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Travelling [W/ Miranda and Iskander--PM for Invite]

VictoriaKi

VictoriaKi

Planetoid
Joined
Nov 23, 2011
The marshes were a humid and unfriendly mess, even in the early hours. Miranda stood over her bedroll twisting her waist length hair into a casual braid, reflecting bitterly over the lack of a breeze.

"Iskander"

She didn't bother to look and see if he was coming to her -- she could hear the faint jingling of his earrings and other ridiculous trappings as he moved closer. Sorcerers were a silly bunch with their jewelry and frivolous clothing, but they weren't dumb and this one, at least, was not deaf.

Tossing the bedroll over her shoulder she turned to face the man.

"Have you packed the maps? I'd like to leave before the sun rises. Otherwise, we're likely to melt."

She knew she was lucky to have captured him; he was a gorgeous specimen.

Unfortunately, his attitude was reprehensible. She would have to straighten it out -- as soon as they were out of the marshes, and on the way to collect her next mark. She didn't bother to wait for his reply, instead moving around him to tie the bedroll on to the hardy mule that was carrying their supplies.

She tightened the girth on her charger; it was perfect, and the stallion nickered softly. Nuzzling his cheek, she kissed him.

"There there. We'll be out of this awful place shortly."

Boosting herself into the saddle, she said a prayer for the breeze, and turned towards her demonic prisoner.

"Ready, Iskander?"
 
While Miranda might have been an early riser, the concept of waking before the sun was ludicrous to the Sorcerer. What was there to do before the sun was out? Nothing interesting, to be sure. Trudging onward, his bedroll clutched longingly in his arms, Iskander moved through the marshes and gave a loud grunt, upon hearing his name.

"Oh yes," he answered, in a mock servile tone. "We must be off before the sun is up. We certainly don't want to see all the people who want to kill us coming, now do we?"

Pale lips parted and stretched to their limit in a long yawn, before he spoke again. "Yes, I've packed all of the damned maps. Not that they'll do us any good."

The heat was certainly a dilemma for the armored female, but Iskander had little trouble with it. His robes suited him just fine, not that the heat would have troubled him whatsoever; magic did have it's perks, after all. Yes, he could understand how Miranda would be displeased with the heat, she kept everything covered...except that little shock of flesh around her thighs.

Hrm, yes she liked teasing him didn't she. The troublesome wench.

Snorting at the idea that she could get under his skin, Iskander crossed his arms and hovered over to her location.

"As ready as I'll ever be. Do we at least know where we're going this time?"
 
Miranda shook her head. The damn sorcerer would learn his place. She ignored his attitude; she ignored his comments. He was nothing more than a servant, and one did not respond with passion to ones chattel. Setting her heels into the chargers side, the horse surged forward, the donkey plodding along steadily to keep pace with the pair.

“Out of this damned Marsh.”

Miranda replied evenly. The light was beginning to creep orange fingers through sleepy moss; reflecting across the algae covered swamp. The sun was rising, and Miranda was ready to get the long ride behind her. The braid bounced against her back, brushing her thighs as she rode silently.

The pair didn’t find their way out of the Marsh before evening fell; it was in descending darkness that Miranda pulled the charger round to a small spring fed- pond. She dismounted with something less than her normal vigor.

“Iskander, we’ll need a fire.”

She went about the business of readying the camp; setting the charger and the donkey free of their reins, she removed their saddle, saddlebags, and blankets, scrubbing them down with a stiff brush as they drank from the spring. Only when the donkey and stallion were as comfortable as they could get, did she call for Iskander again. Turning her back to him, she pulled the braid over her shoulder and began to unravel it.

“Help me out of my armor”

The armor was hot, and she’d feel much more comfortable without the extra two layers.
 
Today's trek was no different than any other journey the two traveler's shared. Miranda led the way, stoic and impassive as always, leaving Iskander to trail behind the donkey. What had happened? At some point he'd had the world at the tip of his fingers, his own collection of slaves and an entire village at his whim. Yet, he'd lost it all, or rather Miranda had taken it from him.

To think that he was now forced to submit to that human was sickening. Arms crossed in belligerence at her order, but when she did not bother to repeat the order, Iskander hurried about his task, lest he incur her wrath.

The fire was a simple enough task. Phantom hands collected the underbrush and kindling and saw them arranged in proper order and aspect. A snap of the sorcerer's fingers sparked the first embers of the fire that soon crackled and hissed.

Scoffing at her second command, Iskander kept his hands pinned at his side. "I'm NOT your maid servant. I may be bound to you, but I'm still a force to be reckoned with! You'd do best to remember that." He said, settling onto the ground into a sitting position.
 
