Sarlene's Touch

39: Villains

2012-02-19T17:29:00.000Z

"…and with that," Yelvann was saying, "the temple of Pardror will be crippled until it is far too late for them to interfere with our plans. By the time any of them are able to look around, the ceremony will already have been completed, and the Presence will reign supreme."

The skinny necromancer stepped back, into the ring of hooded conspirators, the Presence's chosen disciples and future rulers of Haredil. Eristacia found her suggestion, involving as it did a horde of undead, rather distasteful, but it was all a means to an end. The most important end of all, the Presence was whispering in her mind, worth whatever it takes. The Presence did not speak to her directly, not in words, the way it apparently did to Lady Amloth, but she could feel its urgings, expressed in emotions and concepts, always at the back of her mind, pushing her forward. Right now, it was telling her that everything was assured, that its triumph – and hers – were close at hand.

Eristacia turned to face the drow, standing not far from her in the ring, her jet black face and keen amber eyes peering out from the hood of her long cloak. As always at these meetings, she wore the same black hooded robes over her regular clothing as did all the other conspirators, although she added a silver chain around her shoulders, and, somehow, her robes always seemed more figure-hugging than anyone else's.

"Thank you, Yelvann," said Lady Amloth. "Now that that is in place, we are fully prepared. In two days time, my agent will deliver the censer from its safe-keeping, and Domand," she nodded in the direction of the priest, "will deliver the sacrifice. The night after tomorrow, we will all gather in the agreed upon place, except for Yelvann, of course, who will be directing the attack."

"Won't that be a problem?" It was Tenik who was speaking, a captain in the city guard, "Don't we all need to be there to perform the ceremony? I mean, I know we can all take part in the actual sacrifice through the mental link… but before that, don't we all need to…?" He left the words dangling, the meaning obvious.

"To gang rape the sweet little novice nun?" asked Amloth, with a flash of white teeth against her black lips, "I think you misunderstand that part of the ceremony. The ceremony demands that the sacrifice be the victim of a terrible betrayal. That Domand, her priest and mentor, a respected follower of her god, is going to deflower her and then hand her over to the rest of us as a plaything. That is how we satisfy the condition of betrayal, but no more. The betrayal does not have to be sexual in nature, I simply chose that method because it will be fun. There is no need for us all to be involved; a trusted guardian and role model letting you be sexually tortured by eleven people, besides himself, is hardly less of a betrayal than if it were twelve."

She waved her hand dismissively, "Yelvann is needed elsewhere, and that is all there is to it. The ceremony works just as well if she is not physically present with the rest of us. I trust there are no further questions?" There was silence from the assembled conspirators. "Everybody knows what they have to do?" They all nodded.

"Then," the drow said, smiling again, "we are all agreed. This will be our last meeting before the ceremony. In just three sunrises' time, we will be ruling Haredil in the Presence's name. Demons shall walk the streets at our command, and the full power of the Presence will be unleashed. We shall be lords and ladies of unparalleled power, and have vengeance over all those who have wronged us. All of our hearts' desires shall be ours. All praise the Presence!"

"All praise the Presence!" echoed twelve voices, Eristacia's among them.

"Go now, and prepare yourselves."

The meeting was at an end, and the assembled conspirators began to file out of the hidden underground chamber. Eristacia stood for a moment, her heart beating rapidly with the excitement. They were so close! Her family, who had so unfairly cut her from her inheritance, who had kept her marginalised and out of power, would soon suffer terrible ignominy for their betrayal. She, Eristacia, would govern the new court, and they would be nothing, her prisoners to play with as she wished. Most of them would have to die, of course, begging for mercy that would never come, but she would like to keep some alive, just as toys for her amusement.

She realised that Amloth had approached her as she was thinking. Domand was with her, a tall and imposing presence, long dark hair brushed back beneath his cowl. "Eristacia," said the drow, her voice purring, "would you like to join us for a drink and a little night time entertainment? There are still a couple of days to go, and no reason that we cannot get ourselves in the mood a little. And I realise that you and I have not had the pleasure…" she paused, suggestively, before concluding, "…of each other's company. As one noble to another, I think it is time we rectified that, don't you?"

The human woman hesitated. Lady Amloth was a drow, which was effectively the same thing as an elf, and she had made it quite clear before that she drew no distinction between men and women when it came to her bedchamber. Yet Eristacia herself just could not see the attraction in coupling with another woman… which it seemed was what the leader of the conspiracy was suggesting. She was human; no matter what the drow thought should be the case, she just didn't find other women attractive. It was why she had tried to insist that the sacrifice should be a man, albeit to no avail.

"I am sure Domand here will also be stimulating company," said Amloth, apparently seeing the source of her reservation.

That changed things. Domand was a handsome man, only a few years older than herself, with a broad chest and strong shoulders. She had never particularly thought about it before, but if he was going to be involved… well that was an entirely different matter.

"I accept, of course," she said graciously, "as one noble to another, as you say."

She glanced at Domand, eyeing him up. Oh, yes, this might well be enjoyable.

──◊──

Eristacia was somewhat disappointed to discover that she and Domand were not the only ones that her ladyship had invited back to her home. Tenik's attendance did not particularly concern her much; as a guardsman he was athletic and fit, a younger man who felt that he had been passed over for promotion. He was fairly good looking, with a short haircut and an erect bearing that she found quite attractive. If, by some chance, Amloth was to choose Domand as her partner for the night, Tenik would make an acceptable consolation prize.

The other guest was a different matter. Scaggs was somebody high up in the Thieves' Guild, an institution consisting entirely of the lower sort of person. His hair was lank and a little balding on top, but more to the point he was unshaven, cheaply dressed and had the sort of appalling diction and ignorance of proper grammar that seemed so common among the lower classes. She understood that his connections and even his skills were useful to the conspiracy, but that did not mean she wanted to socialise with the distasteful little oik.

But here they were, the five of them, sitting in plush velvet-lined chairs in a meeting room decorated with a most… indecorous tapestry. Some of the acts depicted on it were quite shocking, although she supposed she might as well get used to the idea, considering what she would be taking part in in just a few days' time. In fact, she reflected, they could give her some ideas for what she might do to a few of her inconsiderate relatives when she had them at her mercy.

Her younger sister, for example, had always been her father's favourite, showered with gifts, despite her giggly, rather vapid, personality. Eristacia might enjoy watching… no, better yet, she would enjoy making her father watch while his sweet daughter was stripped naked and then fucked by a well-endowed demon in front of a jeering crowd. The thought, she had to admit, made her rather excited.

The conversation so far had largely been about the wine, which was certainly good. She supposed that such quality would still be available after they had turned Haredil into a demon-haunted city, with themselves as the rulers. After all, surely they could import what they wanted to live their lives of luxury? The Presence would reward its most loyal servants, that was the whole point.

They had discarded their hooded cloaks, and both Domand and Tenik turned out to be well dressed under theirs, with the priest wearing informal, but smart, clerical robes, and the guardsman's dark jacket bearing the badge of his office. The less said about Scaggs the better, but Amloth… well, she was wearing clothes that were quite daring.

The drow's skirt, if you could call it that, consisted of two long strips of indigo material hanging from a belt, a narrow strap of black cloth the only fabric over her rounded hips, and that all but invisible against the similar colour of her skin. Her upper garment rose from the belt as two strips of soft purple cloth, running over her breasts, where two triangular wings were held together across her cleavage by a sapphire and gold clasp, to pull over her shoulders and meet somewhere behind the nape of her neck. Apart from that, a number of silver bangles, and a pair of knee-high black leather boots, the drow wasn't wearing anything at all.

The clothing, unsuitable though it was for most purposes, undoubtedly suited the dark elf, showing off her curvaceous body, flat belly and slender arms. The skirt, which decorated more than it concealed, allowed Amloth to show off her thighs, and jewellery offset the rest of her clothes perfectly. Eristacia supposed that she too, would have to worry nothing about convention once the Presence had triumphed. But even so, such clothing would not be for her; if nothing else, she preferred to entice men by what she concealed, rather than with what she showed off.

The drow's hair was down tonight, falling in pure white waves over her shoulders, complementing and enhancing the deep black of her skin. That skin was darker than that of any Jalibian, or of any other human she had ever heard of. Even the darkest of Jalibians had a hint of brown in their skin, but here there was no trace of that at all, as if Amloth were painted all over with a pure black ink.

"I find it strange," said the drow at one point, out of the blue, "that humans limit themselves so much in their desires. Even my light elven kin do not act in such a way, as if procreation were the sole purpose of sexuality. How strange it must be to look upon another person of the same sex, understanding intellectually that they are attractive, yet feeling no personal desire for them." She looked pointedly at Eristacia as she spoke, and the human felt herself blushing slightly.

"Not all humans are like that," pointed out Tenik, "I even know a few in the guard. They just keep quiet about it."

"Oh, true, but even so, it does not seem to be the norm among your kind. Why, I would imagine that our little sacrifice will be doubly shocked to discover that women will be taking part in her torment."

Domand nodded, "the novice I have chosen is, I believe, both innocent and naïve. I doubt she would even have conceived of such a thing. Gods," he added with a grin, "I am really going to enjoy parting those sweet little thighs of hers."

"Hmm…" said Amloth thoughtfully, taking a sip of wine and running her pink tongue around her lips. "I am curious, though, exactly what it is you intend to do to her, Eristacia. We all know that you would have preferred a man."

"Well, quite," she said, trying to keep the pique out of her voice, and not quite succeeding, "although I dare say there will be enough time for such things afterwards."

"So?" prompted the drow, her voice more curious than anything else, "for myself I have a particularly large strap-on that I have not yet had the chance to try out, but what of you? You must have something in mind."

Eristacia shifted slightly in her chair, the conversation making her feel a little uncomfortable. "Well, yes, of course, I have an idea," she snipped, glancing about at the men. Domand and Tenik looked intrigued, while Scaggs was just leering. At Amloth's silent urging, she went on, "if you must know, I had a suitably sized implement carved from ivory, and engraved with an image of the Sun God. I shall make her fornicate with a representation of her own deity."

Both Domand and Amloth laughed at that. "You see," said the drow, "I told you she was inventive! What a delightful idea. But now," she said, downing the last of her drink, and placing the goblet on the floor, "I do believe it is time for some entertainment. Eristacia, my dear, as a first time visitor here, why don't you begin?"

The noblewoman raised an eyebrow, looking at the other four, all of whom were smiling with anticipation. "Very well," she said, "what… well, how does this work?"

"Oh, I think you can begin, my dear," said Amloth, "with a striptease. I am sure we would all enjoy watching that? Everyone?" she glanced around, as if seeking confirmation. All three men nodded eagerly, which Eristacia supposed was hardly a surprise.

The noblewoman opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to think of anything to say. She was being asked to strip in front of the others, like some sort of dancing girl? She had never done such a thing in her life, and certainly not with an audience. She would not mind, perhaps, doing so for Domand, or even Tenik, but, of course, she had assumed that the night of passion she had been led to expect would involve a private room.

Thinking back, she should have realised that was unlikely. They were, all of them, planning to take part in a mass orgy in a few days time; something that Amloth had recently admitted was simply her idea of fun. As soon as she discovered that the drow had invited three men over, in addition to herself, she should have known that a smaller scale version of the same event – albeit without an unwilling victim – was what she had had in mind. She might well want to spend a night with Domand, for instance, but in just two days time she was going to be standing there watching him have his way with another woman. You could hardly call that romantic.

She was surprised to find, though, that she was beginning to find that, despite her initial reaction, the thought of stripping off in front of the other four was a little exciting. Perhaps it was the Presence, at the back of her mind, urging her on, overriding her natural inhibitions. But she had already agreed to do much worse, so what did this matter? Or was that the Presence speaking too?

It didn't matter; she wasn't going to back down. Eristacia stood, and began to undo her belt.

"Put some movement into it," that was Scaggs, "let's see yer dance, darlin'."

She cast him an icy look. She was not going to be ordered about by the likes of him! He flinched slightly in response, although his leering grin only faltered a little as he did so. Eristacia tossed her hair and turned her back on him, the other three moving their chairs slightly to get a better look. Well, at least they were interested, and more polite than the scruffy ruffian now sitting behind her – and seemingly too chastised to change his position now.

Or perhaps the thief liked looking at women's rears. If so, that was none of her concern, at least she wouldn't have to watch him feasting his eyes on her, even if she was well aware that was probably what he was doing. Lady Amloth's evident interest was a little disturbing, to be sure, but she could still focus her attention on the other two men.

She ran her hands down her flanks, smoothing the dress, no longer gathered up by the belt. It was expensive, of course, although by no means the most valuable she owned. She was still reasonably slender, although not so young as she once had been, and it gave her a little thrill to see how intent on her Tenik and Domand were. She could make men desire her, and that was good.

She raised her hand to her pearl necklace, but Amloth shook her head. "Oh no, my dear, leave that on. It's so you."

She smiled slightly, at what she took to be a complement, and let go of the jewellery. Instead, she reached down to pull off her shoes. It was a little awkward, doing so standing there, and she doubted there was anything much sexual in her movement. But then, what did they expect? She was a daughter of an influential noble house, not a common dancer who had been trained to do such things.

Nonetheless, she raised the hem of her skirt slowly, giving a slightly wiggle of her hips as she did so; she could at least try, after all. Domand licked his lips, although she could not help noticing that it was Lady Amloth who looked most appreciative. How that was going to turn out she didn’t know, and rather than thinking about it, she continued to move her dress upwards, pulling it over her head with a little difficulty, bearing in mind the necklace she still wore.

She dropped the garment to the floor, standing there before the three of them, bare arms wrapped around herself, thighs held together and calves slightly apart. As was the current fashion among the wealthy, she wore a corset over her shift, which was itself decorated with rather expensive white lace. One by one, she began to pull at the ties of the corset – it did up at the front, which was fortunate – and tried to ignore the fact that Tenik had pushed his hands down the front of his trews. He, Amloth, and Domand all looked enrapt as she continued to remove the heavy item, eventually taking it off and resting it beside her dress.

"So, what do you think?" she said, raising her arms above her head, and moving in what she hoped was a sinuous motion. The Presence continued to whisper in her mind, tempting her to go further, and she was already beginning to feel a flush of warmth in her loins, anticipation burning from what was, for her, quite daring behaviour.

"Looks lovely, darlin'. Yer got a great arse." It was Scaggs' voice, suddenly standing right behind her, spoiling her mood. Before she could say anything, he had wrapped his arms around her, grabbing and squeezing her breasts through the thin fabric of her shift. "Smashin' knockers, an' all," added the thief.

