Cat Girl Charity - Transitions (part 2) free porn video

Second, centered around two members of the Academy leadership – Chancellor Storm Dragon and Headmistress Charity; revenge has been sworn, with the murder of many school Masters and Journeymen, death and destruction of businesses who deal with either of these two, and much more are placed at their feet.

For Charity, one who is constantly swept up into such chaotic messes, this is ‘business as usual.’


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Looking down over the community is a lone tower, a run down clock long since grown over with vines and other flowering plants; the heights where the bells used to chime daily now the home for the stilled bells and the birds that nest within. Many still use the lower floors and rooms for private trysts between lovers or groups of them, sometimes holding wild chases or full scale hedonistic to the extreme parties. Never are the uppermost levels used for great and trapped doors of iron secure them yet.

However, today is an exception, as there is a couple sharing in the company of one another’s loving attention. Literally have they scaled the outer walls; the gentleman has climbed the walls so fast and steady, his beloved clutching him for dear life (even though she was in no true danger), that anyone observing would swear a great cat leaped and ran UP them.

“Now then, where did those exquisite little treasures go to? I thought I had seen them around here, no? Or did I leave them here instead?” His voice is soft and melodious as if one was listening to a spring breeze moving across the treetops of a forest. His hands flow over her abdomen, causing a peal of giggles and squeals to erupt as each of her ticklish spots is discovered. Long and deep does that laughter continue, for in each hand is a large feather – then with a swirl of his fingers they become a pair, three and then four.

“Now for the next part of my search I will commence to explore your feet and legs, then work up for wonders to be discovered beneath that inviting skirt of yours; and those legs – growl!” The young lady, Sassa looks down at her love with rapturous anticipation at the enticements he is about to carry out; giggles break loose before he even starts. One foot held firmly, yet gently in his hands - the hidden strength and power shows the absolute control and discipline he has on each muscle – he commences to apply the feathers to draw out a riot of laughs and giggles to the point she is squirming like a happy mouse in a cheese factory.

Playfully she shakes her head while taking in his amusing smile and sheepish grin, one feline ear flared straight up and the other laying pressed forward along his cheeks. He made each one independently move out, up, down and in circles – she soon realizes he is using a flag code as the great galleons do to communicate! His words are “I – L – U – V – Y – O – U – growl!”

He moves on with his “search” along her leg with lips kissing and cheek caressing her muscles and each soft curve as well up to the hem of her skirt. Taking it into his mouth, the fabric rich with her heady scents, he moves it upward, revealing her thighs and then her uncovered womanhood, the source of pleasure he loves to give to all women from his past.

“Oh my look at this rich and wonderful area we have yet to search! May I do so my lady dear?” So innocent of a tone does his expression convey when he speaks she cannot help but laugh again. Nodding quickly he moves to get closer to her womanhood.


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Wow! Sassa experiences a rising tide of heat, passion, and desire. Each one mixes with another, ebbing and flowing with each movement of his tongue and lips on her vagina. Her nipples stand up, pressing against that simple silken blouse straining to keep them hidden from the world. Oh how much bliss she feels in each part of her being; he is showing her just how much pleasure she can expect and find from daring to explore.

His lips press onto her inner thighs, sending a cascade of intense, electrical rivers of pleasure comparable to the first roars of an approaching flood or peals of thunder saying a storm is soon to be at hand. One pulsing, body shaking, squeal inducing, sensation of the storm encompasses her mind. So strong is the desire she feels all of her body crying out for the storm to be summoned. She smells the heady mixture of rain, flowers, life being lived, along with the stale scents of old wood, cloth and dust layered upon dust.

His tongue sweeps across her womanhood once again, expertly moving in a alphabet soup of an A, X, H, K, Y and T. Closer the storm comes, building into a wall of dark clouds, billowing and swirling with the intensity of her passions; lightning cascading in great swirls of color and sharp bolts slamming to the ground, thunder peals aloud in unison with her squeals of desire.

