The Power of the Pan

Image by S. B. from Pixabay

Then I hurled through the trees to the creek bed where I intruded on the Pan in the F*ck.

That stopped me in my tracks.

The girl was splayed on her back on top of a boulder. Her legs bent at the knees and dropped aside to form the portal of the Divine Harlot, where the Pan gripped her hips with his meaty hands and f*cked her mercilessly.

I could see the outline of taut muscles through his furry thighs as the Pan rolled his pelvis. Her full breasts bounced in rhythm to the beat of the beast thrusting in and out of her. Her lips were black cherry red and her cheeks flushed roses, her pale straw-colored hair streaming around her head.

I had never seen anything more beautiful.

This girl was absolutely exquisite in the F*ck.

From her writhing, moaning bliss, I could tell she was no virgin when she had crossed paths with the Pan. But she might as well have been. Chances were she had never been pummeled like this, and she clearly loved it. She arched her back and gyrated her pelvis while reaching for her peak.

The girl’s flesh quivered, her body quaked as she dove into an explosive climax that consumed her in waves. Shrieking ecstatically, the girl was already begging for more.

What a magnificent little whore. She had to have descended from a nymph.

I was so enthralled with watching her I didn’t realize the Pan was watching me.

His hair was so thick, I could barely make out the horns and flying ears. His beard was the same ruddy chestnut as the hair on his head. His features were brutish, with deep set murky eyes and a blunt nose.

The Pan was still hard when he pulled out of the girl. The sight of that huge, engorged c*ck made the blood drain from my face.

I recoiled.

This was not the way things usually happened with the Pans.

According to all the stories I’ve ever heard, I should have been overcome with a searing lust.

Of course, he noticed.

“Huh,” he muttered.

I backed away from him.

The Pan peered intently into my eyes, tilted his head, and grinned.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You belong to Sappho.”

“What’s that mean?”

Suddenly, I was neither afraid nor repelled.

The Pan chuckled.

“Unless you don’t know who Sappho is, you know exactly what I mean. You like girls.”

As soon as he said it, I knew it was true.

Suddenly, my longing for Adele and her vicious torment made far more sense. She probably suspected that about me, and fed off my yearning to pump her vanity.

The girl pulled herself upright on the boulder, still quivering.

The Pan picked her up by the rump, and she tried to wrap her legs around him. Instead, he set her on the ground, and directed her towards me.

Once she was closer, I noticed she was a few years older than I. Her eyes still bleary from the F*ck, but her gaze cleared and brightened when she saw me.

The girl looked me up and down slowly, and smiled.

It took every bit of self-control I had to hold still. Every part of me wanted to tremble.

Even with her hair tangled and her skin flushed from the F*ck, she looked more like a Madonna than the wanton slut I’d just seen getting pounded and relishing it.

“Oh my,” she said breathlessly, and turned her face to the Pan. “Is she going to join us?”

“Do you want her to?” he asked.

The girl moaned and threw her head back. She had a lovely, long throat and her deep red lips curved in a smile.

“I do,” she murmured. “I want to play with her while you f*ck me.”

I blazed when she said that.

“And then I want to watch while you fuck her.”

I froze.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” the Pan said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t think she wants me.”

“How is that possible?”

“Because she wants you,” the Pan replied. “I think she wants you really bad. As bad as you want me so bad you’re dripping for me right now.”

“Really?” the girl murmured, her mossy green eyes intent on me. “If you’re right, maybe I can change her mind.”

I’ve never been at a loss for words at any time in my life before or after that moment. The wetness between my legs made me blush.

The girl giggled at the expression on my face.

“Hello there,” she called out. “I’m Heather. What’s your name?”

I paused, still unable to speak.

“You have a name, don’t you?”

“Dusky.”

“I like that. It’s sexy. Do you like to play with girls, Dusky?”

“I don’t know. I never have.”

“Have you ever messed around with boys?”

“No.”

“So you’re a total virgin?”

I blushed so hard, I thought I’d pass out.

“I guess so. Yeah.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen. Most people think I’m older.”

Heather nodded slowly and smiled, as she perused me up and down again.

I had seen that rakish expression before. On the faces of men and boys, that look made my skin crawl.

But coming from a slutty Madonna like Heather, that look made my knees shake.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “You have such a strong, womanly body. Do you want me like Pan says you do?”

I nodded before I could stop myself. It was impossible for me in that moment to deny how I felt.

Such was the power of a Pan.

The Erotic Life With a Phantom Lover

Image by Sabrina B. from Pixabay

He nibbled along her throat while unlacing her gown. 