She gasped in shock, and pulled away from him, whirling round to glare at the obnoxious ruffian. The indecency of his leer was, if anything, even more irritating than before. "I must ask you to keep your hands under control, my good man!" she said, in her most imperious tone.

"My 'ands is perfectly under my control," he said with a grin, "and that ain't the last place they'll be goin', neither."

"Well, really! I think you should learn some manners, Mr. Scaggs."

"Come on, yer know what we're going to do."

"Don't think you'll be so lucky. You are not the only man here, you know, and you are most certainly not the top of my list."

"I'll have yer screamin' out my name in passion before we're done, darlin'."

"I really do not think so!"

"Is that a bet?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh yes," said Amloth, leaning forward, "I like the sound of that. I'll bet ten gold coins that Mr. Scaggs here is correct."

"He most certainly is not!"

"Then we are agreed on the wager," said the drow.

"What?" Eristacia's mind was whirling… had she actually just agreed to something? "No, I didn't…"

"Mr. Scaggs will make the same wager, of course, as he initiated the gamble. You and he will entertain the rest of us, and if he cannot make you scream out – and it must be in passion, as he said, then both he and I lose the wager."

"No, wait…" said Eristacia, looking plaintively in Domand's direction, "that wasn't what I…"

"You want more than a financial wager? I suppose that is reasonable enough. I tell you what: if you win, well, you will get to choose either of these fine men to do with as you wish. On the other hand, if he and I win, then Mr. Scaggs will have had his enjoyment, but I…" she paused for a moment, considering, before snapping her fingers. "Of course, how obvious. If I win, then, despite this so called 'heterosexuality' thing of yours, I will get to fuck you as well. How does that sound?"

The noblewoman looked at Amloth in shock, her mind whirling as she tried to take in the turn of events. Scaggs was most certainly not her preferred partner, but another woman was even further down the list, and at least if she won it ensured some rather more enjoyable sex with Domand afterward. The Presence was egging her on, twisting her own thoughts and clouding her judgement, as she found herself saying "I agree," without ever having consciously decided to speak.

At least it shouldn't be hard to win the bet.

"All right!" said Scaggs, undoing his belt, as she turned round to see that he had already removed his shirt. He was a reasonably muscular man, albeit with a few small scars on his hairy torso, and a couple of tattoos that, to her mind, only made him look more plebeian. "I will be makin' yer scream, darlin'. Easiest bet I ever won. Most fuckin' fun, an' all!"

"We will see about that," she informed him, although that only served to encourage him to continue pulling off his trews.

"On yer knees, darlin'," he said, and, without thinking, she followed his instruction.

She found herself face to face with his under-shorts, which were made of a really cheap looking cloth and – oh, how gross – were a little stained. The tenting bulge behind them was unmistakable, though. She glanced over at the other three, to see Domand and Tenik standing, beginning to undress as Amloth leaned back in her chair, eyes constantly flicking between the others.

Scaggs removed the loathsome item of clothing, to reveal his swelling erection. "Bet you never done it with no one like me before," he said, accurately enough, "all silk sheets and pampered boys for your sort, ain't it? You're gonna find out what it's like to be with a real man tonight, darlin'. Bet them posh kids is dickless, ain't seen nothing like this before, have yer?"

He stroked his cock, rising from a nest of scraggly pubes and, then, to her shock, slapped it twice against her face. "Massive, innit? Now wrap your laughing tackle round it, darlin', and get suckin'."

"I would ask you not to speak to me in that tone of voice, Mr. Scaggs," she told him, witheringly. "The terms of the wager do not entitle you to berate me, you uncouth ruffian."

Quite frankly, she didn't see what he had to boast about, either. There didn't seem to be anything exceptional about his cock at all, beyond the fact that it was currently almost shoved in her face. She turned round to glance at Domand, just in time to see him pulling down his own under-shorts, exposing his own, rapidly stiffening, erection. She almost sighed with regret; it was much larger than Scaggs's meagre member and yet it was Amloth who was now stroking her hand along its length. But the only way to get that inside her tonight was to go through with what she was already doing.

"Yeah, speak to me like that again, darlin'," said the thief, his voice husky, "nah, on second thoughts, don't, 'cos I'm waitin'."

He waved his cock towards her mouth again. It was not something she had done before, considering it beneath her dignity as a person of distinction. Yet now she was going to have to do it, and, moreover, with an audience. Although, glancing round, neither of the other men were looking in her direction any more, instead admiring the drow as she stroked both of them. Unfortunately for Eristacia, Amloth's own amber eyes showed that she was more interested in the spectacle before her than in the men standing on either side.

Gingerly, she took hold of Scaggs's cock with one hand and pulled it into her mouth. The thief let out a sigh of contentment as she began to run her tongue along his shaft. He tasted rather sweaty, and it didn't help that his groin was almost pressed against her nose. He probably needed to wash more often, although she supposed that it could have been worse.

"Oh, yeah, darlin'… suck on that…" groaned her partner, his hips beginning to move involuntarily, as he looked down to watch himself sliding in and out of her mouth. "Oh, fuck, that’s good…" He grabbed her hair, pulling her into him so that the tip of his cock thrust up against the back of her throat, making her snort as she tried to breathe. Scaggs pumped his hips harder against her face, his balls slapping against her chin until she forcefully pulled herself away, spitting and wiping away the dribble from her mouth.

"Yer ain't done yet," he told her, and she took him back into her mouth again, sucking on him harder this time, to his evident enjoyment. She wasn't sure how she wanted this to end. She didn't want to end up with a mouth full of… well, that… but, on the other hand, at least it would mean she had won the bet.

However, it was he that made the decision for her, perhaps having had the same thought she had, pulling his slippery cock from her mouth, taking a few deep breaths to regain his composure, then kneeling down beside her, reaching for the hem of her shift.

She batted his hands away, worried he might damage the fabric, and pulled it up herself. It caught on her necklace as she pulled it over her head, and she struggled for a moment, trying to free it. As she did so, she felt Scaggs's calloused hands grab each of her exposed breasts, kneading them enthusiastically.

"Phwoar," he said, "yer knockers are as good as I reckoned. Lovely pair."

She managed to free herself, throwing the shift away with irritation, and giving him another withering glare. Unfortunately, he didn't notice, his gaze being nowhere near her face. She looked over at the other three, to discover that they had moved on since the last time she had been able to see much other than Scaggs's groin.

Both men were completely naked now, and damn, but Domand's cock was impressive, even if Tenik's was rather less so. Amloth herself was topless, the purple fabric of her upper garment lying pooled in her lap. Her breasts were impressively firm, while Eristacia knew her own sagged a little, no matter what Scaggs's impression of them. The drow's nipples were hard, the aureoles invisible because of the sheer blackness of her skin, which had exactly the same tone over all the parts of her body so far visible.

The priest was rubbing one of those smooth mounds as the drow's hand moved along the hard length of his cock. Amloth's attention however, was currently focussed on Tenik, sucking his balls and then moving up to slide his erection into her mouth, with far more grace and experience than Eristacia thought she had managed. A moment later though, she slid him out again, turning her head to watch the noblewoman, her eyes wide with excitement.

Scaggs twisted one of Eristacia's nipples, making her yelp and glare at him again, and earning a grin of approval from the drow. Then with a wink, Amloth turned to Domand, opening her mouth to take his girth inside as it became Tenik's turn to make do with the ministrations of her hand alone.

"Heh, I knew it, darlin'!" said Scaggs with a triumphant tone in his voice, "yer getting' hot as hell, ain't yer?"

"I don't know what you mean," she replied. Yet she felt a warmth in her loins that would not be denied, a tight feeling of anticipation in her stomach as the Presence yammered in the back of her mind, pushing her on to go further.

"Yer panties are soakin'!" She looked down, and realised with embarrassment that it was true; there was a very visible wet patch in the crotch of her lace underwear. "Look at this, the rest of yer," called out Scaggs, "told yer I'm gonna win that bet. The rich bitch is fuckin' gaggin' fer it!"

The others all turned to look, making Eristacia actually blush for the first time. Lady Amloth whistled in appreciation as the human woman failed to prevent Scaggs from pulling down her last shred of clothing, and pulling her legs apart, so they could all see her swollen state.

"Fuck, yeah!" said the thief stroking his cock and leaning forward, over her.

"Wait a moment!" she said, stridently, for once succeeding in pushing the Presence back, and taking command of her own thoughts. "Mr, Scaggs, I have 'fellated' you, an action I stress that I do not perform lightly." Her tone was commanding, all of the aristocratic bearing she could manage pushed into it. "I will have you know that in return, I would expect a certain degree of quid pro quo."

"Yer what?" asked the thief, apparently genuinely puzzled.

"Well, that does seem fair," said Amloth, her voice as silky as ever, "for once, I have to agree with our lady friend."

"Yeah, but what the fuck does it mean?"

Eristacia rolled her eyes, but Lady Amloth replied before she could. "She wants your tongue in her pussy. I really think you should oblige her."

"I don't go doin' that to birds. It ain't my tongue that belongs down there – how the fuck am I s'posed to enjoy that?"

"And your penis in my mouth is different, how?" asked Eristacia, archly.

"Do it," said Amloth, in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

Scaggs made an expression so resentful that Eristacia almost laughed – although she stopped herself just in time – and bent his head to the noblewoman's groin. He fumbled uncertainly, kissing her pussy lips and then pausing, as if unsure what to do next. "Stick your tongue in, man!" she told him, "do it properly."

Grunting with annoyance, the thief stuck out his tongue and began lapping at her, probing between her moist folds. Almost immediately, he pulled his head back.

"Yer taste of…" he began.

"I distinctly did not ask for a commentary," she informed him, before carefully enunciating her next words: "now… lick… my… fucking… cunt, you ill-mannered ruffian, or I will grab your balls and squeeze them until you scream. Do I make myself clear?"

Scaggs ducked down, chastened for once, pushing his tongue in deeper this time, sliding around inside her. Eristacia let out a little grunt of satisfaction, rubbing one of her breasts, more gently than he had done, and leaning back her head as she let out little moans of satisfaction. This wasn't too bad, now that he was at least trying to do it properly, although his lack of experience was still somewhat evident.

"Suck my clit…" she moaned, her hips beginning to grind against the floor, her legs spreading wider to let him in.

Scaggs pulled out, frowning, and spitting a hair from his mouth, "what makes you think I know where that is?" he asked, actually sounding put out.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" she snapped, plunging her own hand down between her legs, "don't you know anything?"

"Yeah, all right, no need to get bloody snarky. Ain't no proper man knows any of this girly shit."

With some further fumbling, he finally found what she was trying to show him, and Eristacia actually let out her first real moan of pleasure, although careful that no one could interpret it as a 'scream'. The moan seemed to spur him on, perhaps thinking he was about to win his bet, but she just let the sensations wash over her, at last truly beginning to enjoy the experience.

It was all too brief, though, for soon he pushed himself up onto his knees again. His expression indicated that the performance was not something he wanted to repeat, and frankly, she had to agree that she'd had better.

They both glanced over as Lady Amloth's skirt landed on the floor beside them, kicked away by one of her long legs. She was clad now only in her boots and a pair of dark purple panties, besides the bangles on her arms. With a deft movement, the drow slid her underwear off and flicked that over to follow the skirt. Her bush was as pure white as the rest of her hair, a neatly trimmed triangle strikingly bright against the blackness of her skin.

"Domand," she whispered, "perhaps you could show our friend Mr. Scaggs how it is supposed to be done?"

The priest grinned, and moved over in front of the chair as Amloth spread her legs wide, resting them over his arms as he bent towards his prize. For a moment, Eristacia caught sight of a flash of pink between the sheer black of the drow's damp pussy lips, but then her view was obscured by Domand's head, as Amloth arched her back, thrusting her ample breasts forward, and let out a deep moan of pleasure.

The drow continued to pant and gasp in delight as Domand attended to her needs, her legs writhing against his arms and back as she did so. A moment later, she turned to Tenik, taking his cock back into her mouth, sucking on the guardsman even as the priest's tongue darted deep between her legs.

"Right," said Scaggs, turning away from watching the leader of the conspiracy enjoying herself with two of his fellows, to gaze back at Eristacia's naked body again, "time to stop messin' about." He grabbed her waist, roughly flipping her over onto her front, and hoisting her hips up. "None of that nancy posh boy crap," he told her, "I'm goin' to give yer a good hard fuckin' like yer never 'ad before. Get ready for a proper man's cock between yer thighs, darlin', 'cos 'ere I fuckin' come!"

Before she could even say anything, he had thrust into her from behind, ramming his cock home. Now that he was inside her, he didn't feel so small any more, although Eristacia knew she'd had bigger. What really made the difference, though, was the vigour with which he began taking her, pumping in and out hard, flesh slapping against hers over and over. Despite herself, she let out a deep moan that only spurred him on. She tried to stifle her cries, but to no avail, gasping repeatedly as he continued to pound into her.

Perhaps it was the Presence in her mind, but if so, she frankly didn't care. No matter what he had been like earlier, Eristacia was really beginning to enjoy things, kneading a breast with one hand, while trying to hold herself in a doggy position with the other. Scaggs was grunting, occasionally muttering either encouragement or profanity. Through it all, though, the noblewoman was managing to avoid any genuine scream. No matter how much she enjoyed herself, no matter how much she now felt turned on just by the thought of fucking such an uncouth man, she was not going to lose the bet, or give him the satisfaction of being proved right.

"Oh, yeah…" he was saying, "yer fuckin' rich bitch, how do yer like the feel of my cock in yer cunt? Yer fuckin' love it, don't yer?" He grabbed one of her buttocks, fingers digging hard into the flesh as he kept up the rhythm, "fuckin' rich bitch, gonna make yer cum like yer never fuckin' 'ave before. Gonna make yer scream like a fuckin' banshee!"

Eristacia surrendered to the sensation, forgetting for the moment even that the other three were doubtless watching them. Her arm was weak, her legs shaking, and she partly collapsed onto the floor, just her hips in the air where he was gripping them. Desperately, she thrust her fist into her mouth, using it to muffle her cries as the thief's powerful thrusts finally drove her over the edge.

She removed the fist, struggling to regain her composure as she gasped for breath, coming down from dizzying heights of ecstasy that she would never, ever, tell Scaggs she had just experienced. But the thief had not stopped, still grinding himself inside her, deeper than ever before.

