Caught in Darkness Ch. 11

Her Master, The Obedient, started to sway her hips in rhythm with the music. Her arms rose up her body and danced in the air as her whole being became one with the slow rhythm. The servant sat and watched a true master at seduction perform for her patron. Never once did her feet lift from the water, all of her movements required perfect balance and fluid movement as she swayed before The Killer. Her hands touched her body in soft erotic caresses -- her arms, her neck, her hips, and thighs. As a deep drumming beat came from the musician's fingers, The Obedient arched backwards, her arms and hips continued to dance to the beat of the music. Her stomach was horizontal to The Killer's face, and there she stayed, holding that poise, letting her sexual flower spread and bloom before him. It gave off a tantalizing scent that electrified The Killer's nostrils; such a perfume was made and used with only the most erotic of purpose, and only the most deserving.

Her knees pulled forward to rest on his shoulder, pressing her alluring sex within reach of his lips. Both her hands came to rest on his ears, and her fingertips gentle caressed the outer ridge and earlobe. Her body slowly rose to the beat of the rhythm, her torso undulated as it did. It was astonishing the muscular control she had as she kept her balance and the beat of the music as she rose to a squatting position.

"Taste, my lord." She breathed huskily. Her movements became more subdued and subtle, yet still as erotic and mesmerizing as she played with his ears gently. His tongue obliged her as it came out to sample the sexual nectar of her flower. The perfume she added had a spicy sweet taste to it, and it made him want even more. His tongue circled her labia, keeping contact despite her body's undulating dance. It hungrily licked up each side of her outer folds, seeking as much of that taste as he could find. A slow gasp wisped from her mouth as the sensations aroused her body. He slowed his tongue's lavishing trying to match the rhythm of her body and the music, with each upbeat he stroked her clitoris, with each winding rhythm he alternated between her inner folds. It made her tremble with excitement and her gasping turned to whimpers. Her fingers expressed her excitement better as they pinched his ears during heights of her arousal, it was a clear signal to when and where his lips needed to go.

While her guests were enthralled in their lovemaking, the musician watched and listened to The Obedient's responses. She tailored the music to synchronize with her lady's growing arousal. Her fingers picked up speed and tone, and knowing a woman's rhythm she could push their building tension higher with unexpected tones the lovers then had to meet. In a sense, it was almost as if she was now guiding their experience, building them steadily towards the climax her mistress desired. She herself could empathize with her Mistress, as her own sex needed a release from her voyeuristic arousal.

As the tempo increased so to did the lavishing of her human's tongue on her soaking pussy. Her hands had moved to his head, and grabbed fistfuls of his curly locks during intense moments of pleasure, and caressed his scalp while building up to one. Her lover never tired for her, never touched her with his hands, never changed the beat of their dance, never gave her any other sensation to distract her from the wonderful ministrations of his tongue on her pussy.

Her body started to arch backwards as her swaying stopped and her breath caught itself in her throat. The Killer knew the signs of her peaking pleasure and thrust his tongue deep into her enflamed pussy and flexed the tip of it inside her. Her fingernails dug into his scalp on reflex and a muffled scream started in her throat, grew as she took in breath, and then released itself as her pleasure released itself in tremors that flowed through her body and flooded his masterful tongue. The Obedient came, and came hard. Her whole body wracked up and she curled forward to cradle his head against her. The walls of her pussy were still contracting around his tongue and her juices flowed down it and his chin as wave after wave still flooded her being.

The bath servant echoed her lady's orgasm and leaned backwards, the chains connecting the rings of her most sensitive parts pulled taught and stretched her nipples and clitoris. It was all she needed to push her own arousal over the edge. She bit her lip to muffle her scream as a minor orgasmic tremor moved through her body. When the spasming stopped along with her pleasure, she calmed her breath and resumed her quiet observance.

The Obedient had sank into The Killer's lap. Her red pouty lips kissed and licked her juices off his newly shaven face. Her chest heaved from the exertion as she caught her breath. Their tongues met, and then their mouths in a passionate kiss. The Obedient straddled his lap, and found his hard erect member waiting patiently for her. She ground her wet pussy against it under the waterline -- teasing him with it.