Biting on her lower lip, hands’ moving down to hold her beloved in place, her body shudders with the pending release of the storm. Once, twice and a third time her back arches upward, only being held down by the iron grip of his on her body. Her body shakes violently as the thunder roars, winds howl, and the full pent up energy of the storm is unleashed – and her release of pleasure occurs.

Such is the heady mood it places her in she fails to hear or feel the tower shaking violently, the sound of the beams supporting the great bells tearing asunder, or the alarmed shock showing on her beloved’s face. Her own scream is drowned out by the chorus of noise about the both of them.


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In one swift move her beloved, the cat-folk monk known as Dancing Tiger, tosses her into the air and swirls his cloak about her body as she is caught again in his arms. Hoping the magical protections embedded in his cloak will keep her safe he looks up, seeing the great support beam holding the massive bells aloft begin its final set of death throws. Forgoing the stairs down he leaps through the archway to an outer balcony as five massive sets of lightning slam into the area; stone is rent and shatters, hurling projectiles from small pebbles to massive ton or more in mass blocks all about.

From the balcony to the banister edging he moves faster than a enraged lion dodging each flying bit of stone and debris coming after them. Metal clangs upon metal as the mighty bells commence their final movement in the tower, sundering the floor apart as each of their hundred ton mass makes impact, imploding the uppermost structure of the tower.

One step ahead of the collapse he literally runs DOWN the wall, so well tuned is mind and body that he is able to find purchase and balance upon the tiniest of projections – stone, wood, vine or even the pedals of a flower. The lightning repeatedly strikes at him and his beloved. Once, twice, four and a dozen more times. Now it is a race between him, the fury of nature gone mad and the death throws of the bell tower.

For the safety of his beloved it is one he intends to win.


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People in the market and surrounding homes, shops and buildings watch the death of the tower; most assuming that the lightning strikes are the cause. Some of them though, close enough to observe and feel the earth shaking crash at the end claim to have seen a lone figure – some say it was a ghost claiming final revenge on the sight of its death, others it was a mage who failed in some grand experiment gone horrifically wrong. Others though, much more cynical; claim that a mother-in-law was gaining revenge upon the ex-lover of her scorned daughter.

He hits the ground running flat out, seeking to get to shelter – any shelter – as soon as possible. As if possessing a living intellect of its own, the storm keeps pursuing; inhuman wails merge with the wind, the sounds of the banshee letting him know his life is forfeit this night. Twisting, turning, leaping off of buildings, banisters, rails and all manner of crates he dodges the continuous stream of lightning bolts.

Running and leaping across a small park he makes it halfway over a footbridge when their luck finally runs out. One, two and then five more bolts of primordial, white hot electricity slam into him. Flung bodily into a shops outer wall he folds his body about Sassa as they land in a heap of refuse. Witnesses say twenty or more bolts of lightning came down afterward, as if nature held a grudge against him for violating some ancient law that set forth the most intense of punishments.

All of those same watchers figured that is the end for them both; and the subsequent collapse of the shop wall, a massive structure of five stories of solid hewn stone, onto their location guarantees it. The excitement of the moment past, they all go back to their lives, while the howls of the shop owner rise louder and louder from the loss of business inflicted.


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Minutes pass without any movement anywhere to be seen or more lightning coming down. Suddenly he leaps into the air, twin blades drawn to cover his loves arising unto her feet. A quick glance shows the magical wards in his cloak – making its wearer impervious to lightning, has left her whole and hale.

“My lady,” he declares to her, “I have to admit, you are the first one I have pleasured who called down the very fires of the skies with her delight.”

Though her chuckle and tender guiding glance to a window nearby shows the truth – his clothing is torn and smoking from the hits he has taken, as well as his white hair with the black circles of spots, standing on end from the electrical forces exposed.

