8 comments/ 11134 views/ 2 favorites Tithe Ch. 01 By: greenbee "I am not so sure that this is a good idea Fex." "What's not good about it? It's flawless. We shall bring our Prince back the perfect Tithe and once again we shall be in his good graces." "I agree that we need to redeem ourselves, but I'm just not sure this is the way to go about it." Fex of Rivenhell looked over at his companion Dax, a sneer crossing his milky features. "What is your exact problem with my plan, Dax?" Dax looked around the place called Oakridge Plaza Mall. There were people everywhere rushing this way and that, bumping into each other and barely acknowledging one another. It was all so different and strange from the world that he was used to. "Well," Dax swallowed awkwardly. "These Earth women seem to be quite different from the women on our planet. I am not sure any of them would agree to be a Tithe." Fex looked at Dax as if he had grown another head. "Are you mad? That is heresy you speak. Any female would be honored to be named Tithe of the Crown Prince of Rea." "I agree with you my friend, any female who actually knew of the Prince. But these females are not of our world. They are not even of our galaxy and the more I watch them and see how independent they seem..." "A woman is a woman is a woman, you simpleton, and any woman who sets eyes on the Prince will be glad to be his Tithe." "But—" "No, I shan't listen to your foolishness anymore. If you do not like my plan you can go wait in the ship, but I will be the one to take all the credit when the Prince chooses our Tithe." With that statement ringing in the air Fex turned his back to his companion's muttering and complaints. ***** Ilaria Hamilton sighed deeply as she left yet another store empty handed. Her search for an evening dress to wear to the Historical Honors Society Ball was not going very well at all. Her African-American heritage had made damn sure of that. At the age of twenty four Ilaria was almost 5 feet 7 inches tall with a body that "wouldn't quit". At least that what her girlfriends said. Ilaria, however, found her 34DD- 24- 40 frame to be nothing but a pain in the ass. Every dress she had tried on had either revealed too much on top, hugged too tightly on the bottom, or fit her like a circus tent. It was impossible to find a dress that would be a classy, yet sexy fit over her breasts and ass, while still fitting to her slim waistline. She had found one dress that was obviously made for some trophy wife with implants, but when she had tried to fit the damn thing over the wide spread of her hips, she had run into disaster. There's probably not a single garment in this whole goddamn mall that's built to accommodate a black girl's ass, Ilaria thought angrily as she stormed out of Macy's. It was no use; she would just have to wear last year's dress, the black and white one that made her look like Shamu. Rolling her eyes up to the sky as if to ask "Why me?" Ilaria made her way to the nearest exit. ***** "That is the one." Fex whispered to Dax. The female had walked by not two feet away from him. She had an exquisite, elvan-like face, with lovely black hair that curled down to the small of her back, but it was not those features that called to him. Fex had grown up with his Prince, and he knew him well. The Prince liked luscious women, with full curves either on the top or bottom. This woman was blessed in both places. "Who?" Dax asked, speaking through a Cinnabon. "The female walking through the doors." Dax narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. "The one with the dark skin?" "Yes," "Are you sure? I've never seen coloring like hers before. Should we bring him someone so different?" "Yes. She is unique. He will want her." "But all his other women—" "We do not want to bring him a female just like all of the others. We want to catch his eye." Fex was already moving to follow the woman out of the doors. "But how can you be sure that she's the one?" "It's in her body, he will want to touch her curves," Fex grunted as his own fingers twitched. "How can you even tell what is beneath all of her huge clothing?" Fex didn't voice his answer that he could only truly see the female's shape when she moved, that the concealing clothes were almost more alluring than if she had been bared to his eyes. Almost. Picking up his pace, he moved to intercept her ***** "Excuse me, woman." Ilaria wrinkled her nose as she felt someone lay a hand on her shoulder. Woman? "May I help you," she asked, one eyebrow raised, effortless attitude springing to her lips. A tall pale man peered down at her with an imperial look on her face. Ilaria felt shivers run up and down her arms, as if she weren't safe. She stepped out of his reach. "As a Knight of the Rean Royal Court, I claim you as Tithe for my liege, Prince Arenostos of Rea," he said, giving her a chilled smile. "What the fuck are you talking about, weirdo," Ilaria used her authoritative voice as she took a step back towards her car. The pale man's eyes narrowed as he watched her. "You are to be a Tithe for are Prince. It is a great honor, woman. I must ask you to cease your vulgar speech or I may have to rescind me offer. My associate and I will transport you on our Starship and—" Ilaria laughed as relief flooded her body. She hadn't gotten her masters in World History and Archeology by hanging out with the "cool" crowd. She knew a geek when she saw one. "Look buddy," she smiled gently, "I enjoy a good sci-fi book as much as the next nerd, but I'm not into those RPG games, ok? Find someone else to play." She turned to walk away when she felt his hand on her shoulder again. "Woman," "Who put you up to this?" she swung back around. "Was it Dennis? Tell him it's a good joke." She looked up into the face of the pale man and then at the man behind him. The pale man's hand tightened on her shoulder until it nearly hurt. Ilaria's eyes grew wide as she saw the second man walk forward until they were both crowding her against her car. She didn't need to think twice. "Get away from me!" she screamed, using one hand to punch at the men and the other to stab at them with her keys. "Help me! Someone help!" "Use the SRT, Dax" was the last thing she heard before her body shattered into billions of tiny pieces. Tithe Ch. 01 Part I - Dangerous Names The original Tam Lin was a story told in an early Scottish ballad about a man taken by the fairies. It has been retold many, many times, although I'm not sure it's ever been told in quite this way... I would like to give credit to the original author, but since no one knows his name, I will simply thank Francis James Child for recording the ballad in his famous book of Eanglish and Scottish ballads in the late 19th century, which is the first place I came upon it. * * * I think the fairies probably made up Tinkerbell. It just seems their style to create something so far from the truth to throw mortals off track. Let me tell you, it works. When people hear the word "fairy," now, they think of a tiny, cute blonde thing with pixie dust and little tinkling bells. When they're presented with the true, terrifying, awesome reality, they shut it out. They just don't believe what they're seeing. And the fairies like it that way. Real fairies don't grant wishes or make people fly by sprinkling glitter on them. They probably could, if they wanted to, but they really have better things to do. Like fucking with humans. The thing about fairies is that life to them is a huge, intricate game. Being immortal I guess has that effect on you. Mortals are like chess pieces to them, things to be used to get ahead in the game, a means to an end. Of course, when you play chess with real chess pieces, when they die, they get put back in the box, ready for the next game. People don't really do that. Not that the fairies particularly care. There are always more mortals. Probably the only advantage that humans have over chess pieces is that they can learn the game, and sometimes, if they're clever, they can beat the fairies with their own rules... * * * O I forbid you, maidens a', That wear gold on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there. * * * Rocket Club was Mom's idea. It was supposed to help me re-socialize, or something. I didn't think I needed help re-socializing, but Dad and my shrink agreed, so they signed me up. Granted, returning to school after six months in a mental institution was pretty weird. I hadn't fallen behind in my studies, at least. My teachers had sent me a packet of work every week, which I had dutifully completed, mostly for lack of anything better to do. After the initial shock of being institutionalized had worn off, my greatest emotional burden ended up being boredom. The other kids in the ward didn't really like me, so homework and video games were really the only things I had to do. So really, the only thing I was behind on was the gossip. And most of that seemed to be about me, anyway. The school was too small for my situation to go unnoticed, and having a real, live lunatic as a classmate was fascinating to many of my peers. I avoided most of the questions either by telling people that I wasn't allowed to talk about it, or that I had forgotten my medication and was liable to snap at any moment if pressed to closely. Certainly my teachers treated me that way. Even after a week of my best, most sane behavior, most of them were still tiptoeing around me, as if they were afraid that I was going to start foaming at the mouth at any moment. It was annoying, and I mentioned it in an offhand way to my mother after school one day, and she took it as an unspoken plea for help, and decided that an extracurricular activity was just what I needed. She knew that I would kill her if she even mentioned a sport, and the clubs I used to be a part of were run by him, so Rocket Club was her answer. I was unamused. Granted, Rocket Club sounded at least vaguely interesting. It was a combination astronomy/model rocket club, and weekly meetings involved either setting off rockets or stargazing, both of which I enjoyed, at least in theory. The problem was that all of its members were on the extremely painful end of the nerd spectrum, and while I make no claims to be part of the "in" crowd, even I draw the line at debates about mathematical theorems. So it was with great reluctance that I rode my bike to the first meeting of the semester. I was already irritated, because apparently being a recovering mental patient meant that I was not allowed to drive my car. I locked my bike to the rack near the soccer field, and headed down the hill toward the small knot of people near the bleachers. It was just after sunset, and I could see a few of the guys setting up telescopes. I nodded to them as I passed, and headed towards the bleachers to deposit my bag. However, as I reached them, I stopped short in shock. He was there. He was showing another student how to set up a launch site for the model rockets. He had his back to me, the blonde ponytail thrown carelessly over his shoulder characteristically messy. He was still dressed for school, but he'd taken off his tie and had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn't look as if he'd changed at all in the last six months. It wasn't terribly surprising that he was there, really. He liked this kind of thing, and he and Mr. Gerald, the physics teacher and the faculty advisor to the club, were pretty good friends. Part of me was relieved, because as soon as Mom found out he was in the club, I wouldn't be allowed to attend another meeting. Part of me was desperately glad to see him. And part of me wanted to turn around and run. He stood, and brushed of his pants. Picking up his bag, he turned around to head to the bleachers and froze as soon as he saw me. His eyes met mine, and for a long moment, we just stood and stared at each other. I felt myself turning bright red. The student he had been talking to suddenly snickered, breaking the moment. I turned away fuming. Of all the rumors that were circulating, the ones that involved him hurt me the most. None of it was his fault, although my parents had mostly managed to convince themselves that it was all because of him that I had tried to kill myself. Granted, the fact that I was in love with a teacher didn't help matters, but he himself had done nothing. Mom's convinced we were sleeping together or something, but he really didn't even know, until the night everything went to hell. After I was carted off to the loony bin, I know he had several hearings with the principal and the school board, and that he had narrowly escaped losing his job. All because of my fucked up head. