression moved from confusion to surprise to something between lechery and amusement. He stepped towards her, reaching his right hand out to fondle her chest where it was left bare by the leather.

"Terrible armor," Gunther said as he ran his fingertips along the neckline of the bodice and over the swelling of her breasts before journeying back up to her shoulder. "I hope you didn't pay for it." Hilde laughed. Gunther hooked a finger in the lacing of the front of the bodice and tugged on it hard enough to pull Hilde forward a pace. "And I thought you were upset with me for making dinner late," he continued, raising his dark eyes to look into her green ones. Hilde was about to come back with a sardonic comment but Gunther kissed her before she could voice it.

As he reached around her waist, he laughed at the discovery that the 'armor' was backless. "Let me get you out of that before someone sees you," he chuckled, "It would be an embarrassment to the realm." Hilde scoffed. Gunther's hands were busily at work unknotting the front lacing when a knock sounded at their door. Gunther ignored it but the knock came again. He turned away, pausing for a moment to look over his shoulder. He gave a wry smirk and snapped his fingers on his left hand. The candle sitting on their dresser flared to life. He grinned at the sight of Hilde in her fantasy 'armor' by the candle light. "Maybe you'll have a side quest for me when I come back," he called over his shoulder as he stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

Gunther opened the front door of their apartment. He found a page waiting with a small parcel. "You ordered this, sir?" the young man said. Gunther looked at the box for a moment, not entirely sure what was about it. He took the package and pulled a silver Avalonian coin from his pocket. He handed it to the page, who was surprised by it. He started to state his thanks when Gunther nodded and started to shut the door, turning the package over in his hands. He opened the small box. Inside, he found a trio of steel rings fashioned to look like claws. Gunther lifted one of the rings out of the box and put it on.

He smiled when he discovered that it gave him the effect of having three claws on his right hand. He closed and opened his hand. When he reached the bedroom, he found Hilde leaning against the foot of the bed. Gunther held up his hand and Hilde smiled when she saw that he had her gift to him. "Is this your fault?" Gunther asked. Hilde gave a small nod. Gunther stepped up close to her and lightly brushed one of the metal claw tips along her left cheek. At the feeling of the cool steel against her skin, Hilde took in a small breath. Gunther watched how her breasts rose and fell with each, small, quick breath she took as the claw tip pressed a little harder into her skin when he reached her jaw.

As Gunther set the other two claw tips against his wife's chin, her eyes fluttered closed. "You little minx," he said, "you deceived me." The warmth in his voice made Hilde's smile turn from pleasure to fond amusement. He dragged his clawed fingertips along the side of her jaw, pressing just hard enough to leave the beginnings of a faint mark behind. "You wicked little thing," Gunther said, smiling and not bothering to conceal his amusement, "What am I to do with you?" His finger tips slipped under her chin and pressed upward lightly.

Hilde opened her eyes and looked at him. Amused satisfaction was what he expected. The smoldering look of desire, however, sent a thrill of lust through him. He wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her to him even as he reached around her shoulders with his right. Gunther pulled the throwing spikes from his wife's hair and dropped them to the ground. They chimed against each other but it was ignored as he ran his hand through her hair. "Well?" he asked. Hilde reached up and set a hand on either side of his face. Standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed him.

There was no games of resistance or dominance behind her kiss. Only a slow, seductive kiss that set a flame burning within him. When Hilde finally broke the kiss, Gunther looked at her with a careful, almost wary expression. "What do you seek, min swete? What is it you want from me?" he asked. Hilde smiled and moved to kiss him again. Gunther abruptly grabbed hold of her hair, preventing her from reaching his lips when she was but a breath away. "What game are you playing, Brynhildr?" he asked, realizing that this sensuous and suggestive behavior was a departure from what she typically engaged in. At the unexpected pull on her hair, Hilde closed her eyes and an expression of pure pleasure washed over her face. Gunther was torn between lust and caution, unsure what to make of his wife's sudden boldness.

Hilde opened her eyes after a moment. "Everything, huseband," Hilde answered. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Give me your love, your cruelty, and your hunger," she said, "You've given me your arms, your name, and my child. Give me more." Gunther became stone still as he looked intently into her face. He let go of her hair and stepped back, releasing her from his arms. As he contemplated her, he took the claw rings off and slipped them into his pocket. Hilde stepped towards him. Gunther held up a hand and motioned for her to wait.

He had given her many gifts over the last several months. His aggressive efforts to court his wife had taken a decidedly more martial effort than they had when they were courting before marriage. Instead of gifts of jewelry and flowers, he had given her weapons. Weapons of stealth and cunning that Hilde could secret upon her person. Whispers had gone around about how Hilde's ardor seemed to have cooled towards her husband and speculation was made as to what could have angered her. Gunther was almost inclined to believe the rumors if it wasn't for the fact that she was more than willing to be happier with him in private. Still, there was a measure of reserve that remained between them. Now, Gunther found she had moved in an entirely different direction with out warning.

