Sacoria's blog: "Rias Corner of hell"

Its a small story kinda sappy not really even worth reading but it could prove to be interesting J I was watching you in the battle and I must say you sure know how to handle a staff I would love to take a lesson, if you could find the time. S *looking into his eyes after the battle* I'll be happy to share with you staff techniques if you will show me the basics of your bow. *reaches over to follow the curve of his bow lingers sensually close to his hands* ~smiles~ J *trying to disguise the stiffness of his bow string, Jaques uses the enhanced perception of the archer to study her fingers, her curves and simple cloth robe* Indeed, m'lady the basics of my bow are easily demonstrated, yet the subtle essence of its resistance and flexibility to be truly experienced is a study you undertake using all of your senses. M'lady has the willingness, to enjoy the experience? I certainly will stand at attention if you would be so kind as to demonstrate your exceptional abilities with my humble staff. *Trying to pry his practiced eyes away from her, he wonders on the extent of her Mage agility* S M'Lord one would say with a response as yours was given would be a pass at this lowly apprentice. *she shyly smiles and she steps one closer to where he stands* I say such a challenge should not go unmet. ~ Her hands of soft velvet reach to grasp his arm lightly stroking across and down the muscles. She smiles as his stance weakens at the touch of her hand.~ If anything at the moment M'lord I would rather teach you that a play on words can greatly entice the mind and ravish the thoughts that spill from your consciousness. Something as simple as a touch in nothing more than a soft tone can cause any man to loosen. It takes a lord such as you, Strong and steady, to handle a bow as taught as yours. But alas do you have the patience, the want and a touch as gentle as breezes to handle this apprentices techniques? J * His hunter's senses pricking in his head * M'lady your gentle ministrations upon my muscles is truly a contradiction, it relaxes and extices at the same time. In my youth I would spend hours in the forest alone, setting the sensitive buds on my spring-loaded traps, the precise nature of the caress overheating my brow, while extending my focus as I caressed the subtle tips and lightly traced the lines of the trap. At times, I nibble the bark trying to hone the edge of the trap until it is ready to spring with force. At those times my lips and tongue replace my fingers as they hold and twist the pieces lightly, my tongue flicking the swollen wood to my teeth, my lips gentle and squeezing enough to hold, not enough to mar the beautiful object of my attentions. Once the trap is ready, once it has been gently and so patiently set, then I remove myself to a opportune place waiting to thrust myself upon my prey. *slowly he leans closer and lowers the timber of his voice - almost whispered when he is done speaking, she barely notices his lightly cupping hand supporting/caressing the back of her head and neck her hair so luxurous, her skin so soft* So yes, I believe I am patient enough and my touch is whisper quiet or strong as needed to pull the bow taut and release it with all the lightness of an early snow fresh fallen on the field. I would welcome an introduction to your apprentice techniques and I will return a warm and gentle expression of my appreciation. Can M'lady handle the opportunities to share the patience and gentle touches required by such a blatant challenge your intellect has issued? J * His hunter's senses pricking in his head * M'lady your gentle ministrations upon my muscles is truly a contradiction, it relaxes and extices at the same time. In my youth I would spend hours in the forest alone, setting the sensitive buds on my spring-loaded traps, the precise nature of the caress overheating my brow, while extending my focus as I caressed the subtle tips and lightly traced the lines of the trap. At times, I nibble the bark trying to hone the edge of the trap until it is ready to spring with force. At those times my lips and tongue replace my fingers as they hold and twist the pieces lightly, my tongue flicking the swollen wood to my teeth, my lips gentle and squeezing enough to hold, not enough to mar the beautiful object of my attentions. Once the trap is ready, once it has been gently and so patiently set, then I remove myself to a opportune place waiting to thrust myself upon my prey. *slowly he leans closer and lowers the timber of his voice - almost whispered when he is done speaking, she barely notices his lightly cupping hand supporting/caressing the back of her head and neck her hair so luxurous, her skin so soft* So yes, I believe I am patient enough and my touch is whisper quiet or strong as needed to pull the bow taut and release it with all the lightness of an early snow fresh