Her bodice slipped free and the girl shuddered from the caress of his calloused palms over her breasts and down her belly. 

The unfamiliar taunt of desire had already penetrated her before he reached under her rump and picked her up, pressing her against the Cavern walls, the black stone cold and hard against her back. 

The girl knotted her legs around him, yearning to take him inside her. 

As they had the first night, the girl and her Phantom Lover made love until exhaustion took its claim.

The girl fought off the urge to sleep, but she succumbed. In her dreams, she relived the pleasure of their coupling, only to wake up to the same loathing that made her want to crawl out of her skin when the Phantom was gone and she saw the Sorcerer of the Caverns watching her. 

Thus their time always came to an end.

But hatred would be far from her mind the following night when she wound her way through the lilies to the runaway stallion. 

Then she rushed through the woods and spiraled down to the Sorcerer waiting for her with his pointer and easel, the pages of drawings concealed.

The girl always closed her eyes when the Phantom came for her. 

When she didn’t see the Cavern walls around her, she could forget the Horse Trainer may no longer be alive. 

She could forget he would not be as she once knew him if he were. 

With her eyes shut, she could fall into the fantasy and allow his Phantom to consume her. 

When she didn’t see him, his touch went deeper and his smell transported her to the summer she learned what it was to feel joy. 

The Phantom could have her any way he wanted, so long as her craving was satisfied and the throbbing of her empty space remained quiet. 

It was the only time she felt whole.

In the early weeks, the girl detested the Sorcerer’s lessons. 

The Sorcerer with his pointer and his easel was a reality she couldn’t deny. 

Many weeks passed before she finished the first assignment and gave in to her own pleasure. It was a revelation when the inner fortress she lived in all her life crumbled. 

The Sorcerer never had to teach her anything twice after that. 

Most of his lectures had little to do with carnal skill. Her mentor was adamant seduction begin in the mind before the body surrendered or the heart claimed. 

As she listened to him talk about the greatest lovers in history, the girl realized it was the Sorcerer who was seducing her, even if he needed the essence of the Trainer to do so. 

She also understood that for all his knowledge, there was only one truth: she would never gain mastery over another until she was mistress over herself. 

This lesson was the most difficult. 

Every time the Phantom came for the girl, her self-command dissolved into the throbbing of her hollow. 

The girl began keeping her eyes open when they made love. 

She was frightened the first time she witnessed his surrender. She even had to fight the urge to close her eyes and fall back into fantasy. 

Then she became fascinated with his pleasure, exploring ways she could bring the Phantom to higher peaks. 

The first time her Phantom Lover surrendered to an ecstasy she had orchestrated, the thrill spread through her body. A climax like nothing she dreamed possible, the tingling exploding until both body and mind were shattered. 

Then she came back stronger. 

Her appetite for lovemaking became insatiable. 

The girl and her Phantom Lover made a game out of it, a competition to be the one to bring the other to the edge, only to send them into the abyss and fall in afterwards. 

They laughed often, for pleasure was assured. But the girl couldn’t get enough of that feeling when it was she who had brought the Phantom to surrender. 

The girl often had to fight to keep her hold on reality when fantasy threatened to intrude. 

Sometimes she almost succumbed to the belief the Phantom was the Horse Trainer. 

When he looked at her a certain way or kissed her with more tenderness than ardor, but especially when he laughed, the Phantom was so much like her friend joy burst inside, and she embraced the Phantom as her beloved. 

But waking up to the Sorcerer always reminded her of what she was really doing.   

Finally her loathing disappeared. 

As summer drew to a close, she had a sentiment akin to gratitude when she saw the Sorcerer. 

Haze of Reminiscence

Image by Sabrina B. from Pixabay

The girl always closed her eyes when the Phantom came for her.

When she didn’t see the Cavern walls around her, she could forget that the Horse Trainer may no longer be alive. She could forget that even if he were, the Horse Trainer would not be as she once knew him.

With her eyes shut, she could fall into the fantasy and allow his Phantom to consume her.

When she didn’t see him, his touch went deeper and his smell transported her to the summer she learned what it was to feel joy. The Phantom could have her any way he wanted, so long as her craving was satisfied and the throbbing of her empty space quiet.

It was the only time she felt whole.

In the early weeks, she detested the lessons.

The Sorcerer with his pointer and his easel was a reality she couldn’t deny.

Many weeks passed before she finished the first assignment and gave in to her own pleasure. It was a revelation when the inner fortress she lived in all her life crumbled once she did.

The Sorcerer never had to teach her anything twice after that.

Most of his lectures had little to do with carnal skill.

