Sands of Memory (Davikk & Tylia)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Davikk on 04-09-2009, 03:12:19</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 03:12:19</strong>
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				The temple of Set had fallen.&nbsp; Thulsa, high priest of the serpent god, was dead.&nbsp; The marble walls, those which were still erect, had been blackened by fire.&nbsp; Relics had been smashed, idols defaced.&nbsp; All in all, the work had been as thorough as it had been blasphemous.<br><br>And Davikk felt only pride at his trespasses against the snake god. <br><br>Thulsa, now dead, his ashes scattering on the face of the desert, had taken his woman, and made her into a slave.&nbsp; Syla Ryder, free woman of the green lands beyond the desert, had become nothing but Thulsa’s newest ornament.&nbsp; A broken woman.&nbsp; <br><br>For that crime, Davikk had allowed Syla to make the killing stroke. <br><br>“It is time to return to Kanarkk,” he’d said, hand on her shoulder, after the desecration of the temple was done. <br><br>“My sister will need to know what has happened here.” <br><br>The journey from the deep desert to the civilized lands of Kanarkk was a long one.&nbsp; And Davikk never ceased to worry over Syla.&nbsp; &nbsp;He did not pry, thinking it better to let her come to him. <br><br>Though, if he knew her dreams, he would have changed his mind. <br><br>Every night, in her dreams, she knelt before him.&nbsp; The heat of the temple caused sweat to roll&nbsp; down her bare back, finding an easy path across the curve of her spine.&nbsp; &nbsp;The tiled floor was hard beneath her knees, which had grown sore from days spent kneeling.&nbsp; Incense smoke wafted through the temple’s chamber, providing the only cover for her naked flesh. <br><br>In her dreams, Thulsa was still alive and vital.&nbsp; His body hard and muscular, and more often than not, as naked as she was.&nbsp; He towered over her in her dreams, fondling her and taking whatever liberty he wished. <br><br>For in her dreams, she was still his. <br><br>“This,” he said to her in this latest dream, “is who you are now.&nbsp; Mine.&nbsp; My dear Samirah,” not Syla, but Samirah, the name he’d given her.&nbsp; Her slave name. <br><br>His skin, black as mahogany, was the perfect contrast to her pale complexion, as he stroked her cheek. <br><br>“You cannot go back.&nbsp; You are mine.&nbsp; And you must bring me back.&nbsp; Because now, you belong to, and with, me.” <br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 03:46:34</strong>
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				Davikk did not want her anymore.&nbsp; Thulsa was right.&nbsp; <br><br>She barely remembered being the hellcat that rode across the lands on her great stallion Dex, wind blowing wild and free through her hair, taking on all comers, laughing at danger and daring the storm to smite her down.&nbsp; Was that fierce joyous woman her?&nbsp; Samirah, the woman once known as Syla, shook her head.<br><br>She followed Davikk.&nbsp; There was nowhere else to go, she supposed.&nbsp; "Live free or die," she whispered to herself every morning. It had become her prayer, her mantra, her lifeline.<br><br>Davikk had not touched her since he rescued her from the temple of Set.&nbsp; Syla knew that she disgusted him now.&nbsp; Thulsa had seen to that.&nbsp; Thulsa.&nbsp; Would that man never leave her alone, never get out of her head, never stop his incessant whispers, never .... <br><br>Davikk gently shook Syla awake, his eyes boring into hers for a moment as if he could see her, but then the false kindness covered them, and he spoke to her with the kind of forced heartiness that one reserves for young children, old relatives, and the insane.&nbsp; <br><br>She climbed to her feet in the confines of the tent and wordlessly went to fetch her new Master his breakfast.&nbsp; The woman had always been graceful, but now she glowed with an elegant submission that made a man want to drag her to her knees and possess her.&nbsp; Every man but Davikk, it seemed.&nbsp; Syla, who had once looked so boldly into his eyes, kept hers downcast now, eyes averted.&nbsp; Slaves did not look into their Master's eyes uninvited.&nbsp; <br><br>As she tended the fire to heat the water for washing and to prepare the thick bitter beverage called kaffe that Davikk seemed to prefer over the more wholesome tea, she looked across the expanse of sand.&nbsp; Syla completely, thoroughly, utterly hated the desert.&nbsp; <br><br>She had entered into slavery to the serpent priest of Set to save Davikk's life, knowing he would come for her.&nbsp; But days passed to weeks and by then, ill use, mental conditioning, and cunning manipulation had broken her to an evil man's collar.&nbsp; She did not know that Davikk's sister had imprisoned him.&nbsp; She only knew that he had not come for her until it was too late.<br><br>Syla did not know it, but that kernel of hate for the desert was all hers, the key to her way out.&nbsp; Slaves belong utterly to their Masters and Thulsa certainly tried to make it so, but he had not quite succeeded.&nbsp; Syla had four things that belonged to her, her love for Davikk, her hatred of the desert, her leaping horse tattoo, and a secret that only she knew.<br><br>Standing in the desert dawn, looking out over the sands, the cool morning wind lifted her diaphanous skirts in graceful flutters.&nbsp; She was a heartbreakingly poignant silhouette that seemed to embody all that was beautiful and all that was wrong with this merciless land.&nbsp; <br><br>It would be another hot day, she thought, as the molten beams of sunlight sizzled above the horizon.&nbsp; It would always be another hot day.<br><br>Syla carried the tray of wash water and kaffe into the tent where Davikk reclined with his too kind eyes.&nbsp; She knelt by his side, making the ritual obeisance, her forehead to the ground, the leaping horse tatoo at the small of her back seeming to mock him with memories of the woman she used to be.<br><br>Unlike the Syla of old, she did not speak.&nbsp; She had not been given permission.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 06:03:32</strong>