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he hurried off in the other direction. Naturally, I couldn't blame him, but all the same, it hurt. I hadn't heard from him since that night. He hadn't even tried to find out how I was. I wondered if he even cared. Pretty soon, the meeting got underway. Mr. Gerald made a few announcements, and then went through some safety procedures in his thickly accented English. He showed us the rockets we were going to set off, and explained how it would work. Most of the rockets were painted with glow-in-the-dark paint, and as it grew darker, they began to look less like plastic rockets, and more like enormous fireflies. After a long-winded explanation of the aerodynamic properties of the rockets, Mr. Gerald called us up to pick out a rocket to set off. I hung back a little, afraid to come into contact with him, but unable to help watching him out of the corner of my eye. I picked up the first rocket my hand came in contact with and hurried back to my seat to wait my turn. I studied my rocket as the first student set his up on the launch pad. It was painted to resemble a dragonfly, in blue and purple glowing paint. It was one of the smaller models, but it looked well-made and very realistically painted. It almost seemed alive. I watched as the first rocket streaked into the sky, in a blur of green and gold. It disappeared against the backdrop of the stars, and then became barely visible as it feel to earth, landing somewhere on the far side of the soccer field. The rockets were actually really fun to watch, and I relaxed as I began to enjoy myself. The student who went before me had somehow managed to knock his rocket over right before it launched, and had had to jump out of the way to avoid getting a face full of rocket. It had been pretty funny, and I was still giggling when I crossed to the launch pad, rocket in hand. Mr. Gerald had taken the previous student aside, and was lecturing him on all the safety rules he had just broken, so I was left to figure out how to set it up myself. I was trying to remember which bit went where, when I heard his voice close beside me, "You're doing it wrong." My mouth went dry as he knelt on the grass beside me and took the rocket from my trembling hands. "Oh," I said stupidly. "Yeah, this goes here," he explained, without looking at me. "See? Now it's ready to go." I nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Lynne," I muttered, my eyes cast resolutely downwards. I took the offered control and pressed to button savagely. I stared up at the dragonfly rocket as it arced up into the sky, a blurry glow through the tears that had sprung to my eyes. I remained standing there, staring up, long after it had descended. "Okay!" Mr. Gerald's voice broke through my reverie. "We must gather the rockets up before we go on," he announced. "They shouldn't be too hard to find, and I don't think any of them went very far. Go on! First one back gets the first look at Mars through the telescope!" What a fantastic reward, I thought wryly. I moved away from the group towards the western end of the field, where I thought I'd seen my rocket fall. The voices of the other students faded as I got farther away, and the silence of the night descended around me, broken only by the soothing chorus of crickets and the occasional cal of an owl. A few yards ahead, I saw a dim glow, and headed towards it to see if it was my rocket. I was about to bend and pick it up, when I heard a quiet footfall behind me. "I think that's mine." I turned to see Mr. Lynne, hanging back awkwardly, his blue eyes avoiding my brown ones. "Oh," I said. It seemed I wasn't able to say much more than that to him. I stood aside, but he made no move to come closer to get it. "Um," I said. "Maybe mine is over that way. I'll just..." "Why did you do it?" he asked, so quietly that I could barely discern the words. It felt as if he had punched me in the stomach. I stared at him, speechless. He gazed back at me, and I realized that he was crying. That was too much for me to deal with. I turned and ran. "Wait!" he cried, but I ignored him and kept going full tilt, past the edge of the field and towards the woods beyond. I didn't much care where I was going, I just knew that I had to get away from him, his pain, my pain... I felt tears on my cheeks, cold against my skin. I didn't stop until I ran out of breath, and fell to my knees, sobbing, at the foot of an oak tree about a hundred feet into the woods. I heard him crashing through the bracken behind me, and I drew myself up against the trunk of the tree, hoping that he wouldn't see me. "Sarah!" I didn't answer, and tried to stifle my sobs into silence. "Sarah!" He sounded so lost and desperate, that I relented, and was about to open my mouth to speak, when I heard someone answer, "Over here, Mr. Lynne." The voice sounded so much like my own, that I was once again stunned into silence. "I'm over here," the voice said again. It was coming from a deeper part of the woods. Mr. Lynne turned towards it, away from me, and called, "Where are you?" "Up ahead..." said the voice that wasn't mine. "In the clearing up ahead.... I have something I want to show you." I heard Mr. Lynne start towards the voice. I stood up quickly and started after him. "Hey!" I yelled. "That's not me!" He didn't appear to hear me, and continued towards the other voice, coaxing him on in tones unnervingly similar to my own. I followed at a fast trot, but just as I drew close enough to grab his hand, he was suddenly, inexplicably...gone. I stopped short and stared at the place where he should have been. "Mr. Lynne?" I ventured, my voice shaky. There was no answer. Had he fallen? I fell to my knees, and felt the ground in front of me, searching with my fingers for a hole, or for anything that might explain this inexplicable disappearance. My hands brushed against dry leaves, moss, earth...all perfectly normal and perfectly solid. I sat back on my heels and let out a sob of fear. What the hell was going on? I scrambled forward desperately, feeling around for anything that would give me a clue. My fingers brushed against something soft an yielding that felt unnervingly like human flesh, and I bit back a scream before I realized that it was nothing but a mushroom. I squinted at it in the darkness, blinking a few times in disbelief, because the mushroom looked like it was glowing. I cleared away some more bracken to reveal several more mushrooms, all of them giving forth a subtle, silvery phosphorescence. There were at least fifteen of them, growing in a rough circle on the ground. I inched closer to get a better look, ending up half inside the ring, when suddenly an unfamiliar voice spoke form behind me, "I wouldn't get any closer if I were you." * * * There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh But they leave him a pledge, Either their rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenhead. * * * This time, I did scream, and whirled around to see the oddest person I had even seen, holding a flashlight and looking down at me with an expression of sardonic amusement on his strangely beautiful face. He was very tall and thin, with long, dark, tangled hair. His eyes were large and slanted, and seemed to shine with a golden light. His aquiline nose arched proudly over a full mouth, which seemed to be full of unnaturally sharp teeth. He was wearing a patched flannel shirt, which was hanging open, displaying his muscled chest. He seemed to be wearing a pair of extremely full and furry pants, and the shoes he was wearing made his feet look very odd. He didn't seem hostile, but I distrusted him instantly. "Who...who are you?" I managed to stammer. He grinned even more wildly. "What will you give me for my name? The paring of your finger nails? The first laugh of your firstborn? The color red?" I stared at him, open mouthed. He was obviously completely mad. "No more than you, my dear," he said, winking. It took me a moment to digest the fact that I was apparently speaking to a telepathic madman, and by the time I did, I found myself to be strangely calm. I had past the threshold of weird and had moved on to somewhere else entirely. It seemed pointless to be surprised any more. I stood and faced him. "Okay," I said. "I don't need your name. Could you answer a question though?" He considered a moment. "Perhaps." "Have you seen my friend...I mean, teacher? He was just here. His name is Thomas Lynne." The strange man's eye narrowed. "A dangerous name, little mortal. A dangerous name, indeed. Perhaps..." and here his voice changed, and became almost dreamy, "....perhaps you should leave and forget about this Thomas Lynne, hmmm? Mayhap? Hmmm? Forget, hmmm?" Something fuzzy seemed to caress at my mind, but I shook it off. "No," I insisted. I have to find him. He got lost in here because he was following me." The man's eyes widened. "A little mortal who shakes off my little glamour..." he murmured. "How very interesting..." He took a step towards me, moving uncomfortably close. His breath smelled of damp earth. "Perhaps we can come to an understanding." I took a step back. "Quit the bullshit. Do you know where he is or not?" "And if I did?" he purred. "What would you give to know?" I almost groaned in frustration. I reached into my pocket for my wallet and produced a twenty. "Here, it's all I have. Now will you just tell me where he is?" He took the proffered bill and sniffed at it distastefully. "Mortal, what use have I for this?" "I don't know! Go buy yourself a six pack and get drunk! Just tell me where he is!" He tossed the money aside and took another step toward me. "No, little mortal, if we are to parley, the payment must be something more...tangible." His free hand came up to trace a line along the side of my face. His skin was rough, but his touch was gentle. I felt the blood rush into my face as I guessed his meaning. I slapped his hand aside. "Fuck off, you sicko!" I snapped. He took a step back and shrugged. "Please thyself, little mortal. I care not. A mortal life means little to me." As he turned away, I began to panic. This lunatic obviously knew something, and it was beginning to sound as if Mr. Lynne was in real danger. "Wait!" I cried. He turned back to me, eye glittering. "Yes?" I swallowed. "Maybe we can reach some kind of...agreement." He smiled widely. "Ah, I thought