Shiva the Cat
the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated
- Joined
- Jun 1, 2019
- Location
- over the hills and far away
Alcalantë's fëa was not wholly inexperienced with carnal activity. A lifetime ago, she had lain with another Maia beneath the trees of Oromë's sacred wood, an encounter that had come about through curiosity more than passion. The experience had been...fine. Not remarkably pleasing, but not painful or traumatic either. She had parted with Kemós the Spearman with indifference and disinterest in future tryts, and the maiden rarely found herself thinking back on the matter. Indeed, it was almost forgotten until she had first seen Celevonaur's naked form, kindling the old desires she'd felt so briefly amid the oaks and rowans beyond the sea.
But she'd had no material body at the time of the affiar; the joining had been spiritual alone. And the Maia was quickly discovering that without physical form, such a coupling was nothing more than the image of a flower as might be compared to standing naked in a full field in bloom. Every squeeze, every shift in Alcalantë's flesh made her gasp. She squeezed Celevonaur's body more tightly than she ever thought her limbs capable of. His kisses made her stomach flutter in a way she never could have imagined, and her skin burned as hot as his own, even giving off a dim fiery glow through the rising steam.
She had closed her eyes as the sensations grew too much to bear, but something, either Celevonaur's own will or a sudden need to rein in her passion, made Alcalantë open them again. They locked with the fugitive's burning gaze, and a storm of emotions raged within her. He teased her with his own accusations of being different, and she blushed in sudden humiliation in realizing she was debasing herself: a handmaid of the Valar brought down to the condition of a bitch in heat, writhing against her mate and whining to be taken. She was surprised he hadn't turned her and fucked her on all fours like an animal, and she was even more humiliated that such an idea only made her wetter for him.
The saving grace was that there was no malice in Celevonaur's eyes as he rested his brow against hers, a gesture that was unarguably tender unto itself. Whatever Alcalantë might have felt, it was not through the Úmaia's desire to torture her. Indeed, it was impossible to deny that he desired her as badly as she did him, from the feel of his manhood pressing so firmly against her sex. The maiden glanced downward again, whimpering a little at the sight of his member. Her fëa might not have been virginal, but her Raiment was, as the fugitive no doubt felt when he tried to enter her.
It wasn't painful at first. Alcalantë felt him brush against her own little nub of pleasure, making her jump a little and squirm to try and increase the friction. The feeling was soon overpowered by the feel of her walls stretching to their breaking point, simultaneously pushing him back and squeezing tighter to draw him in. He would tear her apart if he didn't stop now, she was sure of it...but she didn't say a word. The Maia bit down hard on her lip, hard enough to draw blood, and let him push in even deeper. It hurt unlike anything she could ever imagine as she swallowed scream after scream, but when he was finally buried to the hilt a strange peace washed over her body.
They were one now. Celevonaur had molded her Raiment to fit his own, but his fëa seemed to touch Alcalantë's as well. In this moment they were an Order unto themselves, whole and perfectly balanced, corrupted and purified all at once, the sound of a dissonant chord realigning itself into flawless harmony. Alcalantë wished it could have gone on forever.
Celevonaur didn't ruin the moment with his whispered words in the old tongue, but he did bring it to an end. The pain returned as he began to move inside her, but it was fading quickly. After a little while Alcalantë even found the strength to rock her hips against him in response, taking back a little control to hold him tantalizingly far from her when he least expected it, or suddenly forcing him all the way into her core. But when the pleasure had left the agony as nothing more than a dim memory, animal instinct threatened to take over, making her movements more frantic and less graceful while her nails dug into the Úmaia's back.
There would be no risk of impregnation when he finally released inside her. Maiar did not conceive without a greater purpose from their masters, and Alcalantë could not think of a single Ainu who would have wanted to see a child born between a lesser servant and a fugitive traitor to the Valar. So it was that she let her own pleasure push her to the edge, squeezing his manhood tighter and tighter with every thrust. The glowing aura radiating from her skin seemed to grow brighter as well, at the same time darkening from a blush pink to a deep crimson, almost like fire as it reflected off the steam.
