
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9664829.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Elder_Scrolls, Elder_Scrolls_III:_Morrowind
  Relationship:
      Divayth_Fyr/Uupse_Fyr, Alfe_Fyr/Beyte_Fyr/Delte_Fyr/Uupse_Fyr
  Character:
      Divayth_Fyr, Alfe_Fyr, Beyte_Fyr, Delte_Fyr, Uupse_Fyr
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Clone_Sex, Virginity, Metaphysics, Child_Abuse
  Series:
      Part 3 of The_Sexth_House
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-12 Words: 6290
****** An Interview With Uupse Fyr ******
by Varanu
Summary
     Divayth Fyr's youngest daughter-wife adores him, with all her body
     and blood. He created her, he raised her. How should it be otherwise?
Well, are you writing? I hope you are writing. I am not going to repeat myself.
I don’t know why he wants me to do this, I suppose it amuses him. You had
better be writing.
My name is Uupse Fyr. I was born, if born is the word, approximately a century
after my surviving sisters. Our progenitor, Divayth Fyr, made me of his flesh,
as he made each of them. We are his daughters, in a sense. In another sense we
are his… selves, I suppose. I’m sorry if the language I use is a little clumsy.
To my knowledge the thing has not been done before or since.
He is the one who calls us his daughters, by the way. Yes, it is awkward to be
called ‘daughter’ in bed. Not that I have ever known anything else, I suppose.
He is a little jealous. But he asks us to call him  Divayth,  or among company
Lord Fyr,  and that helps somewhat.
We are the ones who call ourselves his wives—he never does. Beyte says it is
not really like being a wife, more like a consort or lover, but I disagree, and
so does Alfe. We live with him and love him and although we do not bear him
children we are closer than any mere lover could be. We are facets of his soul,
of his  self,  distorted and reflected back to him. At least that is how I
think of it.
Alfe says if we were merely lovers we would not be expected to work as we do,
but Alfe has an acid tongue. I have heard her and Divayth shouting at one
another, though only once did it ever go beyond shouting. All I know of that is
that I heard a crash of shattering glass, and then silence, and both of them
were wary of one another for weeks. I don’t blame them. They are too much like
one another, even more so than the rest of us; too close, and yet not close
enough.
What? No, leave it, it doesn’t signify. If you want Alfe’s story you will need
to talk to Alfe, and I wish you luck with  that.  I’m off track. Where was I?
Thank you.
All I know about my sisters’ creations, I learned by reading Divayth’s old
notebooks detailing the experiments. That was how I learned to read, actually.
They’re mostly made of pressed corkbulb paper, but he puts preservation spells
on all his books so they can hold up to small children. So I learned very early
that he made my sister Alfe first of all of us, and Beyte second. I have
already described Alfe for you, and you won’t be surprised to hear that he made
sure Beyte came out with a sweeter temper. They are nearly opposites of one
another. After Beyte he made another pair of opposites, Gamme and Delte,
specifically to help him with his work. Delte came out efficient, orderly, and
unimaginative; she handles most of the accounting and records-keeping at Tel
Fyr. Gamme was… Gamme was the opposite.
He never speaks of Gamme, though his notes are uncompromisingly thorough. He
had tried to distill his sense of curiosity into her, and succeeded too well;
she could not keep her mind on a single topic long enough to even finish a
sentence. He still has journals filled with her ragged script, and although her
flight from thought to thought is amazingly rapid, her journal entries over
time show that she was increasingly miserable. He tried to modify her, through
behavioral technique and through alchemy. None of it was particularly
successful, and finally one of the treatments poisoned her. Alfe thinks it was
intentional, that he was tired and heart-sick of trying. I cannot imagine it,
but I suppose she would know better than I.
For a time he made no more daughters, but then his notes begin to allude to
some discussion with the Last Living Dwarf, the Dwemer Yagrum Bagarn, on the
nature of the universe, of souls and descent and ascent and—oh, names and
aspects and gradients, that sort of thing. I don’t expect you to understand.
In summary he wanted to try again to make a daughter like Gamme, someone
curious and inquisitive enough to take an interest in his research. The
Corprusarium takes a deal of work, you know, and it’s not always very pleasant
work either. Alfe is intelligent enough but does not really care about
research, and nor does Delte. And Beyte… no, if you knew Beyte you would not
even ask.