"Scream my fuckin' name, you bloody cunt!" hissed the thief, "do it so I can pull out and shoot my load all over yer gods-damn arrogant rich-bitch face!"

"Mr. Scaggs," she informed him, managing to put the customary supercilious icy tone back into her voice, "you will do absolutely no such thing, you ignorant, boorish, insufferable little…"

"Oh, fuck!" shouted the thief, ejaculating inside her before she could finish speaking, then releasing her to fall onto the floor, panting and sweating. "I fuckin' love it when yer talk like that."

"That is as may be," she replied, "but I should remind you that you have just lost the bet."

"Huh? Oh, bollocks!" he banged the floor with his fist, then lay back, exhausted and apparently uncaring.

So, thought Eristacia to herself, I get to try out Domand as well. That would, she suspected, be even more enjoyable, not least because the more handsome looking man was rather better endowed than the thief. He probably smelled better, too. Of course, she would have to wait a while, since his time with Lady Amloth was likely to tire him out more than a little. She sat up, pulling some of her hair back into place, as she settled down to watch how the other three were enjoying themselves.

The drow had at last left her seat, squatting in all fours on the floor, legs spread. She used one of her hands to pull her pussy lips apart, and Eristacia saw, as she had suspected from before, that the jet black went only as far as the lips themselves. Inside, Lady Amloth was as pink as any human woman, the colour an almost shocking contrast to her skin.

She wasn't the only one staring at the drow lady's proffered cunt. Domand was kneeling behind her, reaching out to fondle her buttocks, with, Eristicia noted, a more caressing motion than Scaggs had her own. The tall man's cock – she estimated it at eight inches, with a noticeably more than average girth – was throbbing as he first pressed it against a jet-coloured thigh, and then eased it slowly inside.

He began to move slowly, again, not at all like Scaggs, maximising his partner's enjoyment, his hands running over her flanks, down to her taut belly and then, as he leant forward over her back, up to her hanging breasts. Lady Amloth moaned, her eyelids fluttering as the priest continued his rhythmic motions inside her. She beckoned to Tenik, who was currently stroking his own cock as he joined Eristacia in watching them both. The guardsmen grinned, moving to kneel in front of Amloth's slowly bucking body.

The next time the drow gave out a particularly loud moan, he popped himself into her open mouth, muffling the sound. His buttocks began to move, in time with Domand's as Amloth began to suck him, taking the two men from each end. Amloth glanced up at the tapestry, noting a similar act being performed there, albeit, in that case, on an apparently unwilling human woman. She was beginning to appreciate the depth of the drow's sexual appetite, and she actually found the thought a little exciting.

Watching Domand and Tenik in action, Eristacia was already beginning to anticipate her own turn. She wanted Domand, of course, but might she be brave enough to take both of them? It would show the drow something, if nothing else. She dipped a hand down between her thighs, stroking herself lightly as she considered the option, bringing herself up short as a finger slipped in Scagg's semen, which she had forgotten was still there.

Tenik pulled himself out, earning himself a frown from Amloth as he did so. For a moment, Eristacia thought that he was walking over to her, but in fact he simply stepped to one side of the other two, running a hand along the drow's hairless back. He moved it along slowly, getting lower, sliding up onto her buttocks, inches away from the thrusting cock that Eristacia dearly wished was inside her, not the drow woman.

Tenik, however, did not stop there. Instead, he moved his hand up and onto Domand's belly, now as damp with sweat as his partner's, and from there to the priest's broad chest. The other man looked at him with an expression of what Eristacia could only describe as puzzled irritation, and he quickly withdrew it. Then the guardsman moved behind the rutting couple, cock still firmly erect.

The noblewoman gasped in shock as Tenik gently, but firmly, pushed his erection between Domand's muscular buttocks, thrusting himself deep into the priest's anus. If she was surprised by the turn of events, though, it was as nothing compared to the other man's cry of violated shock. For a few moments, however, they continued, all three pairs of hips moving in unison as Tenik impaled Domand and the latter ground himself inside Amloth.

But it was for only a few moments. Soon, the priest seemed to gather his wits, and pulled himself free of both of his partners. "What is the meaning of this?" he spluttered, "what kind of a man do you think I am?"

"Amloth was going to fuck Eristacia if she lost the bet," said the guardsman, "but she won it, so I thought I'd try something else. You were going to watch her get laid, if it happened, so how is this any different? Maybe she wants a show of two men going at it?"

"It's hardly the same thing!"

"Don't be ridiculous," hissed Amloth, "it's exactly the same thing. How could it not be? But it is also completely irrelevant." The two men looked at her, apparently chastened, but uncertain as to what she meant. "It's irrelevant," she went on, "because I am the Lady Jhaeluit Amloth, twice holder of the silver chalice, and first speaker to the Presence. Which means that you are here to please me, and not each other. Now Domand, stop complaining, and lie down on the floor; we haven't finished yet."

The priest obliged, albeit with a resentful glare at Tenik that said things were not over between them. Lady Amloth straddled him, using her hands to coax life back into his limp cock, before she raised herself over it.

"Don't worry," she said to Eristacia, turning to look at her for the first time in a while, "I keep my promises. I won't touch you, and you can have him once I have finished."

"I'd like both of them," she said, "at the same time." The words came out in a rush, and she didn't even realise that she had made the decision until they were out of her mouth.

"Now there is the kind of thinking I approve of," said her ladyship, with a wide grin. "I really hope you give up this 'heterosexuality' thing some day. But, for now…" and she lowered herself onto Domand's erection, his girth visibly spreading her lips wide as she let out a sigh of contentment.

The drow lady moved herself up and down on the priest's large cock, as the latter's hands began to roam her body, moving up to cup and squeeze her ample, bouncing, breasts. Amloth leaned forward, giving him a better purchase, her hips still grinding over his, her long white hair falling down past her face.

Tenik stood over them, watching the two of them moving, his own erection still un-subsided. He glanced over at Eristacia, then shook his head and grinned. "Later," he said, "I promise." Then he knelt down, positioning himself between the legs of the other pair, and fondled the woman's rhythmically moving buttocks.

With a grunt of pleasure, he forced his cock between the black curves, taking Amloth firmly in the rear, until his balls ground against her flesh.

"Oh, sweet goddess of darkness, yes!" cried the drow, her voice exultant, her amber eyes open wide.

Eristacia watched in thrilled amazement as two pairs of pale cocks pounded Lady Amloth in unison, one in her cunt, the other in her arse. It actually looked rather painful, but the drow was clearly enjoying every second of it to the full, her expression the most blissful the human woman had ever seen.

It sounded as if the drow was trying to give some sort of instruction to her lovers, but the words kept being drowned out by her increasingly long moans of enjoyment. The two men began to move more rapidly, taking her harder and faster as they approached their own climax.

Then it was all over, Amloth shrieking her pleasure with wild abandon as both men spent themselves inside her simultaneously. Eristacia padded over to them as they slid apart, all three evidently exhausted, chests heaving as they regained their breath.

"You'll have to wait…" said Domand, breathlessly, waving her away, "especially after that."

"Not unless your tongue is also tired," she informed him, squatting over his face, "although, believe me, we are going to move on after that."

This looked like being good. Very good.

38: Sallisha

2012-01-25T20:07:00.000Z

[Start from the beginning]

Horvan looked around the cell. There was nothing much here, and what there was was familiar. His employers were away on a mission, rescuing some women from the clutches of a demon. Or so he had gathered, from what he had overheard of their planning.

They were often away, of course, venturing into unlit catacombs in the far reaches of the wilderness was, essentially, how they made a living. Normally, at such times, he tended the villa for them. But this time was different. This time they were doing something in the city itself, and more importantly, somebody had sent a demon into the villa.

He shivered inwardly as he remembered facing the thing. He had known immediately that the creature was far out of his league, and that it could kill him in an instant. He had shouted out to it instinctively, before it had turned around and its full nature had become apparent. Not that he was any sort of warrior – in retrospect it was obvious that he should never have made himself visible to it at all.

Those glowing red eyes had fastened on him, and he had known the gut-wrenching fear that he was about to die. Even being hit with the knife was nothing compared to how terrifying that one look had been. It brought him newfound respect for what his employers did all the time, and he still did not know why it had spared his life at all. By all rights, he should be dead, yet it had not taken the trouble to finish him off. Perhaps he was just too insignificant to even care about.

The attack, however, had meant that while the adventurers were away this time, they had insisted he remain safe, away from the villa. His parents were out of the city, and there were few others he would have been willing to impose upon. But he had an aunt that, like his mother, worked as a healer at the Temple of Felanda. She, at least, was in the city at the moment, and had been able to arrange for him to stay for a night or two at the temple.

He was sitting on a small bed in a spare novice’s cell, a sight he was familiar with from his own childhood, although he had never seriously considered the healers’ calling himself. He lacked the skill for it, although perhaps he should have studied harder. But he was lucky in having found the job that he did, as housekeeper to the adventurers. At least growing up in the temple had got him used to doing a lot of cleaning and housework.

Now he was back here again, if only for what should be a couple of nights at most, looking round at walls that were bare except for a single religious icon, and a room that contained nothing else save a bed, a small table, and an empty trunk. Novices had few possessions; it was part of the preparation for ordainment as a healer.

He sighed and leaned back against the stone wall. He had already exhausted the supply of things to do here; it wasn’t even as if they had any need for more cleaners. There was nothing left to do but think. Naturally enough, his thoughts turned to his employers, and to the danger they were currently facing.

It was always a concern when they were away; that, this time, they wouldn’t come back, or at least not all of them. He might not have been one of them, but they were almost as close to him as family now, or so he felt. They were undoubtedly good employers, and he knew that he was privileged to work for them, under their protection – even if that had not worked out so well recently.

But that was not the only reason; there was also Vardala. Calleslyn and Lady Tarissa were undoubtedly attractive women, but there was just something about Vardala that he found incredibly appealing. Her fine features, her lithe body, her deep brown eyes, all combined to make her the woman that fuelled his desires.

It was something he felt deeply guilty about. There could never be anything in it, not least because she was his employer, She deserved better than him secretly admiring the curve of her breasts, or trying to catch a look at her even partially unclothed – something at which he had so far failed dismally. But he just couldn’t help it.

The guilt and the impossibility of it all were both compounded by the obvious fact that she was a gnome, not a human. Although she had all the curves and attributes of any adult human woman – in fact, she looked five or six years older than he did – she barely reached up to his waist. A vision of sexiness in miniature that he should surely have ignored, yet was unable to.

That small size had occasionally fuelled fantasies of her giving him fellatio while they both stood upright, but mostly he just wished that some bizarre piece of magic would transform her into his own size. In the dreams that fuelled his nights, that was how she always was; all but human, until he woke to a damp patch on the sheets and remembered that if such a spell existed, he had never heard of it.

“Horvan, I heard you were here.”

He broke from his reverie, and the inevitable beginning of an erection, to notice the woman standing at his door. “Sallisha,” he said, “it’s been a long time.”

Sallisha was one of the novices at the temple, somebody he had known before his life with the adventurers. She had been his girlfriend at one point, but it hadn’t lasted, and that was before he met the woman of his impossible dreams. She didn’t even look anything like Vardala, even leaving aside the fact that she was obviously human.

Her light brown hair cascaded in ringlets around her shoulders, her slender body clothed in the simple white robes of a novice, a deep cleft plunging from the neck to expose the holy symbol nestled on the thinner white fabric underneath. A narrow girdle wrapped around her slim waist, and the skirt fell to ankle length, giving him only a glimpse of the slippers she wore on her feet. She was, he had to admit, still a very attractive young woman, her skin fresh and supple, her light brown eyes watching him with the caring warmth so typical of healers.

“How is it with… uh…” he struggled to remember the name.

“We broke up. It’s a long story.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“But what about you?” she asked, stepping forward into the cell, her musical voice indicating her eagerness to hear more. “How have you been since… how long has it been now?”

“I, uh… I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I’ve been well enough, thank you. Busy at work, you know.” He couldn’t tell her about the demon, Lady Tarissa had impressed that much on him. And it wasn’t something he wanted to remember anyway.

“Yes, that’s right; you were with those adventurers, weren’t you? But you never decided to become one, did you? It must be a hard life, even if it pays well for some people. A great many never come back.”

“No,” he said, smiling, “I’ve never even felt tempted. I’m no warrior, and I’m certainly not a magician. You’re right, it’s a big risk to take… and not one for me, I have to admit.”

“Good,” she said, sounding relieved, “You should have become a healer. Like me. Maybe then we wouldn’t have broken up.”

“Well…” he said, not wanting to get too far into that side of things, “that didn’t work for me, either. There’s too much learning, and religious dedication… I think it’s great that you’ve found your vocation, and you’ll be a great healer once you complete your novitiate. But that isn’t me, either. I’m happy the way I am. It works for me.”

“Why are you here, then? I got the impression that something had happened, but nobody seems to know for sure. The adventurers you work for… they’re not out of the city, are they? It’s not as if they’d have anything to do here. We don’t have heaps of gold coins lying around in the city guarded by fire-breathing dragons, after all.”

This was what he wasn’t supposed to talk about. “It’s just temporary. Nothing to worry about.”

He had obviously sounded less than convincing, because she took another step forward into the room, a worried frown on her face. “If there’s nothing for them to do here… has something followed them home from their last expedition?”

“No… I mean, uh… no.” A memory of the demon’s face flashed before him, the red eyes burning, the large horns dark and menacing, spurs distorting its face into something less than human.

Sallisha’s hand leapt to her open mouth as her eyes widened in shock, “oh, my gosh, it has, hasn’t it? Something followed them! Are you all right? Did it hurt you?”

He floundered, trying to think of something to say that would allay her suspicions, but nothing came to mind. He really wasn’t very good at this sort of thing.

“Oh my goddess!” she gasped, rushing to his side. “You’ve been hurt! Let me see – I’m a healer, maybe I can do something.”

“It’s fine, really, nothing. I mean, it’s already been healed.”

He winced with the memory of the pain, and she must have caught the look, and perhaps an involuntary twitch in his shoulder, because her eyes immediately darted towards the site of the injury, hidden as it was beneath his clothes.

“No, no, you can never be too sure. There’s infections, and all sorts of things. I have to have a look. What do adventurers know about healing?”