Now she understands, seeing him in action tonight, how her love has gained the name “Dancing Tiger.”


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Within the central wonders of the Academy is the Great Hall, stretching for almost a mike in length and half that wide; soaring to great flying arches that support large panels of glass enchanted with the hardness of steel. One hundred floors climb to the main heights with balconies and walkways overlooking the edges; bridges of exquisite work cross from one side to the other as well, graceful in appearance one thinks they will crumble on the first persons weight emplaced upon – yet so strong that a army of elephants could not shake one.

Work progresses on the preparations for the coming grand ball – no expense is being spared, no effort for the meals, drinks and entertainment is too small or large for consideration or addition. Great tapestries have been hung along with wonderful banners with illusions cast upon showing ever shifting scenes and images upon them. Diverse as the students and scholars who attend the academy so are those represented in the preparation as one group of chefs swap recipes with a gathering of Djinn Nobles (these are able to grant wishes as one who finds and rubs a legendary lamp).

Center of all this activity is a raised dais upon which great events and proclamations are usually made; though such is not its usage for this day. Surrounding the speaker is a gathering of Journeymen, black clad and facing outward to form a protective and all encompassing circle – as if awaiting an open assault upon their charge at any moment. To each side of the speaker stands a trio of large statues of living onyx stone; save they are not a statue – curled horns, sweeping wings, spiked tail and talons both on feet and hands show them clearly to be gargoyles.


The speaker is none other than the Master Fox-glove yet again making his next round of accusations and series of fabricated slander, insults, and alleged crimes and atrocities by the faction of the Chancellor and his minions.

Step by systematic step his impassioned presentation is made with skill and confidence, mixed with the fiery venom of a cobra and the intoxication of one with sheer raw animal charisma. Subtly woven into his words is a spell cast to catch the hearers attention, to make them see him as a friend and an ally, while making those he so rails against as more of an enemy than before.

To further this along, his students and paid agents have been given the words and questions laced so well with all manner of innuendo to stir up the passions against the Chancellor; and especially against the one who now holds rank above him – Charity, the newest Headmistress of the school.

Just even the thought of this latest disgrace and insult to him makes his face burn red hot.

Fully does his slander and spinning of tales encompass Charity; basing them upon a band of cat-folks who set up all manner of trouble nearly fifty years before, he attempts to show that the mere fact of one being present will set off – as he claims repeatedly is occurring – a Armageddon of disasters that can only be stopped by the elimination of her and the removal of the Chancellor from his office.

He portrays her as nothing but a floozy, a whore and trollop who used her evil charms to seduce the Chancellor into granting her the title and thus usurped the authority of the academies traditions. “How many actually seen her complete the tests to become a Headmistress? How many? When? Where? All we have is the word of the Headmistress Pele and our false and useless, lust smitten leader who now is gallivanting about like a puppy dog following its owner.”

Even the ongoing series of deaths among the schools Journeymen and Masters, among which many of his own faction joined in death when the inn they were at, was destroyed. He links in his story the tale of Charity in the guise of the one called “Mystique” being a hidden assassin of the Chancellor – hence the strong guard of men and gargoyles about his being…”for my own safety in this time of trouble I am trying to rectify…”

With swift movement of hands and words of magical power and authority he creates a floating illusion, some seventy feet to a side so many can see clearly, the scenes of the students gathering clues and hunting down the murderer – making them to be hero’s instead of a bunch of clueless sycophants following a hothead into a trap.

“Here,” he shouts again “here you see clearly the one called Mystique who struck them down without mercy and cause…the only one who could be her is again the cat-girl…”

From three flashes of incandescent fires arrive a trio of beings; dressed in black, immaculately tailored suits, a staff of white ash in hand, they look on with eyes aglow in magenta fires. Medallions of golden twin dancing tigers inset with precious gems hang about their necks.

All eyes are drawn to those who now rank among the Masters of the Academy; rapping their staffs in unison three times upon the ground the image created by Fox-glove alters to show the real story behind the doomed band of students.

