The Wellspring (14 page)

Lifting the prodigious member, she looked up
at Prosser with a teasing smile and pressed it firmly against the
man’s belly. Starting at the base, Yule's tongue tickled along the
length of the long shaft, swabbing Prosser’s package until she was
flicking the tip of her tongue against the underside of the flared
head. Retracing her path, she slid her mouth down until she ended
up with her tongue lapping the underside of his impressive member,
feeling the man’s entire body involuntarily jerk toward her.

Yule smiled internally, reminded of a
marionette on strings, and she was the one controlling his strings
tonight. Opening her pink, swollen lips, she allowed one large,
round softness to fall into warm, wet confines of her waiting
mouth, suckling gently, rolling it around with her instinctively
talented tongue. All the while her small hands stroked the
throbbing erection above her head. Prosser groaned and Yule felt
giddy with delight when she heard the sound and felt the man’s
knees bend as if they suddenly had to struggle to support him.

Lust surged through her veins like the tide
rushing in around her knees, soaking the bottom of her white cotton
sundress. She couldn’t resist the desire to swallow his amazing
flesh any longer. She released the part of him she’d taken into her
mouth and pulled the thick shaft towards her damp, puffy lips.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped the plum sized head over her
bottom lip and into her hungry mouth. With uncompromising
determination she pushed her head forward and before she realized
it, Yule's mouth was pressed up against her right hand, the first
four inches entering her mouth with surprising ease! But ahead lay
her first real challenge.

The broad head now lay at the entrance to her
throat. She removed both of her small hands from the shaft and
placed them on either side of the man's slim, trembling hips.
Composing herself for a split second, Yule pushed forward, her
desire refusing to be swayed by the task. Boldly grabbing the
muscular buttocks of the Magus towering over her, she pulled the
man's body towards her. The large head pressed painfully against
the opening of her throat and she reflexively tried to swallow.
Suddenly she thought she heard an audible popping sound as Prosser
lurched forward and his thick member entered the accepting throat
of the woman on her knees before him. Yule stretched her mouth as
wide as it would go, the corners of her moth threatening to tear,
as the remaining inches began sliding past her lips.

“Yule!” Prosser groaned, and she thought he
sounded as choked as she felt.

Her small mouth was filled to capacity with
the thick, pulsing flesh of her newest (didn’t she mean only?)
conquest. Focusing her eyes on the man’s taut belly she saw she
consumed almost all of the massive instrument. There was only about
an inch remaining outside of his eager mouth. With one last effort,
she pulled the Magus towards her and swallowed harder, triumphantly
feeling the soft, curly hairs of his belly pressing against her
nose, his balls against her chin. She’d done what she initially
thought to be impossible, burying all seven-and-a-half or eight
inches down her throat!

She felt a shaking hand caress her hair and
her eyes rose to meet Prosser’s. The expression in those dark
depths told her he was equally surprised and impressed by her
accomplishment. Gaining confidence, Yule began to undulate her
tongue along the length of the tool embedded in her mouth and
throat. Swallowing in tandem, the flesh at the entrance to her
throat massaged farther along the thick flesh. While her swimming
skills had increased her capacity to hold her breath, she finally
had to come up for air.

Gasping as the last of the length departed
from her mouth, Yule couldn’t repress a conqueror’s smile. “I did
it!” she proclaimed, as if Prosser hadn’t noticed. “I didn’t think
it was possible—” Here she broke off, suddenly realizing what she
was saying aloud and blushing at her brazenness. Her eyes returned
to the impressive erection bobbing in front of her, focusing on the
moonlight glistening off of the spittle her talented throat
deposited along the pulsing shaft.

Prosser smiled down at her, stroking her
hair. “Please tell me you aren’t done with me so soon?”

Yule’s eyes rose to his again and she beamed
in the moonlight. “I’ve only started,” she assured him confidently.
Pausing to take one more deep breath, Yule opened her mouth and
began her assault in earnest. Unlike the first time, she slid down
the thoroughly lubricated length in one extended gulp, her gag
reflex temporarily neutralized, and she began to suck the
prodigious flesh with her gifted mouth. Prosser’s hands returned to
either side of her head, directing a rhythm between them until the
Magus was unable to withstand any more of the oral attack.