you would see the sense in my offer." He closed the distance between us with a stride, and stood so close to me that I could feel the heat from his body. "It has been an age since a mortal woman came willingly to me," he murmured into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. I shivered as his teeth lightly nipped my ear. "Worry not," he whispered. "The pleasure will be shared." He clicked off the flashlight and let it fall to the forest floor. In the darkness, his eyes became almost luminous. He bent his head and tilted my chin up with his hand, scrutinizing my face, his nose inches from mine. I knew that by ordinary standards, I was far from pretty, but under his frank gaze, I felt strangely desirable. "And so you are," he purred, apparently reading my mind yet again. "Very much indeed." This last trailed away into breath as his lips met mine in a deep, wild kiss. Desire exploded into me as he kissed me. I had made out with guys before, of course, in a hesitating, groping way, in my basement, or behind the custodian's shed. Their kisses were sloppy, their hands grasping, and it was hardly something to get excited about. Nor was I a stranger to my own desires – I knew my body, knew my fantasies, had pleasured myself on more than one occasion. But this...oh, this was different. There was no hesitation in his kiss. His lips crushed against mine with a breathtaking urgency. His hands were twined into my hair, pulling me into a close embrace against his body. His breath was hot, and his tongue speared into my mouth to engage my own in a playful bout. Unconsciously, my body responded. Never had I felt so wanted. My arms twined around him, and I pressed against him. Too soon, too soon it was over, and he pulled away, licking his lips. I let out a little mewl of protest, and he laughed. "Strength enough you have to resist my glamour," he teased, "but no one can resist the desire of a satyr." Something in the back of my foggy brain clicked, but before I could respond, he had pinned me up against the rough bark of a tree, and began to nuzzle at my neck. Whatever thought I had started to have drifted away as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive hollow of my throat. While his lips distracted me, his nimble fingers were working busily at the buttons of my blouse. I hadn't the will to protest as he slipped the shirt away from my unresisting body. My bra seemed to give him a moment's pause, and I heard him mutter, "Silly human devices," before leaning down and tearing the clasp away with his teeth. My breasts tumbled free, my nipples hardening in the cool night air. He gave a little growl of pleasure, low in his throat, and took one in each hand, as if testing the weight. "Lovely," he murmured. I had been told so before, but his frank admiration seemed to mean more than any catcall from my peers ever had. His tongue darted forward to caress one of my nipples, and I moaned from the sudden, electric pleasure. His lips closed around it, applying gentle suction as he swirled the tip of his tongue around the nipple. He pinched the other gently between thumb and forefinger, and I felt myself slowly sinking to the ground as my knees grew weak. He guided me with his free hand against the small of my back, and I ended up lying against the tree, with him kneeling beside me, mouth still at my breast. His sharp teeth gingerly nipped at me, and my eyes rolled back in pleasure. His hand left my back, and trailed its way down towards the growing heat between my legs. Tithe Ch. 01 He switched his ministrations to my other breast as he worked at the button on my jeans. Part of me was insisting that this was going much too far, but I simply felt too damn good to care. My hands were grasping convulsively at his tangled hair, and I was panting hard as his fingers wormed their way into my jeans. Almost as soon as he brushed against my clit, I lost it, and my body arched into an intense orgasm. He bit down on my nipple in his mouth and pushed his fingers roughly against my clit as I thrashed against him, and the pain only intensified my pleasure. He didn't relent until I was beginning to spiral downwards, breathing hard and trembling. Finally, he withdrew his hands and watched as I returned to myself, his golden eyes glittering in amusement. "Did I not say that the pleasure would be shared?" he purred. "Now it is my turn to recieve." So saying, he took my limp and unresisting hand and placed it against him. I stiffened instantly as my fingers closed around the coarse fur, and I immediately realized, Those aren't pants. I stared at him, eyes wide, as my hand met his immense hardness. "You're...you're a..." I squeaked. He laughed. "A satyr? A priapus? I am many things, little mortal." His fingers brushed once again between my legs, and I moaned. "At this moment, I am your lover." Gently, he reached for my head, and pulled it forward. My nose bumped against his throbbing cock, and I inhaled the rich muskiness of his sex. As if in a dream, I closed my hand around him. My fingers barely reached. He groaned, and pushed my face closer to him. I opened my mouth and gingerly closed my lips around the head of his cock. I ran my tongue over the smooth skin, marveling at the silky texture. I brought up my other hand to stroke its length, and he trembled. Emboldened, I leaned forward, trying to take as much of him in my mouth as possible. I couldn't take much, but he seemed to enjoy my attempt. I began to suck on him gently, as I stroked his hardness with both hands. I tasted a few drops of salty liquid on the tip of my tongue as I sucked harder, and he let out a moan than seemed to come from the very core of his being. "Enough!" he gasped, and pushed me down against the tree. Swiftly, he pulled my jeans and panties down my legs in one motion, then dragged me to my feet. He spun me around so that I was facing the tree, and then pushed my head down, so that I was bent over, holding on to the trunk of the tree for balance with my ass in the air. I grasped his purpose the instant I felt his hardness pushing against my opening. "No!" I cried, trying to jerk away, but he grasped my hips tightly. "I've never...I'm a virgin!" I managed to gasp. He rubbed the head of his cock against me, and I felt it grow slick in my wetness. "I know," growled, and then thrust forward. I felt something tear inside me, and I screamed at the sudden explosion of pain. He withdrew for an instant, but immediately thrust in again. His rhythm was driving and insistent, and it was all I could do to keep from collapsing from the pain between my legs. His breath was ragged, and he was letting out soft grunts of pleasure with every thrust. He felt unbelievably huge inside of me. As the pain began to subside, a feeling of strangely exquisite fullness began to replace it. His pace increased as he felt me relax a little, and he pounded into me deeper and harder. I found myself pushing back at him as his cock thrust into me, and began to moan softly. He bent forward a little, and his hands reached down to fondle my breasts. As he rolled each nipple between thumb and forefinger, I began to shake with the intensity of feeling that was building between my legs. His pace never slackened. One hand left one nipple, and slipped down between my legs to caress my clit. As soon as he came into contact with the little nub, I began to shakes uncontrollably as the orgasm began to rip through my body. I think I screamed. His hands tightened on me, and he panted as his cock thrust into me, deeper and deeper. Finally, he let out a deeply satisfied groan, and I felt his hot semen burst inside of me. He held me against him, his cock buried to the hilt, as spurt after spurt of hot come filled me. Then, spent, he and I both collapsed at the foot of the tree, panting. After what seemed an eternity, he whispered, "The bargain has been made. I will take you to your Thomas Lynne." Before I could answer, I felt him give me a mighty shove. Then, suddenly, the ground disappeared from under me, and I was falling into blackness. Tithe Ch. 02 Dax looked down at the woman. The stress of being dismantled into tiny particles and then put back together again had been too much for her body and she had fainted. When they had rematerialized on the Starship he had placed her in a private room laid out in one of the pull down beds. He tried to make her as comfortable as possible. Now that he could get a closer look, he understood why Fex had chosen her. She was truly exquisite with darker skin than he'd ever seen and a mouth that was full, the top being ever so slightly fuller than the bottom. Dax could feel his cock swell as he looked at that mouth. Dax touched her hair. She had long soft, curls that felt like silk between his finger tips. "Are you finished in there?" he heard a loud voice come from the wall. Dax looked over at the video intercom. Fex was watching him. Dax untangled his fingers from her hair. "She fought," he said loud enough for Fex to hear him. "Thank you for stating the obvious," Fex replied. He was in the main control room setting the computer up to transport them into space, and towards the Rean galaxy. "We should take her back. She is not a willing Tithe." There was silence and Dax looked up to see what Fex's reaction was. Fex was sitting still, too still, at the controls. When he spoke his voice was very, very calm. "How long have we been exiled from home, Dax?" "Almost six years." "That's right. Six years is more than enough punishment, do you not agree?" Dax said nothing. Fex turned and pinned him with a stare. "Do you not agree?" "I agree with you, sir" "It would not be good for us to spend even one more day away from home would it?" "No, sir." "And if that bitch is our ticket back into the Rean Court than it really does not matter what she thinks does it?" "No, sir" Fex smiled, but that didn't fully erase the homicidal glint in his eye. "Besides, when she finds herself thousands of light years away from everything she has ever known she will be begging us to take care of her." His smile was sincere now as they jerked into hyperspace. "Sedate her," he ordered. "I don't want her waking up until we are home." ***** Ilaria felt heavy, overly tired. She tried to open her eyes but they were weighed down as if there was something heavy laid over them. She started to lift her hand to remove whatever lay over her face but at the sound of voices she stopped. Everything came rushing back to her. The crazy men in the parking lot, the flashing light and then that terrible feeling. Bile rose in Ilaria's throat, she had never felt anything like that before. The voices were getting closer. One was female and the other was male. They were speaking in a language she had never heard before. It was full of clipped sounds almost like Cantonese. She wished she could understand what they were saying. Maybe then she could figure out what the hell was going on. ***** "Where is she from again? Yert?" "No, Amani. Earth. It's an extremely primitive planet. They don't even do casual intergalactic travel." "How do they visit other worlds?" "They don't" "Ugh, how boring that must be, to be trapped on the same boring world day in, day out. No wonder you guys wanted to come back so badly." Dax looked at his little sister Amani. She had changed a lot over the last six years, she was no longer the awkward youth he remembered. Amani was now a grown woman. One thing that hadn't changed however was her love of dangerous situations. His parents had