tagSci-Fi & FantasyInnocent Passion

Innocent Passion



Finally, after what seems like eons of waiting, there's a knock at the door.

Alys smoothes the fine silky fabric over her thighs, her damp palms leaving streaks of which she's blissfully unaware as she curls her fingers over the plain doorknob, turns it and swings the door wide.

And there he is. Her heart. Smiling at her with that gentle curve of full red lips, dark eyes crinkling warmly, immaculate as always, even clad in an unfamiliar black robe. He takes one of her small pale hands in his and raises it to his mouth, bending over it, lips just lightly brushing her knuckles. But its enough to make her shiver, and her small nipples tingle and tighten, peaking the fabric of her dress. Its long, and flowing, yet so very fine that it clings to the curves of her slender body.

He straightens, eyes traveling appreciatively over her form, his gaze snagging a moment on her nipples pressing against the fabric, before slowly running up to her face, a flush blooming over her cheekbones, both from pleasure at his appreciation, and embarrassment at her own reaction.

"I knew that dress would become you, my love," he murmers, in the silken tone that makes her bones melt. She smiles at him tremulously, azure eyes flooding with warmth as she gazes up at him adoringly. "But I'd no idea how... seductive it would be."

She flushes again, dragging her gaze free of his with some difficulty to run over herself. She gasps in consternation at the obvious peaked shape of her nipples, even the dusky peach hue of them visible through the silky-sheer white fabric. As he'd diffidently suggested, in a note enclosed with the dress, she'd kept herself completely bare beneath it. And now, with even the dull lamplight shining behind her, the fabric is almost totally transparent. The small tuft of blond curls between her thighs is a dark smudge beneath the spidersilk.

Stammering something awkward, she tugs her fingers free of his and folds her arms over her chest, ducking her head a little so pale blond hair drapes over her face. She peeks up at him shyly through this shielding curtain.

"I... I'm used to wearing more." She tells him, her bare toes curling against the weathered wooden floor.

He smiles at her widely, one of her favorites. He has so many different kinds of smiles, and she loves them all for various reasons. This one is light-hearted, cheeky, playful.

"Are you ready, sweetness? My carriage waits."

She nods dumbly, then squeaks in surprise as he scoops her up in his arms, turning to take her outside, leaving his coachman to close the door of her small house. He carries her the half dozen steps to the coach, and leans in the open door to deposit her gently on the seat, climbing in beside her with a friendly wink. Her hands are folded in her lap and he lays one of his over them, gently squeezing. "I wouldn't want to risk you cutting those dainty little feet, sweetness," he murmers.

Alys flushes again, feeling like its all she's capable of doing, horribly aware of his hand so close to that special private place between her legs. She leans forward to look out the window at her small house as the coachman coaxes the horses into movement and they slowly pull away. Her father is sleeping deeply in the back room. She prays he won't wake while she's gone, for there's nobody else to sit with him and see to his needs.

She's spent all of her adolescence caring for him. He suffered some sickness likely caused by the awful scourge diseases during the war, and had been sickly ever since he returned to find his wife run off with a bandit, leaving only Alys of his family. He received a stipend from the army, but it was little enough to ensure a decent living. Alys took care of him, and fed him the tinctures and potions that the alchemists recommended.

She also had employment at the local bakery in Goldshire, working in the darkest hours of the night, baking the breads fresh for the next day. There were two girls who worked this graveyard shift, and they never had contact with the clients. It suited Alys, because she worked while her father slept and didn't require her. It suited Darna because she had an infant who's regular feeding requirements kept her up through the night anyway. She brought the babe to the bakery with her, and kept him in a carry basket on the workbench in the corner of the room, where the immense heat of the baking oven wasn't too oppressive.

One night they'd been working away as usual when there had sounded an insistant hammering at the front door of the bakery. They had ignored it. Tucked away in the kitchen, some of the light did filter through to the store at the front of the building. And sometimes hungry drunks would bang on the door on their way staggering home from the inn or local whorehouse, hoping to purchase a snack. But store policy was to ignore them. But this night, after the hammering had as usual subsided, a knocking had soon begun on the back door of the premises, accessible only through the narrow, refuse-strewn alley.

