THE CHAMBER POT (C)1998 Alan M. Schwartz The swordmaster's wrist was a thick as a stable boy's arm. His right hand was a brutal claw, its fingers sausages meaty with muscle and overlain with scars. Callouses scourged into dense yellowed horn lined palm and fingers, legacy of twenty years' intemperate drill and savage sword play. This merciless engine of death caressed Jonquil's soft sable hair. It lazily slipped down her high forehead and between her brows as though the wisp- edged blade of an impossibly keen knife were incising her flesh. Down it descended, tracing her nose and minutely catching upon her lower lip, drawing a fine droplet of blood as it journeyed. Down it passed, down her neck as she flushed and warmed. Down it ventured between dewy white hillocks now rosy and unquiet. Down it plunged, at last contracting about the hem of her bodice. Jonquil's eyes widened and her knees trembled as a wide swath of cloth screamed and died, powerfully wrenched from her yearning. She gazed upon the swordmaster's eye protuberate in its vandalized socket. Blacker than black its iris glistened. Blacker than black was its ocular tunnel boring back into her skull insistent and ravenous. Its accomplice had long since abandoned its grotto, audaciously bartered for an adversary's waterfall of seething chitterlings. She watched red muscle spasm and twitch, electrified, her tongue pacing behind her white teeth insistent and ravenous. Her forehead tightened. Her breath issued in fevered gasps. Jonquil carefully turned her knees outward, setting her lure. Discarding his handful the swordmaster gazed upon dexterous handiwork. He exulted as the embroidered remainder lost its grasp upon generous ivory shoulders and slumped under gravity's insistent embrace. Proud, deep, and high were Jonquil's expectations. Taut and extended culminations rubicund at their bases riding tense globular realms glistened in sunlight's caress. A smirk distorted the swordmaster's sparsely toothed slash, his ragged nub of a tongue pulsing and throbbing as spittle languidly drooled from one peeled cheek. Shaded by their burden Jonquil's ribs tapered to a doll's waist. Her umbilicus was a thin vertical line set in softly rippled muscle. Her hips were a pale lyre canted and flared into summer heat. Jonquil watched a loose flap of ear tumble as the swordmaster's head listed downward upon a leathery notched neck. She provocatively set her belly, the better to flaunt an expansive bounty of exquisitely cultivated ebony garlands. Eclipsed by that ringleted curtain was starkly bared impudence, a cloistered compelling goad well suited to her mischief. Her father's life had spilled across his knees some eight years ago. It devoured five days tapering to eternity amidst a cornucopian bower of agony meticulously inlaid with her sire's screams. What she could not repay with duration she was well primed to reimburse in degree. Jonquil grew pungent and moist with anticipation. The swordmaster fumbled the ragged flipper of an extemporaneously mangled left arm. His codpiece strained leather sinews. Though its baggage was halved along with his inner left thigh the massive obelisk of his appetite launched unscathed. He seized nether curls and roared lust as his mare toppled onto cool green grass, splayed, vermilion with desire, mewing peeps of need. The swordmaster bottomed in a single lunge, impaling his wench like a spitted rabbit, impaling himself upon four inches of barbed black iron. Each time he fit a horseshoe the smithy would ever remember a uniquely savory commission. Jonquil's thighs rippled as she held her stallion fast. Her arms were spasmed muscle and distended veins as she brought the swordmaster's head in close. She arched her neck as her lips brushed past a grotesquely bulging orb to seal themselves upon the adjacent shallow cavity. Her tongue lurched forward and she blew with all her might, splitting bone thin as a playing card at the rear of the hollow. The swordmaster bellowed and she with him, then reapplied her bloody hungry lips, sucking and gulping the coppery-tasting pudding, gulping and swallowing as noise from a charnel house pounded her ears. The sun was edging toward the horizon when Jonquil glanced down upon the swordmaster. His steely groin glistened in the waning rays. On eye was closed in quietude, the other open to the sky. Her bruises had purpled. Rivulets of blood crusted her face and shoulders. She shook her head and slightly smiled through shattered lips. Carefully she squatted, seeking a fundamental connection with her antagonist. Jonquil strained to fill that which she had emptied, restoring symmetry bottom to top.