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				Syla did not understand.<br><br>It wasn’t that Davikk no longer wanted her.&nbsp; It wasn’t that he’d stopped desiring her after her time with Thulsa. <br><br><em>He wanted her too much.</em><br><br>Every submissive arch of her body inflamed him.&nbsp; Every time she knelt at his feet, he could feel his blood begin to boil and his body clench.&nbsp; She had learned the language of the desert, and it called to him like a siren’s song. <br><br>He could imagine her body, naked and supple, beneath his. Without much effort, he could imagine her calling him “master” in a gasp, or better, a moan.&nbsp; He’d lived many years in the outlands, among the folk of the green countries, but he was desert bred. <br><br>And Syla, the love of his life, was now a desert beauty, perfect in her submission. <br><br>So it wasn’t pity that held Davikk in restraint, nor was it disgust.&nbsp; It was his own sense of propriety.&nbsp; He did not think that Syla wanted this. <br><br>But how he wanted her. <br><br>The sun was already high in the sky this morning, swollen and hot.&nbsp; It would be a long, miserable day, followed by a freezing night.&nbsp; Davikk, dressed in white, sipped the kaffee and looked at the kneeling Syla, and let out a shuddering breath.<br><br>Her head down, her back a perfect curve, the tattoo at the small of her back exposed.&nbsp; His fingers twitched, and he let out another breath.&nbsp; But this time, it sounded like a moan. <br><br>Davikk was near his breaking point. <br><br>He knew, on some rational level, that he was taking advantage of her.&nbsp; But he also knew that a wall existed between them.&nbsp; Her submission and his reserve were a lethal combination.&nbsp; Somehow, they had to get past what happened. Somehow, they had to reclaim each other. <br><br>Perhaps, he thought to himself, the only way out, was to go through. <br><br>Davikk finished his kaffe and stood. <br><br>“Syla,” his voice had been made rough by the strong drink, and the desire she was inspiring added an extra layer, to make it even more guttural. <br><br>“Stand,” he said, his voice firm, the word a command. <br><br>When she complied and her back was to him, he approached her.&nbsp; His hand came out, and his fingers ran upwards, over her spine.&nbsp; &nbsp;The diaphanous fabric she wore seemed to melt beneath his warm fingers, and he thought he could feel her skin, so thin was the fabric. <br><br>“Syla, we must talk,” he said, leaning forward, his mouth over her ear. <br><br>“About what is, and what is to be.&nbsp; Let us speak honestly, yes?”&nbsp; His body was closer to hers, the hardness in his battle-formed frame obvious against her back.&nbsp; His free hand rested along her hip. <br><br>“Because I am tired of us being polite strangers.&nbsp; And I think you are too.” <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 16:01:50</strong>
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				She was on her knees on the carpet of their tent, her forehead on the ground, her arms outstretched towards him in supplication.&nbsp; <br><br>Her back was bare except for the thin thread that held the translucent nothing of silk in a halter over her breasts.&nbsp; Her skirt was slung low, the tattoo at the base of her spine fully visible, a leaping horse caught in flight above the cleavage of her rump.&nbsp; Her long hair was coiled in a single braid that issued from a gold band from the top of her head.&nbsp; There would be no veil of curls to hide her body from his gaze.<br><br>With a slave's awareness of small things, she felt the change in Davikk begin.&nbsp; He had been coddling her, keeping her safe, nurturing her, giving her space to breathe free, denying his own urges to let her recover.&nbsp; In response, she had withdrawn into a nightmare of herself, dwindling each day, indifferent to whether she lived or died, feeling nothing but the yearning to feel again.<br><br>But a predator now prowled in their small tent, a predator who would devour dwindling morsels, a predator who made her blood surge with adrenaline and the desire to<em> live</em>.&nbsp; She stirred in response to that silent change in Davikk, and he saw that.&nbsp; She could almost feel the smile of satisfaction curve along his hard jaw.<br><br>Without touching her, the weight of his gaze pressed with virile insistence everywhere it fell upon her, invading her very pores with something feral and masculine and uniquely Davikk.&nbsp; "<em>Feel"</em> it seemed to command.&nbsp; It made her tremble.&nbsp; Prey trembles at a predator's scent.<br><br>His hawk eyes noted that small movement of fear and smelled the musk of the arousal it invoked.&nbsp; "<em>Yes, you want to live" </em>she could almost hear his words in her mind.&nbsp; He had not smelled that scent on her in much too long a time.&nbsp; Exquisitely tuned now, she trembled her submission to him, the weaker presenting her neck to the stronger, supine and helpless, offering no threat.&nbsp; <br><br><em>You are Master here. I am yours to do with as you wish.</em>&nbsp; <br><br>It was all visible in the unconscious stretch of her spine that raised her haunches slightly into the air, the pressing of her forehead more deeply into the carpet ... the surrender in those graceful hands now clasped as if in prayer to her Master.<br><br>The hot room suddenly filled with the thunder of Davikk's silent roar in response to her surrender, all the more potent for being unvoiced, <em>"Then <strong>LIVE</strong>"</em> and Syla gasped, answering in small whimpers that sounded like begging.<br><br><em>"Stand up"</em> his voice growled aloud. They were the first words he had spoken, and the timber of it ran down her spine and grabbed at her womb, making it contract with a yearning ache.&nbsp; Her head jerked up and she gazed searchingly into his eyes.