The Other Side Of The Wall 1

If you're looking for instant fucking, you might want to look elsewhere (I recommend Wanderer D's Damned). If you're looking for an extended, erotic, female-gratification-centric fantasy story that (hopefully) gets you interested in the characters and builds up gradually to the sex, you are in the right place!

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Last night the storm was a smear on the horizon; this morning it has colonized the sky. It is like looking up into a vast sea, grey and churning. Now it is the turn of the enemy hordes. In the distance they looking like a swarm of insects on the plain.

The Empress is watching from behind the wall. She is fresh-faced and composed. As always, she remains the picture of soft-eyed, pale-lipped innocence despite her crimes. Neither war nor the knowledge of the evil she has done have aged her.

"How long?" she asks the assassin.

"Two hours," he replies. "Preparations have begun for the defence. You should rest."

"I don't plan to."

The tall, dark-haired man nods deferentially. "As I anticipated. Nevertheless, I have had your room prepared."

His enemies would be surprised at his tenderness toward her. But he could never imagine being otherwise toward his Empress, for whom he has killed so many and so unquestioningly.

Any other assassin would have stabbed his leader in the back long ago, when her plans for domination began to crumble. Not this one. Many could call him evil, but none could call him disloyal.

She, too, could have sold him to gain allies, or power, or simply to escape blame for her own atrocities against the people of this world. But despite having had the opportunity, she has not betrayed him, and he is still here.

It is hard for those in power to know their feelings, let alone have the privacy or space to act on them. Now their defeat marches toward them across the Broken Plain, and the reason for their loyalty to each other seems to lie exposed between them like an invisible thread. She turns to him, long red hair lashing in the rising breeze.

"Any regrets?" she says.

"None. And you, my lady?"

"Nothing except failure," she replies, with a wry smile. "What do you suppose they will do to us, when they finally take this fortress?"

His black cloak stirs in the wind and he pulls it around himself. "I expect we will be treated fairly, before we are killed."

"On what basis?" the Empress says. "Their heroes may like to think they have principles, but their common soldiers do not. I think they will only be as merciful to us as they absolutely must, and their mercy will last exactly as long as they are watching."

"You fear common soldiers will lead the charge?"

"No. But I do not think there are enough heroes in the world to guard us from them when we are captured. Our troops razed many villages, my friend; under orders they killed families and defiled women. I am sure there are plenty of angry survivors waiting to get their hands on those responsible."

There is no fear in the Empress' voice, but he knows it is there, somewhere. She places a hand on his arm.

"Still no regrets?" she asks, smiling.

He knows there is another question under the first, and one last barrier to be crossed. He raises one hand, so often before drenched with blood in her name, and gently touches her cheek.

"I would be nowhere else," he says.

Once, they had their duties and their positions. Now, alone and on the edge of their defeat, it seems there is nothing left to keep them apart. She raises her lips to his, presses herself against him, and instinctively his body responds. His arm winds around her slender waist. She feels so warm, so alive.

"I think I'll take that room," she says when they finally separate. Her breaths are quicker. "Can we get there without anyone bothering us?"

"My lady, it is my job to know every possible entryway and path within this fortress. We will not be disturbed." He wraps his cloak around her shoulder and leads her inside.

They feel like teenagers again, hurrying guiltily through shortcuts and secret passageways. Once, footfalls from an adjoining room disturb them in flight and they stop, he pressing her against the wall, one hand instinctively covering her mouth. They stay there until the footsteps fade, trying to quiet their breathing, and it is all he can do not to ravish her there and then.

Somehow, though, they manage to restrain themselves until they reach her quarters. The guards posted outside them are gone, probably for good now—not everyone is as loyal to her as he is. She bolts the door, then turns to him, her eyes bright with desire.

He shrugs the cloak, pulls her to him once more. The sheathed knives concealed in his clothing dig into them both and as she kisses him hungrily her hands seek to divest him of them; he helps her, blade after blade clattering to the floor. Gradually he becomes aware that he is being pushed backward onto the bed, and he pulls her with him, reluctant as she is to break their kiss.

She falls onto her back, and pulls the hem of her dress upward. He is surprised by the forwardness of this gesture until he remembers the knife strapped discreetly to her thigh. With care, he unbuckles it for her, and tosses it onto the floor. She reaches for him, grabs his wrist. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted.

His duty was always to serve her; this is no different. Gently, he pulls down her undergarments. His fingers are deft as he explores the folds of her sex, already moist with her lust. To his surprise he can tell by touch that she is still a virgin. As her body twists with pleasure, he restrains once more the urge to pin her down and take her.

She cries out once, then silences herself, biting her own lip as her climax builds within her. She shakes as she pulls him toward her for another kiss; breaks off with a shuddering gasp, suddenly biting the back of her own hand to keep from crying out at the crux of her passion.

He had never known it would be like this, to touch her after so long of wanting and not knowing; he had not known the sight of her alone would overwhelm him almost to the point of losing control. What power and love had before made beautiful, desire now made breathtaking. He had never known it would be like this.

Her breathing slows. She takes his hand, brings it up to her lips and kisses it.

"Now you," she says, and with teasingly gentle hands, starts work on the clasp of his trousers. He cannot speak, only trails his fingers through her fine red hair.

The door bursts open. Instinctively he dives to protect her, reaching for one of his hidden blades and finding nothing.

"Empress, of all the things I expected to see," purrs a woman's voice, "You fucking your favourite assassin was not one of them."

[to be continued]

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