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Extasis, Part Ten

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Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list March 4, 2001

Title: Extasis 10/?
Author: Scynneh
Feedback: Yes, I do appreciate a word- or three, that would be lovely.
Disclaimer: Not listening, la la la, my world is pretty, there are no people named 'Evil Corporate Entity' here. Wait, this is PAINFUL REALITY. I, uh, don't own a dime...
Rating: NC-17. All children please point yourselves in the direction of the nearest exit and sprint! I am not going to be responsible for any wounds inflicted in the course of this story- I open the box, and the world goes about its own business.
Spoilers: An AU, really. Yes, I like the word, leave me along. The 'dupes' are present and accounted for-those not out acquiring garnishing products that is..*cough*.
Author's Note: I like writing this story, I've just been slow because of school. Mazes, I SAID that I would use one...didn't I?

"A gentleman is always distinguished by his respectful attention to women."

-Unknown 1873

By the 1700s, it was the fashion to have a large garden outside the home, and even more awe-inspiring if that aforementioned haven for greenery were the home to a large twisting, backtracking arrangement of bushes and trees, also known in the present day as a maze. Such structures were originally designed as a way of expressing the soul's journey through difficulties to reach heaven. But at parties, young lovers often took the time to 'loose themselves' for long periods of time. Some of this number got lost, so there were attendants circulating the area on stilts, checking for stragglers and making sure that nothing too wild was going on, and probably stopping to have a good stare at enthusiastic 'explorers'. In the final analysis, though, these fumblings with culture might make humans seem very close in relation to the more 'savage' creatures of Earth.

What makes us civilized is that we are not the same as the rest of the mammals. Still, our superiority binds us as well as allows ascension to a pedestal.

It becomes a code for the rich and priggish. Smacks of Victorian hypocrisy, putting skirts on pianos so that their legs are modestly concealed from the eyes if the lustful populace.

In order to civilize oneself to an appropriate degree of stuffiness, there must be frequent and forceful denial of desires. That's where the concept of 'romantic love' came into play. The 'it's not good until it hurts' mentality that has fueled so many horrible films and equally poorly-plotted books. Sure, pain is good, but it has its place ,and I have some issues with it being all over without a break in the pattern. And the mere mentioning of some division of the sexes gets me unpleasantly riled up.

Again, the code of behavior dictates that it is acceptable for a nobleman to boff a shop girl, because she doesn't matter in the end tally of sins; she's simply below anyone's notice. They never considered that there might be a far easier way to get pure other than starving themselves, or using a sickeningly diverse array of tools that were designed for removing unsightly sores, rather than as 'tools of atonement.' The best way to remain clean in both mind and spirit is to be celibate, by avoiding those temptresses. A few monks that I've met have lectured to me in hopes of steering me away from my 'path of debauchery'.

'Remember who gave the apple to Adam,' Brother Matheus bellowed as he got deeper into his cups. One of Queen Isabel's ideas was to insert pulpits into all the taverns in every port. All it did was to make the patrons drink faster. Then they began to lob fruit at the men delivering the sermons.

Isabel is Eve and all the duplicity of the world, Lucretia Borgia on the throne; teased and shaped to a religious frenzy that promises to be memorably unpleasant.

Still, monarchs are special because their subjects believe that they are so. Years ago, it was thought that they were semi-divine. Louis XIV would go out into the countryside among his less well-off people, and heal certain diseases, 'the divine touch of the king, 'something of the sort, suitably awe- inspiring, because greatness is only great if it is both magnificent and scary to the uneducated. And if one is the agent of God, on Earth, one had damn well look the part.

Sadly for the individual in power, when a citizen figures out that the monarch is just the same as an ordinary shmuck; gets into their dress one hand at a time, possesses the same bodily functions, then there is a lessening of respect. How long the commoners will bow and scrape before someone that doesn't have the influence over them that they once did is all a matter of how much they are annoyed. Marie Antoinette didn't just make a 'definitive departure' from Versailles, she got to get intimate with a block of wood. The tolerance level is much less after the crown is removed, especially whenever the ruler is not simply 'just like them', but even worse.

My 'wife'. I mull over the bitch whenever I get too drunk and am between really good fucks. I have to be drunk before I consider screwing her, however; nails are fine on flesh, but electrical charges and sensitive body parts are not a turn-on for me.