Her mentor was adamant that seduction must begin in the mind before the body would surrender or the heart would be claimed.

As she listened to him talk about the greatest lovers in history, the girl realized it was the Sorcerer who was seducing her, even if he needed the essence of the Trainer to do so.

She also understood that, for all his knowledge, there was only one truth.

She would never gain mastery over another until she was mistress over herself.

This lesson was the most difficult.

Every time the Phantom came for the girl, her self-command dissolved in the throbbing of her hollow.

She began keeping her eyes open when they made love.

She was frightened the first time she witnessed his surrender. She even had to fight the urge to close her eyes and fall back into fantasy.

Then she became fascinated with his pleasure, exploring ways she could bring him to higher peaks.

The first time her Phantom Lover surrendered to an ecstasy she orchestrated, the thrill spread through her body. That climax was like nothing she dreamed possible, the tingling exploding until both body and mind were shattered.

Then she came back stronger.

Her appetite for lovemaking became insatiable.

The girl and her Phantom Lover made a game out of it, a competition to be the one to bring the other to the edge, only to send them into the abyss and fall in afterwards.

They laughed often, for pleasure was assured.

But the girl couldn’t get enough of that feeling when it was she who brought the Phantom to surrender.

The girl often had to fight to keep her hold on reality when fantasy threatened to intrude.

Sometimes she almost succumbed to the belief the Phantom was the Horse Trainer. When he looked at her a certain way or kissed her with more tenderness than ardor, but especially when he laughed, he was so much like her friend that joy burst inside the girl, and she embraced the Phantom as her beloved.

But waking up to the Sorcerer always reminded her of what she was really doing. 

Finally her loathing disappeared.

As summer drew to a close, she had a sentiment akin to gratitude when she saw the Sorcerer.

Her days transformed along with her nights from the time their arrangement began.

A few weeks after she started going to the Caverns, the girl went for her late afternoon ride, but changed course. Instead of going south through the village or west towards the Ancient Grove, she steered the horse east of the manor and followed the river winding through a young forest.

She didn’t know what compelled her to go to this place where she hadn’t been in years.

She used to come here with the Horse Trainer on those afternoons they weren’t inclined to go to the Abandoned Valley. She hadn’t been back since he was gone.

In these woods, the Trainer had introduced her to the ways of the wanderer.

The unlikely mentorship started because she didn’t believe his stories about stowing away in the lowest reaches of the ships, escaping from angry sheikhs, and traveling across deserts by camel.

She didn’t think such adventures were possible for a penniless vagabond. She remembered how ashamed she’d been when she saw the outrage in his eyes.

The Trainer had noticed and smiled.

“I’m a lot of things,” he’d said. “But I’m no liar. I dare you to find out just how wrong you are, little Miss.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can show you how a man can live off nothing. You just have to be willing to learn.”

During the rest of that summer, she often regretted accepting that challenge.

Those were the only lessons she struggled with in her life.

The Trainer didn’t make it easy for her, and she hated him whenever he laughed at her. But he taught her everything he knew.

He showed her how to make a pole and line to catch fish, how to shoot a rifle, even how to hunt with a knife if that was all she had.

He insisted she skin her own kills and cook the meat in a skillet over a fire, which he also taught her to make.

He instructed her in building a camp when she had something to work with, and even when she had nothing.

It took the entire summer for her to master these strange skills, but these lessons gave her the most gratification of everything she’d ever learned.

She hadn’t thought about that season for years, pushing those days to the furthest recesses of her mind.

But as she cantered the reddish brown steed around the bend of the river, she kept her eye out for their favorite fishing spot.

Their poles were still there.

The long sticks were leaned against the tree, as if they were waiting for them to return and cast their lines.

She dismounted from her horse and picked up the pole she’d struggled to carve until it was right. She bent it slightly and chuckled when the wood split down the middle.

She wasn’t at all surprised when she tried the Trainer’s pole and found it still strong and flexible.

The girl hesitated for just an instant before throwing off her skirts and jacket. Clad in peasant breeches and a blouse, she crouched and clawed through the mud for worms.

Before long, she had her line cast in the river and after an hour, she pulled in her first catch.

Practicing these forgotten skills, the past intertwined with the present to bring her a peace she hadn’t known in too long.

The girl often looked around. The Trainer’s presence so strong she almost expected to find him.

But the memories were enough. 

Close Call

Image by Comfreak from Pixabay

The Wanderer couldn’t believe his luck when he found the pool.

After exploring the woods for weeks, he thought it must be his imagination when he glimpsed steam floating into the rays of morning light.

