Shards of the One Pt. 01

"Mmm."

He stood, suddenly, sending great ripples across the foamy surface. He paused a moment, letting the water stream off him. His cock bobbed slightly, a few inches from her face. She followed it with her eyes, and he grinned slyly.

"I... don't want to go." she whispered.

"Don't". He hoped he had sounded imploring, rather than imperative.

She rose to her feet, glistening. Without a word, she held his face in her hands and kissed him. Neither withdrew for some moments. Bart laid his right hand lightly on her waist, feeling the plumpness of her hips. She shrank back once more, and offered him a sizeable towel of fine cloth. Her breasts gave little leaps as she turned, slick and warm with soapy water. Cursorily, he dried himself and meandered to the bed, watching her dry herself attentively, slightly embarrassed by his stare.

Running the towel roughly through his thick hair, Bart tossed it aside and sat naked at the edge of the bed once again. "Girl," he said.

Instantly, she dropped her towel and in two agile steps she stood before him, those marvelous tits swinging gently at eye level, as she came to rest. She began to bend, as if to kneel. Bart caught her arm. "No. I want you to fuck me." He leant forward and kissed her navel, sensuously. Her breathing was shallow and calm. He planted a row of kisses, diagonally, to her left breast, teasing the nipple with his tongue and upper teeth. Immediately it became hard in his mouth. He gave a series of gentle sucks, and then quickly shifted to the opposite breast. As he did so, he slid his right hand between her thighs, parting them slightly. His experienced fingers were not long in finding her button, and he toyed with it gently, feeling waves of pleasure travel through her body.

She had never had a lover pay her body such attention. Most took her roughly, like an animal, on her knees, dry and uncomfortable, spurting in her sex, or on her backside after a few brief pumps. Though his excitement was obvious, he touched her gently and slowly, and paid close attention to the sounds and expressions she made. His fingers were soon slippery as she became wet. He teased her then, running them over the length of her pussy- so close- but not quite entering her. He slowed, and drew his hand away as if to stop. He allowed her the most fleeting second of disappointment before, grinning like a fool, he returned to her clitoris, drawing concentric rings that grew ever tighter and faster. She gave tiny moans and gasps and her pussy became soaked with her excitement. Gently, Bart slipped the first joint of his middle finger inside her. She was intensely warm and moist. She inhaled sharply, and whispered "Yes..." He withdrew again, and returned, and withdrew, plunging deeper each time with a finger. His lips were busy too, nipping gently at her breasts, peppering her soft skin with kisses. As he thrust in and out of her more forcefully, he inserted a second finger, careful not to be rough with her. She moaned more loudly and his fingers and wrist were soon soaked. With his other hand, he squeezed her breast. She threw her head back in ecstasy. She lifted one knee and placed her foot against the bed frame, so as to spread herself for him. It was a beautiful display, her soft flesh pulsing gently as he thrust his two fingers in and out of her, her sex glittering in the candlelight.

The muscles in her thigh, opened before him, began to tense, their shadows writhing and warping. He felt her breath, traveling south through her body, begin to quicken. She was practically dripping. Her buttocks began to flex and she curled at the waist in the torturous throes of impending orgasm. She came, hard, gripping his shoulder tightly and giving intermittent moans, bent nearly double with the onrush of pleasure. He withdrew his hand and tasted his fingers. They were saturated, and tasted faintly salty. The mysterious, feminine taste stoked his lust further, and he felt his cock straining to be touched.

In a single smooth movement, taking her by the waist, he rolled her onto the bed next to him, and stood over her. She looked at him, more boldly than ever. Her eyes were wide in anticipation, daring him to take her. Bart knelt and with the head of his cock, nudged the hood of her sex, just below her clitoris. She moaned and raised her hips, baring herself for him. He gazed down at her, ravenous. Her pussy dripped wet, the lips flushed and swollen, her clitoris raised in ecstasy. He could wait no longer.

With a single thrust of his hips, he slipped his cock deep inside her. She gasped, and as he came to rest, buried in her pussy, she gave a long moan.

"Mmmmmmm... Ah, ah, mmmmm".

He felt her tighten around him, pulsing, curling her knees toward her chest. He leant down, still inside her, placing his hands on her wrists. The force of his thrusting jolted her clitoris and she gasped, her lips inches from his own. Her breasts bounced and swung loosely. She felt deliciously wet. He began to fuck her more rapidly, more forcefully that before, plunging ever deeper into her. Her eyes rolled back and stared at the ceiling beyond him. He loved the feeling of slapping against her fat thighs. As he surged inside her, harder and harder, he felt the rush of his seed begin.

Wordlessly, he stood back and his cock sprung, sopping, from her sex. She raised her head to meet his gaze, then slipped nimbly to the edge of the bed, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tenderly, she turned him to the bed again, letting him down softly. She stood over him and took his wet cock in her mouth once more, taking him deeper and deeper into her throat. After a few slow, deep sucks, she moved to squat over him, delicately guiding him inside her again. His cock was fiercely hard, and extremely slippery. They shared a nervous laugh as he pushed toward her - too far south. She avoided his eyes.