&nbsp; What she saw there made her quail, for she hastily lowered her gaze again, her trembling a thing of beauty.&nbsp; <br><br>She was helpless before him now.&nbsp; She was his to command, his to use, his to break and discard. Her nipples crinkled in anticipation, betraying her shame, betraying her lust, betraying her desire to live again.&nbsp; She had once been proud and free, but now she quivered like a puppy begging for her Master's touch, her knees red from kneeling before him, and her eyes wild.&nbsp; Every move was graceful, sinuous, as she climbed to her feet into the terrible stillness of the tent.&nbsp; A bead of sweat trickled down her spine to disappear below the translucent silk at her ass.<br><br>He approached like a storm to her senses and the air between them crackled alive with the fluttering of a million electric wings lashing their nerves more intensely with each step he took.&nbsp; <br><br>He filled her nose with his scent.&nbsp; She pulled it into her lungs.&nbsp; His essence stalked through her blood, through her brain, through her nerves, licking and biting and stroking and growling, taking her from the inside out.&nbsp; She felt the warmth pool in her womb like molten honey crawling forward to paint her nerves with lust.&nbsp; <br><br><em>"Take me"</em> her body begged silently.&nbsp; <em>"Please Master, take me."</em>&nbsp; But she did not utter those words aloud.&nbsp; She had not been given permission.<br><br>Her beautiful body was taut with tension as his fingers began their slow delicate caress of her body. Her breasts tingled and her nipples were so hard that they ached.&nbsp; She was on fire with need.&nbsp; <br><br>Syla felt his quick intake of breath as fire met heat and lust flared between them like a supernova.&nbsp; His arousal was hard against her back and there was nothing delicate about it as his hand on her hip pulled her into it and held her there.&nbsp; There would be no uncertainty about what he wanted of her.&nbsp; She found herself gasping, trying to take in enough air to breathe, her heart pounding in her chest.<br><br>His voice seemed to come from a great distance, a command to speak together, to speak their hearts.&nbsp; At one time, she would have sassed him, argued with him, joked with him, teased him, taunted him.&nbsp; But that was before she had been broken.&nbsp; There was only one answer she could give him now.<br><br><em>"Yes, Master"</em> she whispered.<br><br>&nbsp;
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>04-09-2009, 17:00:59</strong>
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				Her every action woke Davikk’s senses.&nbsp; <br><br>He took deep inhalations and became drunk on the perfume of her musk.&nbsp; It excited him, and took rationality from his brain.&nbsp; Things were delicate, Davikk knew.&nbsp; If he played his hand too hard, things would tip the wrong way.&nbsp; But the suppleness of her body, and the erotic power of her submission pushed Davikk towards recklessness. <br><br>“Master,” he said the word slowly, letting the syllables roll of his tongue.&nbsp; His mouth was still over her ear, his breath hot against her flesh.&nbsp; The hand that held her hip tightened its grip, and he thrust his pelvis forward, pressing his hard arousal against her backside.&nbsp; The pleasure of the movement made him shudder, which caused another grind. <br><br>“Your master,” he said, seduced by his own words.&nbsp; Her surrender was a drug, and he an addict looking for a fix.&nbsp; <br><br>“And you, mine. My slave, my Syla... <strong>mine.</strong>”&nbsp; <br><br>The last word came out in a moan, his body coiled tight, like a cobra ready to pounce.&nbsp; The hand on Syla’s back slid across the bottom of her shoulder blades, and came around, under her arm.&nbsp; <br><br>He rested his hand on her full breast, covering her hard nipple with his palm.&nbsp; His fingers curled around her breast, and began to lightly caress her.&nbsp; His fondling was something of a tease, a touch meant to bring out more of her arousal, rather than a full grope.<br><br>Davikk wanted her to come to him.&nbsp; He could feel her hard nipple, but he wanted it harder, wanted to feel her breasts grow heavy with arousal.&nbsp; She’d offered surrender, but now with the scent of it in his nose, he wanted more. <br><br>And Davikk knew he would get it. <br><br>“You have my permission to speak your mind,” the words came out before he was conscious of speaking them.&nbsp; But he knew that they were all he could say.&nbsp; Things were delicate, their entire future balanced precariously on the head of a pin.&nbsp; &nbsp;Davikk did not want a mindless slave.&nbsp; He did not want something who was there for the purposes of rutting.&nbsp; He wanted Syla. <br><br>But he also wanted her submission. <br><br>“Tell me your thoughts, tell me where you are.&nbsp; Tell me what I can do to repair what was done.&nbsp; And tell me,” Davikk’s mouth left her ear, and now, his mouth trailed down her neck, his tongue lashing across her skin and leaving a wet trail along the arch of her neck. <br><br>“Do you accept my authority over you? Do you offer yourself to me?” <br><br>“Do you mean to be mine?” <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>05-09-2009, 04:48:15</strong>