fallen on the field. I would welcome an introduction to your apprentice techniques and I will return a warm and gentle expression of my appreciation. Can M'lady handle the opportunities to share the patience and gentle touches required by such a blatant challenge your intellect has issued? *silence* J Sensing her closeness like a soft morning dew caressing his face, drinking deeply of her eyes, he felt himself spinning in ways that were alien to his solitary ways. M'lady, certainly you are a match for my intellect, I worry that you will soon tire of your plaything and discard him by the side of a dungeon, cast down, broken and weakened from inside. But it is a risk I venture, the touch of your breath warm and inviting as it explodes across my neck. The supple bounce of your robe softly catching and releasing hinting at treasures to be found and cherished. These things haunt my dreams, like no other. You say you are but a mere Apprentice, but surely you have powers, witch; that have captivated my awareness and senses. He deftly reaches into his pack and produces an orange, offering it to her. He begins to caress gentle the peel rubbing it between his fingers. She notes the light and firm pressure applied and begins to inhale the enticing aroma. Suddenly, his finger pinches the navel and penetrates the flesh, the peel slowly starting to review the golden promise of treasure. You note not a single globe of juice is released; he obviously has a light and strong touch. He continues to slowly remove the peel by sliding his index finger through and around the orange. His eyes linger on the prize and then release to the orange. This touch of word for you is strong. It leaves me feeling achy and aware. I would dance in its warm embrace and swim through the currents of its complexity. I wonder at its source and search heartily for its evidence. You glance down to his firm hands and notice that the prize is defrocked. The orange lies before you in his palm, spread open to reveal its glistening sections. Yet no juice is displayed from any mark of puncture, it is as if the orange is quaking with anticipation of meeting his lips and being caressed by his tongue, ravaged by his mouth and finally conquered it will release its nectar; draining as it were slowly down his throat it the throes of ecstasy He notices the longing look of your eyes at the orange, a rare and imported treat in this kingdom. he takes your hand and offers a section. Together your hands merge to raise the wedge to your lips. "Close your eyes." You feel him say. The words bouncing off your skin more then entering your ears. Your eyes close slowly and trustingly as our hands begin to insert the wedge through your resisting lips. I see your tongue flash and surround the flesh of the orange. we pull it out slightly and your tongue darts out of your mouth in chase. You chin is held elevated and your tongue extended with your mouth slightly open in anticipation. I give in to your desire by squeezing this section, your fingers contracting with mine the juice running through our mingled fingers and dripping onto your tongue and lips. I must apologize for I have not brought a cloth in anticipation of the lust of this fruit. I have other ways to clean your lips, if you but request. S [i] Breathing in as the sweet smell of citrus fills the air. Exciting me, for what only should be the taste of the navel, but is not ,but the manner of how it came to be on my extremities further plays scenarios in my mind. The thoughts that arise cause actions so simple yet ones that should only be shared with one of whom reiterates the intimate delight. Raising my fingers to his chin i beckon him closer, without a word spoken, a discrete pleasantry is shared as my lips meet his. A blushing frenzy of apologies swept over my face for such a bold move to be made on such a handsome Archer.[/i] M'lord i am sorry i do not know what has come over my body. The ways, it seems to have such an affect on my being. *looking down as her face turns shades of crimson* *While staring at the ground her mind wonders to what he said earlier and without hesitation reply's with such vigor before any words can be spoken from him.* I dear not nor will not discard you and place you aside like some thing that has no meaning. The short time i have gotten to know you i feel as though a connection of more than mere friendship will bud if given the nurture and tenderness to grow. I do not on purpose captivate you but find it a welcome attention from you that i do so. *she shifts from one foot to the other and looks into his eyes that have widened from the continuation of the speech that flows from her.