Maria, though, is a good girl, I can see that. So damned fresh that it sloughs off her skin like moisture from strawberries just thawed from a painful cell necessitated by the instinct of self- preservation. She is Spring fruit, offered with a good-sized jar of sugar to tempt the palate. Give me something spicy to go along with her; Tess will do, and I'm in for some tasty treats.

'Barbarian', a few would categorize me as nothing better than a Neolithic biped, shambling about with only two focuses- food and fucking. But I think that I should be given more credit than that. Those recriminations only give me a moment of hilarity.

Ah, 'barbarian', what the universe sorely needs at this point to shake things up. Those helmets, furs, spears, carrying half-naked women through the still-smoldering embers of immense cities. I used to love those 'National Geographic' illustrations.

There is too much order here and now, and I have no regrets about enjoying my life. I've opted for fun rather the stationary longevity. As a result, Maria's indecisiveness lost its novelty too soon for her comfort zone to adjust, and I reached her circle of carpet within seconds, circling the huddle that had so much to offer when ripened.


The ceiling fan turned in spasms every so often, letting out belches of air that provided nothing in the way of relief from the wash of overpowering heat that had me in a stranglehold, not the normal fear, cold and safe as it slid me into icy immobility, but a fear that was a two parts nerves and a portion of repressed want. I knew what this Temptation was offering, and I was afraid that I would be held prisoner by my body's needs, more restrained than if bound by any shackles designed by the slavers that had been my keepers for so long. I had been saved for a 'worthy' buyer, and I wasn't ready to share the 'goods' yet. Or ever.

He leaned into my trembling body, not seeming to be annoyed by my recoiled from his touch; rubbing his stubbled cheek against my own, eyes closed all the while. His growth of whiskers abraded my skin until the left side of my face was a plain of sensitive skin, pleading for more contact. I whimpered internally; it had been such a long time since anyone had touched me like that; men were usually distant, like my father, or cruel like the crew of Madame Topolski's ship. Tears burst from my eyes as if from dams pressured beyond their capacity, and I knew that I wasn't just a slave, I was a pathetic slave. Collapsing into the arms of one's master was not the way to earn their respect.

Blind desperation took over, and I struck out at that gentle caress, the one that lied to me about where I was receiving my first experience with pleasure. One of my flailing arms caught Rath in the mouth, the mouth, the other jammed into his throat, and I heard him gasp a curse that he couldn't quite get air in to pronounce, and then I was making a scrambling dash for the door. I didn't get far, knew I wouldn't, Tess' laughter was sweetness through a sieve as she watched Rath bring me down, and I was lying on the floor a second after my attempt, pressed under his body, knowing there was no hope of escape.

Rath covered me from head to heels, and it was the first time that I came to grips with how big, he was. Not fat or bulky, but a presence that commanded without ever once giving an order. Despite his size though, I had not thought that he could recapture me so quickly; he was quick and quiet as a hunting wolf. I shivered, imagining the bite of sharp teeth as my punishment, and tried to meld with the carpet. When Rath's right hand came down to touch my face, I tried to hold back the nausea that was wringing my stomach like a sponge. He had all the cards, and I was in a 'sore spot', as my mother would have said. I had never understood the phrase; I wasn't feeling stiff yet, but, then again, I thought, this situation could leave me with more than a smothering of pride.

Rath spoke no words, but remained unmoving, I did too, for the simple reason that he was lying atop me, and an inch's struggle seemed more trouble than it was worth. Finally, the spiky-haired male rolled off me, pressing one hand between my shoulder blades to discourage movement. My hips were in painful contact with the metal deck underneath the too-thin carpet, and I was more annoyed than afraid now, but I endured the discomfort because there was naught else to be done.

"Now, you gonna be reasonable girl?" Rath demanded as he moved back the tiniest bit. Thinking of maiming and running, I nodded, knowing that such dreams would have to wait for another opportunity. She tensed when one large hand reached towards her again, but Rath only pulled her to a sitting position.

"You're an abrupt sort of man," I muttered, figuring that he liked a little sass from his women, Tess had been able to insult everything from his family to body odor without too much trouble.

"So I've been told," he answered, not reacting to my grousing.


She had guts, trying to get away, even when she knew that the re wasn't any chance in Hades of getting away. And mouthing off, while the possibility of punishment loomed, I liked that. The wholly feminine trill of her words, no matter what their meaning were doing something to my insides that I hoped I could share. It felt damn good.