“Behold the truth in this matter. Not the set of lies and unwarranted slander told by this one before all of us.” The three Fox brothers said in their usual coordinated, monotone voices, devoid of all emotion.

“We have investigated the matter of this devastation. Your Journeyman led the group to the fortune teller who turned out to be the assassin known as Mystique. The students did not ‘follow a trail of clues to the home of Charity.’ Instead they grew so frustrated by their own incompetence and the arrogance of a self chosen leader they walked into a trap.”

Turning to the crowds, their voices carrying clear to all “We have been keeping an eye on her home for some time now, figuring the assassins would soon make a move upon her. On the night of the devastation, the fact is clear – Charity and the Chancellor, along with the little dragon called Patches were nowhere near the place. Our own agents are in contact with them always, as they are with many other here in the academy and elsewhere. Remember, with us there are no secrets that cannot be uncovered.”

The three brothers once again turn their full attention to Master Fox-glove. “Understand this clearly, anyone who challenges the new Headmistress Charity challenges the entire school. In so challenging the school, they challenge us directly. In such a situation we shall deal with such enemies in a manner befitting along with extreme prejudice to their final time of existence.”

The gargoyles hold perfectly still, muscles and nerves locked firmly in place under the mental domination of the brothers – hours will pass before they are again mobile. Fox-glove stands though, visibly shaken. The three had via telepathy shown him exactly what they will do if he dares to move against Charity; in each screaming and horrifying detail they showed it.

Disappearing once again in the coordinated flashes of light; their last words echo down the length and breadth of the Great Hall. “Remember well all that has been declared, for we will provide no second warning.”

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Three sets of eyes watch clearly from on high, magic called Clairaudience (literally it allows anyone to hear a person from any location they are at), allows three robed and hooded beings to hear each and every nuance of the exchange. Looking at the other two, one who displays feline hands quickly uses sign language to keep from being overheard while asking a question.

Two quick nods follow rapidly and the third figure departs; a charge has been given in this great game being played out both within and without the Academy. Heading for the nearest exit to leave the school grounds he crosses side halls and down grand staircases while bypassing rooms, libraries and wonders beyond count and of undeterminable values.

He has been given his charge – the systematic elimination of the followers of Mystique.

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The two remaining cloaked figures continue their conversation; and expand it to encompass the Fox brothers as they arrive. Quickly the most senior among them gives instructions, plus alternate plans for usage as need or the opportunity presents. For too long their chief enemy has been allowed to move and strike unopposed; as one has been directed so long ago, one of the Chancellors “Hidden Aces” puts plans into action.

Once all has been said and done all five go their separate ways.

The game their enemy is playing is now escalating to a much more dangerous level; for the true might of the academy is now aroused to action, a sight few have witnessed, and lived long enough to say so.


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Over the next three days events change dramatically in the greater community and the Academy; once again the people begin to have hope in some normalcy returning to their lives.

Bounties have been placed upon each of the known members of Mystiques gang. For the crimes of murder and destruction of so many innocent lives and property they are sought out – dead or alive. So massive are each of these that hunters come from across the cosmos to try their hand in collecting upon them. One such catch will more than set up a person to live as a king unto the end of their days.

For Mystique, the bounty on her is summed up with one phrase: “Name your own price.”

Even more amazing is the revelation of Justin, son of the innkeeper has survived the devastation of Charities old home. Due to a trick of the magical armbands entrusted to him by the Chancellor, he is hale and whole, and now the leader of a band of were-wolves that join in these hunts. With him working as a liaison the Academy lets it be known that all reconstruction will be funded from their own treasury.

Finally the date for the Academy ball is set. Four weeks away – and more than that, the ball has been expanded to any in Stars Rift who wishes to attend. Emphasis is given to the clear fact this is to be the biggest and best ball in the history of the Academy.

