Into The Darkness

Maybe he hadn't understood how hot and reckless Krasta was feeling.

Maybe she hadn't realized it herself, not till those knowing fingers [..furt..] inflamed her. She reached out, too, at a lower level.

Had he pulled off his trousers and lain down on the floor, she [..imi..] have mounted him then and there. Such things were said to happen the Cellar now and again, though Krasta had never seen them there.

Valnu, after shaking himself like a wet hound, went back to the table four or five long strides. Krasta followed him. Her cheeks burned. [..] heart raced. She breathed quickly, as if she'd just run a long way.

Valnu gulped the porter left in his mug. He was looking at Krasta a he'd never seen her before. "Brimstone and quicksilver," he mutter more to himself than to her. "Dragon-bitch."

After what she'd drunk, she took it as a compliment: indeed, she ne thought to wonder whether it might be anything else. Her own gob smaller than the earthenware mug from which he'd drunk, held bra yet. She poured it down. An egg might have burst in her belly. Warmth flowed out of it: to her face, to her breasts, to her loins.

With a rumbling blast from the tuba player and a thunder of drum beats, the band started up again. The rhythm seemed to be inside her, [..ing..] her to the brim; the laced brandy kicked like a wild ass. As if [...fr..] very far away, Valnu asked, "Do you want to go out on the floor again."

"No." Krasta shook her head. The room seemed to keep moving a she stopped. "Let's ride around the town in my cam-age - or even into the country."

"In your carriage?" Valnu frowned. "What win the coachman thin[..]."

"Who cares?" Krasta said gaily. "Powers above! He's only a coachman."

Valnu silently clapped his hands. "Spoken like the true woman nobility you are," he exclaimed, and got to his feet. So did Krasta, hoping the process looked smoother to him than it felt to her. They retrieve their cloaks from the little antech amber just outside the main room - the night had its full share of autumn chill - then went upstairs and out in the darkness.

That darkness was well-nigh absolute. Though no Algarvian dragons had yet appeared over Priekule, the city escaped itself in black.

A good many carnages waited outside the Cellar while their nob owners reveled the night away. Krasta had to call several times before could sort out which one was hers.

"Where to, milady?" her driver asked when she and Valnu climbed up into the seat behind him. "Back to the mansion?"

"No, no," Krasta said. "Just drive about for a while. If you happen to come on a road that leads out of the city - well, so much the better."

The coachman stayed quiet longer than he should have. When at last he spoke, he said was, "Aye, milady. It shall be as you command." He clucked to the horses and flicked the reins. The carriage began to move.

Krasta hardly noticed his words. Of course it would be as she commanded. How could it be otherwise, when she was dealing with her own servitors? She turned to Valnu, a vague shape in the darkness beside her.

She reached out for him as he was reaching out for her. The coachman paid no attention. He knew better than to pay attention… or, at least, to be seen paying attention.

Under the cover of their cloaks, Valnu's hand found the bone toggles that held her tunic closed. He undid a couple of them and reached inside the tunic to fondle her bare breast. Careless of the coachman, Krasta moaned. When her mouth met Valnu's this time, the kiss was so fierce, she tasted blood: his or hers, she could not tell.

His hand slid out of her tunic. He rubbed at the crotch of her trousers.

She thought she would burst like an egg then. Valnu chuckled. His hand dived under her waistband, His fingers, long and slim and clever, knew exactly where to go and exactly what to do when they got there. Krasta gasped and shuddered, for a moment blind with pleasure. Valnu chuckled again, as pleased with himself as he was with having pleased her. The horses plodded on, hooves clopping on cobbles, Stolid as the animals he drove, the coachman minded the reins.

Krasta thought of ordering Valnu out of the carriage now that he'd given her what she wanted. But, sated and tipsy, she felt more generous than usual. She rubbed him through the wool of his trousers. After an abrupt inhalation, he murmured, "I do hope you won't make me explain myself to my laundryman."

She laughed and rubbed harder. Nothing could have made her more inclined to do just that than his hoping she wouldn't. After a moment, though, still in that uncommonly kindly mood, she unbuttoned his fly and drew him forth. She stroked him some more.

"Ahhh," he said softly.

Had Krasta gone on for another minute or two, she would have made Valnu explain himself to his laundryman: of that she had no doubt.

Instead, she lowered her head, saying, "Here. I will give you a treat you could have only from a noblewoman." She took him in her mouth. His flesh was hot and smooth.