* You speak as though love has touched you in the ways of archery. It's teachings, Valuable, Strong and Enticing if what can, could, and should be. For it, i am jealous of that bow you hold with such care. Like the navel you share with me your hands of strength show me your willingness but also show me what i long for most. *The lids of her eyes lowering to close and patiently search for the right words* I too wish that my teaching of gentle movements and soft ways could teach you but why would someone like you fetch for someone like I. *her feet shift yet again* J [i]The taste of orange has never been as sweet as this taste from your lips as you steal a kiss and my in truth another bite of my soul. I touch your lips lightly with my tongue during our exchange and you torture me by remove their glorious softness from my burning lips. My tongue now tasting of your silken flesh will never entreat a morsel so sweet until I partake in your hevenly adventures again. The finest pastries from the King's larder will crumble as dust upon my memories of your fleeting gift. As you pull away I worry, have I offended, does the touch of my tongue give pause to her, my mind reels over such a gaffe. Risks I run as an Archer split second decision as I approach my target, all seem in error with this seemingly unattainable prey. My mind spins quicker, my heart racing as if I have tried to run down a deer.[/i] M'lady, I do so longing accept your promise of retainer. That I would be granted such a favor from thee, makes my heart joyful beyond compare. The merest opportunity to receive your attention has overtaken my presence, it is what I live for and certainly would die trying to attain. [i] He notices the redding of her countenance and even in his muddled state her constant shifting. The play of her robe upon her features giving rise to him beyond anything he thought possible. He peers intently trying to steal a glimpse of her where he can. He notices minor changes to the shape of her fabric, accentuated by the flow of her robe. It seems to catch and hang softly and then oh so delicately slide and shift into proper place. Leaving it's passing marked only by two small rises in the linen near the neck line.[/i] From this day - please note that every time I grasp my bow. I am in truth holding your hand. And every time my bow string sings I hear your sweet name echoed softly in my mind. The notch of the arrow pinched between my finger tips causes me great distress as I demand the string back, ever so gently squeezing the arrow and building the tension in my string, until with an explosion I release and flood forth the arrow upon the target. The sight of you will always bring joy as in my mind I build your canvas and paint in bold strokes your beauty. [i] Firmly he extends his hands to her hips and grasps her robe and hips with strength. This draws the light fabric taunt and exposes a budding growth in the wake of the early rises. His own growth betrays his heart and for a moment her down cast eyes fix and then release coming back to his.[/i] M'Lady I offered to clean the juice from your person before it dries and becomes a nuisance, allow me. [i] With that scant excuse, he quickly extends his head towards her. His mouth opening as it approaches her supple lips. As she parts them in anticipation he misses and lowers his mouth to her chin his tongue darting across and his lips attaching and sucking the juice that spilled from her navel rapture. His hands acting on their own accord raise slowly up her sides and releasing the fabric glancingly they first find purchase on soft mounds of linen. The feel of which he has never encountered. The touch so fleeting the memory so fixed he wills his hands to return and explore but they do not stop. They continue to close upon her neck and head and secure themselves to her and lightly move her head to expose her neck to his lips and tongue as he tracks the last vestiges of the juice from the orange. Her hands follow and grasp upon his. Her neck no longer a mystery to his mental canvas, he draws back to her waiting lips and parts them firmly with his tongue. Searching for her, licking her lips, sucking them gently and hoping to find purchase with her heart by his display of desire, slowly he withdraws.[/i] Woman If I could fetch for you, I would kill 100 Goblins I would firmly split the apple with my shafts. I would pluck the petals of the rose and cascade them over you for the lightest of touches of your hands. The gentlest ministrations of your mind and body, I too wish of your teaching me with your gentle movements and soft ways could allow me to encounter your heart and pray to touch and hold in sway, but alas I fear I have been to bold and yet in my mind not bold enough. [i] He releases her from his grasp, his eyes flowing over her wishing it was his hands, he devours her longingly with his eyes. Hoping for a sign and demonstration of a budding shared passion[/i] S [I]Her breathing quickened with a manner of such delight the pulse of her being ached. She gasped for air as he pulled away releasing the energy he demanded only to build