fretted over Amani as she grew up. She wasn't submissive and docile like the women of Rea tended to be. Amani hadn't wanted to settle with a husband and have children, she had opted instead to become a privateer of goods and explore the worlds. Her warehouse station on the outer rim planet, Little Rune, was the first stop he and Fex had made once they entered the Rean Galaxy. True to her adventurous nature, Amani had accepted two fugitives of the Court, and an unknown alien into her home without batting an eyelash. Dax would never have endangered his sister with his presence but they were only on the outer rim of the planets that made up the Rean galaxy. There were no royal guards to recognize him and Fex here. "You say she has skin the color of Emiz drink?" Amani eyed the couch where the woman lay. Before Fex left to scrounge up a counterfeit identity for their guest, the two men had transferred her to the small trailer where his sister lived. "Yes, brown like that but a little more golden than pure Emiz." "I wanna see..." "Amani!" Dax stopped his sister from pulling down the thick yellow blanket that completely covered the girl. "What?" she snapped at him. "You said she's asleep." "Yes, but not for long. She should wake in about thirty minutes. Before that happens I need to fit her with a language simulator chip. I don't need you jostling her around." Dax reached for the blanket but no sooner had he touched it when a scream came from beneath it and the blanket flew at him in a yellow blur. ***** "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Ilaria screamed ready to attack whoever was touching her. She knocked the blanket aside and took up what she hoped looked like a fierce fighting stance in the center of the small room she was in. A man and woman stood in front of her, eyes wide. They looked a lot alike. Both of them had long brown hair, strong, sharp features and pale skin. She recognized the man from the parking lot. "Where the fuck am I, you freak?" "Calm down, miss," the man said in halted English. "We will produce no hurt to you." Ilaria glared at him as the woman let loose a string of excited words that she couldn't understand. "Hey!" Ilaria yelled as the woman reached forward to touch her face. The woman stared at her, fascinated "What's your goddamned problem? Haven't you ever seen a pissed off sister before?" The man looked confused for a moment and then he smiled. "Ah, I remember this. You are not referring to yourself as a sibling, but as a... woman of the Brown Skins." "Black," Ilaria corrected almost automatically. "Ah, yes. Black, I get so confused, always. Uh, but answering your question, no, my sister, sibling, Amani has never seen a... uh, black woman before, pissed or otherwise." He gave her a grin. Ilaria felt like crying. Either that or kicking some ass. "What is going on?" she tried her best to intimidate him with her glare. The man visibly swallowed and his eyebrows came together in concern. "You may want to sit down," he said a few quick word's to Amani who nodded enthusiastically and left the room. "Where's she going?" Ilaria, still standing, eyed him suspiciously. "To get you... uh... wa-ter" he smiled gently. "Sit." Ilaria sat, more from exhaustion than anything else, but she kept her eyes on the strange man's every move. If these psychos were going to rape and kill her, they probably would have done so already, but that didn't mean that she should let her guard down. "My name is Dax of Mossport." He held out his hand awkwardly. Ilaria cocked her head to one side and gave him a look. He eventually lowered his hand but remain quiet, waiting for her to speak. "My name is Ilaria." She finally said. Dax's smile was bright and Ilaria felt herself calm down a bit. He would be cute, she thought, if he hadn't kidnapped me. "That's a truly beautiful name." "What's going on?" she chose to ignore his compliment. "Uh... that is hard to explain" Dax looked uncomfortable. "Well, Dax of Mossport, you can start by telling me where I am." "You are on Little Rune the fifth regional planet, of the Rean Galaxy." He spoke fast, not looking at her until the very end. Ilaria counted to ten and tried to keep her temper contained. "You can tell Dennis that this is no longer funny." "Pardon?" "Dennis! He's the asshole that put you up to this isn't he? I admit I thought it was a clever joke in the beginning, but abducting me from the mall, that just goes to far." Dax's face fell and Ilaria had to look away. She stood up as Amani reentered the room. "Where's my cell phone?" Amani gave her a confused smile and held out the glass of wa-ter. "Never mind, I'll find it myself." Ilaria walked to the first door she saw. Maybe it was a closet, or it led to somewhere else in the house. The only thing on her mind was calling that jerk off Dennis and letting him know just how unfunny she found his since of humor. She certainly wasn't going to sit around and play "intergalactic abduction" with these freaks, and she didn't care if it hurt their feelings. Before either one of them could stop her Ilaria yanked open the door and walked through. She hadn't opened the door and walked two steps before she fell to her knees, mouth opened in shock. The door hadn't led to another part of the house, it had led outside. "As I told you," Dax walked up beside her. "You are on the planet of Little Rune. You have been brought here from Earth to be presented to Prince Arenostos of Rea, as Tithe." Tithe Ch. 02 Chapter 02: The Feast of Souls "Why pulls thou the rose?And why breaks thou the stem? Or why comes to CarterhaughWithoutten my command?" * * * The first thing that I noticed when I awoke was the noise. Voices of all kinds were raised around me, in conversation, conflict and song, some in English, some in what sounded like Spanish or French, most in a language that I could not name. Screams, laughter and moans filled what few silences broke through the talking, and above it all, I heard discordant music, something that sounded like a strange, high-pitched synthesis of bluegrass and heavy metal. I slowly opened my eyes and sat up. Only to have all the rest of my senses bombarded. A riot of colors and scents assaulted me from all sides. I was in a vast, dim hall, lit by candles, torches and strange glowing blue lights that bobbed near the ceiling. The walls were draped with a rainbow of tapestries, embroidered with bright thread and sparkling gems. They must have been beautiful once, but were now soot-blackened and moth-eaten, limp with half-remembered glory. The floor was cluttered with a an explosion of furniture, mostly tables and chairs, with an occasional bed or sofa thrown in among the mix. The furniture looked as if it had been stolen from the dumpster of a history museum – battered Victorian chaise lounges shared space with rusted metal folding chairs and dusty thrones. Huge, elaborately carved banqueting tables stood next to card tables and even crates covered with table cloths to create makeshift tables. Every available flat surface was piled with food and drink of every imaginable kind, and then some. The smell of it was overpowering, delicious scents of apple pie and spiced wine mixing sickeningly with the stink of rotten meat and spoiled milk. It was the people, however, that convinced me that I was no longer in Kansas. There seemed to be hundreds of them, all different shapes and sizes. Many could have passed for odd or deformed, but still recognizably human, with strangely-colored hair or skin, or extra joints or fingers, but most were something altogether different. I saw several more satyrs, one of whom was dancing with an impossibly thin woman with dragonfly wings and a wig that appeared to be made entirely of ladybugs. Behind her, a pair of tiny men with mouse ears and tails sat on a table, eating hunks of cheese bigger than themselves. At the other end of the room, an enormous man loomed over the crowd, at least ten or eleven feet tall. He held a woman with the tail of a fox in one hand and was stroking her tail with the other, to the apparent enjoyment of the woman. Three short, squat men with pointed teeth and violently red, pointed hats were taking turns twisting the legs off of an enormous centipede, which was screaming its pain in an ear-splittingly high wail. It was chaos. And I was sitting in the middle of it, stark naked. "Welcome," a voice said loudly in my ear. I bit back a scream before I realized that it was my satyr friend. He crouched beside me, apparently at ease. "Welcome where?" I demanded, trying vainly to cover my nakedness. "And where are my clothes?" My companion blinked. "Ah, I forget that humans cannot simply create more with glamour." He squinted his eyes at me and blinked a few times. He sat there doing that for about a minute, until it started to look as if he were having some kind of fit. Finally, he sat back on his heels – or hooves, rather – and gave a perplexed sigh. "It is odd to me that glamor does not work on you, little mortal." He shrugged off his flannel shirt and handed it to me. I took it grudgingly. It was better than nothing. When I put it on and buttoned it up, it practically fit me like a dress anyway. "Now I will give you some advice," he said, once I was situated. "You have read the old tales, yes?" "What, like fairy tales?" "Your people call them so, yes." "So...you're saying...you...they...all this...fairies?" The last word squeaked in my throat. The satyr looked amused by my sudden inability to speak coherently. "We are called many things, little mortal. The Folk, the Sidhe, the Good Neighbors, the Fey, many things in many languages. Stories have been told of our kind for as long as mortals have had language to tell them. Now. Remember that although it has been clouded by generations of retelling, there is still truth to be found in the tales. You will have some advantage here because of your apparent immunity to glamour; you will be able to see things as they truly are. Seek your friend. He will be in the possession of the Lady of this Court. How you will find him, I do not know. I have already told you more than I should." He stood. "May you have luck." "Thank you," I said, genuinely grateful. He seemed completely sincere, and besides, it had been sweet of him to give me his shirt. He nodded to me briefly, then turned an disappeared into the crowd. When he was gone, I sighed and sat back against the wall. Remember the old tales, he has said. Well, what did I remember? I knew that in lots of fairy tales, the fairies were the bad guys, but I also knew lots of others that contained benevolent fairies. So there were good and bad ones, just like people. I'd met one pretty good one. There must be more. Also, I remembered that when humans visited the fairies, they weren't supposed to eat the food. I could deal with that, I'd just eaten dinner. Beyond that, most of the food didn't look that appetizing, anyway. And a lot of it seemed to consist of mushrooms. What else...? Changelings. There were lots of stories about fairies stealing children and leaving other fairies in their place, or even blocks of wood with spells on them to look like children. I remembered reading once that they did it because it was difficult for fairies to have their own kids, and introducing human blood into their family trees helped to strengthen them. Mr. Lynne isn't a child, though, I thought. So what could they possibly want...oh. I blushed a deep crimson as the implications sank in. There was more than one way to strengthen fairy stock... "'Ere's a toothsome one, eh?" The rough voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and brought me scrambling to my feet. Two fairies were leering at me. One, a diminutive individual who looked not unlike a garden gnome, leered up at me, and the other, a tall, willowy man with hair made of branches and vines and skin the color of rich mahogany, leered down. Their expressions, however, were identical, their eyes full of lustful predation. "Not wearin' much, are ye, lass?" the gnome snickered. "Bin havin' a bit o' fun already?" "Oh...loads," I said quickly, summoning up as much false bravado as I could. "My boyfriend just went to get me a drink, actually. He should be back any minute now." The gnome and the tree man exchanged a glance, and then burst into laughter. At least the gnome did, letting loose a hearty guffaw that probably could be heard clear across the room. The tree man's branches quivered, rustling together as if blown by a stiff breeze, and his eyes danced with mirth. His mouth didn't move, and I was startled to realize that his skin wasn't merely the color of wood, but was in fact actual wood, and his face was carved into the surface of it. The gnome grinned up at me. "Boyfriends! They's a mortal thing, don't think we don't know that! Ye've not bin here long, lass, have ye? Who do ye serve?" I panicked under the surface, but managed to keep my composure. I was in way over my head, and I knew it, but I had to try to maintain control of this situation. "You probably don't know him," I hazarded. "Ye'd be surprised who I know, lass. I bin 'round a long, long time, I has. Is it one o' the red cappies? 