In my stories, I often refer to a historic event called The Sundering. The legend of which I created to explain the several century old holy war (think Gaza and the West Bank) between the desert Wanderer Clans and a magically skilled race of “Settled Kin”. The Sundering occurred because of the death of Tralanii Tiriis, a young woman of the N’Nevar Wanderer Clan at the hand of her husband, Antian deKanas, a leader of several villages of Settlers.
Normally a matriarchal people, the Wanderer Clans had offered Tralanii as a child-bride to the recently widowed Antian. Priests and priestesses of both races had foretold dire consequences for the world if the “most treasured child” of the Clans (which was what Tralanii’s mother had unfortunately named her) was not united with the “Blademaker” (though not a true smith, Antian occasionally made magical blades and a reputation for excellent craftsmanship).
Antian had a son from his previous marriage, Kieri, who was only two years older than his new wife (Tralanii was just over eight years old when she was married; Antian was well over fifty years older). He left his wife and son in the care of his brother, Versii, often as he needed to travel between the villages he lead, often for months at a time. Growing up together, Kieri and Tralanii became close.
One day after almost a year away from home, Antian returned to the rumor that his wife was pregnant and had made marriage oaths to Kieri (I’d say they had believed Antian dead, but there are things called ‘tianei in this world that give those who have them a sense of their partner’s and/or family’s life and safety; however Kieri and Tralanii also shared this sort of mental connection with each other and were pretty close to helpless to not be drawn to each other). Faced with Antian’s rage, the young pair ran away.
Soon after, Kieri returned to try to make peace with his father. Instead, Antian killed his son for the betrayal, after he had transferred his mind and soul into Kieri’s body (believing that Tralanii would not know and would love him as she had Kieri). With his own body destroyed and Kieri’s spirit dead in it, he sought out Tralanii who was waiting nearby with some of the Wanderer people , waiting for news from her lover.
When Tralanii saw Antian in Kieri’s body, covered with blood, she backed away, and Antian snapped, lashing out at her with his knife….
This piece of erotica is loosely based on these characters (though only two are present for this story–Kieri Rayestra is never mentioned by name).
Some terms to note here:
Nassii means “most beloved”, a common endearment among the Settlers, feminine form is “nassil“
A “Raising Day Ring” is similar to a Prince Albert, but at a 180 Degree rotation. No, I actually don’t know of anyone who has such a piercing (or even if it would be feasible on a human male) but this is a fantasy world story.
Something crossed the breeze. A sweetness of flowers filled the night air overwhelming the fires of the sentries and the wafting odors of the evening meal. Silence interjected itself between him and the sounds of the town below him.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
From his post on the balcony, he spun, thoughts of recent battle tolls and taxes instantly forgotten. How long had it been since he’d last heard that voice?
“Too long,” came the answer to his thought. Cat-slit pupils wide as moons, her eyes rose meet his own. A sweet, sad smile covered her face as he had not seen even years before she had left him. She wore her old-styled traveling attire, her hair covered against the desert sandstorms where her tribe roamed.
“You’ll get no argument from me on that, Tralanii.” Then tossing off the plethora of questions her presence brought, he made up the space between them swiftly to embrace her. “But it is wonderful to see you once more.”
She laughed, “And to think you people call you cold and unfeeling, Antian.” She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “They should see you now, my husband.”
Antian… Of course, she would know the truth no matter what face he wore. He said nothing . It was enough to hear “my husband” from her lips and to know that she had returned to him. So many things had changed with his son’s death. “A man needs a private face as well as a public one. I’d prefer if they did not see me now, little one.”
Another laugh, “Little one? You tease me, Antian. Many years have passed since my mother offered me to you for safe passage and trail rights. Even before we’d last spoken I’d been a woman full-grown, not a just running child.”
He knew that, of course. Though the last time he’d seen her, her kin had held him from her side by knifepoint as they bound her to the litter. At last, when the mass of them had drifted into the trees and darkness, carrying her away with them, the two that had remained had left him on the ground, stunned by a blow to the head.
For nights afterward, when his people had left his side, believing him asleep, he’d risen and followed the trail. He could not deny the draw of her and the life that should have belonged to him. At the border cairns of the town, the trail ended, and he staggered, lost. To this day, drops of her blood still stood out against the moonlight white of the packed sand. This he knew because he’d walked that trail where no grass grew again last night. Last night he’d realized what he’d sacrificed, and again he sought to cross beyond the obelisks that guarded the safe paths. Why? he didn’t know. It had been so long and her people so silent–silent save for the ever more frequent skirmishes. When he’d found himself again stopped, he knew.