The Wanderer sniffed the air.

The odor of spoiled eggs was faint but distinctive, drifting from the eastern woods where he seldom went. He found a stream running downhill to the south, and dipped his hand. 

The water was still warm, proving this came from a hot spring.

He rushed back to camp, savoring the thought of a bath while collecting his soiled clothes, and bottles of soap and oil. 

As he followed the creek uphill, the pungent aroma grew stronger and the drafts of steam left a film on his skin.

He hadn’t reached the top when he found it, recognizing the intervention of man in nature. In the center was the origin where the springs heated in thermal depths of the earth came through. 

The pool was dark in the middle, bubbles breaking along the surface to a small cave, from which clouds billowed. Only a violent disturbance of the earth could have opened such a fissure. 

But there was a lower shelf built round the center, the water so clear he could make out the fine mineral grains at the bottom. Just above the shelf, flat stones were arranged to form a ledge over the pool. 

Another stream poured in from the northwest where the water numbed his fingers in less than a minute. 

Any doubt he had that this was the work of fellow travelers was gone, when he followed that stream to the dry beds where it had once flowed before being rerouted.

The Wanderer undressed and lowered himself where the warm creek left the pool. 

There, the water was perfect, stopping below his hips. 

Then he dove into the black depths and the heat grew intense. The temperature was more than he could bear along the fissure and he didn’t dare go towards the cave. 

Instead, he swam against the incoming stream, reveling in the fluid caress of hot and cold. 

It wasn’t long before dreaminess overtook him, the sensation unique to mineral springs. 

Before he melted into perpetual laze, he dove under and swam through varying degrees of heat to the other side of the pool and back again. 

When he came up for air, the woods were spinning. 

Already, he’d been in the water too long. 

But the girl had come.

He knew she was there from the thrill along his flesh and the tension in his limbs before he even saw her.

She must have approached from the north. 

Her arms were folded casually and she leaned against a tree to the right of the incoming stream. Their eyes met for an instant before her gaze swept over him, her mouth parting in a near smile. 

The unabashed roguishness startled the Wanderer. 

He even had to resist the urge to dive back in the water, holding her look for a moment before he got out and stretched along the ledge. 

Reaching for his canteen, he sipped slowly until the flask was empty and he was steady again. 

Then he glanced to the tree. 

The girl still hadn’t moved, her eyes fixed on him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t do with a wash,” he said, dropping into the pool. “So are you getting in, or are you just going to watch?”

The girl smiled, then kicked off her boots and unbuckled her holster. 

Her oversized blouse fell just below her hips when her breeches dropped to the ground. 

The Wanderer admired the long muscles gripping her thighs, the meat of her calves tapering to shapely ankles. 

The girl hesitated, but he floated on his back and kept watching. 

She cocked one brow at him before taking hold of her shirt. 

His breath caught in his throat when she pulled her blouse over her head. 

Before the garment fluttered to the ground, the Wanderer ducked underwater, propelling himself against the icy current flowing into the pool. His heart pounded from the image etched in his mind. 

He usually preferred lush womanly curves, but he couldn’t deny the girl was lovely. 

Her body was a marriage of muscle and flesh, creating a harmony of softness and strength. Her modest breasts stood high, ropy sinews carved her waist and held her belly flat, then swelled into the subtle round hips that guarded her pubis. 

The Wanderer didn’t come up for air until his arousal tapered off. 

He was embarrassed when the girl smirked at him, but he didn’t look away. 

Her skin was golden in the beams of light filtering through the trees, that star-shaped pendant she always wore resting between her breasts.

She stepped to the pool and the sun hit the facets of the crystal.

Suddenly the Wanderer was dizzy, and blinded by a swirl of colors surrounding him. 

His pulse roared, his heart pounding in his ears, and sharpness burst inside his chest. It happened so fast and the unexpected pain sunk him underwater. 

The Wanderer choked and kicked hard to push his head above the surface, and lunged for the shelf. His knees scraped against the grains at the bottom and he leaned over the ledge, wracked with coughing until he expunged the water he swallowed.

As soon as he was calm, the Wanderer looked towards the girl

She was more agitated than he. 

Collapsed against the tree, she heaved for air through her nose, biting her lower lip. Her face was white and her eyes had gone black, while tears streamed down her cheeks.

One hand gnarled and trembled between her breasts, where she held the pendant tight in her fist. Then she pulled the necklace over her head, her fingers unfolding slowly and dropping the crystal into the heap of clothes.

The Wanderer had the sense he’d been released somehow. 