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One being in the community is definitely NOT HAPPY, actually closer to contained, simmering rage at the mere fact of a bounty placed upon HER head. Storming into her small house she just rages against the actions of her employer – his voice dripping with contempt and arrogance at the fact of ‘her incompetence now leading to the plans being changed yet again.’

Everything had been working out fantastic; a plan of assassination, murder, terror and destruction carried forth by her and her men. Even with the actions of that idiot Dancing Tiger and his self avowed war upon all of them they still carried out the plan. In flawless detail it had been carried out. Now though her entire world has been turned upside down!!!

That bounty, basically whichever hunter catches her names their own reward, now makes her the hunted instead of the other way around! Insolence on top of insolence by the Academies leadership! Removing her desert robe, she fingers the trio of holes made by arrows that caught in the fabric. Only by the barest whiskers distance has death eluded her yet again – from the Dancing Tiger whelp!!!

Moving to the back of the house, she undresses and leaves the clothing scattered across the floor, caring not one wit if they get dirty or not. Right now all she cares about is a hot soak and having room to think, to lay the next plans or decide if it is time to bolt for greener pastures.

In her bedroom she stops in front of the full length mirror that shows off her human physique. Years of battle and conditioning have robbed her of any real beauty, yet the aura of absolute iron will and power exude to all those around. Yes, for the power and skill she has acquired the trading of beauty for wealth and all is a small price to pay.

Picking up a deck of Tarot cards she feels the magical destruction locked away within each of them; they are to be used in the elimination of more Academy mages, and by the swiftest means possible to her and her men. Or at the least, those who have survived the predations being carried out against them; the tales of the Academies reprisals are true, all too horrifyingly true.

She takes one card between her thumb and index finger, feeling the texture and insignia on it; the trademark of her profession and the disguise given for her usage.

“How very poetic it is that a legend involving Charity is used to cover up so much mayhem. Dominique has such a sense of humor and irony, her own past used to destroy her in the present…”

“Very true indeed Mystique, or whatever your true name is,” comes a feminine voice out of the shadows.

Shock registers on her face at the impossibility of there being an intruder here in the house. She has magical and mundane alarms from top to bottom of the house; if so much as a mouse had entered they would have alerted her with a silent, mental alarm. No one should be within the house, yet the chill running down her spine tells the tale clearly enough – she, the hunter, has been brought to bay.

The speaker becomes clear as she moves into the soft lantern light. A thin framed woman, advanced in years and with her hair bound up in a cummerbund; robes and vest of some dark material, alive in the dancing colors of the aurora borealis practically radiate magical power. In her hand is a white ash staff, tipped in the bronze image of twin snow leopards at play.

“I know very well from your every thought that you do recognize me, so do not even attempt the usual denials or such wasting of time. I have to thank Charity for telling me of those Tarot Cards you use, or more precisely this employer of yours provided – Dominique I think you called him?”

Advancing towards Mystique step by casual step Headmistress Pele smiles a smile that lets one know the fate they have in store; and not a pleasant one at that. Sensing via a form of ESP Pele is not caught off guard when with a flip of her wrist Mystique sends one of the cards, glowing and alive with explosive power, directly at her.

A desperate, last ditch gamble for Mystique to win her freedom or take her assailant down as well when she goes into the waiting hands of death.

Catching the card with her free hand, the power dissipates, nullified by a spell of Pele’s designed to counter such hostile magic. Of course, if it had detonated, for Pele it would have mattered not; such is one of her great secrets known only to the Chancellor and no others of the Academy.

“A rare and wonderful gift Charity has, being able to talk mind to mind from such a distance. Once we knew of the cards then it became a matter of tracing them to you, and using my agent to bring you to bay.” said Pele.