Yule fell him tighten and contract under her
chin and his hands tightened in her hair as if to restrain her, but
she heard him cry out a warning that he was going to come and knew
he was giving her the opportunity to withdraw.

Hermes’ lurid stories guided her as she
pushed her hands against the powerful man's flat stomach then
pulled back until only the oversized head of his member remained in
her mouth. Reaching up, she wrapped both of her thin hands around
the daunting shaft and started pumping the remaining several inches
of friction-hot flesh. She looked up and Prosser saw her intent in
her eyes and groaned, throwing back his head, fingers now painfully
twisting in her hair.

She felt the first surge power through her
fingers and out of the tip, having no practical knowledge of the
force with which the ejaculate would hit the back of her throat so
she had no time to compose himself before the next thick strand
shot out after the first. She barely swallowed one offering before
the next followed and had no clue as to how much her mouth was
about to be filled.

The thick fluid coated her throat and burned
its way into her stomach and she suddenly panicked, thinking she
might drown in the hot, salty wash of—

She woke suddenly and sat up, coughing
violently and spitting seawater as the next rush of incoming tide
brought her back to wakefulness. As she coughed convulsively, eyes
tearing, she looked wildly around at the beach.

The beach!

How had she gotten to the beach? She’d fallen
asleep in her room and dreamed—something. She fought to remember
anything about the dream, or how she’d gotten to the shore. She had
an impression that someone was waiting for her here, but that was
all she could dredge from her frightened mind. She was still clad
in her nightgown, a pair of flat sandals lying in the sand a short
distance away.

I must have walked down her in my sleep! I
could have drowned! On the heels of that fright came embarrassment.
Had anyone seen her? She looked toward the horizon and saw the sun
hadn’t yet crested the jungle. It was early, if she was lucky she
might be able to sneak back to her room without witnesses. She
grabbed the sandals, rose unsteadily to her feet, and hurried
across the beach to the pea-gravel path that wound back to
Drowsingfaire.

Prosser didn’t comment on her presence at the
breakfast table before his arrival, still appearing to be firmly
suffused by a light-hearted holiday temperament. She suspected it
was forced, then wondered why she had that idea this morning when
she would have accepted it on face value the day before.

She leaned on the marble railing, looking
toward the snip of beach visible between the trees and was pricked
by a thorn of guilt. She was suspicious because she was still
embarrassed over her nocturnal wanderings, not to mention worried.
Hermes told her she was quite the sleepwalker when she was a child,
but assured her she’d outgrown the predilection in puberty. What if
the excitement of being on Atlantis had brought it back? How could
she make sure it wouldn’t happen again? She was brooding on this
when something moved behind her causing her to whirl around with a
small cry of surprise.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to alarm you,”
apologized Magus Teomond.

“Do you always sneak up on people that
way?”

“Sneak?” His dark eyebrows rose. “This is my
hearth.”

“All right, do you always—prowl about so
quietly?” she corrected her observation.

“I only walked over to you to see what so
captivated your interest. I didn’t realize you were
daydreaming.”

“I wasn’t!” she strenuously denied, recalling
her first daydream about Prosser walking along the beach.

“No, of course not. You’re probably going
over today’s itinerary.”

She tried to decipher his expression, but the
rising sun was in her eyes and cast his face in shadow. “If my
skills are substandard you’ve only yourself to blame for not taking
the temp they offered,” she said with a sharpness that surprised
herself. “You needn’t mock me.”

“I wasn’t mocking you,” he countered
sincerely. “Your work has been satisfactory, and if you indulge in
the occasional daydream I envy you. I’ve been accused of having a
particular lack of imagination.”