So he began again, with some modifications to his process. The next several
decades of notes are a testament to his persistence. The new process was much
trickier and more delicate than the original, and intended to give him more
control over the temperament of his daughter-copies. But it also failed much
more often. No, I don’t think he minds admitting that. Any brilliant sorcerer
has his share of failures; he says that a sorcerer who never fails is not
grasping high enough.
Epse, Zeyte, Eyte, and Teyte were the first batch he created. They never lived
at all; the modified tissue samples he took from himself simply died in their
nutrient baths. Yehte, Kaape, Laamde, and Miu survived for several weeks, but
grew only into blind masses of corprus-ridden flesh, rotting and healing and
rotting again. Niu, Xeye, Auume, and Peye developed eyes and fingers and
organs, but again were corprus-ridden, and he evidently spent some time
afterward scaling back the—the growth factor, so that the copies would grow
more like children, and less like tumors.
I was next. My earliest memory is of looking out at Divayth through the rosy
tint of the nutrient bath—looking at that dear craggy face with its white
beard—and being struck with the strangest sense that I was looking in a mirror.
It is a vivid memory, a fragment out of time. Of course I looked nothing like
him at the time, or like any living mer. There are drawings. I had been a sort
of larva with translucent skin and a pair of eyespots, like a maggot with tiny
arms and hands and fingers, floating in a jar. On the glass itself he had
written the single rune that became my name, my designation, my variable:
Uupse.
Rohve, Sigme, and Tahve were my generation-sisters. I do not really remember
them, although they would have been in jars on the same shelf. They died soon
after being taken from their jars. What he had done, scaling back our growth—he
had gone too far and all four of us had very soft, flimsy tissue to start, like
marshmerrow cream. Rohve came to pieces when he took her from the jar,
dissolving in his hands into a sort of blood jelly. Sigme fared little better,
though he tried to be careful.
Only Tahve and I survived the transition, and only because in desperation he
levitated us out still wrapped in a bubble of warm fluid, and drew it off
little by little, over nearly a day. I do have a brief, broken memory of Tahve,
or at least I think so—at least I remember another body beside me, grey and
red, floating in a cradle of spell-warmed air. We were both wounded, and she
died of her wounds. I survived.
As you might imagine, I was very weak as a child, and he feared—they all
feared—that I would not live. I slept at first in my levitation cradle, and
when my flesh grew tough enough to bear the weight of my own body, he
transferred me to a special padded cradle of fine, soft silk. When he showed me
the cradle—yes, of course he kept it, the way you might keep your daughter’s
baby teeth in a jar—I was fascinated by the old blood that still stained it.
He fed me with his own hands, not trusting any other to do it, and I grew
stronger by the day. When I learned to move about, I was transferred to a soft,
padded room and cared for by my sisters. I did not understand this at the time;
I only understood that my progenitor, my creator, my father, had become
distracted and no longer spent the bulk of his time on me. But I grew to love
Alfe and Beyte and Delte; to look up to them and admire them. I wanted to be
like them, to be of service to Divayth, and always in his presence.
When I was seven or eight years old I was deemed strong enough to cope with the
hard edges of the real world, and allowed out of my padded cell. Immediately I
became his helper in his workshop, washing equipment and preparing reagents and
such things. It was what he had designed me to do, and I was as successful as
he could have wished. I spent every hour I was permitted in his workshop, or in
the Corprusarium. The latter fascinated me as well, and it seemed he never
wearied of answering my questions. He was pleased to have someone to teach,
someone who shared his interests.
Yes, yes, I see your face, I know what you want me to speak of.  That  started
before I even left my cell, if you can believe it. It was horribly boring in
there, even with books and toys to entertain me. All day I looked forward to
his visits, and when he opened the door I would run to him and leap into his
arms, sometimes so eagerly that I found dark bruises on myself the next day. He
liked to kiss and cuddle me, and I absorbed whatever he taught me, as I
absorbed Alfe’s wit and Beyte’s singing and Delte’s color-coded filing system.
But he did not… did not fully consummate our relationship, as it were, until I
was of age. At least of age according to his criteria, which are entirely
biological.