'Taint no shame in that. They's hard masters, but they'll keep ye safe." The tree man rustled again, and the gnome looked up at him. "Ye think?" More rustling. "Ach, they don't just fall in no more, laddie, an' the Lady has her little toy already, eh?" I snapped my attention from figuring out how to get out of this mess to what the gnome was saying. This "Lady," again. And perhaps the "toy" was...? "Has...has she had her...toy for very long?" I asked casually. The gnome looked at me oddly. "Nay! What do ye think the feast be for? To celebrate his comin'!" He turned back to the tree man. "Mebbe ye're right! Or her master's been slippin' her too much o' the lamneth. Or mebbe she's touched in th' 'ead." None of these options sounded particularly promising, especially since I had no idea what lamneth was, but I decided that being "touched in th' 'ead" was certainly something I could emulate, so I leaned down so that my eyes were level with the gnome's, and said very seriously, "My head has been touched by an angel." I realized my mistake when the gnome's eyes bulged almost out of his head, and without giving any indication that he had heard a word I had said, or taking his eyes from my now terribly exposed chest, said to his friend in a loud stage whisper, "Will ye look at th' bubbies on that one!" The tree rustled in agreement. I stood up quickly, pulling the flannel shirt closer to my body. "Hey!" "Eh, if she be belongin' to someone, they's obviously not takin' proper care of her, lettin' her wander 'round dressed in nothin', temptin' honest Folk." The gnome said conversationally to his friend, reaching for me. I backed against the wall. "Don't touch me!" I demanded. The gnome leered at me. "Oh, we be plannin' to do a bit more than touch ye, lass." He pinned me against the wall with surprising strength for a person who barely came up to my waist. The tree man closed in, and deftly undid the buttons of my shirt in one swift motion with his long, supple fingers. He and the gnome looked at me appreciatively. The tree man's leaves twitched, and the gnome nodded. "Aye. Lovely bubbies." He reached up with one hoary hand and tweaked one of my nipples. I yelped and tried to kick him, but he used his body to crush my leg up against the wall. "None o' that now!" The tree man reached up to his head, and plucked one of the vines growing there, as a person might pluck out a strand of hair. He handed it to the gnome, whose face brightened. "Aye! Good idea, laddie!" Swiftly, he reached up and grabbed my hands before I could react. He bound them together tightly with the vine. The tree man then reached down, grabbed me around the waist an hoisted me up over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing. He rustled a question at the gnome, who answered, "Aye, over there, in th' corner's some sturdy roots handy." "Hey!" I yelled, struggling. "Put me down!" "Ach, hush, lass, afore we gag ye," the gnome responded unconcernedly, and led the way over to a darker corner of the cavern where several substantial tree roots hung down from the ceiling. A small creature with a pig's face and crab's claws crouched in the shadows, gnawing on something that looked suspiciously like the leg of a cat. The gnome shooed it off, and it hissed at him. The tree man plunked me down unceremoniously, and before I could scramble to my feet, had plucked another vine, wrapped it around one of the sturdier looking roots, and tied my hands to it. I yanked at it, but it held fast. I stood, glaring, fully exposed with the flannel shirt hanging off my shoulders, and my arms fastened securely above my head. The gnome cackled with glee. His little rough hands lost no time in reaching up and grabbing at my breasts. "Soft as feather pillows, they is!" he crowed. The tree man reached out, apparently to test the gnome's claim, and his smooth, branch-like fingers danced delicately over the skin of my breasts. I shivered as his fingers brushed my nipples. Shooing the gnome's hands away, the tree man bent, and fastened his carved lips upon my right nipple. The sensation was bizarre, the smooth wood of his face brushing deliciously against the sensitive skin. He tongue felt like damp moss, and scrapped gently across the skin, making me moan. The gnome cackled again. "Always had a touch for the lasses, ye did!" As the tree man continued to lick and suck my nipples, I felt something hard ad smooth rubbing against my thigh. I risked a look down. Protruding from a knothole in the tree man's groin was a perfectly detailed phallus, carved from the same rich mahogany that his face was. It was cool against my leg, and very, very hard. Just looking at it made me wet. The gnome stood a little ways away, egging his companion on. He had undone the front of his pants, and was stroking a hard cock that looked ridiculously large on him. His eyes met mine, and he gave me a gap-toothed grin. "Aye, lassie! See what ye've done t' me?" I watched in horrified fascination as he pumped his cock harder and groaned. The tree man took advantage of my distraction, and his hardness was suddenly between my legs. I gave a little gasp, and focused back on him. His eyes were hooded with lust. "Wait-!" I began, but he thrust himself inside me. I bit back a scream. He was so big and so hard, but it felt so good. Every vein carved on the surface of his manhood rubbed against my insides. He grabbed my hips with his graceful hands, and pushed my weight up against the wall so that my feet left the ground. He began to pump into me, fast and hard. I couldn't stop a scream then, as his rock hard cock tore into me, half from startled pain, half from a deep, groaning pleasure. I closed my eyes and let him fuck me. It seemed almost a million miles away, but I could hear the increasingly agitated rustles of the tree man's leaves, and the harsh panting groans of the gnome. I felt that impossibly hard cock swell inside of me, and suddenly, something hot and sticky was exploding inside of me. An instant later, I felt a hot, wet splat on the side of my leg. I opened my eyes to see the gnome shooting his come all over my lower thigh. The tree man sagged against me. I could still feel his cock, hard within me, but shrinking. He disentangled himself from me, and stood up. He waved his leaves at me. "He thanks ye," piped up the gnome, tucking his own equipment back into his pants, "fer a marvelous shag." I glared at him. "Untie me!" I demanded. The gnome opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he said was drowned out by a rousing cheer from the other side of the hall. The gnome clambered up onto a near by table to see over the heads of the crowd. "The Lady!" he exclaimed. He jumped back down to the floor. "Quick, laddie, grab th' lass! We can petition to claim her!" "Hey!" I yelled, kicking my legs feebly in protest, but the tree man deftly untied my bound hands form the tree and slung me over his shoulder once again. With the gnome trotting in front of him calling, "Make way! Move yer arse!," he managed to elbow his way across the hall to the front of the crowd. Keeping a tight hold on me, he gingerly lowered me to the floor. * * * When we were frae the hunting come, That frae my horse I fell, The Queen o' Fairies she caught me, In yon green hill do dwell. * * * There were still quite a few fairies in front of me, but I had a fairly clear view of the front of the hall. A dais was set up, apparently built out of tree stumps and crates with some sturdy sheets of particle board laid across them. A few lengths of what had once been beautiful brocade were haphazardly thrown over the bare wood, giving the platform at least the illusion of a faded richness. A throne had been placed on the dais, a gorgeous wooden chair, beautifully carved with animals, trees, stars, moons, suns and a million other things. As lovely as it was, it seemed a poor thing in comparison with the woman who sat upon it. Tall and slender, with long, silken red hair, alabaster skin and clear green eyes, she was easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. Despite the fact that I had always considered myself completely straight, just looking at her made my loins burn. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the crowd, she had a similar effect on everyone. She was clad in the strangest combination of clothing. Her hair was piled on her head in a complicated filigree of braids, woven with jewels, tabs from soda cans, plastic butterfly hair clips and flowers. She wore a black velvet frock coat with patched sleeves over a emerald green dress with a ragged hem, embroidered all over with flower petals, a pair of torn and strangely ephemeral fishnets that looked as if they had been woven from spider's silk, and a pair of scuffed black combat boots. The outfit would have been ridiculous on anyone else, but she wore it like a queen's robe of office, and was oddly dignified for someone who was dressed like an emo high school drop out. Her long, graceful fingers were twined seductively into the long, blond hair of... Mr. Lynne. He sat at her feet, eyes vacant, his jeans dirty and his t-shirt torn. His hair had been taken out of its customary pony tail, and he was crowned with a wreath of holly leaves. The woman on the throne – the Lady, it could hardly be anyone else – gazed at him with the expression of a cat who had just sunk her claws into a particularly fat and juicy mouse. I didn't like that expression one bit. Her throne was flanked on either side by a pair of painfully beautiful men who could almost have passed as human, except for their bright blue skin and sharply pointed ears. The one on the right wore a huge broadsword strapped to his side, and the other held a battered machine gun. Their eyes roamed the assembled crowd distrustfully. The Lady made a motion with one perfect hand, and the right-hand guard bent his head. She spoke to him softly, and he nodded. Straightening, he swept an imperious gaze over the crowd and clapped his hands three times. Instantly, there was complete silence, as if someone had pressed some kind of cosmic mute button. He spoke. "The Lady welcomes you." His voice was rich and dark, and as colored with an accent that I could not place. It gave me shivers of pleasure just to listen to him. "The Feast of Souls begins tonight. The Lady has found her Samhain King." A cheer went up, but was almost instantly silenced by a wave of the speaker's hand. "As is tradition, at this time of the Lady's good fortune, she desires to share this fortune with her subjects. Thus, the time has come for her to grant boons to a chosen few." Another cheer. He allowed this one a slightly longer duration before he cut it off. "Stand silent, you who are the Lady's, and allow her blessings to come to you." He stepped back to his place at the Lady's side. There was a long silence. Nothing disturbed it, not even the sound of the shuffling of feet, hooves, talons or whatever else the Folk stood on. No whispers disturbed the stillness. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine that the place was completely. No one even coughed. Can fairies cough? I wondered. Or sneeze? As if thinking this had jinxed me, I suddenly had the unavoidable urge to sneeze. I struggled to hold it back. I had no idea what would happen if I made any noise, but I had the feeling that it would not be anything good. I screwed up my face in a desperate effort. Perhaps I could have held it back if I'd been able to scratch my nose, but with my hands tied, I was helpless. All the nose-scrunching in the world was not going to hold back that sneeze. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed. "A-CHOO!" The sneeze went off like a nuclear explosion. I felt a thousand pairs of inhuman eyes boring into me. The tree-man dropped my arm and recoiled as if I had burned him. The gnome looked at me in a panic. On the dais, the Lady let go of Mr. Lynne, and stood. Her movements were so graceful that it ached to look at her. Her green eyes traveled over the crowd until they locked with mine. I trembled violently under the force of her gaze and the sudden, violent lust that tore through my body, but I remained standing and I didn't look away. Tithe Ch. 02 The Lady spoke, and the sound of her voice racked me with pleasure. "What mortal dares to disturb this sacred congress of the Folk?" She spoke softly, but her voice carried effortlessly over the entire hall. I could hear the steel behind it. Her eyes left mine, and I sagged with relief. She scanned the hall. "Who has brought this mortal hither, without my leave or knowledge?" There was another interminable silence, one heavy with apprehension. Finally, a familiar voice spoke. "It was I, Lady." A surprised murmur swept through the crowd, and some of the fairies parted to reveal the satyr. He seemed outwardly calm, but I could see his limbs trembling. The Lady came to the edge of the dais and regarded him imperiously. The guard with the sword came up behind her, and barked, "Speak your name, swine!" The Lady looked at him and shook her head. He returned to his place, glowering. She turned back to the satyr. "What are you called, priapus?" Her voice was gentle, but somehow much more frightening than her henchman's angry shout. "I am known as Glais, Lady." "Glais." She seemed to taste the name. "Tell me, Glais. Why is this mortal here?" "It was a boon she asked of me, Lady." Her perfect eyebrows raised in perfect arcs. "A boon? Oh, priapus, what hold could a mortal child have upon one of the Folk?" Glais met her gaze, his lips twisted into an ironic smile. "Oh, Lady, what satyr can resist a mortal maidenhead? Offer a bee the sweetest nectar, a cat the richest cream, and he, too, will break the laws of his people, for no law, however strict, can bind the nature of a satyr." Surprisingly, the Lady smiled. "It is a good answer, priapus. Even I cannot hope to bind the natures of my people. Your blood will not be shed this night." Glais visibly relaxed. "However," she continued, "it cannot be that you will escape punishment all together." Her smile changed, became deeply predatory. The satyr's eyes widened in terror. "Maerfyn," she ordered, never once taking her eyes from Glais. "Take him to my chambers." The fairy with the gun jumped down from the dais. The crowd parted for him as he grabbed the satyr by the arm and hustled him from the hall. Glais was clearly petrified, but didn't struggle. The Lady watched until he had disappeared, then turned her attention back to me. "What is your name, mortal child?" "Uh..." Through my fear, I recalled that you weren't supposed to tell a fairy your name, because it gave them power over you. "My name is Cassandra Forney," I lied with much more confidence than I felt. The Lady laughed. "A bold lie, little mortal, to tell falsehoods with the name of truth." My face turned red, but I pressed on. "If you don't like it, tell my mother. She named me." The Lady's eyes narrowed, and I felt a pressure at my mind. "Tell me your name, mortal," she demanded, her voice commanding. The pressure increased, and began to give me a bit of a headache, but I persisted. "My name is Cassandra." For an instant, I saw such fury in the Lady's face that I recoiled, but she quickly regained her composure. "Very well, Cassandra. Why have you come to us?" I don't know why I didn't lie about this, too, but I didn't. Possibly because I am a moron. "I came to get Mr. Lynn," I said. "I love him." Her reaction was cataclysmic. She let out a scream of such rage that everyone in the room, including her remaining bodyguard, took at least one step back. Many of the fairies in the crowd simply turned and fled, the tree-man and the gnome included. Breathing hard, staring at me with a terrifying hatred, the Lady spat, "Gwydion. Kill her." Before I could respond, the bodyguard was beside me, sword at my throat. Tithe Ch. 03 Chapter 03: Hell Hath No Fury But the night is Halloween, lady, The morn is Hallowday, Then win me, win me, an ye will, For weel I wat ye may. * * * The sword's edge barely touched me, but already I could feel a trickle of blood wind its slow way down my neck, leaving a dark trail across my naked breast. I closed my eyes, quite certain I was about to die. However, instead of death, there was laughter. It was a grating laugh, low and wheezing. It sent shivers down my spine. The voice that it belonged to was no less unnerving. "Lady," it said. "Lady, Lady...what is it you think to do?" I opened my eyes. A small, wizened old woman was approaching the dais. She moved slowly, unhurriedly, and moved in a perfectly straight line, ignoring the crowd around her. They drew back from her, though whether this was from respect or fear, I couldn't tell. As she came closer to me, I saw that she was blind. "Crone," the Lady spat. She remained haughty, but I thought I could detect a trace of fear in her perfect face. "I may rule my domain as I please. This mortal displeases me, and coming here to my place of power uninvited gives me power over her to do as I will." Again, the crone laughed. "There are laws more ancient than your power, Lady, and you would violate the rules of a game older than your domain. The child did not give you her true name, yet gave her true quest. Trials you may give her. Death you may not. Do not violate the laws of the Tithe." For a moment I thought the Lady was going to order her goon to turn on the crone and chop her head off with his sword so he could get on with chopping off mine, but instead she made an impatient gesture, and the sword left my throat. The blue goon sheathed it, looking a trifle disappointed, I fancied. It looked like my head would stay put for the time being. The old woman looked satisfied. She turned to me and studied me with sightless eyes. "Know you the old tales, child?" she asked me. "Uh...some of them," I answered honestly. For some reason, it seemed fundamentally wrong to lie her. "That will serve you. I will give you the gift of a tale. A woman loved a man taken by fairies. On Hallow's Eve, she faced the queen of the fairies to win him back. She held fast to him as the queen changed him to a bear, a serpent, a red hot iron. She would not let him go. And so she won him. Do you understand?" I stared at her blankly. Was she telling me that the Lady was going to turn Mr. Lynne into a bear? "Maybe?" I answered. The crone laughed. My response seemed to please her. "Honest in speech and sight. Do not allow either to become glamoured, child." "Uh, okay. I'll keep that in mind." She nodded. "I look forward to observing your trials. Luck be with you." Still cackling, she moved back through the crowd. Once again, they parted to let her pass. "Gwydion!" The Lady's voice was even more imperious than it had been, perhaps trying to make up for her brief loss of control. "Take the mortal child to my chambers." She fixed me with her steely gaze. "It is well that the Crone granted you her luck. You shall have need of it." * * * Out then spak the Queen o Fairies, And an angry woman was she, "Shame betide her ill-far'd face, And an ill death may she die." * * * The Lady's chambers might have been quite nice. I had no idea, however, because as soon as the Lady's goon had whisked me out of the banquet hall, he blindfolded me. Presumably, this was to keep me from knowing how to find my way back, but it might have been simply out of spite. He didn't untie my arms, and once we reached our destination, he dropped me on the floor like a sack of potatoes and tied me to something, perhaps the wall. I had a bit of a leash, but I couldn't move far. "I don't suppose you could give me some clothes?" I asked hopefully. He didn't answer, and I heard the sound of his retreating footsteps. Once I was certain he was gone, I scooted forward a bit to see if I could discern my immediate surroundings. My hands were still tied, so I swept my leg around in a wide arc in front of me. My toe poked something soft. I was pretty sure it was a pillow. Nothing else seemed to be in my vicinity, so I grabbed the pillow with my toes and awkwardly managed to shuffle it under my butt. No point in being uncomfortable while I sat here and waited for whatever the fairies had in store for me. I leaned back against the wall, which was cold, and waited. I must have fallen asleep, because a groan woke me. I shook my head groggily. "Who's there?" Another groan. Then: "Ah, the little mortal." It was my satyr. "You okay?" I asked. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the fairies had done to him. It seemed to be an effort for him to speak. "I do not think 'okay' is the word to describe it," he answered wryly. "But I will live." "Can I do anything?" He gave a snort of laughter which turned into a moan. "No...no, little one, you are to be part of my torment, I am afraid." Before I could respond to this, someone else entered the room. "Remove her blindfold," snapped a gorgeously imperious voice. The Lady. Footsteps beside me, then a pair of hands untied the cloth around my eyes. The chamber was large, and with the same faded, dilapidated sort of riches that I has seen in the great hall. The floor was strewn with pillows of all sizes and colors – pillows in pillowcases that looked as if they had been stolen from a hotel, cushions embroidered with tassels and sequins, pillows that could have come off my grandmother's couch, even one of those tacky inflatable pillows you can get at Wal-Mart. There were a few low couches, the largest of which was occupied by the Lady. She lounged in it gracefully. At her elbow, a small, dog-like fairy balanced a tray of delicacies on its head, which she was popping into her mouth one at a time. Every time her perfect lips closed over a morsel of food, it was like a seduction. Part of me felt jealous of her snacks. Next to me stood one of the big blue guys. He was untying my leash from the wall. On one of the smaller couches, within reach of the Lady, lay my poor satyr. He was bound to it with ropes, his hands and feet tied quite tightly. Large, wicked-looking thorns pierced both of his nipples, and his muscular chest was stained with trickles of blood. The main source of his torment, however, appeared to be his throbbingly hard penis. A bit of cord was tied tightly around the base. The head was a bright, angry purple, and the veins stood out in stark relief. He saw me staring, and let out another moan. The Lady smiled wickedly. "Oh, poor Glais," she cooed. "To see what you, by your nature, most desperately want, and to be denied!" She reached out a delicate hand and caressed his cock. He let out a strangled noise, and thrashed against his bonds. Leaving her hand there, her eyes met mine. "A satyr is a creature of desire," she explained to me conversationally, as her fingers continued to torment Glais. "Their essence is the very distillation of it. Nothing is a greater torment to them than to be forbidden what they want. And Glais," she continued, giving the satyr's penis a squeeze, "wants you. And I shall take great pleasure in denying him." The motion of her hand on Glais was mesmerizing. Again, I felt the same uncontrollable lust that I had felt in the hall. It made speaking difficult, but I managed. "Lady, you are sick." She smiled at me, and I felt weak, and a trickle of wetness appeared between my legs. "Oh, I shall enjoy breaking you," she purred. "But first, I shall enjoy breaking darling Glais." She gave his bulging member a final squeeze, then motioned to Big Blue. "Gwydion, begin." The blue man responded by jerking me to my feet. He led me over to the unoccupied couch. This one reminded me of an upholstered lawn chair. He forced me to lie on it, with my head and torso propped up against its sloped back. Deftly, he untied my hands, and reattached them to restraints on either side of the couch. Once my arms were secured, he swung my feet up and secured them, as well. When we was finished, I lay with my head and torso propped up, my arms hanging on either side of the couch and slightly back, firmly attached to the floor. My legs were slung over each side of the couch, with each ankle attached to restraints in the floor. I was, in other words, completely exposed. The Lady rose languidly, and crossed to my side. A single finger reached out and lightly touched my left nipple. It was like an electric shock ran through my whole body. My nipple instantly hardened and began to throb. I felt the wetness pooling between my legs. I bit my lip, but couldn't stop the moan that escaped me. The Lady laughed, and it was beautiful. "Mortals are so simple," she teased. She ran her hand over my left breast, and let it linger over my right, barely coming in contact with the skin. I strained towards her helplessly. She looked over at Glais before taking my right nipple firmly in her fingers and twisting it. I thrashed helplessly and screamed. I had never felt anything so intense. It felt like small explosions were going off in my brain. My eyes couldn't focus on Glais, but I heard him let out an agonized moan. "You want her, Glais, don't you?" the Lady murmured, as she continued to caress my nipples. "You want to touch her young breasts, and take her hard little nipples between your lips, and suck and nip and lick them until she writhes beneath you in pleasure. Just as I am doing." Writhing was pretty much exactly what I was doing. I couldn't see straight, or think, or even make much more of a sound then a soft, strangled, continuous mewling. One hand reached up to gently trace my lips. Her finger parted them, and I suckled at it eagerly, craving her taste, her touch. "Look, Glais!" the Lady crooned. "She pleasures my finger as she would your cock, your poor, throbbing, aching cock. Her tongue is soft, her mouth is warm. She is eager." It was getting difficult to hear the Lady's voice over our combined moans. She took her hands from me, and pulled a trailing scrap of emerald satin from the hem of her dress. She balled it up, and turned to Glais and shoved it in his mouth. "There," she said sweetly. "Now you can better hear the screams of your little mortal." She turned back to me, and trailed her fingers down my belly, leaving shivery trails of sensation on my skin. She brushed my mons, and I almost screamed. Then her fingers brushed my clit, and I did scream. My whole body seemed to be on fire as she rubbed it, and I nearly fainted when she slipped two fingers inside me. She withdrew from me for a moment to cross back to Glais and rub my juices over his straining cock. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he bucked against her. Then, she coated her other hand in the pre-cum that dripped from the head of his cock, then returned to me and rubbed the sticky fluid onto my pussy. She held both hands in front of her for a moment, seeming to contemplate them. Glais was staring at her with an expression of combined terror and longing. She grinned wickedly at him, and then clasped her hands together. Glais screamed against his gag, and thrust his hips upwards. My eyes widened and I let out a scream of my own as I felt my pussy lips part and an impossibly hard, impossibly invisible cock slammed into me. The Lady laughed at my astonishment, and bent to whisper in my ear as the phantom penis pounded into me. I could barely make sense of her words. "It's an enchantment of my own devising." Her breath tickled my ear, sending further shivers of delight through my body. "He feels as if he is ravishing you, and your body responds accordingly. But! The delightfully inconvenient thing about magic is that it can never create truth, only an illusion. So he will continue to thrust himself into you until his body is too exhausted to go on, but neither of you will ever achieve satisfaction." She laughed. "Of course, satyrs are renowned for their stamina, so it could take quite awhile. And I shall enjoy every second of it." She bit down savagely on my earlobe, but the pain only added to the pleasure. My mind was filled with a haze of lust, and she spoke very softly, so I couldn't be sure, but I thought she added, "Thomas Lynne is mine." Then she left my side, and I lost all sense of time. All I could feel was the satyr's huge, hard cock fucking me hard and fast and desperately. I burned with longing and lust, and constantly felt the beginning electric tingle that heralded the onset of a climax, but it never grew from a tingle, and I howled my frustration. I struggled against my bonds, and when Glais began to tire, I thrust my hips instead, grinding myself against nothing but feeling full and longing for release. I tired much more quickly, but my efforts reawakened Glais' desperate lust. I don't know how long he continued to fuck me from across the room, but long before it was over, I slipped into darkness. Tithe Ch. 04 Chapter 04: Thomas Lynne Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ball, br> And out then came the fair Janet, br> The flower among them all. * * * It's probably the wet dream of every fantasy nerd in all of Creation to be kidnapped by the Queen of the Fairies, but it sure as Hell wasn't mine. I only half-believed in them, anyway; good Christians tend to lump them in with demons, and I was only an okay Christian, so I only half-believed in demons, too. The Screwtape Letters might have changed how I look at sin, but it couldn't change the logical way in which I viewed the world, and demons were far from logical. I suppose I'll have to reevaluate all of that, now. But then, I'm going to have to reevaluate a lot of things. I guess it all started when I met her, the unbearably precocious and kind and pretty and utterly unobtainable little freshman that was Sarah Warren. It was a small school; people like her stood out. In my experience, they were usually the ones who were left out, too. I certainly had been, in my years here as a student, though my parents had donated the school's gym, so no one was ever outwardly cruel to me. I just sort of drifted by on the sidelines, buoyed up by Tolkien, Dungeons and Dragons, Star Wars, and my parents' status. I suspect that's how I got this job in the first place. My parents' status, I mean, not the nerdy stuff. Fresh out of undergrad, but without the grades or the inclination to apply to graduate school, I needed something to do, and lo! A computer technician position at my alma mater opened up. So it was my first year, too, and as the youngest member of the faculty by about ten years, I was a bit of an outcast, myself. I approached her one day, sitting by herself in the cafeteria, reading Tolkien's Silmarillion with one hand and absently shoveling mac n' cheese into her mouth with the other. I casually sat next to her and slid a small, black book into her line of vision. She glanced down and let out the squeal of delight that all geeks associate with the inevitable nerdgasm elicited by a particularly exciting piece of fandom. "They make Quenya dictionaries?!" she exclaimed, her face more animated in that one moment than I had seen it in the first three weeks of school. (For the uninitiated, Quenya is one of J.R.R. Tolkien's invented Elvish languages, and only huge nerds own the dictionaries.) I spent the rest of that lunch period and three study halls over the next week explaining the finer points of the pronunciation and grammar, and soon she was happily composing Elvish poems about trees and chattering on about her favorite characters in his books. I lent her my battered copy of The Unfinished Tales, and she lent me her much-annotated copy of Tolkien's translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, which I hadn't even known had existed. We moved on from there, trading books (my Neil Gaiman for her Thomas Mallory), Magic the Gathering cards (my extra elves for her unused black cards), and video games (my Zelda for her Final Fantasy). Other faculty members praised me warmly for "bringing that sweet Warren girl out of her shell." Life was good. My doomed attraction was inevitable, really. It's not like most nerdy guys have chicks lining up at the door. Nerdy girls are at a premium. All of the cute ones are taken, and most of the ugly ones are, too. If you've got a vagina and know the difference between a d10 and a d20, you will have no problems getting laid, I promise you. Even in college I hadn't met any single nerdy girls, and in my small hometown, I even had trouble finding guys to play D&D with. I didn't even realize it was happening at first. I found more excuses to stop by her study hall and "fix" the computers there. I bought her rare magic cards. I took her to see X-Men. She's my friend, I told myself. We're just good friends. It certainly was more than a professional student-teacher relationship, but it was a small, private school, so such things were tolerated. I remember the day I realized that she had left "friend" territory far behind. Good Christians don't watch porn, but as I've mentioned before, I'm only an okay