“Quite a lot?” he asked, but she was already fiddling with his shirt, which was embarrassing in more ways than one. “Look, don’t fuss, it’s fine. Lady Tarissa is a paladin…”

“No, Horvan, I am going to inspect your wound, whether you like it or not.” A sterner tone had crept into her voice, the way that healers sounded when they obviously weren’t going to brook any nonsense. “I’ll close the door if it makes you feel better, that way nobody else will see. But I will have a look, just to make sure.”

“Oh, for goodness sake…” he said, knowing that he had already been beaten, “it’s been magically healed by a paladin laying on hands… there’s nothing to see.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said firmly, getting up to close the door.

Reluctantly, Horvan began to peel off his shirt. “See?” he said at last.

“You call that nothing?” She was at his side on the bed again, looking at him with concern.

“Well… nothing much.”

There was a scar; even healing magic only did so much. But all that remained was a pale pinkish streak of slightly raised tissue running across the muscle of his shoulder, where the knife had penetrated deep into his flesh. But he couldn’t really feel anything; apart from the scar, there was just no sign that he had ever been injured, and he had been told that even that would fade with time.

“That looks serious!” she said, “it must have been really deep.” She ran a hand over it, the cool skin of her fingertips pressed against the muscle there. He struggled to ignore that; they had been intimate before, but now she was a healer, and just doing her job. “Move your arm,” she said, “and tell me if you feel any pain or discomfort.”

Reluctantly, he rotated his shoulder, flexing his arm, the muscles moving beneath the skin as her hand lay over it, stroking him in a way that was beginning to seem more than merely professional.

“Nothing,” he said, honestly, “it feels fine, and I’ve got the full range of movement now. See?”

“Perhaps,” she said, a little grudgingly. Her left hand reached behind his back, running up over his spine as her right moved across his chest, cool fingers brushing over his skin, her face just inches from his, her breath warm against his cheek.

“Uh…?” he said; a rather incoherent query.

“Just checking for other injuries,” she said, her voice soft now as her right hand circled lower, moving onto his abdomen, caressing him as her left gently brushed over his ribs. “Yes, everything is how I remember it.” She kissed him on the side of his neck, a brief exploratory peck with her lips. “Is it how you remember it?”

“Should we be doing this?”

“Why not?” she whispered, “there’s nobody else, is there?”

“Well, no, not... uh, no, there isn’t.” Which was true, really, no matter what thoughts he might entertain in the privacy of his own mind.

“Good.” She pressed her nose against his neck, lips kissing the angle of his other shoulder, tongue darting out to taste his skin. “Mmm… you smell good.”

“I mean, it’s just, we’re in the temple, and you’re a novice…”

“I’m not a nun. We’re not celibate.” Her right hand was moving lower, and had reached the hem of his trews, brushing over the top of his hips, the calm, comforting touch of a healer.

“Well, no, but…” he flicked his eyes meaningfully towards the holy icon on the wall, but if she noticed she gave no sign.

“Good,” she said again, with a slight giggle as her hand at last slid down into his trews.

Despite himself, he was already beginning to get hard, and as her hand ruffled his pubic hair and slid round to the base of his cock, he found that she was starting to become irresistible. Her soft fingers slid up his length, then moved back down again, gently pulling back his foreskin.

“Uh, Sallisha, are you really sure about this?” he said at last.

In reply, she stroked her left hand all the way around the base of his back, and round to the front where she began to undo the top of his trews and to pull his underwear down. His cock sprang free as her other hand continued to gently stroke it and moved up to run a thumb over the glistening head. She leaned closer and kissed him softly on the lips.

“You don’t think I seem sure?” she said teasingly.

He had no answer to that, and when she kissed him again, he at last responded, moving his hands onto her hips, to pull her up slightly onto the edge of the small bed. It wasn’t much more than a cot really, but it would have to do. He was never going to have sex with Vardala, that was an impossible dream. Besides, he was all too human to be able to resist what her hands were doing to him.

Her right hand continued to massage his swelling cock as her left moved up to stroke his chest again, and they kissed eagerly. The tip of his erection brushed against the cloth of her robe as she shifted position, moving one leg between his thighs, leaning partially over him as they both sat on the edge of the bed.

Sallisha released him, kneeling back slightly so that she could undo her girdle and throw it onto the floor. She lifted her robes up, pulling them over her head, then shaking her hair loose as they joined the belt. He could see her nipples swelling beneath the thin fabric of her shift, the holy symbol glittering against the white. Smiling, she moved her head down, long hair brushing his chest as she kissed him again.

His hands slid down over her hips, feeling their slight curve, and onto her thighs. Her legs were slender and shapely, much as Vardala’s were, but the warmth and softness of their skin was very real beneath his questing fingers. He surrendered to the sensation, kissing the healer passionately as she finally pulled his trews down far enough that he could kick them free.

Stroking his hands up her thighs, he reached under the hem of her shift, feeling the smoothness of her bare back as he rucked it over her hips. His cock pressed against her belly, throbbing with desire as she reached down to gently cup and stroke his balls.

“Oh, yeah…” be breathed. He had forgotten how good this was.

Sallisha moved so that she straddled him now, legs either side of his. Her gentle caress moved up his cock, pulling it up and under her shift, pressing it against the flesh of her belly until the tip nestled in her navel. She kissed him once more, then leaned back to pull her shift up and away with her free hand.

Her breasts had grown a little since he had last held her, but looked just as sweet and inviting as ever, the pale brown nipples obviously hard as she pressed them against him and delivered another lingering kiss. Horvan pushed her away slightly, and stroked a strand of her long wavy hair, pressing it against her skin.

He ran his hands over each globe, feeling the texture of her skin against his fingertips, brushing in ever decreasing circles towards the centre, eliciting a barely suppressed whimper as he at last fondled her swollen nipples. Bending in, he pressed his lips against one, tasting it, sucking her slowly.

At last she gasped aloud, and he began to wonder again if this was wise. The door to the cell might be closed, but it was not locked, and there might be healers walking along the corridor outside. He did not want to be discovered, and, presumably, neither did she.

She evidently had the same idea, for she muttered, “hush, hush… we have to be quiet.” Which seemed a little unfair, since so far, he largely had been.

She pulled his head free from the delights of her soft breasts, and kissed him on the lips, long hair draping over his face and shoulders. Her right hand behind his head, stroking his own hair, she struggled to pull down her panties with the other, until he helped her, sliding them down over her long thighs.

His cock pressed against the sparse downy hair of her mound as the young healer reached up to stroke it again. They were still kissing, soft pants of desire all that was escaping their lips. One hand squeezed the round globe of her buttocks, pulling her up closer to him.

“Oh, yes…” she whispered, eyes wide with desire.

It was she that eased him inside, pushing him inch by inch between the eager folds of her pussy. Her eyes never left his face as she slowly pressed him all the way in, biting her lip to keep from crying out. His hips began to buck involuntarily and hers soon responded in kind, leaning over him, knees pressed against the bed, narrow waist sliding between his welcoming hands.

He pressed in and out, taking his time, moving slowly, savouring the feeling as her hard nipples brushed against his chest in time with the motion. She gasped out loud, bit down on her lip, and then cried out with a whimper as he pushed himself back in again.

“This isn’t working,” she muttered suddenly.

It wasn’t? It certainly felt like it was working to him! But there was nothing he could do as she pulled herself away, and turned to lie back on the bed. She must have registered the shock and puzzlement on his face, because she grinned, and said “Not that, silly! Come here…” He moved over her, still confused, cock now pressed once more against her belly. “Make love to me like this,” she whispered.

He lost no time in complying, moving one of her legs out of the way to ease himself back inside. “Oh, yes…” she whispered again, her head lying in a halo of brown curls against the pale fabric of the pillow. He began to move again, sliding in and out, pressing her breasts against his chest. Their hands explored each other’s bodies, roaming over slick flesh as he began to increase the rate of his motion.

It finally dawned on him what she had meant by it not working when she grabbed the corner of the pillow and stuffed it into her mouth, smothering a pent up moan of passion. She nodded at him, briefly, her cries now as stifled as they reasonably could be.

Horvan closed his eyes and, to his later shame, pictured Vardala underneath him. Human sized, of course, but it was her face that really filled his thoughts as he imagined it was her that he was making love to. His thrusts increased in strength and urgency, as did the pitch of Sallisha’s delighted cries. She crossed her legs behind his back, giving him more leverage to press into her, and a hand gripped his heaving buttocks.

He opened his eyes again just before he came, letting out a gasping cry that made something of a mockery of the healer’s attempts at silence. It was Sallisha’s face before him again, Sallisha’s eyes wide with passion, Sallisha’s pale lips pressed hard into the pillow as her body shuddered in the throws of her orgasm.

“Oh my goddess…” she said, fingering the holy symbol around her neck, “oh my good goddess…”

He rolled off her, not wanting to look her in the face. It was still not she that would haunt his dreams.

37: Capture

2011-12-18T08:12:00.000Z

[Start from the beginning]

"Let's…" said Tarissa, just as the corridor plunged into blackness, "…go!"

Her words vanished into the void as she felt herself being spun around, losing all sense of direction. The whirling stopped, but the light did not return. She steadied her breath, sword still held out in front of her, although how she would use it if she could not see anything she did not know.

"Is everyone here? Light!" she called out.

There was no response, and the way her voice echoed off the walls told her that the corridor was now empty. If it was even the same corridor, which she doubted. Whatever magic had extinguished the lights had also whisked them away to different parts of the complex, separating them, and making it difficult to find their way back together again – at least without giving away their location to their enemies.

The demon itself, she felt sure, would not be inconvenienced by anything as minor as the absence of light. The members of the harem should be as blind as she, though… assuming, of course, that Sashjant had not thought to equip them with some sort of magical item. The adventurers were at very much of a disadvantage, caught in a maze of corridors they did not know and could not even see. But how big could that maze be? There was no obvious limit, but surely magic could hide only so much?

She reached out, touched the wall. She was still in some sort of corridor, then. All she could do was keep moving forward, and perhaps she would find somewhere there was light. Or the demon would find her, which would at least give her the chance of doing something. She stepped forward, taking measured steps, trailing her left hand along the wall, holding her sword out in front of her, as if menacing the inky blackness ahead.

Her ears caught the sound of fighting. One of her companions, probably Dolrim, had found something, but she was not there to help. She picked up her pace, hoping to find some turning in the corridor that led in the right direction. Her hand found the wooden surface of a door. It was a little too regular to be real wood, even she could tell that, but it led in the direction of the sounds, no longer of fighting, but of muffled words she could not quite catch. That was not a good sign.

She yanked the door open, but there was only more blackness beyond. She stepped inside, waving her sword about but found nothing. Taking a few steps forward, the tip of her blade hit something soft. No sound though, no indications of movement. She stretched out her free hand, found what appeared to be a bale of cloth blocking her way. Soon she established that she had found nothing more exciting than a small storeroom, with no other exit. She bit back a curse of frustration, and stepped back out into the corridor. There could be dozens of rooms in here, and it would take long enough to search them all if she could see, let alone under these conditions.

Silence had descended once again. Had Dolrim been victorious? If he had faced the demon alone, that seemed doubtful, but it was by no means certain that he had. In addition to Sashjant hjmself, there should be four women in here. One of them was a warrior, a tall brunette who dressed in barbaric leathers, but the other three had seemed harmless enough, merely captives he had taken along the way, chosen for looks, not fighting prowess. A harem was, after all, not intended for personal defence, especially not for something that probably believed itself to be largely invulnerable in the first place.

She found another door; nothing but silent blackness beyond once again. There was no point in exploring that, then; it would be better to stay with the corridor. If Sashjant and the barbarian were prowling about looking for intruders, that was where they would be. At most she might find one of the other women cowering in a room, and she could not see how that would be useful. They would just give her position away, and she had no means of freeing them from their slavery.

She continued walking. Then, just as she turned a corner, her foot bumped into something soft. She knelt, feeling about with her hand. A woman, unconscious. It had to be the redhead, still under the effects of Almandar's spell. At least she knew she was close to the entrance now.

There was a soft sound behind her, and she span, still in a half-crouch, sword levelled as something whirred through the air towards her. It hit her, knocking her back, but not with great force. Too late, she realised that the thing was a net, with cords that magically wrapped themselves around her. Something tore, she could hear the sound, but could not tell what it was. She tried to stand, tried to throw the net off herself, but it was like fighting a creature with a dozen tentacles.

Even as she moved, the cords of the net tightened, forcing her legs into a kneeling position, thighs pinioned to her calves. They yanked her left arm into her side, and she sensed that only her gorget stopped them from strangling her. She could still move her sword arm… it must have been one of the cords she had heard tearing, cutting itself on the sharp blade. Which meant that she had a chance to cut herself free.

If only she could do so in time.

She grunted with exertion as the cords bit tighter, forcing her into an uncomfortable position, even the upper part of her sword arm bound to her chest, only free from the elbow down. She tried to pull it against the cords across her chest, hoping to free her other arm, or perhaps even both.

"Oh, I don't think so," said a voice, masculine and silky smooth. Her sword was pulled from her grasp, thrown away to clatter on the floor. She lashed out with her fist, for that at least was still free, but only caught her assailant a glancing blow. He laughed, cruelly. "That too, will avail you little. You are my prisoner, accept it. You have failed." Before she could reach for her dagger, he had pulled that loose, too. Evidently he could see perfectly well in the blackness, just as she had suspected.

She tried to pull herself up with her free arm, and grabbed at the cords around her body. Pulling them had no effect, it just made them constrict tighter. There was nothing she could do now, she realised, but wait and conserve her strength. Perhaps she would get a better opportunity later. Her companions were, after all, still out there – or so she hoped.

She heard the sound of a muttered spell, saw a flash of bluish light that somehow failed to illuminate anything around it, and then heard a woman groaning. Sashjant had obviously woken up the redhead.

"How many of them are there?" he asked, voice calm yet urgent.

"Four… I think… I only caught a brief glimpse. There might be more."

"Hah!" snorted Sashjant with a self-satisfied sound, "and four I have captured. You see, warrior woman," Tarissa could sense he had turned back to her now, "you have failed. Utterly, as do all who challenge me."

Four, thought the paladin. The woman had only seen four of them. She had missed one, most likely Vardala, with her small size, and at least one of them was free in the complex. Even if only one remained free, perhaps he or she could rescue the others. It was a thought worth holding on to. All was not yet lost, no matter what Sashjant believed.

"I can't be certain," said the woman's voice, "it was only a moment."

"Then let us take this captive to the throne room, and be sure." Sashjant grabbed at Tarissa's free arm, and began to drag her along the floor. He was clearly strong, she had to give him that, but what else could you expect from a demon?