I had my first menstrual cycle when I was seventeen. At first I did not know
what it was; I thought I had simply injured myself somehow. I was quite used to
unexpected injuries, although I hadn’t had one in some time. As usual, I simply
went to him and told him about it. He gave me a sharp look and had me disrobe
and lie back on his bench so that he could inspect me properly. I shut my eyes
as he probed with his cold metal instruments. When he rose he allowed me to sit
up and put on my clothing. I was frightened, but his face was serene.
He said, “Nothing to worry about, Uupse. But keep an eye on it.”
“Sir?” I said.
“This one is not like the others.” He showed me a little of the blood he had
swabbed up. It was dark and brownish and had a sour smell; there were specks of
tissue in it, as if I were rotting from the inside. I was afraid, but he said,
“It is a menstrual cycle, no more. A discarded attempt at reproduction.”
I knew about these from books, and was somewhat soothed. For one thing it meant
the bleeding would be temporary, and that it would occur only a few times
before I became a full adult and my body learned to hold back its efforts until
needed. I said, “But what if it is not a menstrual cycle?”
“Then there is something very wrong. But if I am right, the flow of blood will
grow a little heavier for perhaps two or three days, and then it will stop. As
I say, keep close track. If it is…”
He trailed off, but there was something in his expression that frightened me.
Intellectually I understood what he wanted, but he had never looked at me that
way before, with that  longing.  For days after that I dreamed of being
vivisected and eaten, over and over. Of course it’s ridiculous in retrospect.
If he had really wanted to eat a young girl he could have just kidnapped or
bought one, instead of going to the trouble of growing one.
My cycle progressed as he said, and I dutifully marked down the color and
smell, and used an easy protein precipitation technique and a small fluid
sample to estimate the total volume. When I presented him with my notes he
smiled at me and kissed my mouth.
“At last,” was what he said.
My sisters made a celebration of it, and feted me with shein and candied yams
and steamed buns flavored with bittergreen, which are still my favorite. Beyte
swung my hands and hugged me, and Delte showed me the meticulous records she
had kept of her own first cycle, cross-referenced to her diet and the phases of
the two moons. Alfe said there would be no living with me, and that I would be
even more spoiled than I had been already, but she smiled.
Oh? Oh, yes. No, I haven’t fallen asleep. Could I have some more water? I’m a
little nervous. I should not be, I know. There is nothing to be nervous of, nor
ashamed. And yet… Still, I suppose there is nothing for it but to go on. Thank
you. Yes, I’m all right.
It was perhaps two weeks later that Beyte came to me and told me what they had
planned. Or was it Divayth himself? No, it was definitely Beyte. I remember
that I was washing the resin beads Divayth uses when he synthesizes genetic
material. It’s not a difficult process, but the solvent we use causes
infertility in men, so he always had me do it, and put a sign up on the door…
I’m sorry, this is not interesting, is it?
Anyway. She told me there was to be a special surprise celebration in my honor,
a celebration of my maturing flesh, and she winked, the way she does when she
thinks she is being subtle. I washed my hands, and she led me to Divayth’s
bedroom, on the upper level. I had been there before, of course, but my heart
was pattering in my chest.
Alfe and Delte were already waiting there, lying together in the bed. It’s an
unusually wide bed, you know, we don’t all  sleep  there but it has to be able
to hold five. When I came in Alfe was leaning over Delte and kissing her neck,
but Delte pushed Alfe away and sat up, smiling at me.
“You found her!” she said to Beyte. Her hair had all tumbled down around her
shoulders, and when the blanket fell down I could see her breasts. Her nipples
are very dark, like granules of coal-tar. All of ours are, even Divayth’s. I
couldn’t stop looking at them, and when I did I felt my own nipples prick up,
even though it was not cold in the room.
Now, there was nothing particularly unusual about seeing my sisters naked, or
even in bed with one another, and of course I had cuddled with Divayth, as I
have already said. All of that was in the normal run of things. We are not a
prudish family. But I also had my dreams. Not the cannibalism dreams; sexual
dreams, the sort that woke me in the night and made my body feel hot and
swollen, as if it belonged to someone else. I used to worry that I was coming
down with corprus when that happened. That was what I felt like when I saw her
breasts, even though they had never affected me that way before.