His breath came easier and he got out of the pool, lying prone on the ledge with his head resting on his arms. His heartbeat slowed gradually and the quivering in his limbs settled down. 

The girl also needed a few minutes to steady herself. She sat at the edge of the pool with her legs dangling in the water. 

Then she dropped in to her shoulders, her hair waving on the surface.   

Addie Claims Her Power

Image by Alexandr Ivanov from Pixabay

The weeks passed.

Because the fall of the Patron’s Daughter was a slower progression than I anticipated, my escape to an unknown future was delayed.

I couldn’t complain, however. I was growing my fortune, and the Sorcerer was thorough in teaching me how to use it.

Really, the Sorcerer was a most splendid mentor. I would never have been able to navigate my way to a new life without him.

Even with a fat purse and a beautiful face, had he not passed on a wealth of instruction on where to go and how to comport myself once I got to the Capital City, a lifetime peasant like me would have been doomed.

Some basic math was the most important thing he taught me. I learned how to count, how to add and subtract.

Such knowledge to one who had been an indentured servant all of her life was priceless. There was no way I would ever have been able to understand the value of money if he hadn’t done that. The Sorcerer went over the differences in the value of gold, silver, and copper coins until I recognized the differences in my sleep.

He also drew various maps of the Capital City for me, and showed me many drawings of its more distinguished areas.

It was intimidating.

I had never seen such majestic buildings in my life. And the size was massive, many times larger than the village where I grew up.

The belief that I could ever feel at home there was beyond my imagination.

Yet the Sorcerer was patient, breaking the Capital down to neighborhoods and districts until I saw it as nothing more than a collection of villages.

He didn’t stop until I knew that city by heart, and could mentally find my way through avenues and streets I’d never seen.

Only then would he introduce me to the best neighborhood where a girl like me could land.

I would arrive in the Capital City with no papers, no name, and nobody to introduce me.

Therefore I had to choose those parts of town where no questions would be asked so long as enough money was handed over.

The part of town where he directed me was right next to the grand avenue of the elegant arts where the theater, the ballet, the opera house, and the symphony all lined up.

Yet on the street behind it were homes where art was an act of decadence.

The underground cabarets, the hidden gambling houses, the private gentleman’s clubs, the secret bordellos, and even a molly house for men who desired men found their home there.

The Sorcerer directed me to the most exciting and the most scandalous neighborhood in the Capital City.

But I get ahead of myself.

Before I could arrive to such a sumptuous future, I had to finish my business in the mundane dreariness of life as I had always known it.

Those last weeks of working in the fields were the most agreeable of my life.

I no longer suffered the bitter rage that kept people at a distance. For the first time, I got on well with those I worked in the field with.

I’m sure it helped that the crew I worked with was spared the humiliation of overwork from the Patron’s Daughter.

Strangely enough, her routine of haughty rides past those who slaved away in the fields now occurred more often than once a day.

Perhaps it wasn’t so strange.

After she had subjugated herself to the Brute who degraded her mercilessly, she had to compensate her pride.

And who better than the peasants who were at her mercy.

This was during harvest.

The most brutal months of year when we were worked pitilessly.

It was the time to pick more fruit and vegetables than was humanly possible, as well as making jars of preserves of whatever hadn’t sold at market.

The work was relentless and the expectations from our patrons were absurd.

This was a family who had more than enough jars of preserved fruits and vegetable to eat from for generations, yet from the yelling insults of our overseers one would think they faced famine in the winter.

They could have fed all of us all year on what they harvested and preserved, but of course, they didn’t.

We could scarcely keep up with their demands.

During this time, the Patron’s Daughter decided to impose her very particular ideas about how the peasants should pick to preserve the integrity and freshness of the produce.

Of course, her way would take three times as long as the fastest of us could do, thus making a near impossible chore intolerable. And her methods resulted in severe consequences for the team of workers she chose to persecute that day.

Before she had been a nuisance. Now she was a tyrant, and her nastiness had become hideous.

What did change was that she dared not indulge herself at the expense of my crew.

She tried, though.

The first time she screamed at me to pick fruit in a manner that would have my fingers bleeding within an hour, I let her have it without saying a word.

I simply looked into her eyes and brought to mind in vivid, excruciating detail the memory of the Patron’s Daughter in that whorish corset, with her breasts bobbing and her hips bucking while the Brute pummeled his engorged manmeat down her throat as the Patron’s Daughter groaned and suckled, spittle frothing at her mouth.

Then I sneered at her.

Her face went white.

She left my group without explanation, ostensibly because the group next to us was even more incompetent.

The Patron’s Daughter never came near us again after that.