"But I can't see!" wailed the redhead.

"It is a magical protection, part of the wards on this place. Follow the sound, Kara, you do not need me to help you."

Tarissa felt herself being unceremoniously pulled along a series of twisting corridors, moving deeper into the maze. She grit her teeth and put up with the indignity – there was nothing much to be achieved by complaining.

In fact, it was not long before she heard some doors being opened, and then light spilled across her face. She was dragged into a well-lit room, and then half-thrown, half-pulled against a series of scatter cushions.

The room was sumptuously decorated, and from her position on the floor she could see a number of chairs and low tables, one of the chairs high and gilded, which indeed fitted the description of a throne. There were statues here, too, of many-armed demons, prowling cats, and near-naked dancing girls. From her vantage point, she could just make out platters, pitchers, and bowls on the table tops, some of them brimming with rich food.

Sashjant stood back from her, looking down at his prize. He looked fully human, although of exotic extraction. His skin was dark, a rich brown colour, similar to that of many Jalibians, although his facial features were more akin to those of Haredil natives. He had long black hair that fell in a mane around his shoulders, a short, pointed beard, and midnight-black eyes that glowered with disdainful cruelty.

He had on a wrap-around robe of what appeared to be purple silk, trimmed in gold. Unlike the robes of Haredil wizards, it reached to just below his knees, and she could see he was wearing matching silk trousers and white slippers decorated with silver thread, A wide, golden belt circled his waist, tightening the robe to show off the power of his shoulders and muscular chest beneath the silk.

"You brought the sword?" he asked, evidently speaking to Kara, who had just entered the room, blinking in the sudden light. "Never mind. Put it on the table, it is of no use to her. Now, close the door, there is something I must do."

The redhead acted obediently, as Sashjant moved to sit on his throne. There was an orb set into the right arm-rest, a black glossy sphere over which the demon moved his hand. "There," he said, a moment later, "now we will not be interrupted."

"You see," he said, standing up and walking over to the captive paladin, "just in case there are any more of you, I have shielded this room with a disorientation spell. Even if anyone could find it in the darkness, they will lose all sense of direction, and be turned away from the door. Only my own followers are safe from the effect. I believe I have captured all of your companions, but even if I have not, nobody is coming to save you."

She tried not to let the disappointment show. There was always a chance, so long as she remained alive, no matter how small it might be becoming.

"But let us see. Open your mind to me, mortal woman, and tell me what you know."

He leaned closer, dark eyes wide, a hypnotic gaze that she could sense boring into her soul. She sent a hurried, silent, prayer to Pardror and then closed her mind of all thoughts. It was part of the spiritual training of her order, a part of the mental discipline required of paladins. She locked eyes with the demon, imagining a solid wall in her mind's eye, Her other thoughts she pushed to the back of her mind, out of reach of the demon's probing mental fingers. She could feel those fingers, testing the imaginary wall, jabbing and searching for a way in, a most unpleasant sensation in her head, yet one she steadfastly refused to overwhelm her.

Sashjant snarled and pulled back, baring his teeth, and banging a table in frustration. "She has had some training to resist this… some method that keeps me out! I can sense her thoughts, but not read them. Curse you, human – do not think that this will stop me."

He visibly calmed himself down, stroking his robe, although it was not really ruffled, and turned back to Kara, standing dutifully by the side of the room. "You said there were four of them. What did they look like?"

"A dwarf, a man, and a woman – and her, of course," she indicated Tarissa, "the man had dark hair, that was all I had time to see. Oh, and he was not wearing armour."

"The dwarf I have captured myself," said Sashjant proudly, "Geska has him captive. She hates dwarves, you know," he added conversationally to the paladin, "now that I know I don't need him, I suppose I will let her kill him, if she wishes. Gut'rul has the man, she sent me a message," Tarissa wondered how she had done that; perhaps it was part of the magical hold he had over them, "so he need not concern us, either."

He paused, cocking his head to one side, as if listening. "The woman… yes, someone has entered Rupinder's study, that must be her. Well, if she is not captured, we can still neutralise her." He stepped back to the throne, and placed his hand on the orb once more. "The door to the study is now locked. Only Rupinder and I can open it. So, if this stranger overcomes my woman, she will be trapped inside. But, if Rupinder overcomes her… then, we have no problem,"

"All defeated," he added with a grin, stepping back from the throne. "Now it only remains to discover how they got in, and seal the gap. And to find what happened to Mei-Xing." He turned towards Tarissa, looking down at her trussed up form. "Have you killed her? She does not answer my sendings, and she has not come back. So she is either dead, or held captive somewhere I cannot reach. Which is it?"

The paladin, naturally, said nothing.

"No, I thought you would require more persuasion to tell me. Of course, I could read the mind of one of your companions; they cannot all be as shielded as you. But there is another possibility."

"You strike me, warrior, as a woman of honour and principle," he spat the words, as if they were a curse, "the sort that feels the need to help others. Perhaps you wanted to 'rescue' my followers, not realising that they enjoy my company, and serve my superior majesty as all mortals should. But, yes, protect the weak, all that crap, never allow the innocent to suffer needlessly."

"Well, what else are the innocent for? They aren't much use for anything, now are they? So I'll tell you what I am going to do. The two men are of little interest, and I know they are captive, but the other woman. Ah, now, she may be trapped, but Rupinder is not too strong, so how do I know what has happened? I will go there, and make certain that she is captured, if she is not already. It is a pity I cannot use the net, but it seems to be busy with you at the moment, and it is not as if I have no other powers. Either way, I shall capture her, and bring her here."

"Then, I shall torture and rape her while you watch. Every time you answer a question of mine honestly, I shall spare her one little bit of pain. How does that sound?"

The paladin glared at him, struggling not to allow the hatred and anger to overcome her emotions. If he was somehow able to actually carry through on his threat, that might become impossible, but for now she just managed to keep a check on her rage. This creature was truly a monster.

Sashjant grinned, a flash of amusement. "Well, we shall see, shan't we?" he asked, his voice almost gleeful.

"This is the sort of thing you enjoy?" she said, keeping her voice steady. She did not want to rise to the bait, but the longer she could keep him talking, the more chance she might have. "You think you are justified in what you do? Do the feelings of others matter so little to you? Your philosophy, if I can even call it such, is empty and barren."

"Oh, I think not," replied the demon, "if the weak do not wish to be dominated, they should not be weak. Yes, I am more powerful than any mere mortal, but that is because I have supernatural power in my veins, it would be an insult for me not to use it. It is my right and my destiny to rule over humans."

"And it is pleasurable, let me assure you. The strong rule over the weak, because that is the way of the universe. Without it, we would all be dragged down by the pathetic mewling sops of gutter humanity. Lessened, cheapened, by their gutless, worthless, lives. There would be mere anarchy, and anarchy of the most debased kind."

"Do you believe we should help people? That we should protect the innocent? Let them protect themselves, if they can! It is not for us to waste our energy doing their work for them. The weak disgust me, the innocent disgust me, for they do not have the courage to do as they should. And those who disgust me… they are lucky if I let them live. I am power, and majesty, and a superior intellect that cows mere mortals before me. I will not debase myself with their craven stupidity."

"Your beliefs are a weakness, and I shall show it to you. I shall show it to when I rape your friend in front of you, and you know that you are powerless to stop it. You will either tell me what I want to know, thus proving your inferiority, or you will betray your ridiculous rules of honour. Either way, I will have proven myself right, and proven you wrong in your beliefs."

"And all the while, as I torment your friend, you will be quaking in fear, because you know that, once I have finished with her, it shall be your body that I defile next. Think on that, human!"

He strode towards the door, clearly uninterested in any further conversation, but it opened before he even got there. A woman strode into the room; Tarissa instantly recognised her as one of the harem, the dark-skinned one who had appeared to be a secretary or clerk of some kind.

"Ah, Rupinder," said Sashjant, "I see that you must have…"

"You bastard!" screamed the woman, hurling a dagger in the demon's direction.

He was so surprised that he did not even try to dodge, standing there open-mouthed as the knife thudded into his chest. He looked down at it, uncomprehending, and then up at Rupinder.

"I don't understand…" he said, pulling the knife out casually. Even from where she was lying, Tarissa could see that the wound closed up almost instantly, leaving no sign of injury through the slash in Sashjant's robe.

From the blackness through the doorway came a stream of glowing white magical missiles, and this time, the demon did move, although he could not avoid them all, and bursts of light showered around him, causing him to shout in anger and apparent pain, as his hands moved in a blur to cast his own spells.

Even as he did so, Sashjant's skin rippled, his body warping and transforming as he took on his true form. Orange and black fur sprouted over his head and hands, and a whiter patch on the exposed parts of his chest, where the robe had been slashed and come partly open. His shape changed little, save for developing an even more powerful muscular physique, but his face was stretching out into an animal-like snout.

It took only a brief moment, and then Sashjant's true form was revealed. A tall, athletic humanoid, furred, and with a striped head that, colouration aside, looked rather like that of a lion, albeit without the mane. Strong and sharp teeth glistened as he growled, an inhuman snarl from the back of his throat.

It came as no surprise to Tarissa to see Calleslyn rushing into the room, a magical ward raised in front of her, and already preparing to cast another spell. But where was Almandar? Sashjant had implied that he had been captured, and, so far, there was no sign that Calleslyn had been able to free him. Would the elven magician be able to take down the demon on her own?

The red-headed woman – Kara – ran across the room, reaching out for what appeared to be a wand laid on one of the tables. It was unclear whether she intended to use it herself or pass it to Sashjant, although her intention to protect her master was undoubted. But she never reached the table, for Rupinder caught her in a flying tackle, knocking her to the floor, where the pair struggled violently.

Tarissa fumed at her helplessness as bolts of magical energy began to fly across the room. Sashjant had raised a shield that deflected spells, but he still had not managed to land any decisive blow on his assailant. So far the battle was even, but there was nothing the paladin could do to help out.

Then she saw, with a flood of relief, Vardala running into the room, ducking low behind Calleslyn and heading straight for her own position. Her shortsword was out, and she used it hack at the bonds of the magical net. Unfortunately, the strands seemed to be highly resistant to being cut. But that had obviously not been the case before…

"My sword's on the table," she hissed to the gnome, pointing with her free arm, "if you get me that, I can take him down."

Vardala nodded, grabbing the larger sword and passing it over. The blade was much sharper than the rogue's shortsword, a magical weapon that she found hacked through her bonds with ease.

Even as she stood, Sashjant was casting another spell at Calleslyn, a blast of sickly green light that knocked the elf to the floor, her ward sputtering and vanishing before the onslaught.

"Oh, I do so despise physical combat," growled the demon, his voice a surprisingly mellow purr given his bestial appearance, "but I really must make an exception."

"Try this!" Shouted Tarissa, standing behind him, her sword raised. The demon turned, claws outstretched and teeth bared, just as she plunged the blade into his chest, the words of a prayer on her lips.

She infused the weapon with her divine power, calling down the wrath of the gods on the being before her. Golden-white light ran along the metal edge like lightning, blasting into the demon's furry torso. Sashjant screamed, a yowling, inhuman cry, as black blood gushed up around the blade.

No normal weapon could harm him, perhaps, but this was a magic sword, and one, moreover, that was infused with the paladin's holy power. She yanked it upwards, slicing through his ribcage as his clawed hands raked feebly at the air.

Then he fell, sliding off the blade, more blood pumping out of his ruined chest to spread across the flagging beneath his body. His mouth moved once, but no sound came out, and then he went limp, tongue lolling, dark eyes glazing over.

"Is everyone all right?" she asked, panting as she stood over the corpse, eyeing it carefully to make absolutely sure there was no ruse.

"I'm going to need… healing," gasped Calleslyn, "that was just in time. That last spell of his… not a good one."

She looked over to see Rupinder cradling Kara in her arms. The redhead was sobbing now, tears running down her face, clinging to the other woman for comfort. The spell was ended, and Sashjant's hold over the women gone for good.

"Are we too late?" Almandar had entered the room, accompanied by the barbarian woman, who looked more collected than Kara had. Perhaps she was more stoic, or perhaps the half-elf had managed to cast the spell to free her a short while ago, and she had recovered herself since. As Rupinder apparently had, the paladin supposed.

"He's dead. This is over," the paladin said simply.

The barbarian woman rushed to the other two members of the harem, wrapping them in her arms. They seemed to need each other's comfort at the moment, and Tarissa was certainly not going to deny them that.

"Good," said Almandar, "he was a monster in every sense."

"He deserved it," said Tarissa. It wasn't something she often said, but there was no doubt in her mind today.

"Uh…" said Vardala, looking around, "does anyone know where Dolrim is?"

36: Geska

2011-11-24T12:21:00.000Z

[Start from the beginning]
Dolrim’s axe was already in his hand, and he stepped forward, shifting into a battle stance as the red-haired woman shouted out in alarm… and then, a moment later, slumped to the floor as Almandar’s spell hit her. Anyone else could be around the corner, perhaps the demon himself, or at least the more competent of his remaining slaves.

“Let’s…” began Tarissa, and then her voice cut off as everything went black and the world seemed to spin around them.

“One of you cast a light spell!” grunted the dwarf when, after a few seconds, neither of the magicians had done the obvious.

There was no reply. The spinning had not disoriented him, and he had thought at first that the physically weaker magicians had been affected differently. But no, they were not here, and Dolrim was on his own. He wasn’t even sure he was in the same part of the complex. For all that his eyes could adjust easily to the dim light of a dwarven cave system, nobody could see in the complete absence of light.

Unless, perhaps, they were a demon. He froze, straining his ears to catch any hint of what was around him – although he was blind, Sashjant might not be. He could hear, somewhere in the distance, Tarissa’s voice, muffled by walls of the fake stone, its texture just a little too regular to be the real substance, but otherwise similar in its properties. He took a step in the direction of the paladin’s voice, but then stopped again as he heard a quiet footfall.

There was somebody else here. Someone behind him. Dolrim span about, whirring his axe through the air at what should be the waist level for a human, finding nothing but empty air.

“You deign to attack me physically? How crude!”

The voice was deep, masculine, and dripping with disdain. This was clearly the demon himself, and Dolrim was blind and alone. Yet, unable to make out any route by which he might escape, his only choice was to fight. Fortunately, Sashjant’s voice had clearly given away his location, and the dwarf strode forward, swinging his axe.