The girls had exchanged startled looks, the baby picking up on their nervousness and beginning to wail. Darna had gone to soothe her infant, and Alys had opened the door, just a crack, staring in wonderment at the finely-dressed coachman. He'd pardoned the intrusion and begged for food and water for his labored horses, explaining theirs was the only light showing at this time of night. They'd been unsure, until he passed over 2 shiny gold coins. Alys had rounded up two loaves, and a pitcher of fresh water. And she and Darna had been overcome at their good fortune. A gold coin each was more money than they made in a month.

The following night, around the same time, the coachman had returned to the kitchen door, bringing with him a finely dressed gentleman. He introduced himself as Lord Nico Darkwraith, and insisted on handing over exquisite gemmed rings to both bakers in return for their assistance the previous night. Alys had tried to refuse, stammering about the gold, but he'd insisted. And grown more attentive to her alone, making conversation, seemingly amused by her blushes and stutters as she hovered in the doorway, blocking it with her slight body. It didn't even occur to her that keeping a fine nobleman standing out in the alley was bad. And he asked her out. And, before she could even take issue with her own boldness, she'd accepted.

Three cycles of the moon he'd been courting her. Working seamlessly around her inhospitable hours, with cozy picnics beside the lake in the grey light of pre-dawn once she'd finished at the bakery, or late suppers in a private room at the inn after her father fell asleep and before she headed to work. Three times a week, every week, for three months.

She grew more comfortable with him, and became more forthcoming in response to questions about her life. She never pretended to be something she wasn't, and he seemed comfortable enough with her lowly station, and recognized her discomfort in the one fine city restaurant he took her to. After that he stuck with the more secluded locations, and private rooms where they could focus on each other, and Alys wasn't distracted trying to behave appropriately in settings where she felt awkward.

Tonight is special. She glances at him nervously, and flushes again, though the ball of his thumb strokes reassuringly over the back of her hand, sliding up to soothe the fluttering pulse in her fine-boned wrist. Last time they were together, he proposed marriage to her, and slid a costly gem-encrusted ring on her finger as a betrothal pact. Tonight, she's giving herself to him, and everything has to be perfect.

The carriage halts for a moment as the driver gets out to open a gate. They've moved on to private land. They travel a while longer, and then halt. The coachman hands Alys out of the carriage, and she gazes about at the dense dark woods, surprised at the hush. Then Nico is stepping behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder and, instinctively she melts back against his lean hardness, and loses all thought of anything else.

He runs his hand down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, then slides both hands in over her flat midriff, splaying his fingers over the tiny curve of her belly, still slightly rounded like a child's. Alys is barely eighteen, and is still growing into her womanly curves. His head bends, thick silken dark hair flicking against her smooth cheek as he leans forward and kisses the pulse thumping crazily in her neck, running his lips down to the curve of her shoulder. Astonishingly, his tongue flicks out to wet the skin there. Alys jumps in surprise.

It's the most intimate touch he's yet given her. Up to now, their kisses have been chaste and sweet, caresses limited to touches of his hand on hers, the occasional stroke along her cheek. Always his dark gaze smouldered with the promise of things yet to come, but he treated her with deferential courtesy, even when her own untutored body throbbed with fiery need. She'd never wanted anything as much in her young life, and tonight... that ache is finally to be satisfied. With her betrothed, her heart.

He leads her through a narrow pathway, and she spares little more than a worried glance at the grey skeletal trees lining the way. It opens into a clearing, trimmed short grass, with what look to be grey protusions of rock here and there. Overhead, the moon shines brightly, full and round and bloated, lending a vaguely jaundiced light to the romancing couple.

Nico barely gives Alys a moment to take note of her surroundings before his hand is gently urging her round to face him. She looks bemusedly at his throat, because he's so very much taller than her. Then his hands are plunging into the fine silken strands of her hair, left loose as he'd requested. He tilts her chin up with his thumbs and brings his mouth down over hers. Alys gasps at the passion, only ever hinted at before now. She trembles with shock as his mouth reddens her pale pink lips, and as she gasps his tongue pushes inside her mouth, flicking along the edges of her teeth, dancing over her own tongue.