"Has my master tired of me yet?" She breathed at him when their lips parted. She ground her hips forward stroking her pussy with his erect cock.

"Not yet. But I have matters needing my attention first." The Killer sighed and pulled away from her.

"As my master wishes." She pouted, in a feigned obsequious tone.

"You'll enjoy this almost as much." He smirked and rose from the bath. His engorged member stared her straight in the face as she remained seated. Her lips gave it a soft kiss, and her tongue traced the underside of it from shaft to head. "Even more enjoyable than that." He reassured her. The Obedient sighed in disappointment, and rose to dress. The bath servant met them both with towels. She serviced her Master while The Obedient was left to dry herself.

"What shall we do with our prisoners? I would hear your opinion." The Killer said.

"The Lascivious failed." The Obedient said coldly. Her earlier devotion to her lady had disappeared completely now that she served a new Master. "She deserves whatever fate you decide. " "She was an instrumental tool. One that no longer has a purpose." The Killer responded almost as coldly. "The new Mistress of this house might find some use for her."

"She might." The Obedient had finished drying and went to find her servant's robe. To her surprise she found it missing and clothes in its place. There was a pair of deeplizard skin pants, the black scales had an opalescent sheen to them that changed as the leather moved. She pulled them on, and found they hugged her curves perfectly and still stretched to allow movement -- a very expensive item. But it was completely overshadowed by the azure colored, fine mesh, metal shirt underneath it. She picked it up by the collar and looked at it. Silk-metal was tough as steel, yet light as silk, and easily ten times as expensive as the pants. Silk collars at the neck, wrists, and waist held the billowy material in place. It was too much a coincidence. She shot The Killer a suspicious glance.

"My teacher, Boil, told me many things when I was tutored by him." The Killer answered her glare. The servant girl was pulling a plain leather vest over his head. It left his arms bare, but also showed the scars on his muscled arms -- an intimidating effect. "This house needs a leader that is more than just fancy indulgences. It needs someone that can appreciate their uses at times. But one that also knows how to use a razor."

"You've stopped speaking in riddles." She muttered as she clutched the shirt to her bare chest.

"There's no need for me to hide who I am anymore." The Killer smirked. The Obedient pulled the shirt over her head and laced the silk cuffs and collars around her person. "I used your people's own ignorance against you. I played the mysterious role to keep my enemies suspicious and cautious."

"I need shoes." The Obedient complained.

"Go buy some." The Killer shot back.

"What is it you want from me, in exchange for all this?" She gave him a suspicious glance. The Killer noticed her left hand was curled inside itself -- she was holding something.

"That you forget about me." He answered honestly as he pulled on a pair of brown leather pants. "And the Eltharian. I'm taking her from the city. You'll never see either of us again."

"A fair trade." She scowled at him and crossed her arms under her chest. The material of the shirt was translucent, and her posture made her breasts perkier. It was a distraction tactic, but it wasn't working. "Why do I get the feeling I know you?" She eyed him suspiciously. The Killer stopped buckling his belt and stared off.

"Because we are very much alike." He responded coldly. "The mission is all that matters. Anything for the mission. Everything for the mission." The Obedient tucked her razor into the hem of her pants as she approached him.

"I like that saying." She smiled and cupped his chin with her hand. This time when she kissed him there was no façade, no duty, no feigned lust. It was quick and affectionate, the kind of kiss siblings would share. "Let it be done." She announced to seal their deal. The bath servant rolled aside the door to the bath house. As The Obedient followed The Killer outside the room she paused and lifted the chin of the serving girl.

"I like you." She smiled. "Come play for me in my chambers later." The servant bowed her head respectively. Yet there was no excitement in her eyes over the offer, promotions in Zecair were rarely a good thing.

****

The Killer met his charge at the entrance to the outer tunnel. As the door shut behind him the darkness engulfed them. There were no lights here, nothing to show that this door disguised as rock was part of a larger complex. There were no guards, and no one else but them -- The Loyal, the new Mistress of the house had seen to that. He pulled a strider lizard along by the reigns, a sleek looking reptile that resembled a giant gecko. It stood about four feet tall when it walked, and was saddle with provisions.