more by his parting. Her body nearly followed him and rocked with unease. A whine escaped her as his hands vanished from the possibility of caressing her naked flesh. Limbs weak and the places he lingered scorched with such a burn from his departure she begged for his again. No she begged for more, her voice, it seems to have disappeared from her. Her eyes fixated on this man of such greatness and here and now, sees that she and no other has captivated his attention and now feeling selfish, demands more. Demands to be longed for, to be punished for the spell she has cast upon him like a witch. The pining becomes unbearable and lust wins. Without anything more than a few seconds passing, though feeling like an eternity, her head leans in to him. Her lips again meet his with such fever but the gentle of her touch only creates anything but a building want of more than what lust can satisfy. Her hands reach and find them at the nap of his neck, the ache that centers her motions, wishes for more and pressed against him finding the air impossible to pass between. Yet she fights to get even closer. Her tongue piercing like the arrow he so controls yet as gentle as a feather. The sweet and tang of citrus still marks his lips she lingers there slowly moving suckling on one lip and switching with ease to the other. No man has ever captivated her so, his hands that seemed to turn to silk from the first time he touched her. His eyes seemed to hold her prisoner, one of lust and greed, with every gaze she silently wished to be tortured so. Her legs begin to tremble under his grasp as she notices his hands found their way back to her limbs grabbing them in such a way she knows not to let go. Like her life depended on it she threw her arms around him and nature of the innocent kiss quickly turned to an act of something sinful. J Her closeness intoxicates, her flesh tantalizes with its freshness. He tries to maintain self-control, practicing his breathing techniques learned while young. His hands extend and grasp the young mage rendering her arms useless in this struggle he pins them between their bodies, her hands encounter a firmness and seek it out. His hands now free grasp her, one in the hair at the back of her head, the other quickly lifting the robe from behind. She must have had some inclination of her prospects as the breeze strikes her exposed flesh like a brisk slap. Her senses tingle mixed in fear of the unknown and excitement about those same prospects. Meanwhile, his lips have given in to her alluring mouth and touch and mingle his tongue conquering every inch of her opening, her tongue dancing in step as if they were of the same creature, twisting and rubbing they explore and taste, feel and enjoy. After an all too brief opening, he slightly backs away and finishes pulling her robe across her head from behind, quickly twisting it to pin her arms inside the sleeves she is now totally exposed and helpless as her arms are wrapped inside the cocoon of the cloth. M’lady, I would see from your state of undress you came anticipating. I could not have hoped for this in my deepest of dreams and truthfully welcome your want and desire for I too long for your affection. He notes her totally lack of fear and yet somehow sees her intimate expression of care as she is pinned helpless by her robe. Her hands still search for that hardness she encountered, she feels compelled. Her eyes bright with desire and open to see all she can, expand with surprise as a rope is extended from the ceiling looping through her arms and tied off against her robe. If she thought she could move them before truly now she was exposed and captured by this Archer. As his prey, she felt vulnerable. As his woman, she felt warm and safe. Her arms were raised over her head, as he tugged on the rope thrown over the beam. She could no longer hide her secrets; no longer pretend to be anything but his. He now knows this fact, it is evident. To her he whispers. I take only what you give willingly, but take it all I will. And with that he has tied the rope off and his hands are free to explore, his tongue has started – lapping at her mouth again. She extends her tongue out of her mouth, straining to capture the taste of his tongue. Their lips brush and it is if they are on fire. She wonders where are his hands, why do they not take my flesh so willing. S ~the air around them that was once of chilled nature seemed to heat up to that of an intense fire that enveloped their beings. Her breath short now and the tease of his taste only ever lingered long enough to make her beg for more. the silence from her mouth meant lil' cause her eyes were screaming not of pain but shear delight. Her mouth quivered for his, the anticipation unbearable and whines of prismatic pleasure escaped from between the waiting parted lips as his devour bits and pieces of her. Her eyes closed and enjoy