The weapon hit something, eliciting no more than a grunt of surprise from his opponent. He could feel it bite into flesh, yet it did not feel right as he jerked it loose for a second swing. Something was not right here, but he did not have time to reflect on what, or even to deliver that second blow, before something slammed into his chest, pushing him backwards a few feet to crash into the wall, his armour clanging against its solid substance.

“I cannot be hurt by mere weapons, you fool!” spat the demon as Dolrim lunged in his direction again.

Something else hit him before he could reach his target, something that wrapped around him, trapping his arm and twisting a leg from under him so that he fell, helplessly to the floor. With shock he realised it was a net, and he struggled to bring the axe to bear against its strands. Yet, every time he moved, the strands of the net pulled tighter… they had to be magical, some kind of weapon he was unfamiliar with.

His left arm was tied to his side now, and his right barely free to move. As he tried to jerk the axe, hoping to cut some of the constricting threads, it pulled sharply against him, jerking his elbow into his body, reducing his leverage. As his legs kicked, the net pulled against them too; the more he exerted his strength, the more it pulled back, fighting against him with its own magical power. He was trapped, helpless.

“Time to end your life, you impertinent worm,” sneered Sashjant.

A sickly greenish glow appeared in the air above the captured dwarf, a magical light surrounding a human-looking hand, yet illuminating nothing around it. It was a spell, and surely a deadly one – if none of his companions arrived in time, Dolrim realised that he was staring death in the face.

“There are others?” hissed the voice, sounding surprised, although not as surprised as the warrior was to discover the demon could apparently read his thoughts. The glow vanished, returning everything to darkness. “Tell me about them!”

Dolrim said nothing, forcing his mind to think of stones and underground passages.

The demon snorted. “I can get around such paltry attempts to hide your knowledge. But not now. I will return for you, little dwarf, but I sense there are others I must deal with first.”

Dolrim felt the net jerk around him, although his armour protected him from what he suspected would otherwise be a painful constriction. A moment later he sensed, rather than saw, a flash of red energy engulfing him, his body spasming in response… just before he slid into unconsciousness.

──◊──

The first thing he realised when he began to come round was that he was sitting down on a hard surface, propped up by something pressed against his back. He tried to move his hands, and discovered they were tightly tied behind him. He was not only disarmed, which he had expected, but divested of his armour, too, making him doubly helpless.

He opened his eyes, and shook his head to clear it. He was in a room, lighted, unlike the corridor, tied securely to what felt like a table leg, his ankles also bound together. He wore only his undershirt and his knee-length pants – they had even taken away his boots.

He glowered angrily at the person sitting in front of him. At least it wasn’t Sashjant, but all of the slaves were so thoroughly under his power that he doubted he had any chance of persuading her to free him. He would have to get free himself, or else hope that the other adventurers had had more luck than he.

“I see you are with us again,” said the woman, an icy tone in her voice.

She was sitting on a small bed, nothing you would call luxurious, and from what he could see around him, he was in a workshop, with carpentry tools hanging from the wall. The stone of the floor, what he could feel of it beneath his fingertips, was fake, which meant that he was still inside the magical maze. Not that he had expected otherwise.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Geska,” she said, “a craftswoman in service to the great lord Sashjant. More importantly, who are you, master dwarf?” He said nothing, not wanting to give away even that much. She snorted, “just like a dwarf, always keeping secrets, even when it doesn’t matter.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know all about your kin, master dwarf", she said, standing up from the bed and beginning to pace. “I come from the southern lands, not far from one of the mountain homes of your people. I am a craftswoman, I could have learned much from the dwarves. They could have taught my family much, if they had wanted. But no, they all had to keep their secrets, the precious secrets of dwarven smithying.”

Her southern ancestry was obvious when he looked. Humans might all be tall and soft, but it was easy enough to tell them apart. Geska’s blue eyes and pale skin both marked her homeland out, for such things were rarely seen here in Haredil. She wore a long dress that almost reached her ankles, made of some pale grey fabric. He approved of the cut, with its high collar and long sleeves, a design that did its best to hide her ample bosom, more demure and respectable than seemed to be the norm among humans. A cold native climate probably encouraged that sort of sensible thinking.

By the standards of humans – which, admittedly, was not saying much – she was reasonably attractive. Her face was broad, her body not too willowy, and the pure blue of her eyes would have been almost fetching, had she not been glaring at him with such ill-disguised hostility.

“I am not a smith,” he said, defensively, “it is not I who has kept those secrets from you.” Although, from what she had said, her original home could not be far from his own birthplace, and it could well be his clansmen she was talking about. Dwarves were less numerous than humans; they had to keep their secrets as a matter of practicality, even were it not also a matter of pride, a part of their racial identity.

“Yet here you are, still keeping secrets. My master will read your mind, once he has dealt with your friends. So you might as well tell me now, to save yourself the torment. How did you get in here, where is Mei-Xing, how many of you are there?”

So Sashjant had not read enough to know how many of the adventurers there were. Since Geska was in here, that left three other women in the complex, in addition to Sashjant himself, and one of the women was unconscious. The numbers were even, and, aside from the barbarian, he doubted many of the slaves were very formidable. That gave them the advantage, and it perhaps gave the some of the adventurers the opportunity to escape detection for a while, and strike back at the demon.

It would, of course, help if he could keep Geska talking in here.

“Why should I tell you? I don’t see anything in it for me.” There; that was better than an outright refusal.

“You’re saying you could be bribed? I doubt it, from what I know of your people. Don’t think we didn’t try, the people from our village. Wealth would not convince you to give up your crafting secrets, I know that much. You probably had too much of your own, with your mines and your unequal trade deals. What else could I bribe you with? I can hardly offer you power, and human things are of little value to the oh-so-skilled dwarves. You aren’t interested in magic, you didn’t want to trade in knowledge, and when a few women from my village got desperate enough to try offering their bodies, you made it perfectly clear that dwarves don’t even talk about such things.”

He flinched at the crudity of the last thing she had mentioned. Dwarves most certainly did not talk about such things, and in Dolrim’s case, he had a secret shame that he really did not want to think about.

“I can see you don’t even want me to talk about that,” she said, sneering, “well, tell me, what do you claim to be interested in? Do you just want to live? Are you frightened?” He said nothing, unable to think of a response. “No, you would never admit that. Not a dwarven warrior. You’re not frightened of anything. Well, apart from…”

She turned away from him suddenly, a slight smile of realisation on her face, and let out a barking laugh. “Apart from the one thing I mentioned that got a reaction from you,” she said, partly to herself, not even looking at him. She turned back to face him, a calculating expression on her face that Dolrim was beginning to find worrying. “I may not be able to offer you much, but perhaps I can threaten you. What worries you, master dwarf?”

She knelt down on the floor, out of reach of his legs, should he have decided to kick her, although, tied up as he was, even that would have been difficult. “No answer? Well, let me tell you: intimacy. Dwarves always dress so heavily, and you, you’re normally hidden in your armour. It probably embarrasses you just to be seen half-dressed as you are now.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, a note of real concern beginning to creep into his voice. He could cope with regular threats, but this was something else, something reminiscent of Raylana, a woman he really did not want to remember. At least there was no aphrodisiac this time.

“I’m going to do this,” she said, reaching out a hand and sliding it under the hem of his vest.

Geska’s fingers rubbed over the taut muscles of his belly, stroking him. “Don’t touch me!” he barked.

“Oh, wrong thing to say,” replied the human woman, “I think I’ve found your weakness.” Her hand pushed further up, brushing against his thick chest hair, one fingertip running over a nipple.

“Stop that – I won’t tell you anything.”

It was impossible to avoid thinking about Raylana now, and what they had shared. It was not en event that he had dared recall until now, and still he hated himself for it, hated what the aphrodisiac had forced him to do. Yet now, as the memories of the tall merchant’s naked body came to the surface, he found himself aroused, and he had to shift his position, lifting his knees up so that Geska could not see the effect she was having on him. He had to resist.

“If you won’t tell me anything, then I won’t stop,” she informed him, lifting his vest up with both hands, bunching it under his armpits to show off his bare chest and abdomen. She rubbed both hands over him now, caressing him, ruffling his chest hair, moving down to his muscular flanks with slow movements. Her skin was calloused, the hands of a craftsman, not those of a typical human, and he was ashamed to realise that that thought pleased him.

“It is not fit for a human to look at a dwarf’s body,” he informed her, “it just isn’t natural.”

“Then tell me what I want to know!” When he said nothing, she huffed angrily, then gripped his shirt, trying to rip it apart with her bare hands.

“No! Unhand me, you human hussy!” The fabric tore with a loud sound, shredding apart as Geska angrily pulled it, leaving nothing but shreds around his arms.

“Difficult for anyone not to look at your body now, master dwarf.”

“You pervert! Don’t think you can tempt me.”

She actually laughed at that. “I’m not trying to tempt you. I’m trying to humiliate you, punish you for what your people did to mine – or rather, failed to do." She snorted with derision, "I’m not interested in your stunty little cock!”

“It’s as large as any human’s!” he blurted out angrily, recalling something Raylana had told him, “which I think means that your people are the ones under-equipped.”

Geska laughed again, “as if you could possibly know!” She leaned closer, a determined and cruel look on her face, “of course, if you don’t want me to prove you a liar, you had better start talking.”

Too late, he realised what he had just taunted her into doing. “No!” he said, genuine fear beginning to grip him for the first time. If she saw his current state, he could never live down the shame. “No, no…”

“Then tell me about your friends,” she hissed triumphantly.

“I can’t betray them… but you mustn’t…” he tried to think desperately of anything to say to her, “listen… no, don’t do that…”

Geska yanked hard on his trews, forcing him to slide down the table leg, his back nearly flat on the floor, his arms stretched out painfully behind him. She pulled them down around his ankles, then looked up at Dolrim’s naked body, his semi-erect penis now fully exposed.

The blonde woman jumped to her feet, a hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened in shock. “By the gods…” she said, an actual giggle escaping her lips, “you’re turned on by this! You’re actually turned on.” She burst out laughing, slapping a thigh in merriment, “and you call me the pervert! Ha ha ha!”

“I don’t see anything funny,” he snapped in reply, trying to pull himself into a sitting position again, and moving his thighs back to try and hide his shame – although it was far too late now.

“”Not to you, perhaps. Although,” she admitted, still smiling, “I guess you weren’t lying.” She took a moment to steady herself, before putting on a somewhat more serious face. “But this opens up all sorts of new possibilities.”

“It does?”

“Of course. You want me, but can’t have me. Even if you won’t speak, I can at least torment you with that.”

“But I don’t want you! The room is just warm, that’s all it is.”

“No, it isn’t. Oh, and the fact you won’t admit it, even to yourself: that just makes it more fun. At least, it does for me, if not for you.”

He glared at her, but she just bent down to pull off her shoes. “What… what are you doing?” he asked, worried that he already knew the answer.

“You want me, master dwarf,” she said, turning around so that her back was towards him, and then looking over her shoulder to fix her blue eyes on him. “You want to take me, to feel me, but you can’t do that, because you’re tied up down there, and I have no intention of giving you anything. But I will show you what you’re missing, and make you face up to your desire.”

“I keep telling you,” he growled, “I don’t desire you. You’re human, and I’m not. Why should I be interested in such a… such a long-legged, willowy, attenuated, flabby-muscled…” he spluttered in indignation.

“You tell me,” she said as she began to undo the ties on the back of her dress, slipping her arms out of it, “because you clearly are,” she nodded in the direction of his groin, presently concealed by his raised thighs.

Geska’s long skirt pooled around her ankles, and she stepped out of it. As Raylana had done, she wore a shorter dress underneath, of thinner fabric, and almost sleeveless. Under that, he knew, she would be wearing indecently short panties, not the modest thigh-length ones of dwarven women. The thought brought another stirring to his loins, and he had to force himself to remember that he was not attracted to human women.

Last time, it had been the aphrodisiac in the air. That was the only reason for it. For all that Raylana had claimed it could not change desires, only weaken the resolve to ignore them, he did not believe her. It had been a trick, there was no way he would ever have done such a thing with her otherwise. He had to focus on that thought, and show Geska that she had no power over him. Even among dwarves, women were never dominant, and he knew deep down, that what she was doing was wrong.

He could resist it. He would resist it.

Geska turned round to face him again, running a hand seductively down one side, smoothing down the light fabric, stepping out of her dress. “You want this to be your hand, don’t you? Come on, admit it.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. Geska took another step forward, hitching up one side of her shift, showing an expanse of creamy thigh. Her legs were longer and slimmer than those of any dwarven woman, and there was little hint of muscle underneath. So why did that rounded shape, that smooth, pale skin, look so enticing?

“Like my legs? Want to kiss them? I bet your beard tickles.” He turned away, staring fixedly at the wall. He had to stop thinking like this. “Well, that’s the first time you’ve stopped looking, master dwarf,” she pointed out, stepping closer, “but we can’t have that.”

She knelt down beside him, but he refused to acknowledge her. “Look at me,” purred the blonde, “you know you want to. Look, but not touch. It must be driving you mad.” He ignored her, still staring at the wall, pretending she wasn’t there. There was little else he could do, at the moment, to show her how wrong she was about him.

“Oh, but I can touch,” she said, placing her hands on his chest again. He still didn’t look at her. “Come on, not a glance?” He shook his head, mutely, as her hands slid down his flanks, below the base of his ribs, down to his hips, thumbs rubbing the dark hair there. He squirmed as they slid further back, running down over his buttocks, cupping them, holding them, squeezing them. They moved from there to his thighs, first the outside, then the inside, moving up inch by careful inch.

“I don’t care what you deny,” she said, “your cock shows you a liar. You’re as hard as you could possibly be, aren’t you? It shows what thoughts are really going through your head.”

“Are all human women so shamelessly lustful?” he snapped, turning to shoot an angry look in her direction.

“What,” she said sarcastically, “you have some other human to compare me with?”

“No… no, of course not,” he spluttered, turning red as an image of Raylana’s long thighs flashed before him.

“By the gods, this just gets better!” cried Geska in amazement, moving away from him, and rising to her feet. “You really are a lousy liar, aren’t you? How in the name of the gods did that happen? And it’s as if you won’t even admit it yourself! I’ve got to know, did you actually fuck her?”

Dolrim closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, banging his head in frustration against the table leg behind him. If only he could get away from this madwoman!

“That brings me right back to the threatening, now doesn’t it? Because now I know something about you that you really don’t want me to spread around. Why, I could tell just anyone.”