Miranda snorted. It was an undignified sound, but she was tired of his tantrums. Allowing her fingers to play along the ruby at her throat she turned to face him.

“You may be a force to reckon with, but unless you’d prefer to be writhing on the ground for the remainder of the night, you would do well to get over here and help me.”

Her voice was even, and she waited to see what his choice would be. She wanted a restful night; some jerky, a quick bath, and a long nap. Fighting with her servant was not in her agenda. Her hands had already begun to unlace the chemise at her throat, working diligently around the ruby.
 
Eyes widened as her lithe fingers toyed with the ruby. With what could only be described as a pout, Iskander floated over to Miranda.

"Hmph, no need to be so snippy."

Extending his legs, the sorcerer stood to his full height and began to unfasten Miranda's armor. He started at her shoulders and worked his way down. Kneeling behind her, the sorcerer peered at Miranda's shapely backside. He took his time, letting his eyes traverse the length of her body, slowly unfastening the straps about her legs and gently slipping them off. Her flesh was pale and perfect and smooth...flesh he'd been denied for far too long.

After he had removed the armor, a gesture of his hand saw it settled into a neat pile near Miranda's saddle.

"Anything else?" he asked with a lascivious smirk.
 
Miranda allowed him to take his time. She enjoyed the feeling of the metal skeleton being lifted out and away from her sweaty body. Her chemise was soaked through, the cloth clinging to her body in a needy way. She worked the laces down from her throat to her waist, pooling the cloth over her sword belts, her skin pebbling in the cooling air. She didn’t worry about the sorcerer seeing her naked. He was lewd, but less than a human and she didn’t have to worry about his animalistic urges. A sword in his gut, or a simple stroke of her ruby necklace and he’d be useless.

Leaning down, she slid her panties over her hips and down her thighs. Letting them pool at her feet, she leaned against a nearby tree, holding her right foot in its stocking out to him, her panties dangling from her ankle. She didn’t need to explain what she wanted, but instead decided to comment patiently on what else he could do with the rest of his time.

“While I bathe you may do my laundry. I’d prefer to sleep in non sweat drenched clothing.”
 
Brows lofted and eyes widened as he watched the fabric of her undergarments slip off of her skin. Fingertips cradled her stocking clad foot before claiming her panties. He could feel his member growing hard and the device tightening about his shaft. Pale skin flushed red in embarrassment at the bulge forming. He was loathe to be her pet, but he'd been denied the touch of a woman for far too long. She kept him this way on purpose...to keep him willing...subservient.

There was no beast as cruel as a human.

Clutching the soft lacy fabric of her panties, he took his time slipping off her stockings, the skin of his fingers sliding along her flesh. A knot formed in his throat, as his eyes traveled up, past her thighs to peer at her womanhood and breasts. Swallowing the lump, he claimed the second stocking and turned his nose up in mock disgust.

"Hmph...you sure know how to make my day."
 
Miranda watched him with little interest. The ruby at her throat glowed warmly as he became discomforted. She watched him fight with himself, wondering disinterestedly if he’d try and press his luck – after the first several attempts when she had first captured him, she was a little disappointed that he’d learn his lesson. Not having anything to say, she moved away from him, undoing the sword belts at her waist and allowing them to fall to the ground, the chemise following it to the ground.

Leaving her clothes where they lie so he could collect and wash them, she waded into the pond, the cool spring fed water causing goose bumps to rise. The ruby winked at her throat as she splashed water up her thighs. Settling herself on to a convenient rock jutting just below the water, she called quietly over her shoulder.

“When you have my stockings and panties soaking, you may help me with my bath…hand maiden.”
 
Iskander bristled at the comment, but collected her garments, just the same. As Miranda stepped into the water, phantom hands set about cleaning her clothes in the pond as Iskander began to remove his robes; there was no need soak them through and through. Stepping into the water after her, Iskander waded in. Heat emanated from his body, his aura heating the water to a comfortable temperature.

Sweat trickled down his body, taught skin glistened in the moonlight as his member disappeared beneath the water.

"And what would you have me do?" he asked, his tone disgruntled.
 
Miranda cocked an eyebrow as he stripped. He was magnificent; perfectly toned and evenly proportioned. It had been too long…too bad he wasn’t human.

“It never surprises me how much you look like a real man, Iskander.”

She commented quietly as he slid through the water. The warmth from the sorcerer spread through the water and she sighed, allowing sore muscles to relax. Eyes closed, she tossed her head.

“You can help me with my hair.”
 
Iskander turned his nose up at her words. Despite this, he set about washing Miranda's hair.

