Archive-name: Slaves/elna.txt
Archive-author: Slave of Matth
Archive-title: Elna


By popular demand, yet another fragment.  My apologies to those who
find the lack of an entire novel frustrating.  The chapters range
from 15-40 pages, a bit long and tiring for this medium.  However,
if there is enough demand, I'll post them. (*sigh* what you people
can talk me into)  I have a short story that deals with the Dark Lord
as a youth.  It has a little incest and the main focal point is a
beating.  The beating is not for erotic purposes.  Is there interest?
To all of you whose letters from me bounced off the mailer-daemon,
thank you for the encouragement.  If you wanted reprints, write me,
I'll send them.  All comments, critiques and flames are welcome.

Slave of Matth
 formerly Angel the Succubus

(Margin apologies as necessary!)
______________________________________________________________________________

	Elna waited in her master's bedchamber, bored as always.  One harem was
like another, and the Dark Lord was only moderately inventive.  She hoped he
would not be long with his guests this night, since he had told her there was
something new to try.  She wondered what it was; probably nothing she hadn't
done before.
	It was not that Elna was jaded, exactly, but her background had
accustomed her to nearly everything.  She had been born in the harem of the
Pasha of Sud, her mother was a bred slave, the product of several generations
of selective slave breeding, even as she was.  Her father had been an arena
gladiator, a hero in Sud.  He had bought his freedom when she was a child, so
the news that filtered in said.  She had been trained to give pleasure to a
man from her childhood.  Her earliest memories were of her mother, or the
other women teaching her how to properly bathe another person, and how to use
the scented unguents the Nilgard men were fond of.
	She had been sold to a noble when she was twelve.  There she had learned
to put her training to use.  Now, she had been sold several times and had
ended in the Dark Lord's possession.  She did not really fear her master, as
some of the others did.  She knew what she was and what she could expect for
disobedience.  She sighed again, and glanced at the silver and onyx mirror to
check her flawless reflection yet again.  From across the room, the slave girl
in the mirror smiled back at her in a vision of feminine perfection.
	Pleased with herself, Elna reached behind her head, dividing her hair
with her fingers, and swept the two bunches forward so that they fell over her
shoulders to cover her breasts, ever so slightly.  Her master had occasion to
fancy this particular look; it added a touch of mystery to an already enticing
package.  Using the mirror to carefully arrange her hair for just the right
effect, she swept the excess back and behind her again.  She did not want too
much covered, she was no blushing virgin, but too little coverage looked
sloppy.  Wanting an equal amount behind as well as in front, to appear
balanced, she worked on herself for many minutes.  There was no hurry, for if
she heard her master's footsteps, she could always flip the whole behind her
again and resume her position before he saw.  Nothing would be lost and there
would always be another time.  The look had suddenly appealed to her and she
was determined to make it work.  Hopefully, she would be prepared by the time
her master remembered her and left his guests.
	The Dark Lord climbed the stairs of his tower, pondering the situation
he found himself in.  There were petitions to be read, and letters to be
answered, in addition to battle-plans and floor plans and execution papers. 
And to top the mess off was Elna.  He had summoned her earlier, thinking to
take his mind off the work, but now she seemed just another duty like the
other things waiting for him.
	He bounced the double leather cuffs in his hand.  They were a gift from
Lady Lavinia of Pergamum.  She had sent them as part of the annual taxes on
her establishment.  He had been considering a way to combine the business with
his pleasure, even as she did.  Lady Lavinia's business was pleasure, and her
house in Pergamum catered to every whim its patrons might have.  It might
work.
	As he climbed the last set of stairs to his bed chamber, he saw Elna
kneeling on the fur at the foot of his bed, waiting for him in all her beauty. 
He noted she had taken the liberty of daring to cover herself with her fiery
red hair, a most becoming look that invited his immediate attention.  She
would be the ideal one to try this on.  She was the most limber and the least
likely to be uncomfortable with the position he had in mind.  He paused at the
massive desk to gather his paperwork and a quill and inkhorn.  
	Setting the things he picked up down on the table beside his bed, he
began to strip down.  Laying back on the bed, half-propping himself against
the headboard, he beckoned Elna to join him.  She carefully lay down beside
him, and he immediately swept aside the long silky hair covering her right
breast, in order to caress it.
	Feeling the urge to take her here and now, and forget about the
diversion he had planned earlier, he reluctantly drew away from her luscious
breasts, leaving the left partly covered, peeking out from behind the thin
veil of tantalizingly red hair.   "Business before pleasure tonight, slave
girl," he sighed, peering down into her soft emerald eyes and seeing his own
lust reflected back, coupled with Elna's own burning desires.   "Face away
from me, Elna," he said, "and kneel."  