Everybody I worked with noticed. For the first time in my life, everybody wanted to work alongside me.

Since we were never subject to the petty tyranny of the Patron’s Daughter, my crew brought in the most harvest every day.

Although that did not bring us anything in the way of reward or privilege, at least we weren’t punished and beaten as the other groups were.

That was my last season as a laborer, and the hard work was almost pleasant.

Perhaps the novelty of having power over another was the cause, but I actually reveled in how much strength and stamina I had.

I was actually considered pleasant to be around, rather than ugly Addie, the pathetic wretch who wanted more than she could ever have.

For the first time in my life, I had the respect of my people.

I enjoyed that very much as I planned my desertion.

A Moment of Truth

Image by Arthur Halucha from Pixabay

“Drink.”

It was a command, but I hesitated.

“I’ve never had liquor before.”

“Congratulations, Addie. You’re a big girl now.”

The Brute stared me down until I picked up the small glass with the sharp smells and drops of our blood. I didn’t dare ask him what the blood exchange was about or defy him.

Holding my breath, I threw my head back as I swallowed. Tears came to my eyes. Even in haste, there was no escaping the foul taste of that liquor.

I suppressed the urge to retch when the cursed spirits hit my stomach.

The Patron’s Daughter shook her head vehemently.

“What’s wrong, fancy girl?” the Brute taunted. “Have you a weaker backbone than Addie here?”

“I’ve had liquor before, but I’m not drinking anything with blood in it. That’s disgusting!”

“You’re making a sacred covenant. You want your true desire? Then drink.”

“I didn’t come here to make a sacred anything.”

The Patron’s Daughter started to cross her arms, but the Brute gripped her wrist.

His menacing voice was low as he continued.

“Be good, fancy girl, and I promise you as much bloodless liquor as you like.”

I expected the Patron’s Daughter to throw the spirits soiled with my blood in the Brute’s face. I couldn’t believe it when she actually obeyed.

Her face grew pale.

But she still took the glass and threw the liquor down her throat. Her eyes watered when she swallowed, and she shuddered. Then she sighed and pushed her glass forward for more.

I shook my head when he glanced at me. The Brute raised his brows slightly, and I knew it was time to retreat to a corner in the shadows.

The Brute filled both their glasses.

“Try sipping it this time,” he suggested. “You’ll savor the taste more.”

Without warning, the Brute came around the table, unbuttoned the cloak, swept it off the Patron’s Daughter, and tossed the garment to me.

I didn’t even have time to get angry at being thrust in the role of servant once again.

I caught the cloak without a word, but the sudden confusion made the Patron’s Daughter step away, her face blushing.

“You’re already here, fancy girl. You might as well get comfortable.”

The gown she wore was deep blue and simple, the kind she could put on without the help of a maid. With laces in the front that stopped at her ribcage, her full breasts were accentuated.

The Brute looked her over, and there was no misunderstanding what he was thinking.

Her eyes grew wide, and the Patron’s Daughter crossed her arms.

“Addie told me you could help me marry the Noble Son.”

The Brute laughed.

If I hadn’t been so stunned, I probably would have as well. Her insistence on the Noble Son was farcical at this point.

There was a part of me that anticipated the Patron’s Daughter storming out of that cabin, shrieking insults and possibly vengeance to me.

But the Patron’s Daughter had never faced a predator before, had never been under another’s power in her life.

Once she was, like many prey before her, she froze.

Or perhaps the Sorcerer had figured out her hidden hunger for a Brute.

Perhaps this was the titillation she had been looking for. Either way, the Brute knew he had her.

He smiled, and the Patron’s Daughter flinched at the sight of his short teeth.

“I thought we had already determined that the Noble Son is not the deepest desire of your soul.”

“I couldn’t care less about the desires of my soul,” she snipped. “I came here to marry the Noble Son. If you can’t help me, I want to go.”

The blood drained from my head and made me so dizzy I almost fainted.

If she left, I would be destroyed.

Yet the Sorcerer of the Caverns had not been the villain of cautionary tales for generations without just cause.

Until this moment, he had belied his rough appearance with intelligence and pleasantry. Suddenly, his demeanor changed and the Brute sounded as violent as he looked.

His tone became guttural as he snarled at her.

“You pathetic little fool! Do you even have the integrity to admire his self-respect? Not even the Devil himself could have tempted the Noble Son to desire you. Even if that were possible, I don’t waste my time restoring the wounded vanity of spoiled little shrews like yourself.”

I was so shocked I couldn’t even rejoice.

