Time In My Hands: Prologue

My heart was racing. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Faster than ever before. I thought it would stop should it become any quicker. My pale flesh was flushed as it grew hot. I never thought I’d felt a sensation quite like this. Passion so fulfilling that it made me wonder if I were actually still alive.

Perhaps I was in heaven? Yes… In my paradise; that solitary heaven that would fulfill my precious wishes. Just once, I’d have liked to be brought over the edge. All the women I’d ever screwed were satisfied with me, but never satisfied me. I was always brought oh so close, but never enough for that final explosion of passion. And now, here I was, sprawled out under another man, bound to the four-post bed with silk rope as this man fucked me brainless.

It was our bed now, it seemed. Our house. The previous owners couldn’t object, as their innards were strewn about the kitchen where they’d been slaughtered mercilessly. It would be a mess to clean up, but our sweaty coupling made me forget that trivial chore.

“Hng..” I grunted, my partner slamming hard against my hips to drive deep into me. Nails raked into my tender sides and left their bloody marks. The blood dripped slowly to the old worn and white sheets. No matter, they would be changed to something more suitable.

It wasn’t long before it was over, and I lay beneath his powerful, controlling body to pant. I lay in my own mess of blood and semen, the proof of my enjoyment. He left me to wash, my wrists still bound, my legs too tired and my body too pleased to dare moving.

When he returned, he pushed my white and autumn coloured hair aside. It covered my lithe body, swirling down past my scrawny ankles. He slid his hand down my sore back and leaned down to my ear, giving it a nip before he whispered something that I took hold of, like a rope saving me from drowning in a sea of dense blood. I no longer remember those words, my mind blurred and clouded with a false hope.

That was the beginning. The time I lost myself to temptation and lost the ability to die. I would roam this world forever, and that is what I regret most. Now, my hair changes with the seasons, my eyes change with the weather, though I see nothing. The beauty I wanted so badly to stay alive for ripped from my grasp at that last moment.

Now, I am the God of Time. I was an elemental in control of the weather to begin with, and that’s why I’d been taken. My young mind so open to temptation that I didn’t see what awaited me. I could not predict my own fate like I could the fate of the farmers’ crops or for a young couple who wished dearly to have an outdoor wedding, wanting to know if the weather would be good, or if I could control it for a day.

It’s been years since that day, and my master is long dead. He died of old age just years ago, a bitter old bastard. I however, have not changed. My master had resented me for my everlasting beauty and the youth I would never lose. My flesh remained pale and supple, my hair forever long and silky.

It had become a daily ritual in his living days, to admire my beauty. When he’d been younger, he’d take pleasure in my astonishing body, and he would do so for hours. The duration shortened as he aged, and then he eventually could no longer sustain an erection. I did not mind, for I could live without sex.

Not that he no longer pleasured me, as he did. I was thankful when he took me into his strong arms when I was in need of him, his touches so loving and firm even in his older ages. As an older man, lying in his death bed, he continued to please my young body. His strong hold kept me close when Death claimed my master after another night of pleasure; our final night as one. I would be in his arms forever it seemed.

That night he had whispered to me, his voice weak and slow. It was a vow he wished me to keep, and I did. I agreed like the loyal lover I was to my beloved master. For one hundred years… one long century, I remained in the dark. I would be in our home alone, the dark and his ashes my only company. Candles were lit about the mourning room, and the fire was lit in the fireplace. My master’s urn sat upon the mantle, reflecting the flickering flames in their slow dance.

I remained there for that century, mourning for my late master. You see, my master had wanted my beauty for him and only him. I did not mind this either. For what was a century out of eternity? Especially to a God of Time, where time is in my hands.

That century went by quickly, as I had willed it to, much against the wishes of my former lover. But for years afterwards, I carried his urn with me everywhere. I ventured the Earth for the perfect place to set him free, and I found it. It was where I met him, and it was there I would meet my next master.