	Elna complied.  He reached for the cuffs.  There were two in the set,
both shaped like figure eights.  He buckled the smaller loop around her wrist
and then pulled her arm back to fasten it to her ankle.  Repeating the process
on the other side, he tugged them to make sure they were secure.  Then he
turned her to face him.
	"All right, slave girl.  If you can arouse me, you can have me.  In
fact, I would like to be inside of you by no more than ten minutes.  It will
be your duty to maintain this arousal while I work, until I have time to use
you properly.  You will have three chances, and failure is always punished."
	Turning over a small hourglass, he looked expectantly at Elna.  Glancing
at the time piece, she saw that it was a five minute timer.  She arched her
back, presenting her full breasts for his enjoyment.  They were duly accepted
and she felt him begin to stir.  Bracing her hands on the mattress, she rubbed
along the length of his shaft lightly, pressing it between her soft flesh and
his taut belly.  It fit nicely between her thighs and she rubbed some more,
aroused herself.
	"You seem flammable tonight, my master," she said, looking at him.  Both
of his hands were gripping her breasts and he was squeezing them
arhythemically.  He opened one eye and looked at her.
	"You were not given permission to speak, slave girl.  What matters is
not my flammability, but your heat."  She arched properly, leaning slightly
forward, and drew him into her before he could reach for the sandglass.
	"As my master commanded, he is within his slave in the allotted time,"
she said softly.  He could not help but smile at her proficiency and
resourcefulness.
	"Good, but that is only the beginning.  Turn around, and lean forward." 
Wondering what he was planning, and moving carefully within the bonds so as
not to lose him, she turned.
	The Dark Lord slid into a more sitting position, so that Elna's body was
flush with his as she kissed the scar that marked his kneecap.  Her back now
provided him with a horizontal surface on which to work and the rhythmic
pulsations she was creating would keep him aroused.
	He leaned over to the table, being careful not to dislodge the girl, and
picked up the stack of papers that awaited his attention.  Setting them on her
back, he began to sort through his work, placing the less urgent items on the
back of her neck.
	The first piece of business was a petition from the ruling druidic
hierarchy of Wax.  They demanded his authority to hunt down and, as they put
it, enlighten any remaining followers of Angrith of the Wood.  He saw they
were planning a witch-hunt as well, in order to, as they said, "Rid our
gracious lord's lands of workers of ill fortune and malice, such as consort
with evil spirits or worship other than Our Blessed Mother Celestra."  The
petition was denied.  Elna quivered a bit when he stabbed the quill down to
finish his exclamation point.  The hedge-witches were of no concern to him,
and he could not care less whether one was foolish enough to follow Celestra
or Angrith.  He had seen no evidences of any power there, not even the human
sort.  The nature worshippers claimed neutrality, or withdrawal as he saw it. 
He would not give his approval to any sect within the Empire.
	He set the reply aside to dry.  A letter from Rima and Paloken was next. 
Jame would be duly brought to court this year.  Rima had a few words to say
about his curse, as she called the Power.  She believed it was leaving him
now, and praised Vanada for several lines.  A mild oath formed on the Dark
Lord's lips at that statement.  If the stupid bitch had crushed Jame's Power,
she would pay.  That letter needed no reply.
	The third letter was an announcement from Landsend, called Zenia on
imperial maps in honor of the Dark Lord's youngest sister, whom he had married
off to Sharmat, ruler of that province, to seal the alliance between the
Empire and the desert folk who dwelt on the rich northern coast of the
Zeimlich Sea.  The letter was from Sharmat himself, announcing that he and his
favorite wife, the Princess Zenia beht Llewella, would be arriving for this
year's imperial New Year's celebrations.  He apologized for neglecting their
duties to do so in the past, but the Princess Zenia had been heavy with child
or exhausted from bearing his sons for the last few years, and hence unable to
travel.  She would accompany him this year, and Sharmat promised gifts to make
up for their past absences.  The Dark Lord set the letter aside and grinned
broadly.  It had been five years since he had seen Zenia, and gifts from the
northern deserts always proved to be as fascinating as they were valuable--
especially give Sharmat's profound sense of irony and his flair for the
unusual.  This letter required no response.
	Elna maintained the rhythmic pulses, varying the speed and strength. 
Muscle control was important in a concubine, that lesson had been drilled into
her head as soon as she could understand it.  She had kept men aroused for
hours at a time this way, and this looked to be one of those sessions.  When
her master leaned over to put a document on the table, she shifted a bit.  Her
legs were tingling, and she flexed her toes to keep the circulation going. 
The Dark Lord noticed her movement.
	"Position a bit uncomfortable, slave girl?" he asked.  She nodded. 
"With what you're doing I may need to take a breather from the affairs of
state.  You make a most tempting desk."
	"Thank you, Master," she whispered.  She had been breathing shallowly to
