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From: Vivian Darkbloom <vdkblm-OBLITERATE-SPAM!@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sangrelysia - Chapter 15
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Date: Mon, 27 Feb 2006 11:10:01 -0500
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  To more fully enjoy this story in living, breathing HTML,
  or to catch up on chapters you might have missed,
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                         Sangrelysia - Chapter 15

                          by Vivian Darkbloom

   It would seem ordinary enough for the male member of the
   coalition to awaken with a touch of stiffness. This sensation was
   not so differing from the accustomed morningtime stimuli, but for
   the encircling of soft warm flesh, which prompted the opening of
   eyes in order to determine whether the source of this warm
   encircling were or not cause for panic.

   Through the sleep-wrought haze of vision, I could perceive a
   shape beneath the covers, a spheroid of the Princess' head, which
   with covers lifted, turned out to be watching her fingers explore
   regions of mine which were revealed to be heretofore unknown by
   such extremities.

   Sylvia grinned out at me. "This is fun," she said. "It goes up
   and down when you touch it."

   "Holy gracious," I lamented, somewhat nonsensically, but it was
   the best I could come up with at that hour (whatever hour that
   was -- I could see daylight streaming in from the skylight
   above). "Now I understand the dreams I was having."

   "Dreams?" she raised her eyebrows curiously, still exploring the
   wholly polar region.

   "Cantilever bridges. Going up and down. Crikey, what do you think
   you're doing down there?"

   She frowned. "Crikey? What's that?"

   "It's a versatile word often used to express amazement, in this
   case meaning `What now, does the Princess think she's found a new
   toy?'"

   Her smile lit up again. "Yep. I never had one of these to play
   with before."

   "You did have it inside of you, that one day," I remembered
   fondly.

   "Really? It seems too big."

   "Do we need to check and see if it fits?"

   Her eyes gazed up at me, glimmering emerald green set in the
   snow-white purity of innocence. A twisted smile played across her
   cute little face as she considered.

   "I don't know if this is really a good idea, anyway," I
   cautioned. "After all, you're the Princess, and you'll be Queen
   someday, and. . ."

   "The stuff that comes out of the end," she said, "What's it taste
   like?"

   "I don't know. Never tasted it. But you really shouldn't be. . ."

   "I love the way it smelled, when little drops of it came dripping
   out from inside me." Absently, she fingered the opening she was
   referring to.

   "That's very nice, but you should be really thinking about your
   position as a member of royalty, and you are after all her royal
   highness. . ."

   "You'll just have to have that little conversation with yourself,
   because my mouth is about to be too busy for talking."

   ". . .and especially since you're only ten years old, I'm not
   sure if it's really dignified or appropriate to, omigod. Where
   did you learn how to. . . whoa. Oh, that's good. Yes!"

   She had thrown back the sheets, so that I could see in full the
   pale thin figure of her slender body, the flesh-colored flesh of
   her tiny areolae, little twin disks staring out either side of
   her little-girl's flat chest, her smooth tight little butt like
   two half-moons separated by a curving crack of delight.

   I watched with slow, undulations as the surging heat propelled my
   sensitive delicacy against the delicious gravel-like gnawing of
   her teeth, the not unpleasant sensation like that of sand between
   bathing suit and skin after a day spent on the beach in the sun
   in the presence of other half-naked bodies.

   My hands gently cradled her skull, softness of her tousled hair
   against my palms, mesmerised at the show of my wicked rapier
   penetrating the soft intimacy of her sweet little royal mouth,
   the roughness of her curious tongue probing, importunately
   harping on the excruciatingly ecstatic aperture.

   I felt the stirring inside me. "Oh baby. Here it is," I said, as
   the gift of sweet release made its way from the depths of my
   being into the cleanliness and innocent purity between her tiny
   cheeks. I felt her tongue lapping up the drops as I pushed each
   one delicately out against its moist, rough surface.

   She grinned up at me, slurping sloppily as she swallowed.

   Out of breath and covered with droplets of hot sweat, I fell back
   on frowzled sheets. "Your turn, I think," I said. "But you'll
   have to wait a minute."

   "I can wait," she said, drawing the sheets back over us and
   snuggling up warm against my side.
     ____________________________________________________________

   Our present contains the whole of our past.

   Every movement or gesture, from the inflection of the words "Good
   morning" to the wistful or hopeful expression that colors one's
   face at sunrise, from tying of shoelaces to the intention and
   bearing expressed in the stride walking to the house of a friend.