She remained unmoved by his assurances and
gazed at him with open incredulity that was more apparent than she
intended. He stepped past her and turned to lean against the marble
railing with his back, and now the sunlight fell directly upon his
face. There wasn’t a race of mockery on his austere features and
she let out her breath and glanced at the marble under her
feet.

“Are you still happy you came to Atlantis?”
he asked out of the blue.

“Very much!” But her unadorned countenance
displayed such intensity as she raised her eyes to his again that
his dark eyebrows curved questioningly.

“Does something trouble you?”

“I suppose it does,” she admitted, “when I
come to think about it. Your itinerary was fairly packed with
seminars and speeches, but I haven’t done nearly the kind of work I
thought I was in for. I’d call my personal involvement
somewhat—lackadaisical at best. I mean, there’s nothing I’ve done
that the temp you were offered couldn’t have done and I just don’t
understand why you brought me, even if it did save you money.”

He returned her gaze evenly for a long moment
before relenting. “I didn’t think I’d be able to keep the truth
from you for very long. There is something we should discuss.”

“The truth?” she asked suspiciously. “Is this
some joke?”

“No, what I have to say is of grave
seriousness.” He pushed away from the railing. “Let’s go down to
the garden, where we’re unlikely to be disturbed.”

He didn’t wait for her to agree he simply
walked away, down the stone steps, into the garden and Yule hurried
after him, after a moment of consideration. He didn’t stop upon
entering the flower-ringed grassy expanse, but crossed it to a
fragrant border of blooming hedges, passing through an archway
carved into the hedges and following a path through what became
apparent to Yule was a maze. The light inside the maze was
filtered, mottled on the clover ground covering and she glanced up.
The hedges were fully eight or ten feet tall, it was hard to judge,
and a canopy of flowering vines created a ceiling—and camouflage,
she realized. From the terrace this simply appeared to be part of
the encroaching jungle and she wondered why the maze was hidden.
She didn’t have the opportunity to ask, concerned with keeping pace
with Prosser to avoid becoming lost in the twists and turns.
Finally the bewildering path ended, opening to a velvety green
meadow dotted with low stone benches and surrounding a brilliant
blue pool of water where a stone fountain of a maiden eternally
poured water from an urn into the pool. Magus Teomond crossed to
one of the stone benches and seated himself. He gazed at Yule
enigmatically.

“So, you suspect my motives for bringing you
here?”

“Let’s just say I don’t think you’re saving
any money, considering the spending allowance with which you
provided me,” she replied straightforwardly.

He smiled ruefully. “What a discerning little
thing you are. Yule. I thought that might have proved a
miscalculation, but I didn’t want to risk your begging off because
you had nothing to wear.”

Resentment at his tone flared. “I’m not
little and since when was being discerning a bad thing?”

“No, I suppose you’re not. . . . ” His gaze
and tone were musing. “Yule, as a spell-caster, how would you react
to a power poacher?”

“A power poacher?” she repeated. “Why would
you ask? Who do you mean?” She backed up a step and felt the hedge
against her back. When had she moved from the opening? “What are
you trying to say, that you—?”

“No, nothing like that,” he dismissed her
trepidation sounding a little annoyed. “It’s a straightforward
question. If you’re not a normal then you’re a spell-caster, or you
must at least consider yourself to be one. Would you recognize a
power poacher if you encountered one?”

“Yes, of course,” she asserted with
confusion. “But what on earth has that got to do with
anything?”

“Nothing, maybe something. For example, let’s
say there is a man, no one you know, just someone in the world.
He’s handsome, well-spoken, fashion sensible and money has no
particular concern to him apart from finding new ways to spend it.
What if this man turned his interest toward you? And what if you
found yourself drawn to him, but you’re well aware that many women
find him irresistible and he’s certainly not famous for ignoring
their attentions. Add to this, there’s a dark little rumor
circulating that he might be siphoning power from these conquests.
What would you do?”

“I’m—I’m not sure.” She shrugged her
shoulders. “I’ve never been introduced to a sexy lothario with
bundles of cash to throw around.” She held up one index finger. “Is
he the sneaky power poacher the gossips say he is?”