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From: Vivian Darkbloom <vdkblm-OBLITERATE-SPAM!@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sangrelysia - Chapter 7 {Mg magic}
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Date: Fri, 30 Dec 2005 10:10:10 -0500
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                         Sangrelysia - Chapter 7

                          by Vivian Darkbloom
     ____________________________________________________________

   "I've always meant to ask where you got your door-knocker from,"
   Gwendolyn (the maid) inquired, looking up at me as she skillfully
   set to work.

   Knockers, I found myself repeating mentally, as my gaze lingered
   over the pale translucent softness revealed by her low-cut
   neckline as she knelt on the floor, the scrubbing motion
   generating a comfortable jiggle. Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away
   from her pleasantly curved bosom. I couldn't be certain, but it
   seemed like her smile turned up just a bit at the corners in
   response.

   "`Portals with personality,' A thin little volume by Montescue
   Frimpledoom, Professor Emeritus of wizardry at Cambridge," I
   replied.

   "Mail!" shouted the doorway, as the scroll came wafting in and
   landed on the table.

   The Princess sat on my lap as, breaking the seal, I unrolled it.
   "The expedition will convene at 7:30 A.M. sharp tomorrow
   morning," I read.

   Sylvia rolled her eyes, slowly and gently rotating her soft
   little buttocks on my lap. "That means noon."

   Shanon and Meredith, dark and light, the two ten-year-old
   girls-in-waiting ceased whispering in the corner, turning to
   approach solemnly where we sat. They addressed me: "We think the
   Princess needs a good wand in the rear."

   The Princess rolled her eyes. "You guys!"

   "The rear?" I asked, a bit startled. "You want me to give her a
   good paddling?"

   "Not on the rear, in the rear," said Meredith, golden blonde,
   eyes of autumn.

   "Not the very rear," emended Shanon, chocolate skinned with long
   dark curls. "It's just that, her best position for orgasm is
   face-down."

   "Hey!" protested Sylvia again.

   I stroked my beard. "Well let's see. There's the oak wand, but
   it's a bit oversized. Then there are the fir wands, but I don't
   want to get them all messy."

   Gwendolyn came up on the other side. "Wizard, you know damn well
   what they mean," she twinkled. "Only I've got one better." She
   slipped a hand behind her, and pulled a drawstring, allowing her
   bodice to release it's burden forward. "You could get the wand
   started, between these." Thin dark hands gently reached over to
   pull back the fabric, as Shanon stepped over to assist, with a
   knowing smile beneath lunar orbs. Dark hands caressed the curved
   outline, interrupted by the growing dark-red nipples.

   "The wand seems to be started already," commented Meredith,
   gently probing my lap beneath the Princess' soft, firm buns.

   "Hey!" again protested Sylvia, impulsively leaping up to turn and
   to face me. Her tiny, moist lips were inches from mine, and I
   felt her breath brush warm on my face as she stood spread-legged
   over my thighs. I gazed into her eyes, emerald-green set in
   ivory. Faint wisps of her long dark hair fell gently, weaving
   apart and together as she turned slightly, lips barely touching,
   her breath increasing ever so subtly with a hint of passion.

   I watched as it languorously emerged into her awareness that her
   pretense had collapsed, and beheld a parallel motion in her
   elevation, as she settled back to sitting on my lap. More like
   leaning perhaps, now with vertex between her legs pressed firmly
   against me, as she shifted and snuggled to establish our
   connection through layers of fabric. Mentally, I was processing
   the remark about orgasm, as I wasn't even aware that a
   ten-year-old might be capable of one, let alone habitually, as
   the remark apparently indicated. Lost in thought, I next felt her
   soft, moist lips on mine, and I realized she was kissing me. I
   kissed back.

   Our tongues met, and the other three, girl, girl and woman,
   watched as we explored the delicious novelty of shared tactile
   nerve-endings mutually stimulating pleasure. Gwendolyn sighed as
   Shannon's dark, thin hands continued to trace the curves and
   peaks, reaching up to caress the other's mysterious velvety dark
   forehead and entrancing curls. Pale Gwendolyn lowered herself
   down to sitting on the carpet, legs apart, knees skyward, as
   Shannon followed her down, adding a long, pink tongue to the
   fingers that explored, and Gwendolyn drew up her white apron,
   green dress, and petticoats, to reveal the dark red lips below.

   This I only glimpsed, as I was busy outlining the thin torso of
   my Royal Princess with open palms and fingers running up and down
   lovingly her pale cotton blouse, yearning to embrace her deep
   inside of me. Our mutual sharing, so profound, seemed yet so
   commonplace, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. Ho
   hum, another day, another ray of sunlight streaming through the
   kitchen window over suds-covered half-washed dishes, another
   nudge from the tip of her tongue against mine as her pelvis fell
   into a slow, delicate rhythm pressing against me, steadying
   herself by pressing her hands on my shoulders and sides of my
   neck.

   Meredith, beside us, long brushed-back hair the earthen yellow
   color of leaves ready to fall, watched intently, kissing her
   Highness gently on the cheek as I felt her hand exploring below.

   Now glancing at the two on the floor, I saw my maid, pale
   Gwendolyn, lying full flat on her back, knees jerking and
   gutturally grunting in response to the bobbing of the dark curls
   between her legs, Shannon sprawled elegantly, her hands wrapped
   around the other's gyrating pelvis.

   Oh how I loved these girls, and trembled with anticipation and
   longing for the shared climaxes that I scarcely dreamed to be
   possible.

   "Princess," cried out Gwendolyn, "Over here!" Sylvia drew back
   slightly, as she glanced over, then back at me eyes inquiring.