Nobody had ever spoken like that to the Patron’s Daughter in her life. Her face went white, and she even gasped.

Then fury set in. Her features contorted, she balled her delicate hands into fists and raised her right arm.

But the Brute moved fast. He blocked the Patron’s Daughter before she could strike him by gripping her right wrist.

Then he grabbed her other hand, raised both above her head, and pulled her to him. They made a peculiar pair.

The Patron’s Daughter with her creamy softness and understated gown could not have been a more unlikely match to the uncouth Brute with his ugly features.

She was so close to him, she could probably feel his breath on her face.

“I wouldn’t act on that urge,” the Brute murmured, “unless you’re willing to pay the consequences, fancy girl.”

The Cost of Liberation

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

The Sorcerer had the urge to reach for her, but he restrained himself, knowing the girl would only recoil. 

He summoned the shadow servants, but it was the girl who emptied the last drops from the vial into the cauldron. 

The mist rose from the brew and the Sorcerer muttered the spell that would transform him into a man of feeling, his senses coming alive with each step he took. 

He thought he would burst when the fog dissipated and he saw his lover waiting for him.

Once they joined together, they never came apart. 

He clutched her with a desperation that frightened him, burying his face into the crevices of her flesh. 

He breathed in her scent so that he could take a piece of her with him once he ceased to be, evaporated into nothing like the Phantom that he was. 

Each time he felt the quiver of release, he held on. If he never let go, perhaps the night would go on for eternity.

But she was relentless. 

Her lips curled into a snarl, cold blue eyes glittering. She urged his body to betray him and give her what she wanted. 

His ecstasy would bring her freedom, and all he could think was that this was the last time…the last time she would be his. 

He gazed up the tunnel and saw the gateway to the Caverns stood open.  He had forgotten to close the boulder. If he’d remembered, she would never be able to leave him. 

But she wouldn’t look at him with hunger as she did right now, the sadness of farewell in her eyes. 

The Phantom could hold back no longer, so near to the edge of cataclysm. 

He’d held back long enough that pleasure had become pain, delicious when he finally gave in, the howl quaking his being from inside out as his lover forced him to surrender. 

Her ululating moans echoed though the chamber and consumed him.  His last peak was the most violent he’d ever known, wrenching his grief.

Something inside him shattered. 

Suddenly the girl gasped and fell on him in a faint. 

The Sorcerer knew something was wrong when he felt the decrepitude in his bones. Somehow, he was no longer virile and young. 

But when he saw the girl’s essence lift from her, he realized what she had done. 

Her body collapsed, but her essence reached inside him to claim the Trainer’s. 

There was nothing he could do to stop her. The Sorcerer was too weak. 

He was falling and the precious essence was floating away, the Trainer rising with his lover who was setting him free.

The stars were disappearing from the sky. 

The rising dawn meant night was coming to an end. 

The Sorcerer fought to stay conscious. 

Even if he couldn’t experience the bliss, he could at least witness their final embrace. 

Unshackled by physical bodies, the essence of the girl and the Trainer became one. 

The last the Sorcerer heard before he succumbed to darkness was the echoing sigh of two lovers floating up the tunnel of crystals, sharing the most exquisite rapture possible until the girl let her Phantom Lover go. 

*****

His sleep was dreamless. The Sorcerer woke up into her cold blue gaze. 

The girl was dressed, watching him while the Sorcerer lay naked. 

Her expression was bland looking over his bony form and she handed him his robes, staying quiet until he’d put them on.

“I believe you have something for me,” she said.

He looked at her and nodded.

The Sorcerer got up, shocked at the pain searing through him while searching amongst the shelves. 

He kept his back to the girl until he found the promised dust that would protect her in times of danger. 

He had never before had cause to notice the emptiness after a seduction came to an end.

Exhaustion spread through his limbs when he found the leather pouch. 

But he caught a glimpse of the black velvet bag, nestled in the corner of the highest shelf, and his spirit lifted. 

He’d actually forgotten about her heart. No wonder he was so tired. 

He turned around and handed her the pouch of dust. 

She took it, but eyed him closely, scowling. 

The Sorcerer was pleased she’d detected his shift in mood. The girl’s powers of observation were impeccable and the most satisfying quality of her conquest.

“Use this with caution,” he said.  “You only need a pinch, it’s that powerful.”

She nodded, ruffling her skirts to pocket the leather pouch. 

“I don’t know if the world is ready for you,” he continued.  “But you’re more than ready for the world.  Good luck in your new life.”

The girl said nothing, staring up the tunnel for a moment before taking her first step. 

But once she started, her progress was steady as she made her way up the stairs. 