She’d died by his hand.
He’d been devastated.
Which was why he’d been here tonight, watching the stars, trying to give more than a cursory gloss to his liege-men’s reports. But even he had to admit he’d been gazing at the heavens, praying for a vision of her to warm his lonely nights, more. Dear Goddess… He blinked suddenly and clung to her, feeling the gentle warmth of her skin beneath his hand. This was the answer to his prayers.
“Not quite, love,” she murmured. He eased away meet her gaze, puzzled, but she looked off toward the curved roof of the town temple. A tear slid down her cheek in the moon’s light, glittering like a diamond. She swallowed. “It isn’t real, Antian, just a wisp of night air. When the daystar touches me I’ll be gone.”
He now noticed the mistiness of her form, the way the stone wall appeared clear through her flesh…her fleshlessness. “I had seen truly then. Then this is our last farewell?”
Darker than the pit that he’d lived in since she’d left her eyes once more rose to meet his. “Yes, and the night is a short one.” She sighed. “She did not want to even grant this, but I begged Her.”
Her tone did not inspire him. “The cost, beloved? At what cost to yourself?”
She blinked for a moment, eyes widening as if startled by his concern, then shook her head. “Later, husband. Let us make the best use of the time we have. We can stand here all night and never do more than embrace.”
So it was that dire… He nodded and led the way up to his rooms. He didn’t need to know more nor did he wish to. That knowledge had been ill enough. No sense in making her sacrifice a vain one.
Once in the suite, he went over to pour himself a cup of spirits. He’d need it if he was to give her what she wished. Otherwise guilt would take him before he could try. And why she was doing this…he didn’t want to dwell on that either. “Would you care for a drink, my lady?” He paused, reconsidering as he looked her over. He added “I assume you–”
She answered by picking up the bottle and pouring herself a glass near double his own. This she swallowed fast and hard. Nor did she stop there, pouring another. That she stared at in engrossed fascination. “I may need this more than you.” She drank a bit more, though slower this time.
He nodded and filled his glass a bit more.
They must have passed half the night staring at the flames of the fireplace, curled up in each other’s arms on the rug. They’d talked, though more out of shy courtesy than need to share news. She knew all about his life since she’d left. He knew anything of the problems he had were now beyond her. Or hopefully she was beyond them.
Even so, he found himself enjoying the moment–to his surprise. It wasn’t the alcohol. He hadn’t finished the first glass. Finally he came to the reluctant admission that he was glad for her presence, he was enjoying her. It made sense. Despite the strife that had marked their lives together, he had loved her and still did. She’d been more than a child bride or a clan tribute. She’d been his lover and partner.
He watched her face for a second as the flames lit it and sparkled in her eyes. She’d been silent for a while now, looking into the fire. She seemed to be crying; maybe her eyes were smarting as much as his own in the heat of the flames. Suddenly he did wish he knew what she was thinking. Did she regret this choice? Was she sorrowed when he had not taken her to his bed and accepted her apology and admission of their marriage oaths?
“I’d been pregnant when I left here,” she murmured as if in answer to his thoughts.
He could only nod. He’d known that. “Yes, Tralanii.”
Her eyes took their leave of the flames to face him. In their black depth, flames still burned. “Twins, Antian.”
He reached over and massaged her shoulder, breathing the scent of her hair and the cider wash she used when she’d lived in his home. “Twins…” He was unsure of what else to say. He eased his caresses when she winced at attentions to her lower neck and clavicle. And his people accused him of being stiff-necked….
Finally she leaned back into his chest and kissed one of his hands when she caught it. “Get the, Antian, and bring them here. Orphans have no place in the desert.”
He nodded quietly. “I will.” He kissed her hair. “Thank you, nassil.”
Perhaps it had been building all night, perhaps it was the good news… Suddenly it happened, and he had no idea which one of them started it.
One moment he was kissing her hair and rubbing down her shoulders. One moment she was curled up in his lap, head nestled against his chest, holding his right hand in both of hers….
The next moment they clung to each other as if to defy the Goddess Herself. It was, as she used to say, something for his people to see. And when their lips finally left to find new sport, she gasped–for breath–she gasped that she needed him.