With a gesture of her hand Pele causes the body muscles of Mystique to lock hard and fast. Only her breathing continues uninterrupted. “Now listen clearly, I will have the information I need from you. This is going to be very unpleasant as I peel away the layers of your mind like a ripe onion, causing you to descend into madness if you are fortunate. Also, I am going to give you a taste of the utter horror you have filled so many innocent lives with; a just payment for which I call you into account now for.”

Bringing the staff head level with her, Pele commands it to charge with the greatest of power within…

Screams tear through the night along with flashes of blue and white lights; all within hearing distance know the hoards of the damned have come from beyond the grave and engaged one who so foully wronged them in life; to gain their vengeance once again and be able to rest in peace. Finally then, comes the silence so stilled that it is all one could do to keep from hearing it scream.


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Soon afterwards Pele is seen walking out of the house back towards the Academy. She passes by one man, who for all appearance is neither handsome or crude, nor even appearing the least bit capable of any violence save for the manner of his eyes – years of experience won in the battles of back alleys and dark deals made at the end of a blade.

Quickly she turns upon him, pushing him with great force and strength belying her simple frame. “Queen takes Queen Dominique. Yes I know clearly who you are; we began this dance many years ago, and I turned away from it for a better calling. You know nothing of mercy, compassion or love, of hope, honor or of doing well for the sake of good itself. I know the value to be found within them now.”

“Understand this much” – she states clearly into his terror filled eyes – “I will for the sake of our past and of the code I live by now, give you this one chance to flee with your life. Never come back or face the eternal ending I should give you here and now.”

“Your son killed the wife of the Chancellor and raped Charity as well; his final doom was more than justified. Now here these too, if you think their wrath will be unstoppable, imagine the wrath of a mother who feels her child and her child’s chosen mate are threatened will be like.”

“Good day then Dominique.” She walks away in a casual stroll leaving the man shaken to the very core of his being.


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The Chancellor and Charity entered the Great Hall in an iridescent flash of lights and thunder echoing down its length. Quickly they each take in the ongoing preparations now approaching a frantic and fevered pitch pace. It has been a good vacation, short though it was, for the two of them and soon enough a runner comes over to relay the news of the Headmistress Pele coming to meet with them.

“Somehow I don’t think this is going to go well,” said Charity. The looks being sent her way are a mix of the curious to the downright hostile. In turn as they explore the Great Hall and pause to each little band of the staff so she may be formally introduced.

Such a wide range of expressions and emotions are displayed, from the chef who lively shakes her hand in genuine delight when she tried a offered desert and nearly choked from the utter bitter tartness – the desired effect, unto the formal standoffishness of the societies highest masters of snobbery. The latter show nothing but disdain and the ‘holier than thou’ attitude of the truly clueless and idiotic until it is very clear who she is – then they become the most perfect sycophants possible in their never ending tail kissing.

Just shaking her head after dealing with the diverse groups she understands more and more how much is now to be expected of her. Without a thought she effortlessly sidesteps a flying carpet loaded with material passing by, sending the gown she wears – black as midnight while alive with colors of the aurora – dancing in a incandescent fire of colors. Patches, from his perch on her shoulder warbles and tears after the carpet to play a game of ‘catch if catch can.’

“Wonderful my dear girl wonderful,” declares Headmistress Pele. “You are a gem that few have seen yet in the full blossom of life.”

Charity though wonders about that as Pele and the Chancellor talk with one another – he confirming each and every directive she has executed during his and Charities vacation. Her sensitive ears pick up the conversation murmured about her – describing her as a “whore, floozy, trollop” to name just the more polite ones. Yet some counter these words describing what a wonder she is – literally that she is who she is so give her a benefit of the doubt.

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Those of the latter group have learned that with the spreading news of the death of Mystique - by the hands of the Headmistress Pele no less – of Charities assist in the matter, gathering clues and information to find the one way to “lure Mystique into a trap within a trap.” Pele just smiles quietly at these words, for Charity indeed held the key to destroying Mystique; she wants her to have the lion’s share of the credit, determined to aid the betterment of the girl’s reputation.