"Genetically there's no difference," he reiterated. "Simply because your people fear my power, my kind and I have all been labeled inhuman."

Crimson eyes moved along her form, marveling at the droplets of water that rolled and dripped off of her nipples into the water. Iskander grinned, baring sharp canines.

"Any other hair you need washed?"

She may not have wanted to admit it, but she was a woman and she had needs; needs that Iskander could fulfill, at some point she would give in. Yes, Iskander was sure of it.
 
“The difference is, of course, the soul. You have none, having sold it to a demon for your ‘power’”

Miranda stretched, enjoying the fingers working through her hair. Her eyes slid closed and she leaned back against him. She ignored his insinuation; he was talking for the sake of making noise and they both knew it.

“A massage would be nice.”

She crossed her legs, pulling her hair from his fingers and draping it over her shoulder.
 
Iskander huffed, but did not pass up a chance to run his hands along Miranda's back. Strong fingers kneaded the muscles in her back, working their way up her spine and to her shoulders. Gently working out the knots he felt, Iskander sighed. One might have tried to kill their captor, but he'd learned early on that such an endeavor was fruitless. If she died he was stuck by her side until someone else claimed the ruby and then the cycle would start all over again.

"Sold is a pejorative term. I didn't just give it away, you know. I merely offered a portion of it up in exchange for power and a pair of pointed ears."

Lips parted as Iskander brushed aside a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. He longed to run his tongue over something feminine again, to taste the water off of her hot, moist flesh.

"What exactly are you planning to do when you find another? Keeping more than one sorcerer could prove too much for even you to handle."
 
Miranda rolled her shoulders under Iskander’s hands. She found herself thinking, a little giddily, that his fingers were magical. Of course, that wasn’t the only part of him that was magical. She leaned back against him.

“A piece? How did one decide which portion of the soul was worth power – and pointy ears?”

She shook her head, turning to face him, straddling his legs with ease She leaned forward, peering into the water with a cocked eyebrow.

“Nevermind; it’s rhetorical. And I’m sure you’ll have your hands full. You’ll agree my continued health is in your best interest – you don’t want to be stuck with a crazed stranger while I rot, would you?”

She leaned back against the rock, peering up at him, a smile swimming behind her stoicism.

“How are my panties coming, maid?”
 
To feel her pressed against him drove him absolutely mad. His cock throbbed wantonly against the confines of the jeweled ring, the tip of his member brushing her inner thigh as she moved to straddle his legs. Red eyes took in the sight of her breasts resulting in a twitch from his engorged member.

His expression soured at her final words, however, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Clean. Dried. Pressed and folded neatly on your bedroll."

Setting about washing his own flowing crimson hair, Iskander slowly slid away from Miranda as he began washing his body. "Anything else you require of me?"
 
Miranda tossed her hair, a dark laugh bubbling from between her lips. He was a male, if not a man. All pride, little steel.

“Oh? A little feminine work and you find yourself…wilting…under the pressure?”

She stood, allowing the water to run down the length of her as she wrapped her hair in her fists and twisted it dry.

“I don’t need anything more of you just now. When you’re done, we’ll eat.”

Miranda sauntered to the shore, her hair brushing against the back of her thighs as she moved. Leaving the warm water behind, she felt her skin pebbling.

The fire crackled merrily as she sat on her bedroll, once again clothed. The chemise was a light linen, perfect for the warm evening. She left the lacings open to her bustier as she ran her brush through her long brown hair. The stockings and the panties she left folded near her sword. It was a warm night, and she had no need to cloth herself now. The smell of the meat crackling on the fire was delectable; Miranda closed her eyes and enjoyed the scent.

”Iskander? You’ll prune if you spend much more time in there”
 
The water around Iskander bubbled alongside the rage within him.

"I have never, nor do I have any plans to wilt in the near future."

Lounging back in the water, the Sorcerer stretched his arms and floated along the top of the water. "One perk to my pact is remarkable physical resilience. No pruning," he said waving his hands in front of his face. Water rippled along the surface of the pond as the Sorcerer dripped dry, his member remained firm the pale white skin glistneing no where near as much as the jeweled ring about his cock.

"Enjoying the show with your dinner?" he asked, grinning mischievously.
 
Miranda rolled her eyes.

“Not much of a show. There is more entertainment to be found staring into the fire.”

After a moment, she nodded, and obligingly she looked him up and down; considering and measuring.

“How long has it been? You’ve been mine for a while. I’m assuming before that, you’d bewitch poor virgins and defile them hourly.”

Cocking an eyebrow, she crocked a finger. She crossed her legs, leaning forward loosely so that her chemise gaped open. The firelight flashed across her skin, turning the pale flesh warm in the dark evening.

