by Rowan Llewellyn

Once more Kalindriel cleaned the floor of her Mistress' work room. Once again, the petite elven female swept up a large pile of enticingly sweet-smelling wood shavings. The scents reminded her of her youth roaming the forests that bordered the stormy North Sea. In this day and age, with the human's Inquisition ruthlessly hunting down "heretics" "witches" and "devils", there were worse things than being a slave to a powerful sorceress.

And that thought brought a diferent, lustfull, sigh from the elf as she gathered up the shavings and tossed them into a bucket to set by the fireplace in the room. Her Mistress, Saamiel as she called herself; a beautiful woman standing just over six foot tall with a flowing mane of white hair, she was a master-class mage that specialized in transformation magics. Her power and her very prescense kept her safe from the Inquistor's "hospitality." That, and she had a way of helping those same Inquisitors "get rid" of embarassing situations. Kalindriel didn't particularly care for some of her Mistress' dealings, but then, those were her Mistress' choices and she had no say in them.

Kalindriel, if she had been on her own, would be doubly in jeopardy from those hunters. Being one of the rare elves capable of shape-shifting, she would be able to hide easily enough....until such time as she altered her form and someone saw her. And someone would always see her; fate dictated that. So, she became a slave. Saamiel provided her with food and clothing, a place to live safely, and more freedom than perhaps any slave ever had. She also provided Kalindriel with a lover; Saamiel herself. And the only cost to Kalindriel was the occassional bit of blood or flesh that Mistress needed for ingredients for some spell or another she was concocting.

More than a fair bargain, Kalindriel thought to herself. At first, Mistress had purchased her from a slaver, who had captured her and would surely have sold her to some slobbering, loathesome human male with missing teeth and bad breath, as a subject to practice and perfect her magics upon. And she had turned her elven slave into many things over the years; cats, birds, toads, stone, water, fire; nearly anything that Saamiel's imagination and magic could achieve. Imagination and magic were things that Saamiel possessed in abundance. Kalindriel's shapechanging ability allowed her to survive the spells that went wrong; which happened less and less as her Mistress perfected her Art. And though fearful of her at first, Kalindriel noticed another change that had only partly to do with her Mistress' magic. Every time that Saamiel used her magic on her, Kalindriel had monstrous orgasms. One time she fell to the ground, shuddering, when Saamiel changed her back to her elven form from that of the golden statue she had been. When the mage came to see if her subject was still living, Kalindriel forgot herself and pulled the woman down atop her, tearing off the mage's robes and kissing, licking, biting, rubbing and pinching all over her Mistress' body before fastening her mouth to Saamiel's pussy and sending her into orgasm after orgasm. After that day, Kalindriel was still Slave and Saamiel still Mistress, though it was largely in name only; for they were also Lovers.

That had been many years ago. Kalindriel's elven nature made her immortal and ageless, and Saamiel's magics had kept her looking and acting young and vibrant even though she was far older than any human save a mage could achieve. The love was just as strong now as it had ever been between them; a magic in its own right. Kalindriel occassionally found herself looking through the eyes of some animal form, or ended up a statue, without knowing that Saamiel had bespelled her. And that was how she liked it.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Kalindriel gathered the last few woodchips and put them in the bucket with the rest. This had been going on for over a month now; Saamiel would lock herself in this room all night long only to emerge just after sunrise and command Kalindriel to clean the floor. Each day, it would be covered with the sweet-smelling wood chips, and there would be nothing out of place in the room beyond that. No woodworking tools, and nothing to indicate what her Mistress was doing save the debris on the floor. When she would ask her, Saamiel would curtly reply, "None of your business, Slave," with a finality that harkened back to when Kalindriel had first been purchased.

"Could she be tired of me?" She asked the air, "Do I not please her anymore?" She tried to think just how long she and Saamiel had been lovers and, like all elves, found that she couldn't count the years except as "many"; that was the curse of elven immortality, time had little meaning for them and no elf could really keep track of time properly. The sun rose and set, the stars danced their dance of seasons, and a day was a week was a month was a year and so on for an elf. In all the time that her Mistress made her nocturnal adventures to this room, she and Kalindriel had not loved. Today, she would find out the truth about what was happening, despite anything her Mistress might do to stop her.

"Mistress?" She called, knocking on Saamiel's bedchamber door. "Mistress, I must speak with you."

"Can't it wait until I've finished sleeping, Slave?" Came the response from within. For all her powers, Saamiel never could wake quickly, and it showed in the tone of her reply. At Kalindriel's continued knocking, "Oh, very well. This had best be worthwhile slave, or I'll replace the door with you." A few moments later, Saamiel opened the door and looked down at the female elf who stood a foot shorter than she. "What is it?"