Which was all right. He needed her as greatly.
Her skin felt soft and firm where his hands freed it from the bonds of her attire. Salty sweetness teased his lips, a faint tang of the wine reminding him that this was little more than a dream. Undaunted, the clavicle he’d been only rubbing before now received dearer attentions, gentle nips and caressing sweeps of his tongue. And for all the attention he’d given it before, it seemed to respond best now, relaxing under his touch till at last she cooed in delight, instead squirming away in discomfort.
Warmth passed over him, and he needed to remove his robe. He eased back to remove his overtunic, then paused to watch as she drew off her top as well. A breathlessness filled him as he took in the eagerness in her gaze and the knowledge that she once again desired him.
Brighstar bless me…. She looks just as she did on our wedding night. Doubt threatened to claim the moment, the mirage too much for him to accept. As she’d said, even when she’d last seen him, she was a woman full-grown, not a child. Then he blinked and she stood again before him as she had the night they’d fought.
This time her words held a gentleness they had not back then. She smiled. “Memories only, Antian.,” she said. “It’s good that you treasure memories of us. But don’t let this–” she pinched her skin “distract you from what I am or you are.” She moved over to brush her fingers through the hair at his temples. “The man I love isn’t this temporary covering of flesh. Though…” She grinned suddenly before running a fingertip down his bare chest. “I rather like this part too.”
“I’m sure you do, Tralanii,” he replied. Chance had not chosen the face he now wore. But for the first time since he’d taken this refuge, he found some comfort in his choice unmarred by the memory of how he’d taken it. He raised a fingertip to mimic her touch.
His lack of humor brought a smile to her face. “You know me too well.” For a second his face reflected in her eyes crossed with shock and horror. Then a shudder took her and she purred, eyes closing, chest pressing against his hand.
Her nipple rose against his fingertip, erect and quivering. He smiled and pulled her to her knees next to him. “Come here, wench,” he growled in response to her surprised gasp. Then he dove to kiss that aroused breast, to lavish it with his mouth in any way it might respond. Soon she was clawing at his back and hair, moaning madly as his nipping teeth and caressing tongue began their play.
“You…you beast,” she growled.
He paused enough to smile at her. “Of course.” Then as if he’d been totally unaware of its presence, his gaze alighted on her other breast. “Ah, I daresay, I’ve been negligent—well, no more.” And soon that rosebud was as ravished as the first.
She jerked back. “Don’t bite so–Goddess!”
He glanced from her chest to her face bewildered. He’d done far more to her before this, and she’d never said a thing. Still, instead of risking the mood further, he raised her hand her his lips and kissed it. “Sorry, beloved. Perhaps?” He spread his arms wide in offering.
She accepted his offer, easing him back down to the floor, then straddled his waist boldly. “Apology accepted,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.
He gazed up at the smoothness of her chest, wishing that they’d bothered to strip down past the waist. He’d have taken her if that were so.
A throaty chuckle escaped her, rough and earthy, carrying with it reminders of sand and dry. The air shifted as her clothing rustled, scents of animal musk and choking dust fading to must and nightflowers and ash, from heat to the chill of the stone beneath them. “You would too, wouldn’t you?” She leaned down to nip at his chest before finishing her retort. “No, I don’t think so this time, lover. This time you can lay still while I play.” She eased lower to untie the bindings of his breech clout and he felt his breath catch.
There would be no shame in doing as she asked, he decided. None would believe him if he told the tale anyway. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to take the moment in as he remembered watching her do. There was too little time for anything save memories as it was.
He felt her body shift over his, the pressure of her weight against his belly, then fading as he felt her lay herself out over his legs. A gentle tugging caught his attention as her tongue toyed at the gold ring in his nipple and he flinched briefly. Memories of the day he’d gotten the ring–he accepted it for her–a sign of brotherhood with her people and a public admission of oaths to the desert clans. He’d found out afterward how much it had added sensitivity and pleasure.
Much as she claims my Raising Day ring affects her, he thought, opening his eyes to look at her and consider what he saw against his memory. She’d never taken hers, but on the few past occasions that he’d lain with a woman who had one, the caress of the warm engraved metal had been a memorable experience. He could only imagine the feel of the one he wore when he took her. Did she enjoy it rubbing against her deepness? For the first time since she’d become his, he prayed she did.