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				Syla Ryder had walled herself up behind a spiritual ice dam, a symbolic barrier from her mountain home. It was how she had protected her very soul from the torment, the brainwashing visited on her by the evil High Priest of the Temple of Set.&nbsp; Against the heat of the desert, she used the ice of the mountains.<br><br><em>Mine</em> Davikk claimed and a crack appeared in that cold brittle surface..<br><br><em>My Syla</em>. He used her name and the Syla behind the defensive barrier pounded on the spiritual structure, causing it to crack from within.&nbsp; <br><br><em><strong>Mine.</strong></em> The ice dam shattered and something rare and precious emerged from that cold cocoon.&nbsp; <br><br>Her body softened against Davikk and her hand crept to him, to entwine her fingers between his.&nbsp; It was tenderness that touched his hand, not just lust.&nbsp; Desire would always ignite between them, but this with the warmth of the beloved that turned orgasm into rapture.&nbsp; It was a tenderness that he had not felt for almost a year now, the love touch of Syla Ryder.<br><br>His hand was gentle on her breast, a caress, a giving ... not the rough taking of a possession.&nbsp; He touched her with a lover's touch and felt all he wanted from her, and more.&nbsp; She pressed softly against him, slowly swaying her bottom against the hardness of his groin, giving as well as getting ... sharing pleasure as if there were all the time in the world for nuance.<br><br>It felt as if they were suspended in time.&nbsp; Every sensation, every movement, became slow and languid and filled with import.&nbsp; She moved her breasts gently against his hand and her dark nipple hardened between his fingers, a tiny version of his manhood stiffening hard and strong and full against the caress of her rump.&nbsp; She laid her head back against his neck, her hair tickling his jaw, and turned her face so that she might breathe against the tall man's throat, to let him feel the gasp and the sigh ... and the moan.<br><br>She was giving herself to him, like a flower unfolding its petals to the morning sun, holding nothing back, a profound surrender enabled by a deeply poignant expression of trust.&nbsp; It took courage to offer so much.&nbsp; He could crush her with a word.&nbsp; That was power.<br><br>"I want to be your only love, Davikk of the Sands.&nbsp; Because you are and always will be my only love."&nbsp; Syla whispered.&nbsp; "I want my life back, not as it was, but as it can be."<br><br>Syla took one of Davikk's hands and placed it over her beating heart, pressing his calloused palm against her until he could feel the pounding of her heart's life in his hand.&nbsp; She took the other and placed it on her belly, pressing his hand down until he could feel the warm pouring from her womb.&nbsp; <br><br>"By all that I am ... by my heart, by my mind, by my body, I offer myself to you, Davikk.&nbsp; I am yours, now and forever.&nbsp; You and only you are my Master.&nbsp; You and only you, are my love."<br><br>Then she slid her hands upward and clasped them behind Davikk's neck, offering him the lovely defenseless pleasures of her body.&nbsp; And when she stood exposed to his touch, he could feel a silent effervescence of laughter in her body and the grand eternal hurrah that was Syla Ryder&nbsp; "And I want you to touch me, Master, until <em>you</em> cry out for mercy."&nbsp; He could feel her chuckle through her breasts.&nbsp; Her eyes were twinkling and her body felt exquisitely responsive, vibrantly alive.&nbsp; After so many long weeks, Davikk had finally rescued Syla Ryder.<br><br>Then her fingers tightened and she hissed. "And one more thing, Master.&nbsp; I want Thulsa out of my dreams.&nbsp; I do not want to bring him back as he commands."<br><br><br><br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>05-09-2009, 09:02:40</strong>
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				“And you are my love, Syla Ryder,” dark eyes closed as he spoke the words.&nbsp; His entire body throbbed with their truth.&nbsp; She aroused him, as she would arouse any man with eyes that functioned.&nbsp; But this was more than simple lust. <br><br>He loved her.&nbsp; <br><br>Davikk wanted to possess her, wanted this wild, free woman to be his. More than anything, he wanted her at his feet,&nbsp; head bent, back arched, begging for him.&nbsp; But it was more than simple desire.&nbsp; It was love, a complex, tangled web whose strands were not easily delineated from one another, and a thing that even love’s possessor could not fully explain. <br><br>“Until I cry out for mercy?”&nbsp; His voice was amused at that, and his lips curled into a grin as they pressed against her neck.&nbsp; <br><br>“Now you are challenging me, little camel,” with that endearment, he licked her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat.&nbsp; <br><br>“You know that, as a warrior and a prince,” he was not so aroused that his words were not tinged with self awareness and irony, “I cannot back down from the challenge.” <br><br>As her hands clasped behind his neck, he stood tall and erect, body pressed against hers.&nbsp; He moaned, the sound low and throaty, a primal sound that harkened back to the days before language.&nbsp; Days when courtship was simple.&nbsp; One saw what they wanted it, and seized it. <br><br>Davikk felt those primal stirrings now. <br><br>Hands well practiced in the freeing of beautiful women from the garments that enticed and teased worked on her halter.&nbsp; In moments, only the thin bit of fabric behind Syla’s neck held the halter in place.&nbsp; The rest of the diaphanous top fluttered in the bit of desert wind that stirred through the open flap of Davikk’s tent. <br><br>His hands ran over her flat belly, one hand sliding lower, running over her navel, and resting on the mound below it, just above the source of her musk, teasing her with a more intimate touch, and yet not delivering it. <br><br>Because, as Davikk saw it, she needed to do some begging. <br><br>As one hand went south, the other went north, cupping a breast, squeezing it firmly, fondling it, lifting it with his hand and pulling her body against his.&nbsp; On her bare back, he could feel the faint lines left by Thulsa’s lash, and the thought of that violation angered him, which caused his hand to squeeze her breast and a hiss of air to pass from his lips. <br><br>But as her felt her body bend to his will, some of his anger faded. <br><br>He was turning her, so that she faced him, his hands sliding behind her neck, to free her of the halter completely, when he heard her words. <br><br>“He is in your mind?” Davikk’s eyes flashed angrily.&nbsp; His arousal, still present in his entire body, only added heat and intensity to his temper. A hand was on her hip, and he was gripping her possessively, murder and lust mingling in his eyes. <br><br>He let out a breath, and then, his passions stirred, he came forward, and kissed her.