I couldn’t breathe or move. I was wearing my usual work clothing, just a simple
long-sleeved shirt and pants that could be quickly taken off if I spilled
something dangerous on myself. Beyte reached around me and tugged the hem of my
shirt out of my waistband, and like a silly fool I jerked away and batted at
her hands. I didn’t… This sounds ridiculous, but I didn’t want her to see the
response I was having. To Delte and Alfe. But she took hold of me again and
turned me around to face her, and this time I held still as she unbuttoned my
shirt and helped me step out of my pants, and pushed me toward the bed, naked
as the day I was levitated out of that jar.
Delte held up the edge of the blanket as I stumbled near, and I climbed in
beside them. Delte shifted at first to let me in, and then climbed over me so
that I was between the two of them. Her bottom half was just as bare as the
top, and when she slid over me the touch of her skin made me tingle, all over.
It was very warm in that bed, with Delte on my left and Alfe on my right, and
the door to the room at my feet when I craned my neck to look. Alfe rolled onto
her side and both of them looked at me for a moment, just looked. Alfe put her
hand on my shoulder.
“You’re shaking,” she said. Her voice was gentle and concerned, not mocking,
and I think that frightened me more than anything. Alfe is always, always
sarcastic.  Sarcasm  means  cutting flesh,  you know; I truly expected her to
flay me with her tongue. But she said, “Uupse. You’re frightened?”
I stammered something that must have been incomprehensible.
“Let her alone, Alfe,” Delte said. “Uupse, sweetie. He wants to have you
tonight, now that you are an adult. That’s all. He’ll be along as soon as he is
finished in the Corprusarium. There’s nothing to be frightened of, it’s
wonderful.”
Well, who else would  he  have been? We always spoke this way, I knew who she
meant.
“But if I do something wrong,” I started to say, and then flinched when Alfe
laughed. Delte patted my shoulder again, and Alfe quieted herself right away.
Behind Alfe, Beyte came into the bed, and I felt the mattress shift beneath us.
“You won’t,” Alfe said.
Beyte leaned over her and said, “That’s what we’re here for, to help you. Alfe,
if you won’t hurry up and kiss her, I will.”
Alfe stuck her tongue out at Beyte, and then kissed my mouth.
At first it was only my mouth she kissed. Her lips were softer than Divayth’s,
and a little bit fuller, and she slipped her tongue between my lips almost
right away, instead of Divayth’s usual slow progression. I did know how to
kiss, and I shut my eyes and kissed back as well as I could, and felt her hand
slide from my shoulder down to my right breast, where she cupped it firmly but
otherwise did not rub or caress. Her hand was warm, and oddly comforting.
At the same time I felt Delte cup my left breast and kiss my cheek, and my
neck, and the point of my shoulder. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder and fell
across my face; it smelled of the fire-flower perfume she favored. Her hand
crept down from my breast, as did Alfe’s, and when the two of them bumped
together somewhere on my belly Alfe laughed and lifted up her head.
“Crowded in here,” she said. I was about to speak, but Delte bit the side of my
neck so that I squeaked instead. Then she took my hand and put it on her own
breast, and kissed my mouth, and I gave up trying to protest.
It was hard to tell what was happening, whose arm or leg or breast or hair was
whose. Beyte climbed over Alfe, or around her, or something, and pushed the
blankets back and straddled my midsection, which made it hard to look at much
of anything except the undersides of her breasts, or focus on anything but the
faint prickle of her pubic hair, and the heat between her legs. She put her
hands on my breasts and massaged them, slowly. Her hands were very warm, and
heat seemed to flow from them through my body to gather somewhere between my
hip bones like a bed of embers. It was a diffuse feeling at first, but then I
felt Alfe’s hand slide right between my legs and the feeling grew abruptly
tight and sharp, and I bit Delte’s mouth without even realizing it.
“Ow,” Delte said, and Alfe laughed. She had one of her hands on my thigh—I
thought it was hers, anyway—and the other moved slowly across my vulva, just a
gentle pressure. For a while I just laid there and enjoyed the experience,
touching Delte’s breast when I remembered, and I put my other hand on Beyte’s
hip as well, trying to give something back. It was becoming clear that nothing
was really expected of me, and as I was beginning to relax I felt Alfe shift
again and pull the blankets all the way down, to the foot of the bed, letting
in a rush of cold air.
“What’s going on?” I said, and then—oh, and then—Alfe put her hands around my
thighs and I felt something soft and wet and warm slide up my vulva, and brush
over something exquisitely sensitive. If Beyte’s hands on my breasts were
embers, this was fire, magma.