Any moment now, and the end would come. Alcalantë pressed her face to the crook of Celevonaur's neck, urging her body ever closer even as a shadow on her mind made her dread it. Nessa's warning about her Raiment echoed in her ears, but Nessa was out of reach now. There was only Celevonaur, and the rest of the world was lost.
But she'd had no material body at the time of the affiar; the joining had been spiritual alone. And the Maia was quickly discovering that without physical form, such a coupling was nothing more than the image of a flower as might be compared to standing naked in a full field in bloom. Every squeeze, every shift in Alcalantë's flesh made her gasp. She squeezed Celevonaur's body more tightly than she ever thought her limbs capable of. His kisses made her stomach flutter in a way she never could have imagined, and her skin burned as hot as his own, even giving off a dim fiery glow through the rising steam.
She had closed her eyes as the sensations grew too much to bear, but something, either Celevonaur's own will or a sudden need to rein in her passion, made Alcalantë open them again. They locked with the fugitive's burning gaze, and a storm of emotions raged within her. He teased her with his own accusations of being different, and she blushed in sudden humiliation in realizing she was debasing herself: a handmaid of the Valar brought down to the condition of a bitch in heat, writhing against her mate and whining to be taken. She was surprised he hadn't turned her and fucked her on all fours like an animal, and she was even more humiliated that such an idea only made her wetter for him.
The saving grace was that there was no malice in Celevonaur's eyes as he rested his brow against hers, a gesture that was unarguably tender unto itself. Whatever Alcalantë might have felt, it was not through the Úmaia's desire to torture her. Indeed, it was impossible to deny that he desired her as badly as she did him, from the feel of his manhood pressing so firmly against her sex. The maiden glanced downward again, whimpering a little at the sight of his member. Her fëa might not have been virginal, but her Raiment was, as the fugitive no doubt felt when he tried to enter her.
It wasn't painful at first. Alcalantë felt him brush against her own little nub of pleasure, making her jump a little and squirm to try and increase the friction. The feeling was soon overpowered by the feel of her walls stretching to their breaking point, simultaneously pushing him back and squeezing tighter to draw him in. He would tear her apart if he didn't stop now, she was sure of it...but she didn't say a word. The Maia bit down hard on her lip, hard enough to draw blood, and let him push in even deeper. It hurt unlike anything she could ever imagine as she swallowed scream after scream, but when he was finally buried to the hilt a strange peace washed over her body.
They were one now. Celevonaur had molded her Raiment to fit his own, but his fëa seemed to touch Alcalantë's as well. In this moment they were an Order unto themselves, whole and perfectly balanced, corrupted and purified all at once, the sound of a dissonant chord realigning itself into flawless harmony. Alcalantë wished it could have gone on forever.
Celevonaur didn't ruin the moment with his whispered words in the old tongue, but he did bring it to an end. The pain returned as he began to move inside her, but it was fading quickly. After a little while Alcalantë even found the strength to rock her hips against him in response, taking back a little control to hold him tantalizingly far from her when he least expected it, or suddenly forcing him all the way into her core. But when the pleasure had left the agony as nothing more than a dim memory, animal instinct threatened to take over, making her movements more frantic and less graceful while her nails dug into the Úmaia's back.
There would be no risk of impregnation when he finally released inside her. Maiar did not conceive without a greater purpose from their masters, and Alcalantë could not think of a single Ainu who would have wanted to see a child born between a lesser servant and a fugitive traitor to the Valar. So it was that she let her own pleasure push her to the edge, squeezing his manhood tighter and tighter with every thrust. The glowing aura radiating from her skin seemed to grow brighter as well, at the same time darkening from a blush pink to a deep crimson, almost like fire as it reflected off the steam.
Any moment now, and the end would come. Alcalantë pressed her face to the crook of Celevonaur's neck, urging her body ever closer even as a shadow on her mind made her dread it. Nessa's warning about her Raiment echoed in her ears, but Nessa was out of reach now. There was only Celevonaur, and the rest of the world was lost.