Many are shocked when she gives a contented little sigh, her smile wide and true. Contentment, yes, this is true – she is truly content for the first time in ages. For Charity and the Chancellor she will do whatever it takes to ensure their future together.

Now though, only two viable threats remain that can change everything – Master Fox-glove the puppet, and their true enemy, Dominique the puppet master. Oh how much Mystique pleaded at the end before death came to claim her, spitting and cursing against Dominique for a perceived betrayal.


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“Charity just put it out of your mind, tonight we have more important matters to deal with,” the Chancellor said to her. Her reaction to these words is nothing more than a soft gulp as she appears about ready to bolt like a rabbit before a pack of wolves.

He moves so swiftly as to take her utterly by surprise when he literally sweeps her up into his arms. Quickly he takes the lead in a dance without music; that is save for the song playing in their hearts for one another. All work nearby comes to a halt as the workers stop and observe the wonderment playing out before their eyes.

Her gown shifts from the midnight black unto one of glistening honey amber – alive with light and shimmering fires of a new dawn. A vest of tailored to fit her form exactly shows off twin tigers at play with one another. A sash wraps about her waist, made of glittering thread-of-gold that appears almost ethereal in the gossamer web of design – no one looking can be sure if it is real or imagined; such is the wonderment of the enchantment upon it.

The French braids she has set just so shift slightly as a glittering tiara of white gold encompasses her brow. Set in a mixture of opals and amethysts, it glitters with a inner fire hinting at great magic awaiting to be set free. A necklace of woven chains – gold and silver – with symbols of twin storm dragons dances with waves of fires and light upon the one hundred precious stones set upon it.

Dawning of understanding appears on many a face – to the better for most – as the sheer magnitude of the gift the Chancellor has given to his beloved. A king’s ransom ten times over just for her; so precious is she to him. They see her whisper a soft ‘I love you’ with her mouth and the display of her eyes.

In perfect timing they move through the steps of a soundless waltz, and as all watch in amazement the couple begins to fade from sight; becoming as transparent as smoke, then as the memory of a dream, ethereal like the web of a spider covered in the morning dew and sparkling in the sun.

Then they are simply gone.

As the Chancellor hoped it would the gossip begins again, this time for the better. Now those who seen it first hand spread the real story, or this portion of it with the Chancellor and Charity.



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So effortless is the movement from the Great Hall to the quarters of the Chancellor she does not comprehend the move until their dance stops and she is able to look around. Quickly enough they move on to their second dance for the evening, one so long in the expectation for both. Garments are shed and each takes the other into their arms, kisses and searching hands exploring and seeking one another.

The Chancellor again sweeps her into his arms and marveling at the grin about her face with what is to come as he moves to his great feathered bed.

He brings forth many a laugh and giggle from her as he tickles each and every inch of her body with a single feather at first, then bringing about a dozen more to enhance this erotic enticement. From under her chin, down that luscious neck, to each shoulder and arm, and onto her breasts – each one quivering just so with each set of giggles; she is ecstatic beyond anything he has seen of her so far. On down to her belly button which causes her to almost double up in a loud squeal while arms and legs entangle with his.

Romping around they make the little mistakes most couples do at the beginning, a elbow winds up here and a knee there, while a kiss missed a cheek and wound up on her forehead instead. A gentle and playful push sends him into a double bounce straight off the bed; his playful “I meant to do that” motion sends her over the edge into giddy giggling wonderment.

Finally they wind up with her on top, smiling with that impish grin again promising delights to be experienced and hopefully survive; her leg caressing his manhood to the point he passes the moon in excitement.

“Now I believe it’s my turn to start. I want to make sure that there are no more sets of cramps ‘causing a bit of a problem’ again for us,” she said to him. Kissing him softly on the lips she just looks with those dreamy eyes into his own, her one finger teasingly in a caress of his chin.