"... Not now..."

He did not need to nod. They were of one mind now, of one body. She lowered herself onto him and he felt as though he was even further inside her than before. He let her take the lead. She gyrated on top of him, riding his cock gently at first before desire overtook her. As the wind outside roared against the masonry and rain blossomed, like tears, against the windows, she threw her head back and sat erect, fucking him with an animal intensity. Her braid bounced against her shoulders. His hands found the small of her back, becoming slick with the sweat of their exertions. Her cunt felt painfully, deliciously tight around him and she bounced ever harder. Her tits swung madly, hypnotically in the semi-dark. With each bounce, as he felt her ass slap against his thighs, and she his cock bury itself deep within her, they gave intermittent groans of pleasure. Her brow furrowed and her hands gripped his arms desperately.

Sensing the struggle inside him to suppress his orgasm, she leant forward and slipped away from him. With surprising agility she clambered over him and lowered her pussy onto his face.

Naughty girl, he thought.

He ran an inquisitive tongue over the moist outline of her lips, dragging over her clitoris for a fleeting moment. Her thighs closed around him as pleasure wracked her. He ran his tongue in lazy rings over her button and she shook with the throes of orgasm once again. He allowed his tongue to slip inside her momentarily as she came, moaning loudly;

"Mmmmm, mmmmmmmm... Ah, mmmmm!"

Exhausted, flushed, she fell to one side of him, her legs crossed in delicate defeat, her sex still proffered invitingly. Bart's lust would not abate. Propping himself on a elbow, he laid a hand on her generous ass. When she did not reject him, he eased her onto all fours and positioned himself to take her from behind. In the midst of his passion, it occurred to him that to her this position might evoke painful memories of rough, drunk, careless, horny wayfarers past. Thus, as he entered her, it was with the utmost tenderness. Marveling at the enormity of her presented ass, only very slowly did he thrust inside her until she moaned faintly once more and her insides throbbed around him. He felt her move a hand to her pussy, stimulating it with erratic, circular movements. The thought only made him harder; it was agony. He began to ram her with greater force, and she almost shouted with ecstasy. His breath came in ragged starts as the effort took hold, perspiration flecking his chest, his back, his limbs.

Panic briefly came over him as he felt his seed coming. Close as their bond had become, he could not come inside this poor girl. He felt almost disgusted at the thought of leaving her to raise some bastard whoreson, and she barely a woman herself. She felt him pulsing, sensed his hesitation.

"It's alright," she whispered, "You can... my..."

He didn't need to see her face to know that she was blushing. He spared her an awkward reply. Gently, gently, he withdrew from her, slick from her sex, and began to ease himself inside her ass. It was not her first time, but he sensed her discomfort. He paused, the head of her cock against the dark ring of her asshole.

"I want you to come... inside me. I want this." she reassured him. As carefully as could be expected, he pushed the head of his member inside her ass. She stiffened and gasped, bending at the waist and clenching her buttocks with discomfort.

"I..." He began.

"No...". She relaxed.

He laid his hands on her plump backside, pressing his fingers into the fat there, gripping lightly. As gradually as he could manage, he eased his moist cock deeper inside her. She moaned, giving a sound that shifted midway, from pain to pleasure. The initial discomfort, it seemed, had passed. He pulled her backward onto his cock, burying it in her ass. It was much warmer than her pussy had been, and excruciatingly tight. How badly he wanted to come now, and fill her tight little hole with his seed.

"You little harlot..." he grinned.

"Yes... yes!"

He fucked her slowly then, to begin with, feeling his orgasm once again mounting. Her ass soon relaxed and stretched, and she surrendered to him. With bestial lust, he ravaged her, thrusting into her tight hole ever harder. She moaned so loudly he felt the whole inn might wake. He cared not. As her fat buttocks bounced against his groin, his cock spasmed and a long sigh escaped him. He came in an incredible spurt, pumping his load into her several times. He felt her ass tighten around him again, unwilling now to release him. Dizzy, he withdrew his still-jerking cock from her ass, a sizeable font of his seed running out of her, over her sex and down her thighs.

Bart collapsed onto the sheets, utterly spent. He was dimly aware of the girl moving about the room, cleaning up his mess. Scarcely had he closed his eyes when the dream returned.

Again, he sat a horse, steaming with sweat under the moonlight, trotting halfheartedly along some empty road. He felt the cool night breeze shifting against the exposed skin of his nape. This was a bizarre sensation, so utterly vivid and real, and yet, to Bart himself, long used to long hair, totally alien. He felt extremely weighty, though as he stared down at his armoured torso, he saw that it was with muscle, rather than fat. His body felt strange, and he a stranger in it. He swung his head to inspect the road ahead. His black, studded armor jostled and creaked with each tiny movement.