   Every action and posture is the culmination of years or perhaps
   decades of habit, the collective polishing of the water's path
   down the streambed by each moment of our lives. The simple
   brushing back of a strand of hair contains the darkness and light
   of every moment in which that motion has been executed.

   The sequence of neural and muscular patterns have been
   choreographed by our history, so that even the smallest fragment
   of motion: the opening of a hand to take up a book, the turning
   of one's head to the sky to assess the time of day or weather.
   Each tiny atom expresses the whole of our history, from the
   ancient day when unicellular organisms reigned supreme up to the
   present arrogance of the complex biological systems presiding
   over the illusion of dominance, repressing the understanding
   that, in the end, all will be reduced to similar dust.

   I awoke, and turned to find the Princess still dozing, having
   drifted to the other side of the bed. I watched with fond
   admiration, her placid unkempt vulnerability as she snored softly
   nose skyward, until abruptly there was a shift in breathing, and
   she stirred beside me.

   I grinned with sinful lust. It would soon be her turn to lie in
   groggy stupor while I chased her chewy jewel with the tip of my
   tongue, but for now I reached out my hand, taking hers in mine.

   She peeked out with youthful gaze, her fingers closing around
   mine, our collective grasping of each other across the decades,
   years, hours, and seconds.

   And so we lay for some minutes, until my devilish streak drove me
   to dive under the covers and surface in the sweet crevice at the
   intersection of her tiny legs, plundering the unpolished regal
   gemstone with my ages of experience.

   Elicited were the moans of sweet surrender, as the yearning that
   had collected like leaves against the root were swept away by the
   wind, and I found my face amid juicy pelvic gyrations, shaped by
   millenia of evolution, yet fresh with the morning light of the
   sturdy explorer reawakening to the cycle of epicycles, and the
   hills and valleys grew taller and deeper until at last they
   exploded with the brilliance of a thousand suns.

   I could feel the faint twitching around my probing fingers, and
   there was a brief pause, yet still more was to come.

   More deliberately now, with greater meaning, the mountains and
   canyons of sexual flexion refined their seeking, until finally
   the projectile struck the bulls-eye, releasing the Princess to
   the furious nirvana of convulsive abandon, accompanied by the
   song of affirmation, "yes, yes, yes!"

   And once more a pause, and yet still another climax to be
   reached, as my decades of hardened memories collided joyously
   with the softness of her tender years, and once more the sweet
   tremors rocked her delicate extremities, until finally she drew
   me up so she could rest, and then we kissed.

   With eagerness spoke in the historical tongue of girlfriend
   oration, her lips met mine and parted as we caressed and joined,
   brushing together surfaces rough and smooth, wet and dry,
   stroking vibrations into teardrops, trembling toes and fluttering
   eyelashes, the tawny markings of autumn against the snowy
   whiteness of fresh springtime.

   But she had yet to be filled with the yearning she had now
   awakened in me, the knot beneath the growing Excalibur.

   We threw off the covers, at last finding ourselves face to face
   in the harsh light of the unavoidably brutal honesty of
   collective weakness. And there we were.

   Was it spurious to utter the words: "Sylvia, I love you?" They
   sense of need to convert our subtle and refined entwinement into
   clumsy verbology that tripped over the tongue almost negated
   their meaning.

   So the words fell away into the swordplay of the day, as she
   opened her morning-soft dewiness to the hardened ferocity of my
   afternoon. Our bodies spoke in the ancient language of evolution,
   calling out across the ages with the savage cries of guttural
   pleasure, the ingenious simplicity of shared delight as I stirred
   in her the same rushes of heavenly light, the premonition of
   loving oneness beyond the fathoming of the mortal mind, the lucid
   dreaming of stardust alive.

   "This feels so good," she whispered.

   The game of life, check and checkmate, swashbucklingly fencing
   off our territory. The "ours" of two, sharing the simple
   sweetness of the feast of each other, the devouring of delight.
   On one level, a facile stimulation of mutual pleasure centers,
   but at the same time a profound declaration of "love," in the
   sense defined by our histories and gestures.

   And finally the candle burned down to the explosive, as my built
   up erotic burst forth inside of her, melting together our hearts,
   fusing our spirits, blending our minds, as I dissolved into the
   vastness of her empire.

                                                to be continued. . .

  _______________________________________________________


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