&nbsp; His kiss was hard, his tongue deep in her mouth.&nbsp; He pressed his body against hers, and his hands tore open the ties on her halter, flinging it to the ground, his actions a pantomime of ownership, as if that was enough to chase Thulsa’s specter away. <br><br>“He will not be in your dreams for long, my Syla,” Davikk said, as his fingers snaked their way from her hip over her belly, to her breasts, to her throat, and then to her hair.&nbsp; He held her curly brown hair firmly, and brought her forward, his chest jutted out to meet her as she was pulled to him. <br><br>“Tonight, I will chase him away,” Davikk whispered the words in her ear.&nbsp; His hand remained in her hair, while the other slid over her hip and gripped her buttocks, pulling her yet closer. <br><br>“But with the sun so high, the time for dreaming is a long ways off, isn’t it?”<br><br>“I think we ought to test our collective wills while the sun shines, don’t you? See which of us ends up begging for mercy?” <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>06-09-2009, 02:43:53</strong>
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				At his declaration of love, Syla Ryder turned to face him.&nbsp; Their eyes met, hers begging for the chance to abandon her uncertainties.&nbsp; What she saw in Davikk's desert blues burned her, burned the last vestiges of ice from her soul, and she glowed with the fire of the love he kindled.&nbsp; It set her free and then shackled her to him with chains of heat more powerful than steel.<br><br>Her mouth sought his lips, softly at first, and then more urgently, as if drawing his desire into the deep well of her longing and her need.&nbsp; Their heated tongues met in gasps and dueled, his always the more clever, always the more ruthless, advancing through her defenses, causing her to retreat inside herself, only to have his tongue pursue and invade and drink greedily from the moans of her hot and quickening breath.&nbsp; Wantonly, she suckled his tongue, capturing the invader in a way that he could not help but feel tugging through his groin.<br><br>There was a surge of satisfaction in Syla's heart at the possessive way he held her.&nbsp; It fit oddly well with a lightheartedness that they had not known in so long that it felt like forever.&nbsp; She knew him well, knew he could not back down from her challenge and her lips curled in triumph that turned so quickly to a gasp, his hands on her breasts causing her back to be pulled taut as if she were a bow drawn fast and hard. Ah, how he smiled.&nbsp; She could feel the triumph in the lips against her throat.<br><br>It was never wise to lose ground with her brilliant desert strategest, for he would push to win, wherever he was ... on the battlefield, in the silken skirmishes of the palace court, or in the bedding of his woman.&nbsp; <br><br>But she was Syla Ryder and no man had conquered her except this man, and she would make him work for each of his triumphs, knowing instinctively that this was one of the things he valued about her.&nbsp; There was no triumph in a puppet's surrender and Syla was a worthy adversary of satin skin and cunning wiles.&nbsp; A low throaty laugh escaped her lips and she reached behind her to lay her hands on either side of his manhood engorged.&nbsp; Thumbknuckles dragged up either side of his shaft and she was rewarded by a swift intake of breath, not quite a moan, not yet, but her ambush had worked.&nbsp; <br><br>Surprise is what she offered this handsome desert prince who could have any woman he desired.&nbsp; She was not of the desert and did not think like a desert woman, much to his frequent vexation, much to his unending delight.<br><br>He growled her name at the back of her throat, and his hands ventured lower, but stopped so vexingly soon.&nbsp; Her treacherous body had no shame, and thwarted of the touch she craved, thrust her pelvis forward, wheedling him to go lower, and he chuckled, his voice rich with delight and hoarse with lust.<br><br>But it was the murder in his eyes and the way he gripped her that released the last of her bonds to him.&nbsp; She reveled in his possessiveness, it made her fierce.&nbsp; With him, she need not fear the night.<br><br>And as he said, it was a long way to sunset.<br><br>Their clothes began to tumble around them as the desert heat slickened their bodies with sweat.&nbsp; <br><br>He brought his hand to her mouth and she nipped it, becoming feral in her need, and he seized her, but minx that she was, she danced away from him, naked and gleaming in the heat.<br><br>"Are you thirsty, Master?" she purred.&nbsp; And she took the ewer of cool water by their bed and slowly poured a thimbleful into the hollow of her collarbone.&nbsp; It quivered there, and with every step she took back towards him, more would drip down the caramel swells and valleys of her delicious body.&nbsp; "We should not waste water in the desert, is that not right, my Prince?"<br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>06-09-2009, 07:08:20</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Davikk was a veteran. <br><br>As an Immortal, one of Kanarkk’s elite soldiers, he’d fought in many battles, and won many wars for a country that had never truly loved him.&nbsp; The sands were painted with his blood, and on the winds were carried the tales of his triumphs.<br><br>But not every battle had been on the field, and Davikk was a veteran of an entirely different sort of contest. <br><br>Because, while the sands carried the memory of his blood, the memories of his sweat were in the silk sheets of many a boudoir, and the echo of his moans could be heard in many hallways of many brothels. <br><br>And so it was that he welcomed Syla’s challenge. <br><br>He was stiff with pleasure, so stiff that it felt painful.&nbsp; He could feel himself throbbing, and that painful pleasure was made worse by her casual strokes.