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weeman816 · 20 days ago

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The Heart of a Ninja Witch

I, a samurai from distant lands, stood facing Valyria, a slender and deadly ninja witch whose braided hair dangled beneath a black wide-brimmed hat. A magnificent price was on her head, and I was there to claim it.

We had been circling each other, waiting for someone to move again for what felt like an eternity. My heavy boots shuffled through the sand, and Valyria’s bare feet slid just above the dune’s surface as though she weighed nothing. I would have found her weightless movements unnerving without knowing her tactics. She was an assassin, and spotting her was half the battle.

My heart thundered in my ears, pumping taxed with the wards and magic that kept me alive. In this world, the heart fuels more than the body. It was the engine of sorcery, fueling every incantation, every protective shield, and every attack. My training taught me to harness that power efficiently, but tonight, I was matched by someone far more ferocious.

Despite the punishing pace of my own pulse, I could sense Valyria’s heart as well. Her slender frame belied the vicious force in her chest. She, too, needed a near-constant flow of energy to feed her witchcraft. Her heart soared in frantic beats whenever she vanished, reappeared, or summoned longer blades to strike against my weakening shields.

But after so long exchanging blows under the Sudanese sky that had turned night and chilly, we both grew weary. Her dark skin glistened with sweat beneath the moonlight. My hair clung to my neck. Valyria’s braids were wet, her chest heaving with every labored breath.

I was trained to fight witches. The blade I held, a katana etched with wards, was a gift from my clan.

The dune we battled upon was scarred with footprints, scorch marks, and carved lines of missed blade strikes. She’d managed to breach my defenses once, raking my abdomen with a shallow slash. The cut was superficial, but the pain served as a reminder of just how deadly she could be. Blood trickled from the wound, wet and hot streaks running down my belly.

She let out a soft, playful giggle, reveling in her accomplishment, but I didn’t dare give her the satisfaction of fear.

I lunged forward, blade ready. Valyria spun away with uncanny grace, her black hat barely moving atop her head. She twisted away, but not before my blade caught her at the ankle.

She let out a sharp cry, more in outrage than pain. Her eyes widened, and for an instant, I glimpsed a flicker of fear.

For a moment, she dangled half-caught, glaring at me. But with a surge of her magical energy, she disappeared from my sight, reappearing a few feet away. I closed my eyes and focused my energy, enhancing my senses. Her heart was fluttering faster now. The furious hammering in her chest was vivid. I could feel it and see her vital flow with my eyes closed. She was alarmed; I had gotten too close for comfort.

She maintained distance now, sending arcs of bright, jagged magic at me. Using my blade, I deflected them. Her pure magic was weak and unfocused.

I have her…

Sand whipped through the air. She tried to capitalize on the storm by stepping into the swirling dust for cover. Still, I could see her clearly without even opening my eyes.

Two more times, she launched cunning feints, aiming to slash me from blind angles, but her speed was dropping off with every attempt. She was fighting a losing battle now. The desert’s dryness clawed at her throat, and her frantic heart demanded more oxygen than her lungs could provide.

A quick glance at her slender form showed her chest rising and falling in desperate heaves. Her body glimmers with sweat.

Though my breathing was labored, I found a steadiness inside me, a foolish confidence that kept my heart steady. It was a psychological advantage manifested in the single resource we relied on. Valyria was uncertain and frightened—her movements were less fluid. She knew her illusions and bursts of magic had failed to gain the upper hand. Each heartbeat was a liability, pumping faster and draining her reserves.

I rushed forward again. The witch leaped backward, arms raised, prepared for a direct blow, but instead, I feinted. I twisted around her left side, sliding my blade in a harmless arc. Her guard was up on the wrong side, and she realized her mistake a fraction too late. Forced onto the defensive, she stumbled. Sand spilled under her feet, and she dropped low to stop toppling. This was the moment I needed—her eyes flashed with confusion and panic.

I advanced with a series of rapid slashes meant more to corral her movements and keep her out of the shadows than to land a decisive strike. Each swirl of my blade forced her to retreat or block, sapping what little energy she had left. All the while, I listened to the frantic pounding in her chest.

She glanced around, likely seeking an opening to vanish again, but I was ready. Tucking my free hand into a pouch at my belt, I extracted a small sphere and hurled it onto the ground before her. Smoke exploded outward in a dense cloud.

Before she could summon a counter-spell, I darted through the fog, feeling her startled movements. With my magical senses, I pinpointed her outline. I moved behind her, wrapping one arm across her chest, my other hand pressing against her back. She tried to twist free, but I was stronger. I whispered an incantation that sent a jolt of electricity from my palm directly into her.

She stiffened. I felt her heart spasm in sudden shock, the mighty muscle seizing beneath her ribs before regaining its gallop. Her eyes widened, her braids swishing as her body jerked from the jolt. Her mouth opened in a panic.

I turned slightly and whispered, “Valyria, do you feel that? The vulnerable, pounding mass straining in your chest?” She gasped, a mixture of shock and anger.

“I can!” I whispered. Drained of power, her defenses against magic were gone. My hand pressed beyond physical boundaries into her body. The moment I touched the warmth of her inner flesh, I became aware of every intimate detail of that living organ. I felt it swell and contract under my fingertips, a mesmerizing strength and vulnerability.

My fingers, light and tentative at first, traced the subtle ridges of muscle and vasculature that defined the heart’s delicate architecture. The surface of her heart was smooth and silky,

“To hell with you!” Valyria groaned, her voice harsh. I found her anger adorable. It was such a raw, unfiltered demand to end what had become an agony of humiliating loss and terror.

