Lion Head Mesa [m] Voice of man

not a soul would know of this, and as time went on, senmut might find his own thoughts refusing him the memory.

rashepses reminded the prince of his origins as first-breath among the dirt of a forgotten province, grinding him down into the stones of the wellspring as scarlet and darkness mingled in damp fur.

and as senmut was claimed, he wondered crazedly if rashepses could even name the homeland of the man beneath him.

he knew well enough he was an object, to be possessed, but in this the riverprince did not even bow to the divinity of his own godhead.

senmut caught breath in his throat, fought the stifled sound of comingled shock and — perhaps the lowbred ardor possessed only by fellahin: to be wielded as object and tool by their righteous lords.

"m-my words would only curl into nothing beneath the heat of your voice, lord; you have my praise, my — supplication."

bowing now to offer the altar of himself to the lust that only a royal could touch.