&nbsp; The touch that promised without delivering.&nbsp; His breath was hot, and each exhalation scalded his throat and flared his nostrils.<br><br>“Syla.”&nbsp; His eyes were narrowed as she walked away from him, leaving him with nothing but her name on his lips. <br><br>“I am thirsty,” he said to her, and he moved forward, stalking her like a lion stalking its prey.&nbsp; She’d challenged him to war, and Davikk did not surrender.&nbsp; She might have struck the first blow.&nbsp; But any seasoned warrior knew that only death signaled the end of the war. That thought brought a smirk. <br><br>Because the words <em>the little death </em> had a very distinct meaning in Kanarkk. <br><br>“Nothing is wasted in the desert,” he replied in a throaty tone.&nbsp; His hands were on her, and one caught her by the braid, her hair wrapped around his fist.&nbsp; He pulled her head back hard, and brought his tongue to the hollow of her collarbone.<br><br>His tongue, warm and wet, lashed against her skin, licking at the water she’d spilled.&nbsp; There was intensity in his gesture, his teeth nipping at her skin, his tongue acting like a whip.&nbsp; When he’d swallowed the water, he looked up, meeting her eyes. <br><br>Davikk was smirking triumphantly. <br><br>A swift motion brought Syla to the ground.&nbsp; His muscles were taut and tense, his movement one of both leverage and strength.&nbsp; She was on the floor of his tent. <br><br>And Davikk was atop her. <br><br>Somehow, in the manipulation of her body, Davikk was able to dip a cup into the ewer of water, and he held the cool, clear liquid over Syla.&nbsp; He’d arranged himself so that he was crouched over her legs, pinning her to the ground.&nbsp; <br><br>With the sort of cocky grin that was something of a trademark for Kanarkk’s savage prince, he took that cup and turned it slightly, letting a small rivulet of water pour over Syla’s exposed chest. <br><br>The water ran in single rivulet down between her breasts, and Davikk followed its trail, from the hollow of her throat, to her cleavage with his tongue.&nbsp; A tongue so wet that it could hardly be said to be drinking from her, for her skin was as wet now as it had been before he’d begun to drink from her. <br><br>Davikk put the glass down, and put both hands on Syla’s face, his fingers covering her mouth, circling around her lips before delving between them, his fingers running over her warm tongue. <br><br>Water had pooled in her navel, and he lapped at it with the tip of his tongue, teasing the little pool before he put his mouth over her belly button and began to drink up the water, his eyes constantly looking up through his lashes to study her face, looking for signs of ecstasy. <br><br>And for surrender. <br><br>When he was done, he kissed the point of her hip bone, and then kissed upwards, along her ribcage, until his mouth was at the curve of her breast.&nbsp; His first kiss was gentle, some might say shy. <br><br>But the second was hot and came with the lash of his tongue, as he kissed until he found her hard nipple.&nbsp; It was between his lips, and he sucked hard, bringing it deeper into his mouth, holding it gently between his teeth before lashing it with the tip of his tongue.<br><br>He still had his fingers in her mouth, and his suckling was growing more intense.&nbsp; Again, he felt the pain of his own arousal, but it was not yet time. <br><br>Because Syla had yet to concede victory to him. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>06-09-2009, 16:31:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She had woken the Lion of the Desert, feral in his heat, rampant in his need, and she laughed from some reckless place that was hoarse with desire, until he pulled her head back hard and drank from the vessel of her body.&nbsp; His hands were like steel around her and all she could do was whimper with the pleasure of it.<br><br>But the mountain wildcat had wiles of her own and while he nipped her skin, she teased his swollen shaft until he dragged her to the ground, pinning her so that she could not touch him anywhere, but he could touch her ... everywhere.<br><br>The lion had brought down his prey and now he began to feast on her pleasure.<br><br>Davikk's eyes glittered hotly when she looked into them, feral as a lion in rut smelling his mate's heat.&nbsp; There would be no mercy granted to her until she raised her wet swollen haunches to him in submission, abject in her aching need, begging for his teeth at her throat and his cock in her cunt.<br><br>She shivered as he slowly poured the cool water onto her heated flesh, marking the path that his mouth would take.&nbsp; Her muscles tightened there in anticipation.<br><br>But he did not merely drink his victory from her skin.&nbsp; He was after more than her acquiescence.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Her hands lay gentle on his head at first, combing through his long hair with tender fingers.&nbsp; But once he began his conquest, her hands would jerk, unconsciously clenching and unclenching, fisting in his hair, telling him where his touch made her helpless.&nbsp; She betrayed herself and the wily warrior did not miss a clue.<br><br>Her blood roared in her ears as he claimed her body with lips and teeth and tongue and breath, merciless in his ministrations until she writhed and thrust her swollen breasts skyward, her nipple rings glittering in pebbled flesh, dusky rose and compressed into hard peaks that brought her nerves to the edge of her skin.<br><br>His fingers invaded her mouth and she sucked them hard, willing him to think of her lips around his manhood, fighting back in their erotic battle in the only way she could.&nbsp; She teased and tormented those fingers in her mouth, nipping them from time to time.&nbsp; But soon, he dominated her pleasure too much for her to concentrate and then what he felt along his fingers with the flutter of her moans.