the lust guilty torture she did with every ounce of her being. She sighed heavily and longed for more of his touch on her exposed flesh; she pleaded and reached for him in every other way she could think of. The release of this ecstasy he silently promised her is slow coming. The secrets she holds reveal a soft warmth of moist treasure why does he not explore ~ J He can feel her body tingle and twitch, a musky smell begins to fill the air. His nipples begin to extend and her eyes search his face, Exposing her excitement and then all goes dark. She is aware but yet she can not see. Wait, slight glimpses of light and movement enter the blindfold, her heart leaps into her chest not beating but jumping with each pulse, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Then he begins. She feels like his prize hanging as she is from the rope her arms entwined in her robe, a blindfold purposely almost blanketing her vision. Her legs are free and they are touching the floor but she can feel something moving near them as she sways slightly in the cool breeze of the evening. "Sacoria" she hears him whisper and it seems to echo, but strangely not just in his tone. She begins to wiggle, what he has done. Who is here, who is saying my name, if not just him. She calls to him, a slight panic in her voice. He hears and reads this, his senses seemingly in tune with hers. She feels his hands grasp her firmly cupping under her breasts lifting her nipples into the air their stiff points straining against the flesh that creates them. A touch - quick and light hits her nipple, she notes the callus of his bow finger and feels the fire of desire climb higher. He spoons her from behind, his manhood rapidly becoming a shaft piercing her soft fleshly cheeks. He pauses and his hands leave her, she notes movement and then a hand, his hand slides up her inner thigh from her knee. She feels his hand wiping the moisture that has been slipping from her and slowly crawling down her leg adding to her tortured senses. She is glad to have his hand so close yet she is unsure she will be happy about t losing the teasing nature of the juice lightly dancing down her legs. What is that sound, is it sucking - lips smacking - how dare he share her taste with someone else. There has to be someone else in the room. Then she remembers her position hanging like a goose from the kitchen rafters exposed for all, for anyone, for everyone. What has he done to me? Her mind races trying to decide if she is hurt, offended or excited - or maybe a little of all three - she decides ultimately she is vulnerable, but for him that is OK. She gives in to him and whispers to him "Jaques, I am yours, do what you will, but know I am the most valuable gift you will ever find or if you decide, possess" She wants to say more but a finger enters her mouth followed quickly by another and another. His hand and all but one finger taste of her golden nectar, she devours them and sucks them greedily. Certain rapture in her senses finally sensing and yet again they are gone too fast too quick. Happily they are replaced by his lips and his mouth, his tongue tasting of her. He is alone after all; it was his mouth that tasted her juice. She feels the head of his shaft poke her, as they kiss. Their lips crashing against each other their tongues fighting a duel of pleasure. She arches her hips to try to contact his body but he moves too quickly and with her arms unavailable she can not conquer him. She nips his lip in frustration and pleasure. He says firmly, "You are mine and I will protect you, I will cherish you beyond all others and things and I will POSSESS you." S Her body shall not be considered hers any more for he has taken what was left of her body that was not scorched emotionally by her past. Her lips in search of what is to become nothing but the pleasure she so daringly holds close. The flesh of the forbidden fruit, a mans flesh of over whelming aroma. The scent he has can control the most unwilling of servants but his voice ... the sweet texture of an archers tone soothing to any animal, but to her a sound she begs for. The comment from his lips puts her blinded eyes at ease and in response her mouth parts to release. I pray that the protection you offer is an ever lasting thing for I too will cherish what has become between us. I shall say that I am yours to possess a trophy your prize of willing flesh. Feeling his presence against her she leans toward him and kisses him the passion evident the tempo slow her mouth dances around his like a butterfly on a flower. Her soft lips mesmerize him beckoning him to continue unraveling the secrets this beauty beholds. A burst of lust explodes and the gentleness of the kiss turns to something steamy as she wraps her legs around his waist showing him the anticipation her body secretes. Opening herself to the vulnerability that is essentially him.