“Please… please don’t…” it was almost a whisper. He felt ashamed, not just of what he had done, but of how he sounded now. If only that shame could do anything to banish the ardour that this woman was raising in his loins.

“So, at last you beg. Well, you know what you have to do," her voice turned hard again, "tell me what I want to know.”

“I can’t… please…” he choked on the words, unable to continue further.

“Then we had better continue with this,” she said, turning away from him again, “until you change your mind.”

She raised the hem of her shift to her waist, showing off the curve of her buttocks within the indecently short panties beneath. His eyes gazed wide open as she gave a little waggle with her hips, enticing him further. Not that it was working, he told himself a moment later. Of course not.

Geska raised the shift higher, then pulled it over her head, giving him a view of her bare, slender, back. It was too thin for a dwarf, gangly by their standards, although perhaps not so much for a human. There was no muscle to her shoulders, either, he told himself. Women should be fit and hale, not all long lines and slender curves like a human.

The blonde woman crossed her arms over her breasts, and turned round to face him again, now dressed only in her panties. Her belly, of course, looked as odd as her back, too slim and tall. On the other hand, he had to admit that her bosom was as impressive as that of any dwarven woman. Raylana’s had been much smaller, he recalled, her nipples abnormally small, or so they had seemed to him.

“Well, I can see what you’re looking at,” said Geska, “ready to admit that you want to see more?”

He knew that it would make no difference what he said, so he simply said nothing. He should really be trying to ignore her perverted games. Geska smiled mockingly, a flash of white teeth against pink lips, and slowly moved her arms apart, hands still pressed against her, until they rested over her nipples, the only thing above her waist now obscured from his view.

The human’s breasts, he reflected, were somewhat saggy, compared with those of a dwarf. They should be firmer, even if their size and rounded curve was pleasing to the eye. These looked like soft pillows, pliable and comforting to lay your head against… he quickly snapped himself away from that train of thought, ignoring the throbbing in his cock.

“You like these, huh? You want to touch them, I can see it. But I won’t let you.” She raised her fingers slowly, moving her hands away from the soft mounds, exposing pale pink nipples with large aureoles. The thought that they resembled those of a dwarf more than Raylana’s ever had made his cock jerk, and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight. Yet he could still see them in his mind’s eye as he heard Geska stepping towards him once again.

“Open your eyes, you don’t want to miss anything.” He shook his head, but then he felt her hand on his knee, and the surprise made them snap open again.

She had reached out toward him, and was sitting just a short distance away, cupping her large breasts in her hands. She fixed her blue eyes on his dark ones, and began to stroke the mounds, running her hands over her nipples, squeezing herself, emphasising the softness of her body. Her nipples were hardening, swelling beneath her own probing fingertips, hillocks of pink flesh rising from the paler skin.

“Want to touch them?” the blonde asked, moving closer, “want to kiss them?” She was just inches away from him now, leaning over him, breasts filling his vision, as she held them up for his inspection. A hand darted down, between his legs, cupping his hairy balls, and he failed to suppress a gasp escaping from his lips. Geska trailed the tip of her index finger up the underside of his erect cock, caressing her left breast with her free hand. “Do you want to squeeze my hard nipples?” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“Well, you can’t,” she said suddenly, pulling away from him, and walking back to the bed, well out of his reach.

He glared at her again, an angry curse on his lips. She was insane, not just to be flaunting herself like this, but to imagine that it would excite him. The fact that she had actually stroked his most intimate areas… his cock quivered again at the thought, and he did his best to ignore it.

As he had known she would, Geska stripped off her panties, and now sat on the bed with her legs spread apart, everything on view to the captive dwarf. Her blond thatch was sparser than that of a dwarven woman, a reflection of the general hairlessness that both male and female humans shared, to varying degrees. It was not just their height and shape that were abnormal, after all. Geska was running her hands along her own thighs, across her belly, and still her legs were apart, a display of such lewdness that he could barely have imagined it before she had started, and yet one from which he could not tear away his own gaze.

The blonde raised her left hand to rub an ample breast, while the other dipped down, riffling through the short hair over her mound, and then pressing against her pink pussy lips. She began moving it in gentle circles, pressing slightly between the lips and letting out a small gasp of pleasure. It was a few moments before he realised what she was doing, never having seen a woman do such a thing before.

"You wish this was you, don't you?" she asked, her voice low and husky, "mmm… but right now, I don't need any man, least of all you."

Her middle finger dipped deeper, and for a moment, she pulled her lips apart, exposing her depths to his startled gaze. He could see that her face was already flushed, and her fingers damp with the signs of her own excitement. She held up her hand, and the light glistened on the specks of moisture.

"What do you think of that, master dwarf?" she said, standing up again and taking a few steps towards him. He struggled to move away, but she leaned forward, her body out of his reach but her right arm outstretched.

"That's just wrong!" he cried as her hand moved closer, and at last managed to haul himself to his feet, his tied hands banging against the underside of the heavy table. She reached out, smearing the juices of her unseemly lust across his face, wiping them on his beard. It was too much, and at last he began to feel his ardour waning.

And then, he realised, as she stepped away to return to the bed, the ties around his wrists had caught on a nail projecting from the back of the table leg, just where it joined the top. The thong was beginning to tear… if he could work it back and forth a few times without her seeing, he had a chance at freedom!

Geska had returned to the bed, spreading her legs again and returning to her self-pleasure, her eyes fluttering shut as she did so. He had just the one chance, and he had to move quickly and silently.

The material ripped, and he yanked his arms free, the shreds of his shirt falling to the floor. He reached out and grabbed at a carpentry knife on the table, as he heard Geska shout out in alarm, and lunge towards him. Skillfully, he rolled to the side, out of her reach, onto his back, kicking his legs up so that he could slash at their bindings with the knife. The human grabbed onto his wrist, but he shook her off, aiming another cut at the bindings, and finally freeing himself.

She screamed as he lunged at her with the knife, clambering up onto the bed. He leapt after her, falling on top of her as he grabbed her right arm in his left and pressed the knife against her throat. Geska went very quiet, blue eyes wide with fear, her earlier passion evidently forgotten.

"How dare you treat me like that!" he hissed, "You're not just a pervert, you are insane! What was all that about? You knew I wouldn't talk, you said as much, so what was it for, just your own pleasure? And don't scream again, or I swear I will slit your throat."

"Punishment for your people ignoring mine," she growled, some of her old fight returning, although she obviously did not dare move or shout out.

"Not just ignoring your people, but ignoring you, am I right? You said that women from your village tried to offer themselves in return for secrets of craftsmanship, something no dwarf would ever accept as payment. You were one of those women, weren't you? This has been about your failure, am I right?"

She nodded, slowly, the knife still tight against the flesh of her throat. "I wanted to know that it wasn't just me, that the dwarven smiths had said no only because they did not want their fellows finding out the truth later. And I proved it; I could tell what you wanted, and yes, damn it, I punished you for it."

"I was not interested!" he said forcefully, trying to ignore the fact that his penis, which had gone limp during the fight, had its tip now nestled in the slight depression of her navel. The comforting, warm, feel of the soft dimple in her flesh was enticing it to swell again, and he tried to persuade himself that he wasn't going to move from his position because doing so might give her a chance to fight back.

"I think we both know that's a lie. You could hardly have proved it more effectively."

"You mustn't tell anyone. Remember, I am the one with the knife now, I can kill you any time I wish." He was hoping she would buy that lie. No matter what else she was, she was a victim of the demon, mind-controlled into doing its bidding, an innocent victim who deserved to live… so long as he could persuade her to stay silent.

"Don't you want to know where your armour and weapons are? I can take you to them, I can show you the way out. I can say you forced me… it's close enough to the truth."

"Do that, and I will let you live," he said, "but cross me again, and it will be your doom."

"On one condition," replied Geska, a hint of steel returning to her voice.

"I hardly think you're in a position to bargain. Your life should be enough."

"But you don't want to kill me, I can see it in your eyes. Oh, you’re angry, but not murderously so. Besides, you enjoyed my little show, so I've already given you something to thank me for."

"Thank you?" he asked incredulously, "you really are mad."

"I'll let you out of here on one condition," she repeated, "I want to know. Know what should have happened back in the village."

"Know what?" he asked, mouth dry, hardly believing she could be asking him what he thought she was.

"You understand me. Those dwarves turned me down, but you're lying on top of me, with a big firm cock pressed against my skin, and it's not as if you haven't done it before. Show me what it would have been like. Or you'll never get out."

He leaned back slightly, raising his body off hers, shaking his head wordlessly. This was like Raylana all over again. What was it with human women?

"It's not as if you don't want to."

He finally snapped. "You think you're so irresistible?" he shouted, angrily throwing away the knife, "is this what you want?"

He pushed himself backwards on the bed, and grabbed one of her legs, lifting it up so that the back of her knee rested on his shoulder. Her blonde bush and enticing pussy were just inches in front of his member, which was already rapidly engorging to its full size.

"Is this what you want?" he asked again, thrusting himself into her. He grunted in pleasure as her soft lips enfolded him, and gripped onto her raised thigh, stubby fingers digging into the yielding flesh. "Is this what you were waiting for all those years?" He began pumping himself in and out, punctuating his words with repeated thrusts. ""You want… a hard… manly… dwarven… cock… in your… human… cunt?"

Geska groaned, a sound of deep satisfaction, panting and gasping as he continued to fuck her. She could only manage occasional cries of agreement or encouragement, urging him on. The feeling, somehow, was even better than with Raylana, her slick cunt yielding to his every motion. His eyes were mesmerised by the rise and fall of her large breasts, jiggling more than a dwarf's would, and by the motion of her not-quite-firm-enough belly.

He pulled himself forward, lying on top of her now, his head just under her chin, her breasts pressed against his shoulder. He slowed his motion inside her, wanting to draw the experience out, taking longer than he had with Raylana. One heavy hand grasped a breast, kneading it as her own hands gripped his shoulders and ass. The feel of the mound against his probing fingers was strange, so soft and pleasant, and he savoured the sensation as he continued to caress the pliable flesh, something he had not done during his previous human encounter.

He pulled himself free, his damp cock slapping against the inside of Geska's thigh as she let out a disappointed moan. In reply, he wrapped both hands around one of her breasts, pressing it into his face, opening his mouth to take the swollen pink nipple inside. He sucked at it, his nose buried in her soft flesh, tongue licking as he gave in to the desire for her.

"I was right…" Geska said, breathlessly, "your beard does tickle."

He pulled back, frowning at the possible insult, and grabbed onto each of her legs, forcing them apart, then moving into a sitting position and pulling her buttocks into his lap, impaling her once again. Geska's head was thrown back, her face deeply flushed, gasps coming more rapidly this time as he resumed his vigorous thrusts. Her thighs were against his chest, knees either side of his head, and he used one hand to steady himself as the other reached out to grab a bouncing breast.

"Admit it…" she managed to gasp, in between moans of pleasure.

He didn't bother to ask what she meant. "You're too tall," he told her , "you're gangly, and soft, your waist is too narrow, your shoulders too frail, your skin too hairless… uhh… uhh… and by the names of all the dwarven gods… I do like it… I really, truly, like it…"

He couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth, but he could never take them back not now. There was no aphrodisiac, nothing compelling him, no possible excuse he could create. She was human, and yet he found her incredibly sexually exciting, in a way he could never have imagined possible.

Invigorated by the realisation, he increased the pace of his thrusts, pounding into her over and over again as her moans rose in pitch, wordless now, as she was lost in the throws of her own lust. They climaxed together, he letting out a cry of undiluted pleasure as he filled her weak, human cunt with spurt after spurt of hot, dwarven cum.

He held here there for a moment, making sure the last of his seed was spent inside her, his hips continuing to make small motions until at last he pulled out, gasping for breath as he lay down beside her.

He knew, then, that he did not want this to be the last time.

35: Gut'rul

2011-10-22T22:41:00.000+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

The place was evidently extra-dimensional in some way, a pocket of reality that did not fit within the regular dimensions of the physical world. Almandar had heard of such things before, had even seen them on a smaller scale, but he had never experienced one large enough to actually walk into. Judging from the doors that led off from the stone flagged corridor, it was even larger than they could see from here, an entire home hidden by what was presumably an easily portable door.

They stepped carefully and quietly down the corridor, not wanting to alert anyone inside. Luck, however, was not with them. Before they had moved even half way along, one of the occupants turned the corner at the far end and saw them, and let out a sudden yell. He recognised the red-headed slave he had met at the market – he seemed to recall her name was Kara – and immediately cast a sleep spell in her direction.

The woman collapsed, her legs falling from under her, and hit the floor heavily. Almandar darted forward, for a moment moving away from the others as the woman’s shout continued to echo through the magical space, evidently enhanced somehow. He did not want to hurt her, for she was an innocent victim, just as Mei-Xing was, just as all the harem were, but it was imperative that Sashjant and his slaves not have the chance to arm themselves.

“Let’s…” said Tarissa, but at that moment everything went dark.

Almandar found himself being whirled about, as if caught in a hurricane. He could not see or hear the others, but he sensed that they were being pulled somewhere else. He should not have moved away from them, should not have allowed his emotions to override his instincts.

He barely avoided stumbling, but, just seconds later, the motion stopped with a sudden lurch. He threw a hand out to the wall, and found the stone oddly smooth beneath his fingertips. It was probably not real stone, he reflected, but that hardly mattered now. What was important was that he was in a pitch black corridor, apparently separated from his companions.

He strained his ears to see if he could hear anything. The place could not be that large, after all. Sure enough, he thought he could hear Tarissa’s voice some distance away, although he could not make out the words. He was about to move in that direction, when he heard a footfall behind him.

It was soft, barely audible, but unmistakable nonetheless. He span round, and raised his arms in a gesture for a spell, but he could see nothing in the blackness. Was it Sashjant himself, in which case directing a spell with a wide blast down the corridor should hit him no matter where he was standing? Or was it one of the enslaved women, in which case he did not want to cast anything destructive?

For a moment, he was paralysed with indecision – his morals once again getting the better of him, for he did not want to hurt an innocent victim. Whoever it was ran straight at him, and he began the motions to cast a defensive spell. Before he could even finish, however, they were on top of him, a heavy body slamming into him, knocking him to the ground. Whoever it was could apparently see in the darkness.

He wriggled round, trying to free himself, but a strong arm wrapped around his neck, forcing him back, and a heavy leg wrapped around one of his. He could not possibly cast a spell in such a position, and whoever had him in their grip was clearly stronger than he was. It had to be either Sashjant, or the warrior-woman that travelled with him. Hopefully, it was the latter, although one of the meeker members of the harem would have been better still.

