Morn. Beginnings
Morn - December 26, 2005
The surf crashes around their naked bodies, luminous sea-spray
mist like fairy fire, reflecting the twin moon gaze.. Relentless
wave after wave after wave, never-ending ocean eating away at
mother earth, slams into the shore, driving the three of them up
onto sand, dragging them laughing back into the surf. She tries
to stand, her toes digging, relishing the feeling, squish,
squish. She stumbles a bit, wipes a drip of water from her
upturned nose, bluesky eyes look down at her feet, buried in bone
white sand. The moonlit sea beading in the kinky hair between her
legs, diamonds in a blacknight sky.. She watches rivulets race
down her belly, her thighs, back into the sea, drops becoming
oceans.
Cool wind blows across her green sea skin, goosebumps rising, her
nipples so hard they hurt. She crosses her arms in front of her
breasts as another wave comes crashing into her, sending her
stumbling backward into the arms of her lovers...
Arroyo, the half ork, more boy then man. Thin, muscles taught
across his skin, he wraps his arms about her and brings her close
to him. She lets him, feels his chest against her back, his long
white hair in wet elf locks, the ork features subtle but there.
Ori the Troll wades to them, lets herself fall against the two as
the next wave throws them farther up onto the shore.
Morn feels Arroyo's hands glide up, trace the curves of her
breasts, her aching nipples. She feels him grow hard against her
buttocks, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Orestia kneels
between her legs, kissing her tight belly, sharp troll tongue
across smooth ork skin. Lower...lower...Morn closes her eyes,
moans...
"Ori...oh.....Ori"
She hears the troll moan in respons...sighs...hands on her
breasts, pinching harder...the moan getting louder, Morn tries to
push it down, louder now, higher, turning, waves turning red,
twin moons bloody. Screaming now, too high, too much...her legs
slam shut....
...as her eyes slam open. No, not ocean. Not moans. Nor cries of
delight. No lover behind her nor ahead. No hard...the ork girl
sighs. Frozen tears crust her long black eyelashes. Shes
shivering with the cold. The wind screams through the cracks in
the clapboard shack. The pictures shes drawn on hoarded parchment
flutter against the walls. Wind is harsh, she thinks. Shes afraid
its going to blow the flimsy door off the rotted leather hinges.
Almost as if on cue the door flies open...but not from the wind.
Standing in the doorway are 3 burly humans. Some of the guards in
the camp. They carry guttering torches, and one in the back
carries a bundle of...they walk into the shack, smelling of foul
uisgie they drink. Booze and lust. Morns nostrils dialate....she
can smell what they want. The one carrying the bundle throws it
down to the floor. Her eyes grow wide...
BLANKETS! WARMTH!!!
She is still kneeling on the floor in front of them, staring in
wonder at the treasure they bring. Three of them. Three blankets
for three oomies. She doesn't just want the rough wool blankets,
she needs them. Winter is not even half over, and its already as
bad as any she can remember. Shell die without them, she knows
this. In a flash shes made up her mind...she made up her mind the
moment she saw them. Its how she survives here in the internment
camp. How she stays alive while so many others die.
She's young, attractive....she looks up at them, not bothering to
hide the disgust in her eyes. They don't care what she thinks of
them. All they care is that shes got a warm hole. In turn, she
doesn't care what they think of her, as long as they keep her
alive. Morn is a surviver. Always has been, always will be. She
will live where others will die because she will do anything it
takes to live. Her hate keeps her warm, but not enough to
survive. These blankets will.
She gives a slight, barely perceptible nod at the oomie leader.
She can see his white teeth as he grins, hears the chink of his
mail as he undoes the heavy iron buckle on his wide leather
belt...
It seems a shame to do this now, she thinks. After the dreams of
Ori and Arroyo.A shame and a crime. But it would be worse to
freeze to death and let the memories of her friends and lovers
die with her. Memories are all shes got left now. Damned if shell
let those die too. She grimaces at the taste but closes her eyes
tight and tries to think of something else as she goes to work.
She gags at the end, always does, refuses the image of her sharp
tusks ripping and tearing. Turns her head to the side and
spits...waits for the next one and wraps the blankets around her
freezing feet....