She can barely breathe, chest heaving in astonishment and growing passion. She'd wanted him before, but she'd never imagined it could be like this. Her nipples are hard aching lumps already, and she moans as she presses into him and they brush over his hard chest. For long moments he kisses her, until she's gulping for breath, her own hands creeping shyly up to curve around his back, stroking lean muscle through the silken robe. Slowly her lips learn to move beneath his, tongue responding to the coaxing touches of his as she begins to kiss him back.

There's a growing hardness pressing into her belly, and she quivers with excited trepidation once she realizes what it is. A flash of satisfaction runs through her, a sense of power, that she'd provoked such a response in her beloved. Experimentally, she wriggles against him, and basks in delight at his ragged moan. He pulls back a little, tugging at the laces of her dress, urging it down over her shoulders.

Feeling wanton and powerful and throbbing with heat, she tosses her head back and watches him with surprisingly sultry eyes, lids heavy and languid. His lean long-fingered hands tremble against the skin of her chest, and that makes her smile. The dress drops suddenly, snagging on the curve of her hips a moment, until he urges it down. The white fabric pools on the moonlit grass at her feet.

Curiously, she doesn't feel shy or uncertain, even as she absorbs the scorching heat of his gaze traveling up and down her nude form. She continues to smile at him, and holds her arms out welcomingly as his eyes slide back up to hers. Returning the smile, he pulls her to him in a tight hug, kissing her again, with greater fervor this time, his tongue plunging in and out of her mouth in obvious premonition of what his body's hoping to do to hers. She lets her tongue move and duel with his, her lips growing wet and swollen from the kisses. She feels him turning her deftly, and then the backs of her knees touch against cold smooth stone.

He presses her down, with kisses and urgings of stroking, worshipful hands, until she's laying on a flat smooth surface. She gazes up at the moon a moment only before his face lowers over hers, blocking out the sight with kisses and nibbles. His lips travel over her cheek to her neck, sucking and kissing and nibbling. Alys had been going to complain about the discomfort of the cold hard stone. But its actually taking warmth from her body, and is surprisingly smooth, not abrading her delicate skin. And all her concentration is focused on the fact that Nico's continuing to kiss and lick her as he moves lower...

She squeaks and arches her spine in astonishment as his lips close over the peach hued nipple crowning her small pouting breast. Its crinkled and contracted from the chill of the night air. Until he sucks it into his mouth, and it expands in the damp heat, while the tip of his tongue flicks teasingly over the hard nub. He releases it, and gives a playful little nip that makes her shudder, before moving to her other breast and lavishing it with similar attention. And then he's moving lower still.

Alys moans as he trails kisses down her ribs, his tongue flickering a zigzagging pattern over the skin of her belly, and then plunging and swirling into her navel. His hands are urging her thighs apart and she obeys bemusedly, laying back and gazing at the moon, hands laying limply at her sides, shivering with chill and nervousness and throbbing arousal.

He lifts his head a moment to grin at her, hands stroking her thighs, thumbs drawing circles over the soft skin of her inner thighs, making her squirm with want, her hips actually bucking as she seeks to draw him closer to the place that's aching for his touch. He murmers soothing nonsense words to her in that beloved mellifluous voice, his handsome face smiling, dark eyes projecting love and lust in equally flattering amounts. And then he bends down.

Alys shrieks at the first brush of his tongue against her most intimate flesh, swollen with need from the careful seduction of his mouth and hands. She jerks in shock, shoulderblades and buttocks moving uncomfortably over the stone. And then she forgets all about the discomfort as he closes his lips over her folds and sucks her throbbing clit into his mouth, tongue circling and flicking it.

Her hands fly up to her face, fingers splayed over burning cheeks as her head tosses wildly back and forth. She's gasping for breath, small breasts burgeoning with desire, nipples aching as they're pressed into her own forearms. And the pressure is stimulating, though she's too focused on her clit to be aware of it. He sucks her til she feels as though she's likely to explode, then pulls back and runs his tongue up and down her moistening slit, while she aches and throbs, arching and bucking her hips wantonly, desperate to regain that unbelievable sensation. She's saying his name over and over, begging him.