Riyarra had been bound hand and foot and blindfolded. She looked like a discarded hostage lying crumpled on the floor. But true to their arrangement, she had not been hurt otherwise. The Killer picked her up, and draped her over the back of the mount. The elf girl made no sound or protest, and that made The Killer suspicious. He walked around the animal until he was facing her head, and lifted her face up by pinching her cheeks together. She scowled and suppressed a grown of pain from the mishandling, but otherwise kept her comments to herself. Good enough. He mounted up and nudged the lizard into a fast stride with his knees.

Strider's were runners, and within' a few hours they had reached the exit to the tunnels and the surface above. The cold night air brought with it new smells and sounds they both hadn't heard in so long. And the star filled night was bright to eyes used to pitch black. It was the first clue Riyarra had to what was happening. And when she could hear and smell those old familiar things she started to squirm and shout.

"Wait! Wait!" she screamed over the wind and the thumping of the strider's feet.

"Not yet princess!" The Killer shouted back and kept the lizard going. It speeded though forest and bushes and over rivers and streams. As its clawed paws splashed through the brooks and puddles, it sent mud splattering into Riyarra's face. She coughed and hacked, trying to rid her face of the dirty stuff. He heard her choking, and brought the lizard to a slow halt. The Killer maneuvered the beast up some rocks onto a small secluded patch of hilltop out of eyesight. It was nestled next to the side of the mountain above. This was the very same mountain that made up the Zecarin city on the inside.

"This will do," The Killer announced as he dismounted. He stretched his legs and back. He took his time checking the surrounding area. Riyarra, still bound and blindfolded, struggled to get a sense of her bearings. Satisfied this place would do, he shouldered the bound elf and sat her down on the grass and dirt.

This elf lady, the one he'd worked so hard to protect, was now his and at his mercy. Her long hair fell in a tangled mess over her shoulders and back. Her bound hands struggled behind her to relieve the uncomfortable position. Her human escort paused for a moment to consider her as she sat on the ground with her hands behind her. It was only a brief moment, but she could feel the silent stares, and for some reason if filled her with dread. The Killer pulled the blindfold off her head and discarded it. Riyarra blinked a few times as he eyes dared to take in the night sky. She couldn't stop staring up at the sky. The stars, the sparse clouds, the moons all painted the picture she never realized her heart longed for.

"Do I dare?" She whispered. Then her eyes fell coldly to The Killer. "What's your game? Hmm?" Her doubt turned to suspicion. As she looked at him standing with his bare arms crossed over that leather vest he wore. It was a superior pose, and it wasn't something someone who intended to rescue her would do. "Show me the surface for just a bit, only to take it away and stick me back in a cell?" She had gotten shrewder since they last spoke.

"Its over." The Killer said calmly. "There are no more games."

"What did you win?" She asked, playing along.

"Everything." The Killer answered. There was an unemotional tone to his voice that bothered her. She could never tell what face was the act and what was the truth with him.

"So what should I call you now? Mule? The Killer? Human?" She said. She flung her head back trying to dislodge some of her hair from her face. He shrugged as he knelt in front of her and started undoing her ankle bonds. The rope was simple and the knot plain, whoever had done it was sloppy. She could have wiggled her way free if she had tried. He left her wrists still bound.

"I'm a disruptor. We don't have names." He finally said.

"What is that?" she humored him. He just shot her a glance as the rope came free and he tossed it away.

"It means my name becomes whatever the mission requires it to be. Call me what you like."

"I liked Mule. It fit." She shot back with a distasteful glare. "What is, or was your mission?" Mule stood and started unpacking the satchels strapped to the back of the strider.

"To disrupt the Zecarins." He replied. He pulled out a thick, rolled up blanket that compromised a bed roll and spread it out on a relatively flat section of the ground. "And that's all I'm going to say right now."

"So you're a mercenary?" She said with some comprehension. "Suddenly you seem more human by the moment." Mule laughed.

"If you say so." He smiled coyly and fished some wrapped food out of the packs. He brought some dried jerky over to Riyarra. "Are you hungry?" Her instinct, or maybe it was her pride, wanted her to say no. But the moment she smelled the spiced meat her mouth started to water. He tore off a piece and hand fed her. She scarfed it down, it was the first time she had had meat since her capture.