“Come here. Show me what you’re working with, Iskander.”

Miranda licked her lips.
 
A moment of anger was soon followed by a large grin. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist him. Hands locked together behind his head, Iskander floated over never breaking his lackadaisical pose.

"A year..." he admitted sourly. "Oh now, virgins are horrendously over rated. Give me an ignored farm wife any day of the week. Those are the real demons in bed."

Lowering himself to his feet in her presence, Iskander placed his hands on his hip, presenting her with his cock. "Certainly worth a small portion of my soul."
 
Miranda cocked an eyebrow, and leaned back on her palms. He was impressive, but she wouldn’t let him know that.

“It’s nice enough. A lonely farm wife, you say?”

She smiled.

“A year is quite a long time. I doubt that you know how to handle it anymore.”

She pulled her chemise down, the firelight playing along the curve of her breast and illuminating a teasing pink peak. Meeting his eyes, she licked her lips.

“Show me, Iskander. Show me you still know your way around your body, and I may find a lonely farm wife for you soon.”

She smirked.

“Provided you do a good job, of course.”
 
Porcelain lips curled into a pleased smirk. "That, Miranda, is one thing I'm certain I will always be able to handle."

There was a certain truth to his words; few people knew a man's body better than the man himself. Legs parted as Iskander laid back into thin air, his knees coming up to display his most vulnerable of places. His right hand moved between his legs, slender digits curling about his hard shaft, sliding along it with familiarity. His left hand moved along his abdomen, rubbing his pubic region every now and again.

Meanwhile, unseen tongues slid all along his body, into dark crevices and nooks of his body. Perhaps his most favorite trick, but one he was rather embarassed to admit to using. As the phantom tongues teased him, Iskander's hand began to work with more fervor, teasing the head off his cock until a small drop of precum blossomed at the tip.

He flushed slightly at Miranda's eyes on him, but continued nonetheless. "Anything in particular you'd care to see tonight, Miranda?"
 
Miranda tilted her head to the side, watching him tease himself. The sorcerer was entirely too arrogant for her liking. She ran her fingers across the ruby at her throat, watching the band at the base of his cock tighten slightly. Tilting her head, she waited for him to make a sound, any sound.

“I’d like to see you on your knees.”

She remarked pleasantly, as if commenting on the nice weather. Standing , she didn’t exactly tower over him, but she was imposing enough to place a hand on his shoulder and guide him down.

“No magic. No man needs magic to complete himself, does he?”

She was as deaf to magic as anyone could be, but she knew floating was definitely on the non-mortal side of affairs. Tossing her hair out of her face she added.

“And not on my bedroll. Your knees are sturdy enough for the soft ground, methinks. At least, they should be after trading that little piece of your soul.”

She didn’t wait to see if he would obey, instead working quietly and quickly, banking the fire and the pulling their meal off the tripod. She dipped herself a bowl and returned to her bedroll for the rest of his performance.
 
A groan of pain escaped his lips as Iskander's power failed him. Crashing to his knees, the sorcerer huffed and readjusted his position.

"Only a man who's never had it," he explained, turning his nose up into the air.

Despite the small break in his mood, Iskander was not about to pass up a chance to relieve himself. It had been far too long since his last moment of release and he was bound and determined to have it again.

His hands returned to work, sliding deftly along the length of his shaft. The precum oozing out of the tip was collected by his fingertips and spread along his palm, a fast and easy lubricant. His heartbeat quickened, his breathing grew heavy and his cock grew harder. Resting back on his ankles, Iskander turned his eyes to Miranda's swaying breasts beneath her open chemise. He would have liked nothing more than to cover those breasts in milky white cum...Iskander was fond of giving his women pearl necklaces.

Clearly, Miranda was fond of a different sort of jewelry. He could feel his urge to explode, building up, but incapable of releasing with the amount of pressure upon his shaft. "Miranda...the ring...is too tight." he said between grunt of pleasure.
 
Miranda settled into her bedroll, unfolding her long legs before her. Kneeling in the dirt at her feet, touching himself, Miranda could feel the heat from the ring on the base of Iskander’s cock building up and transferring to the ruby at her throat. She was feeling rather warm, herself. She tugged the chemise open further and nibbled on her supper.

Nearly purring with satisfaction, she slowly shook her head, her long brown hair brushing down her back.

“Too tight, you say? What a shame.”

Nibbling on another morsel – a carrot, perhaps, she commented.

“I would love to help. But what could I do?”

She ran a finger along the slope of her neck, caressing her flesh near but not quite touching the warm, throbbing jewel.
 
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