I squeaked and tried to clamp my thighs together, but of course I only hit Alfe
in the head. Alfe said, “Stop that,” directly into my skin. It tickled and I
squeaked and squirmed again, but she just pushed my legs apart again before
continuing to lick and kiss that tiny spot, her tongue swirling over and around
it.
Had I said Alfe had a sharp tongue? It did not feel at all sharp at that
moment. I swallowed and shut my eyes tightly, and closed my hands into fists on
the sheet beneath me, trying not to moan or scream, but little whimpers escaped
me anyway. Tears wet my eyelashes and crept down my temples—not  unhappy
tears, you understand, but I was overwhelmed by sensation.
“Uupse,” Beyte murmured, leaning close. “Are you all right?”
“It’s so much,” I whimpered.
“Do you need to stop?”
I shook my head, emphatically. It was too much—and yet at the same time, it was
not enough. “It’s good,” I managed, and then clamped my mouth shut, horrified
that I had said as much. Beyte leaned over me, her forehead still furrowed with
worry.
Behind her, the door opened.
I couldn’t see who it was at first, but Beyte half-turned and then said, “Oh!”
and when she climbed off I saw Divayth standing in the doorway, surveying us.
Surveying  me,  laid out in front of him with my legs spread wide and Alfe
between them. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so naked, before or since.
He was wearing his flannel nightshirt, for some reason. It was one I had given
him the year before, for a joke. It had narrow red and white vertical stripes.
In my heightened state I felt as if I could see each stitch, each thread in
sharp relief. His hair was still neatly tied back in a high tail, except for a
few strands that had fallen down by his left ear. In the lamplight his skin
looked almost grey-green, like the water in the harbor of Sadrith Mora.
I sat up, dislodging Alfe, and came up onto my knees. My foot hit her in the
head when I sat up, and she swore at me under her breath and wiped her mouth
with the back of her hand.
“You started without me,” Divayth said, sounding aggrieved.
“You’re late,” Alfe said. “Go away, old man. We don’t need you.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Well. Perhaps you think so. But do your sisters agree?
Uupse?”
I couldn’t speak, but I drank in the sight of him, and the sound of his voice.
Delte’s breasts and Beyte’s hands and Alfe’s unexpectedly gentle mouth had
woken something terrible in me, something that was hungry and cried out to be
filled.
I said, “Please,” and I saw his throat work as he swallowed.
He stepped forward, and shut the door behind him, and threw the bolt, and my
heartbeat quickened. No one would disturb us—no visitor, no guard, no late-
night thief arriving to plunder the dungeons. I had his full and undivided
attention.
He pulled his nightshirt off over his head, and the tie out of his hair, and
ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp so that his white hair fell
loose all around his shoulders. Divayth has freckles on his shoulders, did you
know that? Little ones. Not many people know that. Not many people know how
many scars he has, either, and not just from fighting. My favorite is the row
of small silver circles on the outside of his right thigh, where he took the
flesh to make me, and my sisters… But I looked  down,  past his freckled
shoulders and his scarred chest and his belly, down at the curling white hairs
at his groin and his cock, already beginning to grow, and I wanted him, wanted
his skin against mine.
Beyte and Delte pulled away, and Alfe scooted right off the bed as he came
toward me. He climbed directly over the foot of the bed and bore me straight
back, and down, covering my body with his own. I wriggled my legs out from
between his and wrapped them around his waist, and he settled atop me with a
sigh. His warm weight pressed me to the bed and I put my arms around his neck
and tried to kiss his mouth, although he turned slightly and I kissed his cheek
instead. I was so happy I wanted to cry.
Delte’s hand was still tangled in my hair, and Divayth removed it, very gently,
and smiled at her. He shifted upward, resting his forearms beside my head, and
his cock nudged the inside of my thigh, velvety and still only half-hard.
Wherever he touched me, I thought I could feel sparks running through me. I
tried to open my legs wider without releasing my hold on him, tried to tilt my
hips forward.
“Please,” I said again. He was so close, it was like looking into the sun. Or
rather like having the sun look into you, into your heart. His eyes were half-
lidded, and the lamplight gleamed on them so that they seemed almost to glow,
like a glass of wine with the light behind it.