"Patience, my love," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, grinning as the skin leaps at his touch. "We have all night, lets make the most of it."

She whimpers needily, and he rewards her by bringing his tongue back to her clit, lashing it with harder licks that border on uncomfortable, but so very quickly have her racing up that spiral to ultimate fulfillment. And he stops again, ignoring her wail of distress. He brings his thumb to her slit, circling it, moistening it and pressing slowly inward, round and round, til its just delving within her. Lovingly, he strokes the fine membrane that signifies her innocence, before pulling back and raising the thumb to his mouth. He locks gazes with her as he sucks the juice of her arousal off his thumb. Then he grins and bends back down.

This time, he doesn't tease. He licks and sucks her clit, tongue lapping over her plumped lips and circling the crazily sensitive bundle of nerves, until she's strung impossibly tight with tension, hands pulling at her own hair, unconsciously moving her arms so her nipples are stimulated against her skin. She's constantly afraid that he's going to stop, and leave her hanging in this state of helpless arousal. And then she tips over the edge, and screams breathlessly as the overwhelming waves of her first ever orgasm crash over her. The scream trails off into whimpers as she rides the lessening waves, til they're gentle ripples that just lap sweetly at her quivering nerves.

Smiling, Nico stands up from her, and pulls his black robe over his head, tossing it carelessly behind him. He's just as naked as she, his manhood rising from a nest of trimmed dark hair, standing proudly erect, slightly curved. Alys eyes it with interest, and a surprising lack of fear at its impressive size, dropping her hands away from her face. She's too cushioned by the pleasure still lapping through her and the love and appreciation in his dark eyes.

Still, her mouth goes dry as he crawls over her, settling himself between her thighs. Shyly, she reaches up and curves her hands over his shoulders. He leans in to kiss her, telling her how much he loves and adores her, even as she tastes the strange muskiness of her own arousal on his tongue.

"Are you sure, my love?" He asks her, voice thick with desire, his cockhead nudging at her slit, sliding up and down between folds slickened with her own juices.

"Oh yes. My heart." She tells him, hugging him tight.

Another smile, and he presses forward. There's a shiver of nerves, an odd stretching sensation, and then a sudden sharp pain. Alys whimpers, and he stills, kissing her again, whispering reassurance, waiting until the panicked tension seeps from her body. He pulls out, teasing her slit again, running up over her clit to send sparks of sensation through her body before gently pressing back into her, slowly and carefully, giving her opportunity to adjust to the size of him.

Its... odd. The stretching, the fullness, the pulsing of flesh she'd not ever really felt before, the fizzing of nerves she'd not been aware of. There's still a slight stinging from her torn maidenhead, but the pain's lost in the overwhelming sensation of all these other pleasures. The feel of her beloved stretching her, filling her, is like nothing she could have imagined, and a thrill of pure ecstacy quivers through her as she hugs him close. He hilts himself inside her, and pauses.












"Virgin blood, you see it?" Nico murmers.

"What... what...?" Alys gasps, not understanding, shivering as he pulls out and slowly thrusts back in, her stretched sheath accepting him welcomingly, the slippery muscle almost sucking him back inside her.

"We see it," a handful of other voices chorus, and Alys stills in shock and horror. Her eyes flare wide as she gazes up to Nico for reassurance, but he's not even looking at her, his head turned aside to address somebody else. Still he continues to move slowly and surely in and out of her, and despite her growing unease, her pleasure at the smooth thrusts continues to grow.

"And do you agree it was freely given, in love?" He asks, with that silken caressing tone that always sends a shiver down Alys' spine. It does even now, though she understands he's not talking to her.

"We agree," the voices concur.

Looking around, Alys sees at least 5 figures circling the stone slab she and Nico are laying upon. They're all wearing silken black robes like the one Nico had so recently discarded. They're all men. No... she sees a female face, a pale-skinned woman of incredible beauty. The woman smiles at Alys, but it's a cold smile and gives her no comfort.

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byZellewow© 3 comments/ 21300 views/ 12 favorites

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