She leans in close to his face, caressing cheek to cheek and letting her braided hair tease him on the neck; one little peck and then another, soon to become a dozen more driving him mad with lust. Her warm breath against his skin causes little twitches of excitement as they flex in response. He moves to embrace her body in his arms, only to be gently rebuked with a wagging finger and a smile.

Tonight she is in control; he is along just for the ride.

Straddling him again, she rocks back and forth, one leg entwined between his and bringing his manhood to the brink of bursting. It is all he can do to stay focused, eyes feeling like they are popping out of sockets, and breathe like a great bellow with each intake accompanied by such sheer bliss. Oh if she raises his temperature any higher he will ignite into flames and smoke.

Her pelvic muscles twitch and wind in excitement of lust building in her as well, the wetness of her womanhood being felt upon his thigh. Those wonderful lips nibbled upon by her teeth as she tries to keep eyes focused on him, ears now fully flushed and bent down along her head, among the clear signs it’s almost time for the main event.

Almost as if by mutual consent their hands reach for one another and entwine about the fingers, and along her chest and breasts she leads them, letting him feel her body heat and slickened skin. Just the barest of touching caresses with the finger tips sets her off in back arching bliss.

Finally the moment of their union arrives, of the two as one body, she taking him into her, slowly at first and then flexing up and down with abandonment; him beyond caring at this point as he focuses completely on her, wanting nothing more than her happiness.

Almost as fast as it begins he hits his climax, releasing his seed deep into her body, once, twice and three times rapidly. She collapses next to him, satisfied as well, having hit her own release in synch with him. They cuddle up and kiss each other for some time, loving and fulfillment in their united expressions.

“I wonder my Stormy,” she questions him “do you think I will have a boy or a girl after tonight? Or twins like the ones Justin has sired? I mean, this happens to be the one night of the year that I can get pregnant after all…for some reason I seem to have forgotten about that…”

The shock encompassing his face is complete and utter until she cracks up laughing; impish jokester to the very end. His thunderous laughter entwines with hers, complete and for once nothing has gone wrong.

At least until the bed collapses from the strain of their activities.

“Oops,” both declare at the same moment, followed by more laughter.


********************************
The lone figure enters his private room locking the door tight and emphatically checking the mix of alarms; from the magical (warning of intruders, living beings bigger than a mouse, or the living dead such as a vampire) to the mundane (a set of wind chimes put over the door and window so that anything walking in, even if they are invisible, will make contact and enact the chiming sound).

Despite all these precautions he still keeps one hand upon the hilt of a sword, ready to be drawn forth in an instant if he needs to do so. Considering the stark reality of his confrontation with Headmistress Pele, one he had so long ago thought dead at the hands of the Chancellor, even this precaution will not save him from one of his own species.

Searching a large steamer trunk for a special package his smile returns full and proud as he feels the pulsation of what lays within. He had long ago prepared a surprise for the off chance such a situation as this came about. In the burlap wrapping is a wooden hand crossbow, glistening with black runes of power – ones crafted so that any projectile fired from it will inflict great harm to creatures such as himself and Pele; save if they are the shooter. Next to come out of the bundle are five silver tipped bolts, miniature arrows for the crossbow, each with a glowing image of a tiger – standing up and moving as a human would.

His grin widens even more as he contemplates what will happen if one of these meets Pele; or for that matter even Charity – now that he understands the secret of her heritage.

For these five bolts, are enchanted to slay beings such as they are outright; the barest scratch or nick, and they will kill…perfect. Not even the vaunted magical immunity of his species will be sufficient to stop their work.

Pele has made her one mistake; for in not killing him then and there in the streets, the fact is both Pele and Charity – mother and daughter, will die. Too bad though, for once was there a time when he had been so fond of his sister, champions of evil and darkness for untold ages they had been; now she is found out to be alive, and on the wrong side, a traitor to all they once stood for.



(Fin.)

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