“They’ve done too much work on you,” he murmured. “I need to catch up.” He
pushed himself up on one elbow and surveyed me. Then, as if he had come to a
decision, he lowered his mouth to my breast.
I couldn’t breathe. It felt entirely different from what Beyte had done with
her hands. His beard tickled the tender underside of my breasts as he sucked
first on one nipple then on the other, drawing them up into the wet heat of his
mouth. I felt someone’s hands prying my legs from his waist—Alfe’s, I think,
they were hard and narrow—and then Divayth shifted his weight off me and canted
his hips to one side. Beyte was kneeling at his side, her hand on his hip. She
lowered her head and took his cock in her hand, and then put her mouth on it.
Her chin brushed the inner curve of my hip and I shivered.
For a moment Divayth rested his hand in her hair, closing his eyes. Behind him
Alfe moaned as Delte did something I couldn’t see, and I felt the bed tremble
beneath all of us. Then Divayth returned his attention to me.
He put his hand between my spread legs and rubbed hard with his palm. His hand
was much broader than Alfe’s, and somewhat dry, and a little callused. With his
fingertips he searched out that sensitive little nub and manipulated it, until
I had to bite the back of my hand and turn away to keep from crying out. He
tore my hand away from my mouth and took hold of my chin, forcing me to look at
him.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said. “If you want to hide I can leave, and you can
finish this by yourself.”
I faltered under his gaze, and he let go of my chin. “I’m sorry,” I said.
He kissed my mouth again, hard, and at the same time caressed me again. I would
not have been surprised if he had actually cast a small shock spell; that was
how intense it was. I did cry out then, though the sound was muffled by his
mouth. He said, “Better,” and did it again.
It was a sort of agony. I was already so keyed up, so  ready,  and he tormented
me as if he knew exactly what my responses would be. Over and over, his hands
and mouth brought me trembling to the edge of an abyss, and then he would
murmur, “No, not yet,” and take his hands away.
I was shameless. I had been shy of touching my sisters, but with Divayth I was
on firmer ground, and I did my best to make him lose his control, using my
limited skills ruthlessly. I scraped his back with my nails, gently, as I knew
he liked, and I kissed his ears and the soft spot of skin behind his ears, and
the hollow of his throat, and some of what I tried was successful. I remember
most especially that he gasped when I bit the side of his neck, and his hips
jerked and Beyte made a horrible undignified gagging sound.
Bit by bit, he took away my fear and replaced it with animal desire. I wanted
his touch, his tongue, wanted him to rut against me. I wanted his cock inside
me, and not just his fingers. More than anything I wanted  him,  almost to  be
him, to take him inside me and wrap my body around his and be complete.
Finally he stopped. I could feel his thighs trembling against mine.
“Beyte,” he murmured. “Beyte. Enough.”
Beyte lifted her head. Her entire chin shone with her own saliva. Divayth put
his hand beneath her chin and she rose up onto her hands and knees to kiss his
mouth, just above me. Her hair brushed across my face. Then Divayth let go of
her, and settled himself comfortably between my legs. I think Beyte went to
join Alfe and Delte but I was no longer really paying attention. Divayth was
looking at me, and I wanted to reach through his body and pull out his heart
and crawl inside it.
Divayth took his cock in hand and set it against me. Its mushroom tip nudged
the yielding flesh of my vulva, warm and a little springy. I moaned, and he
pressed forward. For a moment it caught, the angle was wrong—and then my flesh
gave way, and his cock slipped inside, hard and heavy, stretching me out,
filling me up. It was like nothing I had ever felt, and I trembled beneath him.
He was looking directly into my eyes, and his expression—how can I describe it?
Hard, angled shadows fell across his face, and his mouth was wet and open as he
breathed. He tucked his arm around my head, so that the top of my head was
cupped in the hollow of his elbow, and pressed my face to his shoulder. “Your
legs,” he murmured. Uncomprehending, I locked them around his thighs, pressing
my feet to the insides of his knees, and he drew in a breath and then said,
“Oh, just like that. That’s perfect.”
He closed his hand in my hair, pulled out swiftly, and then thrust back inside,
hard and deep.