Her blood surged through her panicking heart, warm and vibrant. Each valve burst open and closed, each contraction firm and resisting my hold. The heart seemed to respond to my touch, acknowledging my intrusion with a tremble.

“Don’t be that way!” I said in a playful and facetious tone.

Realizing I was interrupting its delicate electrical pathways, I let my touch linger over the most sensitive, quivering spots. I focused on the atria with my forefinger, then pressed into the back of the organ with my thumb. Her heart’s pumping chambers derailed into a soft, helpless trembling.

Her frightened body tensed. Her breaths quickly grew ragged and heavy, her lungs struggling to capture the oxygen her heart was failing to deliver. Those big brown eyes looked at me, upset and angry, asking what the hell I was doing. Her voice couldn’t, lungs too busy gasping for air.

By the time she realized she could mount a resistance, her drained body could do little more than slump toward me while I held her. Her pupils went wide and glossy, and her body relaxed. The core of her once intimidating figure was being gently… affectionately robbed of life.

With gentle yet insistent pressure, I was pumping her heart… this was a feeling I would never let go of.

TWO YEARS LATER

I wake to the gentle warmth of the sun filtering through the curtains of our bedroom. A deliberate weight settles on my hips and the mattress dips.

When my eyes open fully, I see her—Valyria, my wife… naked. Two years have passed since we first crossed swords in a moonlit battle, and here we are, one year into our marriage.

The braids of her hair fall forward like a dark cascade around her face. Her mouth curled shyly, and I saw the unmistakable vulnerability in her eyes. Slowly, carefully, she took my wrist in both of her hands, her slender fingers gentle but insistent. She pressed my palm against her warm and dark chest. Beneath my hand is her life’s hard and steady punch… begging for attention.

Her voice is a near-whisper, edged with both longing and uncertainty. “I… I need you,” she says softly.

I take a slow breath as I realize what she’s done. Valyria has suppressed her magical essence; the natural defenses of a living body against magical energy were deliberately absent.

Embarrassment lingers in her eyes, the flicker of uncertainty, yet also the unmistakable hunger. It’s a need that awakens whenever she remembers how I once held her life—her heart—in my hand.

“Are you sure?” I ask, knowing how deeply this gesture affects her—how vulnerable it makes her feel.

Valyria nods. She doesn’t speak, but I read the need in her eyes. Her heart thuds a little harder beneath my palm.

Gently, I allow myself to slip into the space where spirit and flesh overlap. Her body’s weight sinks against my wrist.

Her eyes flutter closed. She arches her back slightly, pressing her chest more firmly against my hand, beckoning me deeper. With a sensation like stepping through the surface of still water, I phase into her. The slippery meat greets me with a yearning ferocity as I connect with it.

Valyria inhales sharply. Her lips part, trembling with the overwhelming sensual surrender. I cradle that precious feisty little organ in my grasp. Its arteries swell under my fingers, and I do my best to make sure they can still feed her needy heart while it’s beating so aggressively.

Her head tilts back, her slender ebony neck is exposed, and the sides of her throat jump; swelling under each contraction, veins press to the skin. Her ribs, her lungs, everything else covers my hand as I hold the woman’s heart away from it all.

She exhales a soft moan, her breath catching in her throat. “I—I can’t help it,” she confesses. “It… it’s like nothing else, having you hold my heart like this.”

“It’s okay,” I say in a calming gesture. My wife doesn’t need to explain herself.

She’s damp… Her pulse hammers in my fingers, so mighty in every hard and straining contraction I have to remind myself that this power relies on being able to swell and engorge itself passively in its fleeting softness.

I’m waiting silently…

Valyria averts her gaze and sinks lower onto my hips, finally grinding softly. Tense, needy, and helpless, the moment takes her

There we go…

She’s lovely, and I want to tell her, but I don’t speak… just let her enjoy herself. Her body shudders. She clenches the bedsheets in her fists, trying to cast away her hesitancy and let passion take over.

I tighten my grip just a fraction enough to let her feel the squeeze. The response is immediate—a surge of trembling contractions, a soft whimper that escapes her lips. She presses closer, and I guide her hip with my free hand. Her body tenses in need of relief. I keep my grip steady.

“Squeeze,” she whimpers.

Valyria’s breath deepens, and her lungs squeeze my wrist, anticipating my following through. I shift, adjusting my hand around her heart. I notice a faint bead of sweat rolling down her temple and the slightest tremor in her arms as she tightens her fingers around my chest, pressing into my thighs.

The braided strands of her hair brush against my neck as she leans in. I let loose, Fingers clenching her life with a wet squelch of blood forced into her body. Her heart jerks violently, writhing in my grip like a frightened animal. There’s a desperation in response. She bites her lip, eyes shut as she groans in hot breaths, her body trying its hardest to keep grinding without a pulse.

Poor thing… I see her on the edge, her body tense and utterly consumed, but it’s not enough. Before the waves of pleasure can fulfill that deep hunger, she goes limp.

I ease back with a forced pump, letting her heart quickly regain its rhythm and slam into my palm with her body’s unbearable demands. It’s a slow, careful retreat, ensuring it doesn’t falter. My palm slips back to rest on her sternum, and I sense the thudding of her heart from the outside again—still fierce, still powerful, yet no longer fully in my grasp.

Her weight hits my chest, and I hold her. One day, she’ll get that relief.

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