He was in my bubble of security without another warning other than the dilating of his pupils. His mouth covered mine, and my body coiled for flight, expecting to be overcome by his greater strength. Instead, he touched me with a restraint that was no less intense for the passion locked tightly down. I felt an odd, high sound come from somewhere inside me, and when his tongue begged entrance, I responded to that query with my own delicate touch.

The tremor was shared, and magnified when I stretched a cautious hand out to touch his face. I hadn't taken notice of my nakedness until my breasts rubbed against the taut expanse I knew was his chest, then I became worried. From my experience on the slave ship, women who went along with the men came back days later, bleeding from unseen wounds, and bruised. I wanted to make the best of this, whatever it was, but not at the price of my skin. Rath noticed my hesitation and brushed a palm lightly over my nipples, which, to my shock, hardened just as they had when Tess suckled there. He made a noise that seemed pleased, and drew back to lift my chin and move his attentions downwards. Up until now, I had never considered ears an erogenous zone, but when the wet slide of his tongue darted down that cup of hearing, I was catapulted into sensitivity. The throbbing between my legs began as it had before, and only grew stronger as he mimicked a penetration that I now dreaded and anticipated.

I was sitting in his lap when my awareness returned to something close to normal, one leg on either side of his hips, and my exposed state was not as troublesome as I thought it should be. But when Rath's fingers moved toward that place that was so empty, waiting for relief, I shoved all thoughts of what was expected, and pushed against his hand, begging for his touch. Part of me would shower the guilt down later, that I knew, so I might as well make the best of this life that I had landed myself in.

Groaning, I bound my mouth to his with desire, wet and heat, not timidly, but with pressure and tongue and unmistakable intentions. Feeding, famished, on that which I had so briefly sampled but never really understood. I wanted something of my own, this pair of strange beings with their relationship that made no sense were the first who had bothered to give pleasure explanations, and I longed for all of it.

I explored him with my fingers, still nervous, but eager to know where the smells came from, the sensual knowledge that came from every pore and promised and demanded. He tolerated my awkward skatings over his body until, it was too much, and his impatience swept aside the necessities of introductory explanations, and he took control. As he lifted me to get a better angle, my ankles locked automatically around his waist, and I quivered as he searched my mound for the tight bud of sensory perception that neglected, was even more wanting, and rubbed around it, then brushed it in a cursory manner, driving me over to that place where I'd been once before. I was still rolling on the waves of bliss when he found my channel and thrust a work-roughened finger inside.


She shrieked when I violated her most sacred of places, and when I began a rapid pace, she jerked my hips to her own with her feet, unconsciously ordering me to complete the deed. Virgin or not, she was a pushy little slut, and I wasn't about to ignore the invitation. My already painfully erect cock found its way to its destination as easily as if it'd been given a map, and when I was halfway seated, Maria rocked forward, taking me to that frangibility that was preventing me form owning her completely.

No warning would be sufficient, so I yanked her down and moved upwards at the same time, allowing her to sink her teeth into my shoulder. We found a pattern that brought mutual satisfaction as well as if we'd been doing this for years, and the little 'pure one' was doing a fabulous job in driving us to the brink. When I couldn't wait any longer, and even the sight of Maria's sweat-covered body taking pleasure from me was not enough, I wrestled her under me, and brought us home. One scrape of a nail over her clit made her wail and go limp, and I lasted only one or two more strokes before I emptied myself inside her. Reaching down between our bodies, I gathered some of our juices and smeared them over her navel, dipping into that sensitive hollow, signing my name on my princess.

Tess had gathered her body into a sort of order during my union with Maria, and as I rolled our joined bodies so that we were lying facing each other, the other blond threw a tanned leg over my hip, sealing us together. She ran her fingers through my damp hair and whispered in a voice that was hoarse from her vocalizations, "We're a family again, Rath. Just us."

I didn't answer her dramatic statement, but somewhere deep inside, agreed, and pulled her free arm over my chest, pressing it between Maria and myself. The slave had lost all holds on consciousness, and murmured contentedly to herself as I kissed her nose in benediction. Welcome home 'Ria.

TBC... I have some ideas for a longer storyline...part 2 in the Extasis saga, just tell me if you liked it...

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