avoid spilling the inkhorn he had set between her shoulder blades.  She gasped
softly as he ran the end of the quill along the side of her body, tracing her
curves.
	"Three more documents and then I'll stop for a bit," he promised,
feeling her clench tightly around him.  The soft odor of her arousal was
beginning to reach him.  It was a scent he preferred over most of the perfumes
many of his harem girls wore.  It affirmed his power over them, that he could
drive them to such states of need while he remained mostly unaffected, using
them merely because he wanted to, not from any great need.  He mused absently
on the fact that his sexual needs had never been unfilled for more than a
month at a time since he had discovered the drive.  The names and faces had
long since blurred into a long continuous spectrum, where only a few remained
distinct.  Putting the next line of thought, concerning how many lovelies he
had owned and discarded in his past, out of his mind, he reached for the next
document, Elna's musk growing stronger all the time.
	After the second piece of work, he found he could no longer concentrate;
the scent was too strong.  A small pool of dampness had collected on his belly
from her, and she had nipped his kneecap more than once.  Admirably, she had
not convulsed or even tensed strongly as so many of his more orgasmic girls
did.  She had concentrated on controlling herself so that she might not
disturb his work.
	He cleared her back of papers and set the inkhorn carefully on the
bedside table where it would not be disturbed or overturned.  He slid back
down to a three-quarters lying position, and turned her back to face him.
	"Enough of this, slave girl.  Finish what you began," he commanded.  She
knelt atop him, her cuffs securely holding her to the position.  She began a
slow spiral of her hips as she raised and lowered herself the scant distance
she was able to.  Tired from the day, and his head aching from all the
requests, usually written in an overly flowery manner with highly inventive
spelling, he relaxed and let Elna soothe him.
	Soft whimpers came from her as she moved on him.  He watched through
half closed eyes, roughly massaging her perfect breasts.  He could see why her
type was bred in hopes of producing more slaves.  He might have just that done
before the two in the dungeon were eliminated.  They were strong and one had
seemed intelligent, a fit match for the lovely slave.  He slid a careful thumb
into the cleft of the mons.  Finding her engorged clitoris, he rubbed it
gently, not wanting to hurt her.  She arched her back, rubbed against his hand
harder and cried out in ecstacy.
	Elna rubbed the swollen saddle between her legs against his stomach and
thumb, trying to move sensuously, but knowing she was not.  Her movements were
too strong, too desperate.  As the shock waves shook her, time and again, she
rubbed more desperately, not wanting the sensation to end.
	"Enough, slave girl.  You are exhausting me just watching you."  Elna
collapsed in a sobbing, gasping heap on his chest, barely maintaining enough
control to keep him inside.  He carefully braced her and rolled them over. 
Elna lay on her back, with her wrists cuffed to her ankles, and her legs
spread wide.
	She was still warm and tight as well as soaking wet.  He noted with
distaste the damp patch forming beneath her was already the size of a gold
piece.  Hazards of multi-orgasmic women, he thought, beginning to pump her. 
The stain would soon turn white and give trouble to the girl with laundry
duty.  He would make Elna change the bed before he slept in it tonight.
	She writhed beneath him like a wild creature, but never fought.  The
motion enhanced the pleasure for both, and was well worth it.  Most laid so
still while he took them, perhaps only stroking or kissing him.  He considered
summoning Elna more often; or perhaps just keeping her up here for a few days
until she had exhausted her repertoire.  
	He climaxed at last, the pleasure tainted by the thought of the work yet
to be done.  He rolled off of the girl, and drew her in awkwardly, hampered by
her odd positions and the fact that she was still writhing a bit with her eyes
shut.  As he kissed her, he felt the last tension in her body go limp and she
opened her eyes.  He carefully unbuckled the cuffs, releasing the slave girl
from her awkward position.  
	"Thank you, Master," she said, her voice still husky.  "Not often do you
have time to heat me to that point, and a slave girl is grateful."
	"It is not every girl I own that is as responsive as you are, and it is
a pleasure to have you so aroused," he responded.  "Even if it is only your
duty," he added sharply.  "Now I have more work to do and I need your back
again."  He scooted back into a sitting position.  "Drape across my lap on
your belly...  That's good."
	He retrieved his work and set to it again, leaving Elna, still aroused,
to her own thoughts.  The time passed interminably slowly.  The quill tended
to tickle if her master used too much pressure, and the location of the
inkhorn was again arousing.  He had inserted the slightly pointed tip into
her, and she knew he would retrieve it covered with both of their juices.

(Note: FYI: my bed contains chocolate chip cookie crumbs as well as dorito
crumbs.  I don't eat crackers.  If the tip of the inkhorn is inside her, it
(the tip) cannot, repeat CANNOT, be rubbing against her clitoris.  You know
female anatomy better than that!  Or do you need that map back again?)  

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