As Gunther looked at his wife, he attempted to puzzle out what was going on. Hilde, however, had made up her mind as to how she was going to proceed. Thus, when she began to remove her 'armor' in a deliberate fashion, Gunther was surprised. Piece by piece, she stripped off the leather. As she dropped it to the ground at his feet, Gunther dimly recognized the symbolism of the act. "Come to me, Morgansonne," she said as the last of the outfit fell to the floor. She held out her right hand invitingly. "I have put up my arms," she continued, "I do so for no one. And yet I have for, thee. Come to me."

Moving as though in a dream, Gunther took Hilde's hand and stepped up to her. As she guided him into a kiss, Hilde's left hand took hold of his t-shirt. She mentally counted her good luck that everything fell on 'casual Friday' and she didn't have to worry about a pesky button-down shirt slowing her down. She pulled it free from his jeans while they kissed and did her best to work it up his torso with one hand, for Gunther did not let go of her right. He wrapped his right arm hard about her shoulders, holding her tightly against himself.

With a soft groan, Hilde's husband broke the kiss and let go of her right hand as he moved his head to the left. The stubble on his cheek pressed against her smooth skin, making her smile as he maneuvered his face so that his lips were against her ear. One of his large hands took hold of her hip and effectively trapped her against him. "What is it you give me, hearth-warder mine?" he asks. Hilde laughed and attempted to continue her efforts to remove his shirt when Gunther didn't move. Pinned against him and unable to take the shirt off him with out actively resisting him, Hilde found herself at an impasse.

"What is it you want?" Hilde answered. Gunther took a deep breath. He could smell the sweetness of that perfume that came with her arousal. He could smell beneath that the earthy scent of her skin and all that was human of her. He closed his eyes, doing his best to commit the moment to memory as completely as he could while he tried to find the best way to phrase what he had sought, what he had hungered for through lifetimes.

"You," he answered, "To possess you completely. Mine alone. No man, noble, or king to take you from me. For you to love me and fear me. All this and I am your slave." Hilde did not tense or move as he spoke. She gave no signs of resistance or rejection. Indeed, she leaned against him and he could feel the blush that sprang over her cheeks and fanned across her chest.

"I can not be foresworn," Hilde said. Gunther scoffed, expecting her to give her usual reminder of how a hasty oath between themselves could risk the anger of those above them. He was surprised when she said, "I have pledged to honor and obey you, Gunnar. I trust you not to force me to abandon my other oaths." Gunther leaned back and looked down at her.

"And?" His expression was calculating. He was wary that she was engaged in some elaborate ruse. While others had forgotten her cunning, Gunther did not. It was more than mere coincidence that she served both house Viridis and Morrigan. She earned the title of Victory's Guardian long ago on the basis of that cunning. As she gazed up at him, adoration shining in her expression, mingled with lust, he was almost ready to believe she truly had surrendered.

"I love you as Jord loves her children," Hilde said, setting her left hand against his chest. He gazed down at her expectantly. Hilde wanted to say the words, but she felt awkward voicing them. She dropped her eyes as her discomfort became apparent in her expression. Gunther took hold of her chin and forced her head upward, making her look him in the eyes. As he gazed into their depths, his calculating expression slowly turned sly. For, he could behold that there was some measure of distress moving in them. Silently, Hilde looked up at him. He could see a plea in her eyes and expression, a quiet cry that she not be forced to say the secret she kept within that troubled her so.

Gunther's sly, knowing smile turned triumphant and cruel. Hilde began to look away as a deep blush colored her cheeks. He tightened his hold on her chin and she closed her eyes. "Oh no," he said in a tone rich with amusement and holding a promise of something more, "You don't get to run now, green maiden. Say it. Out loud." Hilde's blush spread farther down her chest and over her shoulders. Gunther chuckled at his wife's intense discomfort, idly wondering if there may actually be a full body blush from this predicament. "Open those pretty eyes, min swete," he added.

Hilde took a breath to steel herself against his look of amusement. When she looked at him, Hilde had a terrible sinking feeling deep within. It reminded her of the time some classmates from school had thrown her into the deep end of the pool, when she didn't yet know how to swim. She opened her mouth and no sound came out. Gunther waited with a hellish light in his eyes. She knew he meant her no evil but it didn't change how a part of her recoiled from it even as another part was thrilled. "You frighten me, Gunnar," she said in a small voice, sounding more anxious and vulnerable than she had intended and feeling herself in utter turmoil actually voicing the words, "You ... " Hilde found that her courage failed her when she tried to clarify her statement.