   I nodded. "You like a girl's tongue, down there?" I asked.

   Slowly, she nodded.

   "Gwendolyn is quite good, I'm certain. Go."

   Gradually, we separated, and Meredith, with experienced fingers,
   drew up Sylvia's white dress over her head, carefully setting it
   down on the carpet beside us. Never before had I beheld the
   Princess' thin frame, in pale vulnerability, warm and soft before
   me. Still, Sylvia straddled my thighs, but stepped back as
   Meredith lowered her panties.

   I inhaled sharply as white fabric fell away to reveal the smooth,
   hot, soft sweetness which, moments ago, and been so closely
   pressed against me. I surged forward a millimetre from the molten
   magnetism. Then she lifted, turned, and pale, receding buns faced
   me as the Princess went over, lowering her sensitive
   penetrability to the lips of the maid.

   An agile tongue leapt up like a flame from below to meet the
   descending pearl, and the connection brought forth a cry, the
   likes of which I had never heard before, "Oh!" repeated Sylvia
   again and again in miniaturely high-pitched erotic abandon I
   barely would have imagined escaping the lips of a ten-year-old
   girl, as she threw her head back and gave in to the skillful
   probing.

   The ever attentive Meredith had located somewhere in the folds of
   her dress a vial of sweet-smelling lotion, which she smeared
   flower-scented between flopping breasts of the handmaiden, who
   was now heavily occupied at both ends. I walked over to the
   whirring organic machinery, and Meredith reached swiftly to untie
   the cord holding up my pantalones. They dropped with alarming
   rapidity, as she gently guided my wand between the erect buttons
   to the sweetly lubricated soft valley.

   "I've never done this before," she confided in a whisper, as she
   reached around to press the maid's breasts together beautifully
   around me. Good thing she was available, as Gwendolyn's hands
   were well immersed in the activity of the Princess.

   "It's perfect," I assured her, as I too fell into rhythm behind
   the Princess' inspiringly round buttocks, leaning forward gently
   so she could feel my cuddling and caring warmth in back of her.

   Sunlight crept across the wall as we enjoyed the motion of
   repetition, the smaller circles within the larger circles,
   epicycles within the orbits. The clock ticked in its own rhythm
   and chimed, the last grains of sand fell from the upper chamber
   of the hourglass, collapsing ever so slightly the tiny mountain
   built by their predecessors.

   Our pleasure rose and fell, surged and subsided, increasing
   gradually upward as we settled in and shifted to get comfortable.
   I was sure I felt the familiar tremble of climax several times,
   earthquakes below me from from maid and Princess alike, possibly
   both at once. Then I found myself feeling chilly and forlorn,
   apart from the soft folds that had so perfectly been embracing
   me. I opened my eyes, to meet Meredith's impartial gaze across
   from me. She reached out and kissed me on the lips, briefly, with
   just a hint of tongue. Then bent over to kiss my wand, just a
   peck.

   But down to business -- she took firm grasp of the rod, and
   guided it to the rear of the Princess. Like she promised, not the
   very rear (brushing against it), but the seed-receptacle right to
   the front of it. I was so stiff and sensitive I worried lest she
   might be too rough, but she was ever so gentle, as she placed the
   very point into the heart of the valley, the sensation-nexus of
   the Princess' opening.

   Gwendolyn had seen what was coming, and so withdrawn her fingers,
   but the Princess hadn't immediately grasped that it wasn't just
   the Maid's finger being reinserted. Her cries of lustful passion
   grew as the realization dawned, and her pelvic motion renewed in
   vigor with welcoming of my entry into her sacred chamber. Gwen's
   hand, not one to be idle, took its place caressing the sack
   beneath, and vicinity.

   "Mare!" cried out Sylvia. "Over here!"

   Meredith silently let go of me, having erected the machinery in
   accordance with the grand plan, and knelt on the carpet in front
   of the Princess, lifting her skirt to reveal the bare smooth
   folds within. Sylvia greedily clutched her friend's thighs, and
   plunged her face into the awaiting opening. Now it was Meredith's
   turn to throw her head back in abandon.

   So we served the Princess, Gwen below, from the front, I above,
   from behind, and Meredith to her face, as we worked in tight
   synchronization as a team, to tease higher and higher, draw
   tighter and tighter the tension, until the bow released, and
   Sylvia's cries lengthened as she lost complete control to and
   ecstatic trembling dance. I felt chains of pulses squeezing up
   and down me, but dutifully I held back, ever Milady's servant,
   while Eros' arrows thus released buried itself so deeply in my
   heart.

   But she was not to be fooled. Her desperate-sounding cries of
   orgasm softened into devilish giggles as she twisted and turned
   her little tush. My turn, now, to cry out, as the unexpected
   goading dangerously threatened the agonized hairline cracks in
   the dam, treading carelessly the vein of weakness, now heavily
   burdened with the swollen waters of torrential rains of built-up
   anticipation and longing, until finally Meredith's straw-colored
   locks flew up as I heard her cry out in release, and with that
   hair-trigger the brittle barrier could withstand no more, and
   overloaded with the strain, cracked and burst into a million
   drops of releasing evanescent stars of feverish fluidity into the
   deep realms of tiny youth below me, as I pushed and drove my
   loving intensity into the shared beauty of our combined orgasms
   as -- yes, unbelievably -- Sylvia came yet again.

   Gradually, the machinery ground to a halt, and we collapsed in
   each other's arms, drawing up a downy quilt against the
   refreshing breeze that ventured in from the kitchen window.
     ____________________________________________________________

                                                to be continued. . .

  _______________________________________________________


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