"Mistress," Kalindriel began, showing her Mistress the utmost respect even though she looked an absolute mess; hair flung about like in a windstorm, sleeping robes twisted and tangled, eyes still slighty out of focus due to fatigue. "Mistress, every night for a month and more you've locked yourself away at night, only to come forth at the break of day and order me to clean the room of the bits and scraps of wood. You will not answer my questions about this one thing even though you will answer any other. Please, your slave must know, Have I done something to displease you, Mistress?"

"Besides waking me at this unholy hour?" Saamiel replied, "Look, the sun has barely passed zenith, all decent beings should still be abed."

"Mistress, you are evading my question."

"Yes, I am, Slave. For the time for answers isn't now. Be in my workroom exactly one hour before sunset, and I will give you the answers you seek then." With that, Saamiel slammed the door shut. Kalindriel realized that she had bespelled it when her hardest pounding didn't even make so much as a whisper.

Knowing that she would only learn what she needed to by obeying her Mistress, the elf busied herself with other chores around the castle that she and Saamiel called home. And though an elf doesn't experience time the same way a human does, the hours before the appointed time dragged slower than any she had ever known before.

"Ah, Slave, you're late, as usual," Saamiel told her as she entered. The mage was dressed casually in a red silk robe that was tied loosely about her, revealling the inner swell of her large, firm breasts. Being on the east side of the castle, the shadows in the room only made her pale flesh luminous and ethereal. Kalindriel's breath caught in her throat once again, Mistress never failed to stun her and arouse her like that. She bowed to her Mistress.

"Forgive me, Mistress."

"There is nothing to forgive, I made you late. Now, you wanted answers. Answers you will have. Do you know what today is, Slave?" The elf thought for several minutes before finally giving up. "This is the anniversary of when I purchased you, Slave. A century ago."

"A century, Mistress? Has it been that long?"

"It has, and I wished to create something to commemorate that." Without another word, the mage went to a table that had an object covered with a cloth sheet upon it. An object that Kalindriel would have swore hadn't been there a moment ago. With a flourish, Saamiel removed the cloth revealing....

"Oh, Mistress! It's....She's.....I don't know what to say....." Kalindriel walked to the table, speachless.

What captivated the elf so was the figure of a woman carved from wood. Exquisitely detailed, the elf saw that it was intricately jointed and had places for the attachment of strings. A marionette. Dressed in a white blouse and colourful skirt and sash, and adorned with golden chains with dozens of glittering gold coins, the marionette was a life-size depiction of a Gypsy dancer. Glass eyes a dark jade green dominated an exotic face, and long black hair cascaded into a raven pool on the table where the marionette sat. Examining the wooden thing, Kalindriel saw the cunning craftsmanship which her Mistress had used to articulate the wooden body so that it could be moved in any fashion that a living person could move.

"Do you like her, Slave?" Saamiel asked, already knowing the answer, "I patterned her on the Gypsy dancer that you were so intrigued by.

"Miriya?" The elf supplied the name, "Mistress, you didn't?.....Did you?"

"You are a silly elf, Slave." Saamiel laughed, "I just based her looks on Miriya's appearance. Besides, that was thirty years or more ago. I'm certain that dancer is many times a grandmother by now. No, this one is all ours."

The elf just stood there, admiring the marionette. Every detail was perfect, right down to the rich light brown color of her skin. Kalindriel could not resist running a hand along the blouse, over a breast. Sure enough, a nipple tipped the breast, a hard pebble. She wanted to explore further, to see how complete the wooden woman was, but Saamiel's firm grip stopped her explorations.

"Not yet, Slave." Saamiel chided her. "There is time enough for that, later. I take it you approve?"

"Oh, yes, Mistress. I do. I'm sorry for doubting you, Mistress. Please, let me make it up to you."

"By all means, Slave," The mage replied, undoing the sash that bound her robe. It slid off her alabaster body, revealing a stunning figure. A quick gesture, and the elf found herself bare of her clothing, too.

Saamiel admired her elven slave. A small female, slender of frame with small, pert breasts; childlike yet fully female, chestnut coloured hair that hung to her waist and large, hazel eyes. Those eyes were smiling and shining as the elf stepped forward to embrace the mage. Saamiel picked her up, kissing her, and fell onto the pile of soft furs that had just appeared.