She seemed to enjoy playing with it. Her fingers danced over the tip of his naked flesh, flipping the metal band over the smooth head, turning the sculpted surface so that it rubbed against the tender rim of his staff. She was attentive to any response he made, her gaze looking with his momentarily, as she watched his reaction. He made certain to not enjoy anything too greatly. He did not want her stopping.
What he did want was for her to take him and he made to effort to hide that fact. When she leaned down to kiss the sensitive tip of his manhood, he reached down to push her hair from his view. When her mouth hovered in such a way that it tempted him too strongly, he pressed her head down on himself, raising up his hips to enter those soft lips more fully.
She pulled back quickly enough to escape his grip. Her eyes, the black pupils obscuring all other color in them, looked him up and down once. Something in her gaze disturbed him, a sense that he should remember he was not the one in control here. Though he’d felt no pain, he saw a flash of red at her lips. Blood. A glance down his own body showed another drop, two—no three, sanguine against his purple flesh. He blinked, meeting her gaze again. “Tralanii…” He hesitated, unsure of what else to say and even as he said it, she shifted herself again, this time moving up against his body to hover over him.
“Nassil,” he managed to groan, “please. The sun will rise soon.”
She laughed lightly, placing a small kiss on his lips. “True.”
In a movement light and swift, she raised herself until she barely hovered over the tip of his penis, allowing it to touch the pink, fleshly lips between her thighs. She spread them a touch, revealing a small, but erect nub of purple flesh she brushed against his own flesh in rhythm with the rise and fall of his breaths. Then she shifted her hips forward and slowly lowered herself.
A tight band encircled him as he entered her tightening around his flesh as if to hold him within her body. He pressed himself up, deeper inside. The slickness between her legs wasn’t a completely new thing to him. He remembered a few times early on when she’d accepted him with the same eagerness, the time before his son… He closed his eyes and forced himself to think only of the feel of her wet, hot flesh surrounding his, the smell of the fire, their sweat and the musky sweetness of her mouth as he felt her face press against his. Her breath caught as she gasped slight, something that sounded like a cry of a smothered bird in its undertone.
Pressing herself against him, she eased her hips back so that he felt himself being slowly drawn out of her. Then she ground her body and his against the woven rug, and the stone floor, back and forth, slow steady pressure making his penis slip from its sheath and be clutched between the warm soft folds of her vulva. Then back within, clutched tightly, pressed deeper, steady and rhythmic. Her breaths were harsh against his cheek, staggered little cries and gasps. He caught up her hair in one hand and cradled the back of her head, reaching so that he could kiss her lips, his own breaths coming in the same short bursts.
Something wet land on his cheek. In between one kiss and another, he caught it with his tongue, savoring the salty tang. A tear… He looked up at her, seeing the blue of her eyes for the first time that night. Eyes full of tears, glistening as they had the very first time she’d shared his bed. Not pain this time, he knew. He kissed her again, wrapping his arm around her, cradling her head to his and raising his leg so that he could rub it against her own.
Around him, he felt her flesh begin to tighten then relax, then grip him tighter than before. His own body responded by tightening further. Then release came and he felt her lips on his, sucking at his mouth the way he always had done to her when he at reached his orgasm. He always wanted to kiss her then. To nip at her tongue, breath in her gasps…. Press his body down on hers to stop their shuddering. Hold themselves in the moment for eternity.
And so she held him, as he’d always wanted to do with her. Time slowly moved from one spasm of his flesh within her to the next, counted only by the drawing strokes of her muscular wetness as it took his offering deeper within. Heaven had only one angel, now laying upon him soft and yielding. He whispered, “I love you, Tralanii. I love you so very much,” to her between breathy gasps like a litany.
Then suddenly all stopped. The breaths stilled to a softness of a whisper, not the harshness of straining lungs. The gentle caress of her deepness eased to the relaxed abandon of satisfaction. She sighed once and looked down at him; the gray of dawn glistened in the mirror of her eyes. “I always loved your son’s body, Antian,” she murmured as she closed them.
He choked but caught by her words as he was, he couldn’t get free of his predicament fast enough. Still pierced by his flesh hers took on the hard chill of rigor, stark in the glow of morn. Then the stench of decay… The silken flesh he’d been caressing only moments ago melted to the softness of rancid ooze. It dried to dust that caught in his throat then drifted away.
The bones remained, staring up to him, empty eyes a reminder of all that had occurred