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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


	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


	"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


	"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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