Kalindriel kissed her Mistress, working her way from her mouth, down to her breasts to kiss and suckle on the mage's nipples. She massaged her Mistress' larger, firm breasts and then slid a hand down to rub along her pussy. Trailing her tongue down to that same pussy, she began kissing and licking at the pussy lips, giving pleasure to her Mitress as the full moon's light shone into the room from the east window. Saamiel's hands were wrapped in the elf's hair and Kalindriel's attention was on her ministrations to the mage's sex when she suddenly felt a hand touch her own nether region.

"What?" She tried to look, but Saamiel forced her face deeper into her pussy. Kalindriel's wonderings were displaced by the need to please her Mistress, and the attention being paid her own pussy only served to make her strive to please Saamiel even more. Soon a tongue, soft and wet and probing, replaced the fingers, and climax shortly overtook her. A couple tonguetricks of her own put Saamiel over the edge not too long after. Only then could Kalindriel look to see who had been loving her.

Only to see the wooden Gypsy-woman smiling at her with bottomless green eyes.

The surprise, and another lick of a tongue, made her climax once more.

"She's aliiiiiiiiiive???" Kalindriel tried to ask between climaxes. Saamiel smiled as her latest creation continued to love the elf, alternating tongue and fingers. Kalindriel turned across her to lick at the now naked marionette's pussy. Though she was wood, her pussy was as soft and moist as a living woman's, with a woman's scent as well as that same woodscent that so distracted Kalindriel when she had swept out the room. They loved and loved and loved as Saamiel watched. All the night through until the rising sun peaked through the window.

Kalindriel felt it before she saw it, a slight stiffness in her new lover's movements. Looking at the marrionette, she saw her slowly stop moving, freezing in place, her mouth open and tongue extending towards one of Kalindriel's hard nipples. In a matter of moments, all motion had stopped, and it was nothing but an intricately posed, articulated wooden figure.

"Mistress, that is absolutely amazing. But how.......?"

"I wanted to make her completely alive for you, Slave. But even my magic has its limits. So, our little Gypsy will dance from the moment the moonlight caresses her until the sunlight kisses her wooden flesh."

"Amazing." Kalindriel sighed, still awash in the erotic pleasures the wooden woman awakened in her. "I think I can take her only being alive part of the time. I don't think I'd be able to do any work at all if we had kept on much longer."

"You two were quite a show," Saamiel replied, grinning.

"Mistress, does she have a name?"

"I thought that you would like to give her one, my Slave."

"Oh, Mistress. I thank you for the honor you give me. Let me see..... I know, since she only comes alive at night, with the moon and stars, I think a name from my Elven tongue would suit her best. Shaandra Gael."

"Shaandra Gael," Saamiel mused, running the name over her tongue like a fine wine. "Starlight Dancer, if my Elven hasn't failed me. Yes, I knew you would give her a good name, Slave."

"I love you, Mistress. For everything you give me. More than any slave deserves."

And Saamiel learned how thankful her Slave was, and thankful herself for another elven trait; an insatiable appetite for loving.......

(Here's chapter 2)

"Let me look at you, pet," Saamiel told Shaandra as the magical marionette sat on a table before her creatrix and Mistress. She nodded, and held her hand out for the mage to examine. A hand, long and delicate-fingered, with nails painted red. A hand made entirely of wood and articulated in a manner that allowed it to move in any way a human or elven hand could. Each finger was actually several pieces and connected at the "knuckles" with metal joints, and those joints concealed by the way the wooden finger parts were carved. Shaandra's entire body was fashioned in the same means. That wood was painted and made up to resemble a young Gypsy woman, exoticaly beautiful with a rich brown skin colour, luminous jade green eyes and full, pouting lips painted a red to match her nails. Her breasts were full without being overly large and were tipped with areolae and nipples slightly darker in colour than her skin. Even her bare pussy and asshole were as elaborately detailed as the rest of her. The only part of Shaandra that wasn't wood or metal was the lustrous black hair that was nearly as long as the marionette was tall and her glass eyes.

Shaandra would be an incredible achievement simply for the construction and attention to detail that Saamiel had used when creating her. But she was far more than just an extraordinarily constructed marionette. Saamiel's magic had given her life!

Whenever the moonlight would touch her wooden body, the magic that had been just as lovingly crafted into her would awaken, and she would become animate and fully able to move about on her own free will. Only the touch of the sun's light upon that same wooden flesh would once again strip that ability from her and leave her as nothing more than a poseable, exquisitely carved marionette. It was only the night before that Saamiel unveiled her creation to her elven Slave and lover, Kalindriel; much to both their delight. Tonight, Saamiel examined her to make certain that the orgy that had ensued upon Shaandra's awakening had not caused any harm to the wooden girl.