The Sorcerer watched her go, a sharp stab in his breast catching him off guard so much that he almost doubled over. 

The pain was confusing. There was no reason to suffer. 

He glanced at the black velvet bag, knowing he would soon get what he really needed. 

The girl stopped halfway up the spiral. 

Her halt was so sudden he wondered if she could hear what he was thinking. She looked down at him, her brows drawn close. 

He knew what her question would be before she spoke, her contralto voice echoing down the tunnel.

“What are you going to do with my heart?”    

“I’m going to eat it.”

The Sorcerer didn’t hesitate in his answer, and thus dispelled the last vestiges of the illusion of love. 

The girl’s face paled and the Sorcerer felt like himself again, reveling in the new surge of vitality in his blood.

“I always knew there would be a hidden cost,” she murmured.

This excerpt is out of my novel, “Ella Bandita and the Wanderer.” To purchase the ebook, click HERE.

Second Rule of Seduction

Image by Sabrina B from Pixabay

Her bed was empty every night. 

Nobody knew except her mother, but the girl didn’t fear betrayal from her. She always stopped to kiss the woman before she left the house, reassured by the scent of lilies emanating from the portrait. 

A sliver of dark moon lit the sky, and the overripe scent of dying lilies guided her to the giant gray stallion. 

She smiled at the animal hidden in the avenue of peach trees. 

Every night, she was tempted to ride him for a long spell before going into the Ancient Grove, but her anticipation for the pleasures the night would bring always stopped her. 

The stallion left her at the edge of the woods, where he would always be in the morning, waiting to carry her home. 

She always went the rest of the way on foot, winding her way through the trees until she came to the clearing. The giant boulder stood aside, the Gateway to the Caverns open to receive her, glowing from the torches lighting the way down. 

The Sorcerer waited for her at the bottom of the spiral.  He always had his cue in hand, standing before an easel with sketches illustrating the art of love. 

Thus their time always began. 

The sight of the old magician with lessons prepared had upset her the second night she came to him. 

She had expected to see the Phantom of the Horse Trainer who had come as a Vagabond. It was the Phantom she wanted. 

The memory of his touch tingled through her flesh all day, and she rode to the woods belly quivering. 

She ran through the trees that first night, breathless when she stepped into the main chamber of the Caverns, only to meet the Sorcerer with pointer in hand, the covered easel behind him. 

She stopped in her tracks, the heat in her blood suddenly chilled. 

“Second rule of seduction,” he said, laughing at the look on her face. 

“Keep your lover off balance.  Never ever be predictable.”

He threw off the tapestry and revealed a sketch of a peculiar looking fruit, one she’d never seen before. 

When she asked about it, the Sorcerer smirked and corrected her. 

Then he pointed to a mirror he left for his pupil on the table and gave her first assignment.  Her face burned once she understood. 

“You must be joking,” she said.

“This is part of our agreement.  What did you think I would be teaching you?” 

The girl averted her eyes from the Sorcerer and his drawing.

“You must know your own body,” he said, “if you are to become a superior mistress.”

“Are you teaching me to be a courtesan?  I never agreed to that.”

“Of course not, unless that’s what you choose.”

“What you’re suggesting is defilement,” she murmured.

The Sorcerer peered at her and the grooves along his brow dug deeper. 

“I suppose that’s enough for tonight.” 

He turned to the wall with shelves carved deep in the stone, bypassing the vials and cauldrons for the row of silver goblets and bottles of wine. 

The Sorcerer took one of each and came back to the table. 

He gripped the bottle with one hand, the cork popping in his fist, and  out poured a red black stream into the goblet.

“But you need to understand such proper ways no longer serve you,” he said.  “Assuming such ladylike virtues ever did.”

He held the wine out to her until she took it.

“Take some time to refresh yourself.”

The girl grew more at ease as soon as the Sorcerer disappeared into the maze of corridors. 

The weight of the goblet felt good in her hand, the silver cool against her fingers. Taking a sip, she savored the lush warmth in her mouth and closed her eyes. 

She thought of this assignment and flushed again. 

What the Sorcerer wanted her to do was unthinkable. She took another sip and leaned back into the cushions. 

Opening her eyes, she studied the sketch. 

Then she glanced at the mirror and back to the sketch, wondering if the likeness of her was true.

“You always were a curious little minx.”

She heard the drawling voice and froze.

The air teased against the lobe of her ear and trilled down her spine, yawning her body open.

No more words were needed.

The girl was already reaching for the Phantom as she turned to him and he pulled her into his arms, bringing her flesh to life with his touch.