She moved to step back from him, looking away and finding herself beginning to tremble with the enormity of it all. Gunther moved forward with her. He gripped her to him with one arm about her waist and took hold of a fist full of her hair. Gunther pulled her head back in a harsh gesture. Hilde's eyes widened as she gasped in surprise. Gunther's mouth covered hers as he kissed her boldly. Hilde's response was to try to push her way out of his arms even as he drew a noise of pleasure from that kiss. Gunther laughed and abruptly let go of his wife.

She stumbled back and tripped over the tangled mass of leather at their feet. As she began to fall, Gunther darted forward and caught her. Hilde stared up at him, wide eyed and shocked. "Mmm," Gunther said thoughtfully, "This is a good day. You've brought me victory." He grinned. "I should ... reward you for your efforts," he continued as his tone turned suggestive. Gunther swept Hilde off her feet and set her upon their bed. As he looked down at her, he noted the contradiction between her look of distress and the desire in her eyes. Gunther chuckled and pulled his shirt off.

He dropped it to the ground and swiftly removed the rest of his clothes, looking down only to untie his shoes. Gunther climbed into the bed and pulled Hilde close to him. Her expression changed from unease to pleasure at the feeling of his skin against hers. A delicate shiver passed over her as her husband's hand passed lightly up from her waist to her breasts. With a careful touch, Gunther traced his hands over the scars she bore. Some were souvenirs from their past, rough games of love. Others were bitter reminders of how she had been truly tortured by Shaller. Even fully awakened, Hilde woke from those nightmares troubled and on the verge of terror.

Gunther looked at her scars and leaned down towards her waist. His lips settled lightly upon them. Hilde was uncomfortable with his tender attentions. She reached to dissuade him from it when he took hold of her wrists and held them firmly at her sides. He looked up at her face. Her face was a caught somewhere between pleasure and shame. "They are signs of glory and courage," he said. Tears brightened her eyes. Gunther rubbed his cheek against her stomach, smiling. "No frail flower art thou, green maiden," he said with a tone of deep affection and rising lust. Though Hilde was ready to deny his statement, Gunther did not let her and bit her right side.

The feeling of his teeth against her skin made Hilde start as she gave a long gasp of surprise. Gunther felt how her hands opened against his wrists and smiled. He ground the skin of her waist between his teeth, turning that gasp into a small whimpering sigh. Gunther ran his tongue lightly over the bruise forming there. He let go of her wrists and rose to his hands and knees. Hilde looked up at him, all traces of shame gone from her expression. He moved so that his face was over hers. They looked at each other.

Hilde's expression was guileless and open. As Gunther smiled down at her, he realized that she was not attempting somehow to play indifferent or prove her will stronger than his own. "There is one ... other thing," Gunther said. Hilde paled a little at the darkness in his eyes. Something inhuman moved within them. She had felt something of Gunther's more bestial side in the past with their sparring sessions and when he put her through her paces before giving her the release of orgasm. It had always seemed as though he held something back. Now, however, she was surprised that Gunther's dark eyed gaze had not changed to the eerie gold of a wolf's eyes.

He looked down at her with a smile that was wolfish, suggesting hunger and some other, dangerous thing. Gunther's smile grew as Hilde stared up at him uneasily. "A kiss," he said in a honeyed tone that held a threatening note beneath it. Hilde swallowed uncomfortably. When Gunther lowered his head and his mouth touched hers, he reached out with his ability to command the body's processes. His mind was focused upon one goal, giving his wife such a potent and powerful rush of pleasure that an addiction of sorts would form. What began as a simple open mouthed kiss, turned into Hilde giving a little cry of animalistic pleasure and lust as the Avalonian magic took hold and began its work.

It burned through her senses, bringing everything into sharp focus. As Gunther slowly lowered himself so that he lay upon her, Hilde writhed and gasped, gripping the fabric of the sheet below her in sudden fists. She had no words, for they ceased to matter. There was only arousal, pleasure and lust. And the awareness that Gunther had caused this. A part of her flailed in terror that her command over herself was to be lost. Then Gunther ran his right hand up her side. Thought was washed away with the sensation and she gave a strangled groan.

He ran his tongue along her cheek, tasting the sudden tears that rolled down them. Hilde gasped and spasmed beneath him. Gunther sat back on his heels. This brought an immediate reaction from his wife. She stared up at him with a look as though she had been drugged, for she had been though in unconventional means. Her expression was first confusion. Then it turned to pained desire. She reached for him. Gunther caught her wrists and slammed them down onto the mattress at either side of her head. Hilde softly sobbed, both satisfied by his action and desperate for more. She squirmed beneath him and tossed her head, yet more tears falling as she whimpered, too far gone in the effects of what he was doing to find words.