Christian, so I do. Beyond this, I am also male and 23 years old, and I was, at that time, still a virgin. Maybe it was a sin, but slave Leia had been inspiring woodies since the advent of the Star Wars remasters, and the Internet had been providing relief since, well, the advent of the internet. I watched a lot of hentai, usually the fantasy stuff: big, buff knight saves scantily clad elf from being violated by demons, and then fucks her, that kind of thing. However, during those months that I had grown closer to Sarah, I started watching a lot of schoolgirl hentai. That day, my eyes glued to the screen of my laptop, my hand gripping my painfully hard cock, I watched the animated girl bent over a desk and sucking her teacher's dick, moaning, "Sensei! Sensei!" As I neared release, I closed my eyes, and it was Sarah's face I saw, lips tight around the head of my cock, moaning and staring up at me with need. I tried to push the image guiltily from my head, but instead I was coming harder than I think I ever had before that moment. When I came down from my post-orgasmic high, I closed the laptop and stared blankly at the wall. This was the kind of thing that got teachers fired and thrown in jail. I was loathe to lose my best friend, but now that I had realized the truth, I didn't trust myself. I decided it was time to put some distance between us. It hurt. It hurt to come up with excuses to avoid playing Magic after school, to hide from her when a new superhero movie was out. I missed her terribly. But I was terrified of what I felt for her. Now that I was conscious of my desire, her presence, her voice, her laugh made my cock stiff and my chest ache. I wanted her so badly. She's a freshman, I kept telling myself, but, inevitably I had to lock myself in the faculty restroom and find release to visions of her face, her breasts, her imaginary moans. During this time, she grew visibly thinner and retreated back into the shell she had lived in prior to our friendship. She didn't seem to be eating much in the cafeteria. I overheard a the girls' gym teacher discussing in hushed tones with another female faculty member the strange cuts that she had noticed on Sarah's arms when she was changing in gym. She's got allergies and doesn't feel well, I told myself. Her family has a cat. Lying to myself did nothing to assuage the guilt that gnawed at me constantly. March 23. A Tuesday. She wasn't in school. It was the end of winter, everyone was out with the flu, so I don't know why I was worried, but I was. I was sick with it. I knew something was wrong. As soon as school was over, I grabbed the copy of The Mists of Avalon that I had been meaning to give back to her for two months, but hadn't, because I liked having to potential excuse to talk to her, and drove to her house. I thought was going to throw up. I practically ran up the walk to her front door and knocked with far too much force. I stood there for a moment, vibrating with impatience and fear, but no one came to the door. I knew both of her parents worked, but she was supposed to be home sick. I squinted into the window by the door. The house was dark. Maybe she was asleep? In my gut, though, I knew that wasn't the case. I walked around the back of the house, and looked in a few of those windows. I knew I was technically trespassing, but I couldn't make myself leave until I knew that she was okay. Down at the bottom of her yard is a tree house. The family who lived here before hers had a small child, and the father had built it for him. I remembered Sarah telling me that her parents had wanted to sell it, but she had claimed it as her own, fixing it up with paint and old windowpanes, and converting it into her own little private haven, full of books and her journals. She kept it padlocked so her parents wouldn't come snooping around. Even I had never been up there. Stomach twisting with dread, I climbed the ladder and pushed open the door. She was so, so pale, her lips tinged blue, her chest barely fluttering with labored breaths. She lay on the wooden floor. A spilled glass of water pooled beside her. Like a tiny, invading army, ranks of small blue pills were lined up neatly by her head. The cold, logical part of my brain, the part that wasn't screaming, counted 63 pills. Two empty 42-pill Unisom boxes lay discarded near the bookshelf. She took 21 pills, my brain informed me. 1050 mg. Potentially lethal overdose. My hands were trembling. I noticed because I had my cell phone and I was dialing 911. The voice that explained the situation to the dispatcher didn't sound like my own. Stay calm, the woman on the line said. Stay with her until the ambulance arrives. Make sure she keeps breathing. I put down the phone and took her in my arms. She was so light. My face was wet. She was so cold. I listened to her breathe. The hospital was on the other side of town. I prayed. Next to her little army of pills, her journal lay open. I flipped a page. Lines and lines of neat, Elven script. I almost smiled. Why lock away your journals when your parents wouldn't even be able to read them? "How can I hate him so much?" I read. Elven letters, said my brain, English words. Tolkien's made-up vocabulary probably isn't quite adequate for the musings of a twenty-first century teenager. The rest of me ignored my brain and trembled to realize she was writing about me. I flipped back a page. "What did I do wrong? He doesn't even look at me properly anymore, but through me, like he wishes I wasn't there. I hate being alone." Back a few more. "It's not like I have anyone else to hang out with. All my classmates are either idiots or assholes. He's not an idiot, but he's being an asshole." Back a few more. A longer entry. "I dreamed about him again," I read. Despite myself, my pulse quickened. "I go down to his office. Dream logic makes it bigger than it is. I stand in the doorway. Dream logic dresses me in a short skirt and a tank top. Dream logic fucks the school dress code. He doesn't look up from his laptop. "Sarah," he says. "Come here." I can do nothing but obey. I stand beside him. He closes his laptop, gets to his feet, moves behind me, so close I can feel his warmth. He places his hand on the back of my neck, gently massages the muscles. I lean into his touch. His breath is hot in my ear. "Bend over, Sarah," he murmurs, and pushes my head down to the desk. I feel his hips grind against my ass. He holds my head still with one hand, and with the other, runs his fingers over my panties. "You're wet, Sarah," he says. I am. Dripping. He pulls aside the crotch of my panties, rubs my clit. I squirm. I moan. "You are so wet. Have you been thinking about my cock, Sarah?" "Yes," I moan. "All day." "Did you think about me fucking you, Sarah?" "Yes." "Did you have to touch yourself?" "Yes," I whisper. I blush. "In English..." He pushes a finger inside of me. I'm so wet, it slides in with no resistance. "In English?" he prompts. "I got so horny," I pant, "I slipped my pen under my desk and put it inside me." "Did you fuck yourself with it? Did you pretend it was me inside of you?" "Yes. Yes." He adds another finger. "Did you come?" "Yes." "In front of everyone?" "Yes." Another finger. "Did anyone notice?" "No..." "You're not sure." "No one noticed." He removes his fingers. I ache with emptiness. "You're such a slut, Sarah." He slams his cock into me. I moan. He moans. "You're my slut," he says, and fucks me there, on his desk, fast and hard and rough and I scream and moan and writhe. I come over and over and he moans and tells me how good my cunt feels on his cock and how much he loves to fuck me and fuck me and make me come on his cock. I moan that I love his cock I love it and..." I forced myself to stop reading. I was rock hard, painfully hard, my protruding cock pushing lewdly against the small of Sarah's back. I was disgusted with myself, but also glad, so glad, that here was proof, here was certain proof that she wanted me as much as I wanted her. Wanted me enough to kill herself when she couldn't get me. I think I was crying again. I cradled her head and brought to my face. "I love you, I love you," I whispered. I kissed her cold lips. And of course. Of course. Of course that's when her mother threw open the door. * * * Hold your tongue, ye old fac'd knight, Some ill death may ye die! Father my bairn on whom I will, I'll father none on thee. * * * I spent the night in jail. Mrs. Warren was convinced I had drugged her child and intended to rape her. The testimony of the paramedics was all that kept her from pressing charges, and the presence of the suicide note that I had overlooked, crumpled in her hand, stained with tears and sweat. It, too, in Elvish. They brought me a photocopy to translate. "I'm sorry," it said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you." That was all. Even though the attempted rape was cleared up, it was pretty clear to all parties involved that something untoward was happening between Sarah and myself. Inappropriate teacher-student relationship, her parents, her doctors, my bosses said. My parents managed to raise enough hell to keep me in my job, but only just. They wouldn't let me contact her in the hospital. Not even a card. Only by listening to the faculty room gossip was I able to glean any knowledge of her condition. Then it was summer break, and even that was denied me. A week before school started, and I was called in for a meeting. Sarah Warren was returning to school, I was told. Her doctors felt it would be too stressful to transfer. I was ordered to treat her exactly as any other student. Any inappropriate contact, any rumor of inappropriate, and I would be fired, no questions. Did I understand? I said I did. What else could I say? At least I would see her. Those first few weeks were hard for her, I could tell. I stayed away from her, afraid of what I might do or say if I made contact, but I watched her constantly. She was thinner, her eyes sadder, her hair longer. She was beautiful. At the beginning of October, Mr. Gerald, the physics teacher, approached me. His TA was sick and he needed someone to help with the first meeting of Rocket Club. Of course, I said. I stayed after school in the cool autumn air and helped him set up the soccer field. A few of the math nerds arrived early, greeted me. One, a bespectacled and painfully thin Asian-American named Sean, asked me if I had played the new Zelda game. We were engrossed in a debate about its relative merits as compared to Ocarina of Time as we set up his rocket, when one of his friends suddenly snickered. "Dude, shut up," Sean snapped. "You thought Zelda was hot in the last game, and the graphics weren't even as good..." He trailed off as his eyes followed his friend's gaze, and he stole a guilty look at me. I stood and turned, grabbing my bag. We stared at each other for a long moment, Sarah and I, her sad green eyes boring into mine. I thought she might say something, but she blushed and turned away as someone in the bleachers made a catcall. I sighed and turned back to Sean and his friend. They were laughing. I am not a violent man (one way in which I do manage to be a good Christian, although it may just be cowardice), but God, I wanted to haul off and hit those kids. I refrained, though, and strode over to Mr. Gerald to see if we could get things underway. He gave me a sympathetic look, but said nothing. We began the meeting. I felt her eyes on me as she tried and failed to not look at me. It was going to be a long fucking night.