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Night Dance Excerpt


Drakken-du-vor, the First Seed of Koddian Magick

In a time long distant, on a planet not our own, Zirelda stroked the satiny rich red fur of the creature resting in her lap as she pondered the coming Nightdance. It was the reward for her long service to Drakken-du-vor. Finally, she could move on to the next level. The spell she'd invoked had been powerful enough to defeat his enemy, thereby ensuring her path to the next part of her journey. To reward her, Drakken would allow her to perform Nightdance. For him. Taking her to the next level of knowledge, to send her on her journey.

It had taken many years to navigate to Drakken's province, Darkland, and now she would embark to the next province–to the kingdom of Drakken's twin brother, Morrodius-kahn. Overseer of Crystalsea. To reach the balance of knowledge and skill she sought as the Prime Witchrule of their whole planet, Koddian, she must travel through the seven realms of secret knowledge and gain the seed of magick from each ruler along the way. Only when she acquired the eight seeds of magick could she claim the title and power of Prime Witchrule for herself.

Once Drakken's seed had been successfully implanted in her, she would be placed into the hands of the next she must serve until respect had been achieved and his seed of magick energy transferred. Her goal was to acquire the eight seeds of Koddian magick, thereby assuring her ascent to Prime Witchrule.

She had traveled many days to traverse the maze allowing her to reach this first kingdom and had spent ten years in service to Drakken, learning from his wizards, from the land, and finally, from Drakken himself. And though she had served without complaint in all ways, he had withheld the seed from her. Until this night. Once her spell had succeeded, he'd had no choice but to offer her the opportunity to perform the Nightdance and thus acquiring the seed she sought from him. It was a dangerous move on her part because it would require, one last time, her complete submission to his dark, sensual desires. But only through the submission could she acquire the closely guarded magick.

This would be the first. But not the last. To her knowledge no one had claimed Prime Witchrule in over five hundred years. Most who had tried had been enslaved by love along the way, some had died, some had fallen prey to the sensual enslavement that came with seeking the seeds of magick and forgotten their original purpose. But not Zirelda. Well, maybe, for a time, at first.

The cat jumped from her lap as Zirelda rose from the ebony rocker and walked to the window to look out upon the fertile greenery of Darkland. She watched in anticipation as the curtain of darkness slowly descended, the signal for the dance to begin. She vowed she would never succumb to the dark pleasures she had discovered while she served Drakken. She would not allow herself to become slave to her desires–there was too much at stake. Too much she coveted for herself.

He had been the first to teach her the secrets of her body and he had used her innocence to his advantage over the years. Used her well, constantly maintaining her body's sensual need at a fever pitch, weaving his own spell around her until she no longer knew her own name, making her content to serve him as a slave to her passion, eager to submit to his every desire.

Until the awakening. That night she had allowed him to take her in every conceivable way and begged for more, pain and pleasure–pain becoming pleasure–submitting to all, she had suddenly awoken with a clear mind. Her body still throbbed with the need, the desire to experience the pleasure at his hand, but her mind was, for the first time in three years, lucid and reclaimed. From thence she knew her path and controlled the passions of her body, masking the will of her mind and vowed to learn all she needed to leave Drakken and Darkland forever, claiming his seed of magick for her own. Finally, her chance had come.

Her body now echoed the deep, throbbing vibrations emitting from the earth, like a wash of sea, wave after wave assaulted her body. It was the call of Morrodius-kahn. Drakken had send a message to him and he knew she was about to enter his service. Wrapping her arms around herself, she swayed to the rhythm, readying herself for the dance of night when Drakken would free her inhibitions and inject the seed into her body. He had kept her body at a state of perpetual need for ten long years, her mind always fighting for control of her emotions. But tonight would be different. The night air called, the walls of her house suffocating on this night of nights.

Tonight would be critical. She must relax all her inhibitions, reveal her inner soul, relax the barrier to her mind and allow him to take all from her in order for her to receive the full power of the magick. If she was not careful she could lose all of herself to Drakken, and it would all be for nothing. She must be very careful to balance between the worlds of submission and control to receive, yet not give over all of her essence to him and be lost forever. She must continue her journey.

It was time. Bending over, she reached for the hem of her crimson shift and lifted it above her head, revealing herself to the pleasure of the breeze as it caressed her body. The vibrations of the earthdrum began its steady beat, its lulling cadence traveling through her body centering in her vagina which pulsed with the need for the dance to begin. Her body ached to receive the seed.

Zirelda released the shift and it floated to the floor. All that belonged to Drakken would be abandoned. The only thing she would take with her was the knowledge she had earned–and the seed. As though drawn by some unseen hand, she drifted toward the door, seeking the night,


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