"I will tell you this." Mule answered as he munched on some of the jerky. "You weren't part of my mission. You were supposed to be dead, not captured. Your highness."

"Don't call me that." She muttered.

"Why not?" Mule smiled. There was a flicker of mischief in the way he looked at her. "Don't you want any Zecarin within earshot," his words were patronizing. "or any of their spell crafters listening in, to know that they just had the princess of Elthara in their dungeons... and they let her go?" Riyarra couldn't look at him anymore. This was dangerous territory. He knew who she was, and since he wasn't being overly chivalrous or respective to her station, he had other ideas in store for her.

"That might cause a problem." Riyarra finally muttered.

"It might. But not for us."

"How can you be so sure?" For the first time since their capture, she finally let down the wall to her fears. She was angry with him for exposing her secret, but it wasn't just him she was angry with. Her eyes teared up, and before she knew it she was crying. Her sobs came and went. Mule's face turned cold.

"A once future ruler of Elthara should be stronger." He sneered at her. "After all you've been through, after everything they did to you, and you choose now to loose your strength? You need it now more than anything!"

"Why?!" she cried. Her voice was fraught with emotion, and she practically yelled the words at him. "You're just another monster!"

"Because your brother, the one who hired me, only said this.' Mule paused to finish his jerky. "If you find her, she's yours. Do what you want with her." His words only made her cry more. She cried for the betrayal of her brother. She cried for the monster that was now her 'owner'. She cried for herself.

Mule unbridled the strider, and removed the saddle and satchels. He kept silent as Riyarra let go of all the emotion she had stored up. After awhile, he couldn't even hear the cries anymore. They would still need the big lizard, but it wouldn't be of much use in the sun. They'd have to stay here during the day, and ride out at dusk. He didn't like remaining so close to Zecair, but their mount needed the cool night to run in, and morning was coming on the horizon. The strider would hunt for a bit before lazing on the big rocks around here until dusk.

With everything secured, Mule made his way back to the bedroll. Riyarra had collapsed onto her side and still sniffled now and then. For the most part she had exhausted herself. Mule picked her up. She went limp as she did when her mind retreated. He carried her over to the bed mat, and sat her up.

"You haven't asked me what I intended to do." Mule said with disappointment in his voice as he laid her down and undid her wrist bonds. He sat down on the other side of the narrow, makeshift mattress and started pulling off his boots. It caught her off guard, and in her unclear state of mind she could just stare up at him blankly as she rubbed her wrists. Her eyes were red and puffy from her tears, and she wiped them with her dirty hands. "Just like your brother, you assumed my intentions would be bad ones." Mule didn't say anything after that. He let the words sink in as he retrieved a cotton blanket folded up tightly in one of the satchels. The satchel itself, now empty, he stuffed with his vest to make a pillow of sorts. He pulled the blanket over the both of them as he settled in for the morning, with his captive curled up somewhat uncomfortably away from him. The air grew cold and damp as dawn approached, and an uncomfortable silence grew between them.

"The mind needs to fight to survive what you've been through." He started to speak to no one in particular. Riyarra just laid there and listened. "If I just cut you loose, you'd never trust it and you'd never recover completely. You have to earn this for yourself. " Mule finally sighed. The dawning light was shaded by the mountain side. But come noon, it would be directly overhead and here would be no sleeping then. And he wanted his rest, and it was showing in his voice.

"One of their Generals is dead. Usually the one who kills him, takes his place. Since I didn't, every elite soldier is going to be competing for that rank. And everyone below the one that gets it is going to be competing for -that- rank. And so on... and so on.... Most of the patrols have already been recalled I would imagine." Mule let a long yawn out. "And those that weren't are coming back anyways. None of them will pass up the chance."

"What will you do now?" Riyarra finally asked.

"My mission is done." Mule sighed. Then he yawned and stretched his neck one last time as he settled in. "I will probably go home." His answer didn't seem to sit well with Riyarra. She kept her back to him as her thoughts digested all they had already spoken about. So much of it all didn't make sense to her, there were too many missing pieces -- secrets she would have to get out of him later. Why did her brother send him to Zecair? What was her fate now? What she did know, was that her brother had hired him -- and not to rescue her.