<br><br><em>"Please"</em> the words tore from her throat. <br><br>His legs had her pinned, but beneath those iron thews she lifted her pelvis and began to thrust into his thighs, her nether curls tickling his skin. Wicked as a tavern dancer, she mimed the motion of copulation, begging him with the promise of a hot sheath for his swollen sword.<br><br>Still he pursued his conquest taking those tender aching globes, lashing them with his tongue until they were swollen with sensation, pulling with teeth and suck that yanked her pleasure from her womb until she cried out in need, humping the thigh that held her in place.<br><br><em>Davikk,</em> she moaned. <em>"Please come to me."</em><br><br>Still he did not relent, her body was shuddering with need, writhing and wanton, struggling to reach him, denied release, denied his body, the pleasure built intolerably.<br><br><em><br>"Master, I beg you."</em> she howled. <em>"Please ... fuck ... me."</em><br><br>Her hand beat the ground ... once ... twice ... three times, the old Academy sign for ... <em>surrender.</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>08-09-2009, 05:17:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There came a point at which cunning and strategy fell away from Davikk.&nbsp; A point where instinct and desire took over.&nbsp; Who won and who lost retreated from the forefront of the desert prince’s mind.&nbsp; And he thought only about what he wanted. <br><br>And that was Syla Ryder. <br><br><em>Please</em>&nbsp; The word cut through Davikk’s consciousness, and made him aware of his victory.&nbsp; He looked up from her body, and then down into her eyes.&nbsp; A growl passed the exiled prince’s lips.&nbsp; A feral sound of triumph, heavily marbled with his own desire. <br><br>“Yes,” he said. The sound a whisper. <br><br><em> "Master, I beg you." </em><br><br>Another growl of acknowledgement from Davikk. <br><br><em> "Please ... fuck ... me."</em><br><br>It made him wild.&nbsp; It took humanity from him, stripping away culture and manners and civilization.&nbsp; It made him an animal, a beast of instinct, devoid of thought. <br><br>“Yes!” He said again, the word vibrating in his throat.&nbsp; <br><br>“Yes...” <br><br>He was capable of no other word.&nbsp; He could not comprehend enough to answer in a more coherent manner.&nbsp; All he knew was his want. <br><br>Davikk’s clothes were off in an instant, and then he hovered over Syla.&nbsp; His hands were on her thighs, and he gripped them tightly, his fingers made slick by the musk that painted the woman’s inner thigh.&nbsp; &nbsp;The sounds of desire, mingled with the scent of sex pushed him deeper into his bestial state, and Davikk looked down at her and the smile on his lips was one of triumph. <br><br>The wolf was about to devour his prey. <br><br>His cock was hard, and its tip glistened with the clear drops of pre-cum that dripped steadily from it.&nbsp; Eyes roamed the length of Syla’s body, from her eyes to her mouth, to her breasts, down the plane of her belly, until he saw the thatch of hair that concealed his prize.&nbsp; Those curled hairs were also dripping, a steady stream of musk that would guide him into her.&nbsp; <br><br>A hand slid between their bodies, as he took hold of his shaft, positioning it.&nbsp; His other hand went beneath her head and gripped the back of her neck.&nbsp; He held her firmly, gripping her by the nape, an indication that she could not escape him.<br><br>Not that he believed she wanted to.<br><br>A single hard thrust buried Davikk deep inside Syla.&nbsp; And there he remained, unmoving, keeping his body still.&nbsp; It had been a long time since their last coupling, and he wanted to savor this moment.&nbsp; He wanted to feel her inner walls contracting around his cock.&nbsp; Wanted to feel as her body gave way to him. <br><br>His hand left the back of her neck, and both hands claimed her wrists, pulling them above her head.&nbsp; Davikk, his brow beaded with sweat, held her prone, and looked down into her face. <br><br>And as he watched her, he began to thrust.&nbsp; His thrusts were hard and deep.&nbsp; Slow at first, so that he could continue to enjoy her reactions.&nbsp; But faster and with increasing intensity after a time.&nbsp; Moans passed his lips as their bodies collided with greater and greater urgency.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>“Syla,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her lips. <br><br>“You are mine... and I am yours."<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Sands of Memory (Davikk &amp; Tylia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>12-09-2009, 03:32:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>He was called the Savage by brutal men who met his relentless blade on the field of battle. <br><br>He was called the Savage by his comrades, the Immortals, hardened warriors all, when it came time to tell tales of valor around the campfires.<br><br>He was called the Savage by the overdressed fops of the marble halls of the Palace who feared him in their shriveled souls for being so much more than they.&nbsp; They envied him for being the son of a king and reviled him for being the son of a slave and hated him for being a son of a bitch.<br><br>Her body strained towards him and glistened with the sweat of her need.&nbsp; Syla understood it all now. <br><br>He saw it.&nbsp; Saw the awareness and the acknowledgment deep in her dark eyes.&nbsp; Saw the love cresting the lust.&nbsp; Smelled a bitch in heat.<br><br>It was the Savage that gripped her thighs and ruthlessly opened her legs.&nbsp; It was the dominance of a healthy male animal over his female, a thing of smells and wet musk and need, profoundly carnal, profoundly intimate, profoundly distant from reason.&nbsp; Her small strong hands fisted in the sleeping silks.<br><br>This was more than rut.&nbsp; This was the joining.&nbsp; There would be no turning back.&nbsp; From here, they would go deep into their most secret desires, where shame licks forbidden passions and makes it suck its fingers and howl.<br><br>His eyes raked her body and he smiled his victory over a woman who could not be tamed.&nbsp; Proud defiant Syla could only conquered ... and only by him.