In the haze and half-conscious state of the dream, it took a few moments before Bart became aware of what lay before him. It was the road heading north from Midvalley through Fields-of-stone and on to Three Forks- the same road he had ridden two days earlier. A wave of unease swept over Bart as the experience became more lucid. He felt certain that what he was seeing was indeed happening. And yet, it was as though it was happening to him. Fighting desperately to suppress his rising fear, he forced himself to concentrate. Think logically. Gather information. He tried to study his armour, but it bore no sigil or craftsman's mark that he could discern. It was heavy, though, and finely crafted. He had no way to identify the rider, for there was no way he could see his own face. It probably made no difference, he thought. As if he would recognize it, anyway. He turned in the saddle, grasping for the slightest clue. Who was this mysterious rider, barreling out of the woods toward him? What did he know of Bart's past? What did he want?

Instinctively, Bart slipped his right gauntlet off, inspecting the muscled forearm. At first, nothing unusual appeared to him. As he turned his wrist, however, moonlight illuminated a series of strange runes along the inside of his arm, tattooed in blueish ink. He tried to commit the symbols to memory, unfamiliar as they were.

Suddenly, he felt something wresting control from him. It was an extremely disconcerting sensation - a loss of control over - not himself - over something he had barely, momentarily become. And yet, he could not fight it, as if the will of the rider were forcing him out. Like a mirror shattering before him, Bart saw the image of himself distend and separate, warp and tumble end over end as his psyche lost hold of the dream. He felt as though he was drowning, sinking below the surface of something, the reality of the rider becoming smudged and indistinct as one's own face in a rippling pool.

He woke before dawn. The girl was not with him. Had she even come to bed? He forced himself to focus on the urgency of the dream. Was it even a dream? Hastily he fumbled for the tinderbox in his satchel, stumbling nude to light the sill candle. In its greasy, sputtering glow he gathered his things, his clothes - hung before the fire, now dried -, his dagger, his shortsword and satchel, his boots. He dipped one hand in the undrained tub and splashed his face with the sweet-smelling water, which had now cooled. His waking stupor subsided, replaced with growing unease. He had not understood the dream, it's significance, or if indeed he had witnessed real events, but his gut told him he could not stay here.

*****

Now dressed, his sword and satchel bundled under an arm, he snuffed the candle and trod swiftly, lightly as he could, across the room and shut the door softly as a thief. He fought the urge to take the steps to the barroom two at a time, his thoughts folding over one another like boats jostling and tumbling over rapids. Running again. To which corner of the earth would he flee to now , and would it even make any difference? He didn't even know what he was even running from anymore. Bart willed his thoughts to silence, to coalesce into something resembling clarity.

Ordinarily, even in the direst circumstance, he could operate with outward calm and apparent decisiveness. He had become accustomed to threading a path between the chaos and swirling variables of his life on the road, constantly adapting to the ever-evolving, unending trials that pursued him at every turn. Now, however, he felt an unfamiliar sense of panic. His strength, his sureness, he knew, lay in analyzing the details of his predicament- turning foe against foe, employing all manner of trickery and deceit, exploiting any weakness he could interpret. Except that he knew nothing of this new threat. It defied his calculating mind; it seemed amorphous, undefinable, intangible and yet utterly and painfully real. It surrounded him, and yet it was invisible to him. He felt a chill sense of desperation, like that of a cornered rat, creep down his spine.

He clung to the one detail he had gleaned from the dream-encounter; the strange, blue runes etched into the skin of the rider. He wondered what they meant, what old tongue they might be written - indeed, whose tongue. Bart knew a few mages, sages and scribes throughout the Continent whose knowledge extended into the unknown frontiers of arcana. Perhaps one of them could shed light on the strange characters. He wondered which of them could be trusted. A few, maybe. And fewer still, probably, that he could reach incognito. As he stole out of the tavern, delicately lifting the latch, he began to rule out his options. Crossing the threshold, he grimaced and did the uneasy head-wiggle of pained resignation to an uncomfortable conclusion. It would have to be Roydas, at his study in Hawk's Head tower. That meant riding east, to Sky's End in Novira. It was perhaps a week's ride, and much faster once he crossed the border. He sighed.

Bart's horse, Whisper, knickered and shifted her front hooves as she heard him approach. He placed a hand on her nose and stroked her gently, to whinnies of delight. As he saddled her, and made ready his things, the sky began to lighten, the stars in furious relief against the paling pre-dawn. He felt the high winds abating, and allowed himself a smile. It would have been a pain in the arse to ride in that, he thought. In a swift, well-rehearsed motion, he swung up and into the saddle. Whisper pawed the earth, anxious as he was to be going. He gave a last look back to the inn, wondering where the young barmaid was right now, and what she would think when he didn't appear for breakfast. Perhaps, one day, she would make it out of this dreary roadside refuge. He shook his head, steeling himself a final time and stared down the road ahead. The air was still, the early morning fair and warm. As they started down the road, beginning at an easy trot, he wondered idly if Roydas could cure him of the strange dreams, or at least help him understand them.

I sure hope this isn't a waste of fucking time.