Slowly, Gunther leaned close to her. He took a deep breath and sighed. His lips landed softly on her shoulder and Hilde froze. He nipped at her skin and she shuddered with a shakey groan. He left a trail of love bites down from her shoulder to her left breast. As he dragged his tongue slowly over her erect nipple, Hilde gave a pained whine. Hilde arched, desperate to feel his skin against hers. "Ah, gods, please," she gasped when he moved away from her, her voice sounding as though she was nearly on the verge of tears. Gunther smiled. He hadn't anticipated her simply surrendering to the full force of his will.

She began to exert something of her knightly strength when Gunther said, "Lay still, Brynhildr. I'm not done yet." Hilde gave a soft sob as she struggled against the urge to break free of his hold and grasp him to her. Gunther let go of her wrists and chuckled at how she closed her hands into fists in an effort to control herself. He ran his left hand from her right wrist down to her hip. Hilde moaned. She shuddered with a tormented expression on her face. When he dug his nails hard into the skin of the outside of her upper right thigh, her eyes opened as she threw her head back with a gasp.

Slowly, he raked his nails down from her hip to her mid-thigh. Her eyes rolled as she gave a strangled noise. Her husband watched the way she trembled with the effort not to just wrestle him down and slake her lust upon him. Softly, he gave a contented sigh. He could see very clearly how difficult it was for her to resist both the effects of what he had done and continued to do through each touch and what her body was screaming for. While Gunther had played games of control with his wife, he did not press the matter as hard as he was this time.

He watched as his wife's considerable will began to waver in the face of how expertly he toyed with her. His hands wandered over her, one leaving the fine furrows that came of how he dug his nails in as the other left faint burns behind. She moved from somehow managing to be quiet despite the fever pitch of her lust to becoming much louder. When her gasping and moaning was loud enough that Gunther debated if a gag was necessary, he remembered he could command her silence and grinned. He watched how she shuddered when he leaned away from her and was confident that he had wrenched several orgasms out of her.

Hilde looked at him with a desperate, pleading look in her tearful eyes. While Gunther realized he could have simply stopped things entirely at that moment and left her in writhing, lust filled anguish, he suspected that it may have proven the thing that would break her control and resulted in the possible shift in power of the situation turning into something of a fight. As much as Gunther was intrigued by the idea, he decided to put that sort of game off for another, more private setting. Instead, he smiled at her. She closed her eyes with a pained noise, believing in error that he was simply going to let her lie.

"Just when I think you can not be more beautiful," he says, reaching over to brush a length of hair from her face, "the flower of house Viridis becomes yet more lovely." Hilde shuddered at the faintest of his touch. With deliberate, exaggerated gentleness, Gunther slowly guided her so that she was positioned to his liking. His wife's control slipped as she arched against him, but Gunther let the matter go. Frustrating her hunger for more forceful contact, he slowly and gently began to fuck her. Hilde's noises of pleasure were mingled with little cries of frustration. After a time, though, the sounds were all that of pleasure when his own desire for harshness became such he couldn't put it aside. Somewhere in the midst of his more forceful action, he took her head and pressed it to his shoulder, muffling her cries with his body.

Caught in the madness of lust and desperation, Hilde bit Gunther's shoulder as her body was wracked with her final orgasm. The sharp pain of her bite made Gunther bare his teeth in a sudden guttural noise of pain and pleasure. Hilde shuddered powerfully in his arms and then collapsed bonelessly to the mattress. Gunther looked down at her as unconsciousness rose up to claim her. As her eyes rolled and shut with a weak noise, Gunther's vision blurred as he reached his own point of climax. Gunther stiffly stretched out beside Hilde. He wrapped himself about her, smiling at her unconscious noises of pleasure. Gunther pressed a kiss against her forehead and let the strange command over her body that came from his will pressed so hard against hers slip away.

He smiled at how she laid defenseless in his arms, exhausted by the struggle against herself and Gunther's manipulations. Satisfied with how the entire interlude resulted, Gunther closed his eyes. Deep within his psyche, the monster that demanded he possess her fully and bend her completely to his will even as she would fight him quieted. He did not feel the need to wake her and continue to sexually torture her, to draw the pained expressions or little frustrated sobs out of her. Feeling truly satisfied for the first time since he had Awakened, Gunther drifted off to sleep.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Obvious disclaimer is obvious.

This is reposted from my Facebook account.

just because i'm sex positive, it doesn't mean that i endorse a lack of consent. i may write fiction that involves nonconsent and consensual nonconsent. the latter is a thing and it is out there. it is part of the sex positive thing. the former, however, is straight up assault and the only place it could be 'ok' is in fiction, because fiction is not real and no one is being hurt. this is why murder is ok in fiction but not in real life.