&nbsp; His wolfish smile softened a bit with pride and then he snarled over his possession.&nbsp; His.<br><br>Effortlessly, the Prince held her exposed, growling like some beast in the moment before he ravages his prey, watching the ripples of her belly as her womb contracted with helpless desire.&nbsp; She loved to feel his strength, loved to feel his power.&nbsp; She felt him tear through her defenses like his fingers rent the fragile veils that covered her trembling flesh.&nbsp; She had never wanted anyone ... anything ... as much as she wanted him.<br><br><em>"PLEASE, MASTER,"</em> she begged again.&nbsp; But he held her open still, denying, instructing, teaching.<br><br>Nothing would be hidden from him.&nbsp; She would deny him nothing anymore.&nbsp; No more secrets, she knew that now.&nbsp; &nbsp;She would hide nothing from him.&nbsp; Not ever again.&nbsp; The knowledge seared her with forbidden longings, he would see her naked to her soul.&nbsp; <br><br>The Savage held her exposed until her eyes acknowledged his lesson, his thumb pressing into the tender damp of her inner thighs.&nbsp; Possessively, his eyes traveled up her body, then bore into hers, telling her that he saw her musk gather.&nbsp; She clenched her teeth in shame and nodded.&nbsp; His eyes stared intimately, telling her that he saw the tiny opening to her quim open and close with contractions.&nbsp; She bit her lip, her face red, and nodded again.&nbsp; He watched her cunt turn red and her nether lips swell just from the lick of his gaze.&nbsp; She cried out and her back arched to lift her nipples high into the air.&nbsp; Fragile, too sensitive, hard pebbled nubs thrust towards his mouth.<br><br>His cock was huge and rampant and pulsating with need. She whimpered when she saw it.&nbsp; She knew his taste.&nbsp; It was caviar and sea brine, and she wanted to lick the pearly cumsap from his glans, wanted to coat her mouth with it.&nbsp; She imagined his moans and she licked her lips wickedly to taunt him.<br><br>It is a mistake to taunt the wolf.&nbsp; He could have torn her apart.&nbsp; But it was the lover not the Savage that pushed through the tight arbor of cartilage guarding the entrance to the small woman's swollen passage.&nbsp; It was the moan, not the scream that he drew from her lips, skillful as a musician on a priceless instrument.<br><br>She felt each ridge and ring of flesh as a jolt that stretched her tight vagina to his shape.&nbsp; Her face changed as he slowly invaded her, slowly sculpted her from within by the breadth of his flesh.&nbsp; He was her god and she was his altar.<br><br>A thousand pulsating muscles surrounded him, their throb increasing with the quickening of her heart.&nbsp; He yanked her hands above her head and was rewarded with a hard contraction squeezing him tightly.&nbsp; <em>Oh yes,</em> his eyes promised, <em>I am stronger than you.</em><br><br>With each thrust, her passion rose and her resolve weakened to a quivering thing.&nbsp; She yielded more and more of herself to him, giving herself to him, her eyes locked onto his.&nbsp; Her twisting body burned hotter and hotter, until his testicles slapped her buttocks and held. She moaned the soft sound of surrender, the song of a woman filled by a man, the voluptuous love hymn of the beloved.<br><br>Neither moved, their eyes invading each others' souls more deeply than his cock invaded her body.&nbsp; She was so tight.&nbsp; He had forgotten how tight she was, this small boned woman of deep passion and helpless sensuality.&nbsp; She burned, she had forgotten how big he was, how she had to stretch to accommodate him ... in so many ways.&nbsp; The savage desert prince had driven many women to ecstasy, but not like this.&nbsp; Not like her.&nbsp; She was his.&nbsp; And the gods help him ... he was hers.<br><br>She lifted wanton hips in a slow wicked circle to slide her hard gate around the sensitive nerves at the base of his shaft.&nbsp; He was magnificent, a carnal god made flesh.&nbsp; She loved him beyond reason.&nbsp; "<em>Yours"</em> she whispered and he thrust deep.&nbsp; <em>"Mine!" </em>she cried out as he sheathed his cock to the hilt in the slick warmth of her cunt.<br><br>Her inner muscles throbbed, come, come, come, cum and she twitched until she could no longer stand it, lifting her hips to him, shouting entreaties as she begged with wet haunches and clenched buttocks for each new thrust.<br><br>Each thrust seemed to sear her from the inside out, shoving force waves of pleasure through her shuddering body.&nbsp; Her quim swelled and she rocked, fighting the hands that held hers pinned, desperate to reach him, her head tossing from side ot side.<br><br><em>"Davikk!"</em> she screamed and she lifted her legs, circling his firm buttocks, her heels digging into his cheeks and dragging down the backs of his thighs. <br><br>She shouted his name over and over until her body was as taut as a bowstring from a tension he would not let her release. <br><br>Then his thrusts became more urgent, more demanding and her head snapped back with a soundless scream from a mouth stretched to howl.&nbsp; Her blank wide open eyes stared with unseeing intensity.&nbsp; His thrusts grew harder, faster, deeper and she lifted her hips to meet them.<br><br>He drove her to the brink and beyond and he felt her snap.&nbsp; He felt the rain of her ecstasy and the clench of her rapture milking his cock hard and fierce, a flush spreading across her breasts. <br><br>Her shout was jubilant and she collapsed, damp brown curls plastered to her beautiful face, flushed with his prowess, her contracting womb drinking his seed.<br><br>"I love you," she whispered, finally naked to his eyes.&nbsp; He thrust again and she cried with pleasure too exquisite to be borne, her sensitive body now merged with his, climbing upwards again in swell and writhe. <br><br>For he was the Savage and his pleasure was not yet complete.<br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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