I cried out and without thinking clenched around him, like a fist, trying to
pull him in. He surged against me and I surged in response, and we wavered, out
of phase for a moment before catching and building a rhythm. Between our
bellies and beneath my breasts and in the tangle of my pubic hair the sweat
collected, slick as the fluid in which I was born, churning like the waters of
Oblivion. The emptiness between my hips sharpened to a fierce ache as he moved
inside me, bringing me again to the edge of the abyss, closer and higher and
closer yet—
—and then the tightness loosened, all at once, and unraveled itself into
ribbons of pleasure that slithered through my limbs like water snakes. I let
out another choking cry, my toes curling and my legs coming up, my knees
slipping along Divayth’s hips as I convulsed around him. He acknowledged it by
tightening his hand on my hair, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, kept
plumbing my body, until the pleasure became so intense it slid sideways into
pain and I sobbed and clawed at him, unable to think.
“I’m close,” he warned, between breaths. “Be ready. Be— oh—”  He closed his
eyes, and his entire frame jerked. “Oh, oh, oh.”
I clung to him, like a limpet clinging to a rock, and then the universe cracked
itself like an egg and turned upside down, and I felt the strangest sensation,
as if I were falling through warm fluid, falling upward and into him,
experiencing what he experienced as if we had become one body, one soul, one
cell, one flower opening itself to the sun, one golden moment of never having
been separated at all, a moment of glorious, convulsive, shuddering
immortality.
Slowly I became aware of the limits of my own body again, and my own soul, and
I opened my eyes, which I had not realized I had closed. He was stretched on
top of me, breathing hard. I couldn’t quite draw a full breath, but didn’t
mind. Tiny aftershocks twitched through me, but my limbs were heavy and loose
with contentment, and my mind still rang with the echo of that strange
transcendent bliss.
“What happened?” I said, finally. My voice was surprisingly hoarse, a shadow of
its former self.
Divayth opened his eyes and raised his head to look at me. “An illusion,” he
said.
“But  how?”
He laughed, and put his head back down, denting the pillow. “Inquisitive
Uupse,” he said, tiredly. “I suppose you can’t enjoy it until you know.”
“Explain and then we’ll do it again,” I said. Privately I was shocked at
myself. I did not give him orders. Alfe did sometimes, but I never did.
“None of the others did this,” he muttered.
“Gamme would have,” Alfe said, behind him.
That sobered all of us. Divayth levered himself up onto his forearms and rolled
off to lie alongside me, so that I was between him and my sisters. I took a
deep breath, gratefully, and he touched my hair.
“I adore you, questions and all,” he said. “You and your sisters are nearly
everything that I like in myself. Even when you get on my nerves.”
I was pleased, but I knew he was stalling, and he knew I knew.
“It has to do with gametes,” he said, finally.
“Because they fuse together?” I said, and watched the smile break across his
face, creasing the skin around his eyes with delight. “Half and half, that’s so
elegant. But aren’t I pregnant then?”
“It’s only a symbol,” he said, with a dismissive gesture. “Our blood and bones
are the same, the universe doesn’t know the difference. I could teach you some
of the theory, if you like. I’ve been discussing it with Yagrum Bagarn…”
Alfe and Delte both made a noise of disgust. “Do you have to talk about him at
a time like this?” Alfe said, and Divayth laughed.
“Fair enough,” he said, mildly. “Later, my dear?”
“Later,” I promised, and he smiled at me.
And we did study later, and I did understand, and that was the first of many
times we had together, and continue to have, him and me and my sisters, in all
the combinations you care to imagine. I am sorry not to go on; the theory is
very interesting. But I have described what I was told to describe, in language
as plain as I can make it, and now I suppose you will go and publish it in that
rag of yours, for people to gossip over.
I have probably done it all wrong, including all that about Gamme and the
others. But if he wanted something else he should have chosen a different
daughter to tell the story. Beyte would have been ideal, or Delte. Delte would
have told you about the ropes and the whips, I imagine your readers would like
that. And Alfe could have told you about the steam-powered vibrator, I never
saw it. Too late now.
No, I don’t want your money; what use do you think Divayth Fyr has for the sort
of money you can offer? Just remember the conditions: it must be printed
exactly  as I have said it, word for word, and you are not to print the
responses of your readers. He will be reading, and he does not wish to be
bothered by the idle prating of the ignorant. Perhaps when they have
accomplished a quarter what he has, he may be inclined to listen.
Until then all but the saints may hold their tongues.
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