The fingers, which had caressed sweet, elven flesh, pinched and rubbed nipples, and played deep within the elf-girl's pussy, showed no sign of damage or warpage from the exposure to elven love-juices. The breasts and nipples, mouth, pussy and asshole were similarly unaffected; though Shaandra did shudder and moan in pleasure as Saamiel made certain that her examination was quite thorough and intimate.

"Perfect, my pet, simply perfect." Saamiel told her. "How do you feel?"

The marionette's mouth worked, opening and closing a few times as the intelligence within learned how to speak, "Feel?" Her voice was mellow and seductively low-pitched. "I....feel...fine, Mistress," she said after a few abortive attempts.

"Very good, pet, very good. You will find that speach will become easier the more you speak. That's not to be an excuse to ask me every question that comes into your mind. The gods know I get enough of that from Kalindriel." Her elven slave was far from unintelligent, her curiosity made her ask an endless series of questions. A sly smile crept across the mage's lips. "You may, however, ask them of Kalindriel. In fact, I insist that you do." There, that should teach her slave the wisdom of not asking so many questions. A few days on the receiving end of the newborn marionette's questioning would do wonders for her.

"Yes, Mistress," Shaandra replied, the words forming a bit easier. "How may I serve you now, Mistress?"

Saamiel smiled again at her creation and felt the desire come upon her again. Intellectually, the mage knew that part of that was caused by Shaandra, herself. She had crafted spells into her that subtly worked to arouse those who might be in Shaandra's presence; she was, first and formost, created and designed to be the ultimate love-toy, after all. And though she had created the spells, Saamiel was not immune to their affects. Beside the fact of the magic, though, was the plain and simple truth that Shaandra was absolutely beautiful and sitting there, nude, was turning the mage on.

"You may please me, pet."

"Your will, Mistress," Shaandra said with a smile. She slid from the table and, standing, embraced Saamiel, who bent her head slightly to kiss the warm wooden lips of her slave. Shaandra stood a tall five foot nine, but Saamiel was still several inches taller.

Shaandra stood in the embrace, pressing her body against her mistress as her mouth opened to accept Saamiel's tongue. Her own tongue slid along the other, and her hands stroked along her back and then around to massage the mage's breasts. Saamiel broke the embrace long enough to undo the ties that held her robes shut, and Shaandra removed them from her.

Saamiel glowed in moon- and torch-light, white hair and pale flesh that was well toned thanks to the disciplines of being a mage. Full breasts with large, pink nipples, a tapering waist and a bare pussy; Saamiel had used her magic to denude herself of body hair for the simple fact that it had made it easier for herself to keep clean. That, and she loved how the naturally bare Kalindriel looked. Her most arresting features, though, were her eyes. Dark blue like star sapphires, they looked beyond the simple appearances of things and saw into their true nature, giving Saamiel control over them when she chose to exert it. Shaandra drank in the beauty of her Mistress and bowed before her once before kneeling.

Wrapping her wooden arms around Saamiel's hips and butt, she brought her face to the bare pussy and stroked her lips against the pussy lips. Her tongue gently probed beyond those lips to taste the juices that had begun to flow. Saamiel moaned and grasped Shaandra's head as she ground her hips into the marionette's face. "Stop teasing, Pet, and pleasure me!"

A command which Shaandra promptly obeyed. Her tongue darted in and out and as deeply as it could. Her fingers rubbed briskly over Saamiel's clit and, in a few moments, the mage had to grip her wooden slave tightly for support as her climax hit her in glorious waves of pleasure. "Oh, yes! YES!"

Shaandra gazed up at her Mistress, her wooden lips, cheeks and chin glistening with Saamiel's juices. "Did I please you, Mistress?"

", NO, pet!" Saamiel quickly changed her answer mid-reply, "You did not do good enough. Pleasure me again, and make certain to do it correctly!" She punctuated her command with a sharp slap to a wooden rump, making Shaandra yelp with the sudden pain.

"As you command, Mistress." And she began to obey her command with a single minded devotion. As Saamiel felt her knees weaken as Shaandra redoubled her efforts, she made some fast mental calculations.

*The sun will shine through the window in about three hours.* She projected mentally at Kalindriel *Which do you think will happen? Will she exhaust me, or will the sun change her back?*

Kalindriel was in no position to be able to answer her Mistress. Saamiel had imprisoned her in a devious framework some hours before that held her posed in a most interesting manner. Even with the utmost effort, Kalindriel's fingers could almost, but not quite, stroke her own pussy lips and clit. Her eyes were glazed over with lust and desire as she was forced to watch her Mistress be pleasured over and over, and be unable to do anything to relieve her own growing sexual heat.......

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