He reached for his dagger, the only defence still left to him. A strong hand caught his – his captor’s other arm still around his throat – and he found himself wrestling against somebody powerfully muscular. He heard a slight grunt of exertion from the other person; feminine he thought, which at least meant he wasn’t facing the demon itself.

But if it was one of the harem, she was incredibly strong for a woman, and smashed his hand down hard against the stonework. At first, he managed to maintain the grip on the dagger, although he could get it nowhere near her skin, but she continued to batter it against the wall, and on the third stroke, the weapon slipped from his abused fingers. She pulled the hand behind his back, wrapping a thong around his wrist.

He tried to kick out as she moved, but to no avail, and his other arm was soon caught in her iron grip, and forced to meet its twin, then tied securely to it with the thong.

“You are my prisoner! If you try to escape, I will break your neck.”

The voice was, indeed, feminine, with a guttural accent he could not place. He had only seen three members of the harem; Mei-Xing, Kara, and a stocky blonde woman, but his fellow adventurers had identified two others, one of whom they said was unquestionably a warrior. It was evidently she that he had had the misfortune to meet, but being her prisoner at least sounded better than being dead.

Somewhere out there, Tarissa and the others were still active, and, aside from Sashjant himself, he doubted there was anyone else in here who could pose them much of a threat. Hopefully, then, he just had to wait to be rescued. Which was embarrassing, but hardly hopeless. For now, all he could do was to cooperate and play for time if he could, keeping this warrior away from the others. Once Sashjant was dealt with, she would no longer be a problem.

“Get up!” she hissed, roughly hauling him to his feet, Standing behind his back, she pushed him forward, adding “now walk.”

They moved down the lightless corridor for a little, and it was evident once again that she either knew her way very well indeed, or had some sort of magical assistance that allowed her to see in the darkness. Eventually, she pushed a door open, revealing a lighted room beyond. He noticed that the light did not spill out into the corridor, suggesting that the darkness was magical itself; even if he had had a chance to cast a light spell, it probably would not have worked.

His captor pushed him inside, and he found himself in what appeared to be a kitchen, full of pots and bundles of food, with a metal stove in one corner, and a large, cloth-covered table in front of it.

“Sit!” she said, forcing him down into a chair, and, as she moved away to watch him, he got his first real chance to see her.

His first thought was that she was tall; incredibly tall for a woman. He estimated that she might be six foot six, making her a good deal taller than she was, and she could hardly be described as willowy. It was said that somewhere out in the Wild Lands, there was a tribe of half-ogres, stronger by far than any human. He could believe that from her height and build, but not from her looks, for, size apart, she looked perfectly human.

In fact, like all of Sashjant’s harem, she was an attractive woman, although the angry scowl on her face was doing little to emphasise that. Her clothing, nonetheless, did suggest that she hailed from the Wild Lands, regardless of whether or not she had any ogre blood in her veins. She wore a sleeveless leather top, held on by straps over her bare shoulders, and with a wide belt decorated with metal badges bearing barbaric designs. Below the belt, she wore leather shorts so brief they were hardly more than panties, and a pair of knee-length boots fringed with the hair of some shaggy beast.

Apart from that, and leather bracers around each wrist, her legs and arms were bare. Bare, and very muscular, with thews that would not have looked out of place on a dwarf, but seemed odd on a human woman, especially one so tall. Yet human she surely was, judging from her face, which certainly lacked any trace of ogre or orc in its features. She had long brown hair, cascading down her back, and held in place by a golden circlet with a glittering blue gem – he wondered if that was the magical device she had used to see in the darkness. Her eyes were also blue, a deep, stunning blue that offset the darker colour of her hair, and she had full lips, currently set in something of a sneer.

Even in his current predicament, he could not help but also notice that, above the top of her leather bodice, she had a magnificent cleavage. Sashjant clearly had not just wanted a warrior.

She pointed a dagger towards him. It was not his own, which had been dropped out in the corridor, but a sharp steel blade with an ivory handle that he had no doubt she knew how to use. Almandar decided that, for the moment, it would probably not be wise to annoy her.

“Who are you?” she barked, “and how did you get in?”

“I’m a magician, I bypassed your lock.”

She grunted, eyes watching him warily. “How many others are with you?”

“There’s just me.”

“Liar!” she shouted, jabbing the knife forward until it was less than an inch from his face, “I heard the woman speak, so I know there are others. Two? Three? Do not lie to me.”

He said nothing, and she scowled angrily, before pulling the knife back.

“It does not matter,” she said, eventually, “my master will find and destroy them. And I have you as a prisoner. If you do not tell me what I want, my master will question you, and learn everything anyway.”

“Your master is a demon. I know that much.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but a great and powerful demon, more magnificent than you can imagine.”

“I didn’t think the people of the Wild Lands liked demons?”

She frowned, as if puzzled by something, then shook her head, “he is different. His glory is unsurpassed, as you will find when he crushes you into oblivion. Now, what of Mei-Xing?”

“I don’t know who you mean.”

“Ah, but you do,” she said, taking a step closer, still waving the weapon in his direction. “Kara saw you leave with her. She described you, so I know you are the same man. Although I do not think you are as handsome as she said, for you are puny, like all city folk.”

He could not tell her where Mei-Xing was, for, in the event he was not rescued, he had to at least ensure that the eastern woman had the best possible chance to avoid recapture and enslavement. But he wondered how much he could tell this woman, for perhaps he had another chance here.

He had not told the others exactly how he had manoeuvred Mei-Xing into a place where he could cast the spell that freed her, although Calleslyn, at least, surely suspected. But it had taught him something valuable about their demonic foe. The members of the harem were obsessed with Sashjant, the victims of some powerful ongoing enchantment. They would do anything for him, including serving as his sexual playthings.

But it was clear that the demon had no such attachment to them. He could probably not attack them outright, for such things normally broke that sort of enchantment, but that did not mean he had to actually care for them. In particular, the demon’s sexual exertions had nothing of Sarlene’s love in them. He fucked the women whenever he felt like it, but he was not interested in how they responded to that, only in achieving his own pleasure. The enchantment counteracted that, partly, but it was obvious that Mei-Xing had been sexually unfulfilled, and that was what had allowed him the chance to seduce her.

In short, Sashjant could not give her the sort of sexual pleasure that she really wanted. This woman might well be the same. Indeed, she looked like the type who might want to be domineering sexually, and the demon was hardly likely to give her the opportunity to experience that.

“Speak!” said the barbarian, waving the dagger again, and he realised that he had been silent too long, mulling over the possibilities.

“I distracted her,” he said, “that’s how I found out about this place, about where it was.”

The woman snorted in derision, “she would not tell you such a thing. That is ridiculous! You must be lying. What really happened?”

“We had sex. She liked it… a lot.”

“Now I know you are lying!”

“It’s the truth. Why would I make it up? I guess she needed more than Sashjant could provide.”

The woman let out a barking laugh, but there was something slightly false in it, and she turned away immediately afterward, looking at the far wall, not meeting his gaze. If his hands had not been tied, it would have been a great opportunity to attack her, but he knew how that would end if he tried it now.

“Impossible,” she said, still not looking at him, “Sashjant provides us with everything; our home, our life, our purpose for being. Our lives were empty before we met him and he showed us the way.”

“Mei-Xing didn’t seem to think so. How else would I be here? Are you sure there is nothing you miss? One man cannot provide everything, even if that man is really a demon.”

“He can,” she said, turning back to face him, but she seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as him.

“How sure are you of that? Besides, what do you have to lose? You have said it yourself; my friends and I won’t defeat him anyway, so why not take this chance while you can?”

She was silent for a while, watching him, an appraising look on her face, as if weighing up the quality of a piece of meat. At last, she twisted her lips into a half sneer and gave a little nod. “We shall see,” she said simply, and walked back to the door of the kitchen, locking it firmly in place, before walking over to stand in front of him.

“My name is Gut’rul,” she informed him, “and you are?”

“Almandar,” he said, seeing no reason to make anything up at this point.

“You will prove your words, Almandar. You will pleasure me, and, when you are done, if you cannot make me come, I will kill you.” So saying, she began to pull off her boots, throwing them away to one side.

“That seems… a good incentive…” he said, uneasily, as she undid her belt, “will you at least untie my hands?”

She shook her head, “you are my prisoner. You need no hands.” She threw the belt away, and then reached forward, grabbing Almandar by the shoulders, and pulling him off the chair. With a shove, she forced him down onto his knees, holding him there with one powerful hand, her muscular legs placed slightly apart, leaving him wondering what she would do next.

With her free hand, the barbarian woman pulled at her leather shorts, sliding them down over her powerful thighs to lie at her feet. She wore nothing underneath, and Almandar found himself facing a remarkably hairy bush. He expected her to undress further, but instead she released his shoulder, grabbed the back of his head instead, and pulled him into her crotch.

His nose was pressed awkwardly into her hair, a smell of leather and sweat filling his nostrils. Tentatively, he kissed her between the legs, finding her still dry down there. Gut’rul shifted position slightly, and pulled him down lower, forcing his neck into an uncomfortable position, but pressing his lips up against her pussy.

“Lick me,” she commanded, “taste my cunt, and show me this skill of yours.”

It was hardly the most romantic position he had been in, but he had to try and go through with his plan. His hands were still tied behind his back, leaving him all but helpless while the barbarian woman pushed his face into her hairy groin. If he could please her, maybe there was a chance she might give him more opportunity to do something. It was fortunate that he had plenty of experience, even if not quite in these circumstances.

He ran his tongue along the length of her pussy, feeling curly hairs rubbing against it. Then he dabbed it inside her folds, licking her slowly, tasting her flesh. He sucked on her lips, pulling at them slightly, then releasing them, dipping his tongue in and out as he did so, He probed and teased at her folds, licking and sucking as he moved towards the nub of her pleasure.

The barbarian grunted loudly when he reached her clit. It was unusually large, and he pulled and sucked at with his lips, making her gasp aloud in pleasure. Her pussy lips were beginning to engorge now, and he felt the familiar taste of a woman’s juices running onto his tongue. As he continued to tease at her clit, he felt her hips beginning to grind into his face, her motions uncontrollable.

“Yeah, you are good,” she said grudgingly, and unexpectedly yanked his head back and away, pulling at his hair, “onto the table.”

He stumbled to his feet, still fully dressed, and stepped towards the cloth covered table, gesturing with his tied hands, and hoping she would get the message. She didn’t, and simply lifted him up with both hands, pushing him onto the top, then clambering up after him, forcing him down onto his back with both brawny arms.

“We get a better position here, yes?” she said, looking at him with an expression that actually dared him to disagree.

He nodded meekly, deciding it was for the best, and she grinned, holding him down with one hand as she pulled off her bodice. Her heavy breasts swung free, large pink nipples already erect, but clearly out of his reach. She shuffled up his body, powerful thighs either side of his head.

Now that she had him pinioned with her body, Gut’rul had both her hands free. She used one to pull her pussy lips apart, letting him see the pink moistness that had he so recently tasted, and smell the dampness of her arousal.

“Fuck me with your tongue!” she commanded, heaving her hips up onto his face. “Stick it right in there, and give it to me!”

He obliged, thrusting it as far as he could, sliding in her slick moisture. He nuzzled against her outsized clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, until she began to pant heavily, hips taking up their slow motion again. From his vantage point, he could just see her fondling one breast with her free hand, tweaking and rubbing her large nipple as she continued to move up and down on his face.

Almandar sucked at the barbarian’s clit for all he was worth, kissing and suckling it in between forays deeper into her cunt. Gut’rul let out a low moan of satisfaction, now gripping onto the side of the table instead of onto him, throwing her head back as she rode his tongue.

“Uttrag’na se…” she muttered, or something like it, evidently resorting to her own language.

They continued in that position for some time, she fiercely bucking against him, her heavy breasts swaying with the motion, he exploring every crevice of her cunt, wiggling his tongue from side to side and stroking it up and down, noting what she liked as he continued to pleasure her over and over.

At last it seemed she had had enough, at least for the moment, and pulled herself off his prone body, kneeling poised over him, legs apart, looking down at him from between the fringes of her long brown hair. Her body was covered with a sheen of sweat, her chest rising and falling deeply.

“Like these?” she said, hefting her breasts, “then suck them.”

Moving down to lie over him, she pressed one magnificent breast into his mouth, and he eagerly responded, pulling a large pink nipple into his mouth with his lips. He sucked and pulled at it, running his tongue round it as he already had at her cunt, and the barbarian woman responded by rubbing her body against his. Her bare belly could surely feel the bulge of his growing erection pressed against it, but she showed no interest in that.

Instead, she simply changed sides so that he could sample her other breast. “Good,” she said, and pulled away, staring down at him with those deep blue eyes of hers. “Now what shall we do next, huh?”

“Whatever you want…” he gasped, sensing that was the right answer.

She grinned, the first look of real happiness he had seen on her face – although in fairness, he hadn’t had a good view when he’d been sucking her.

“Oh, fuck it,” she said, still half-grinning, “why not? But if you try anything, I’ll break your fingers.” The glare in her eyes as she spoke convinced him that the second part might well be true, so he made no move as she reached behind his back, and pulled apart the thongs tying his hands.

Released at last, he rubbed his wrists to restore their circulation, and tried to ignore the pain from the one hand she had beaten repeatedly against the stone wall. He gripped onto her sweaty flanks, feeling hard muscle beneath them, but she twisted out of the way, lying back on her haunches.

“Lower down,” she said, “that’s not what I want your fingers for.”

He gripped one powerful thigh, and slipped his good hand up to her pussy. It was his left, of course, which was a little awkward, but, with the right one injured, he would have to make do. He bent forward to kiss her chest just below her breasts as he slid a finger inside. His kisses wandered down over her taut and muscular belly, stopping to lick a navel that he noticed for the first time had a golden ring in it. A second finger joined the first, and he began to move his hand in and out.

“Harder and faster, Almandar,” she warned him, “if you want to make me come, you’ll have to do more than that.”

As his kisses moved down over her crotch, he began to pump his fingers in more vigorously, driving them between her folds with increasing energy. Gut’rul was panting heavily now, her face flushed, blue eyes wide, the traces of his saliva on her heaving breasts glistening in the lamp light.

His mouth reached her cunt, even as his fingers continued to dive in and out. He sucked on her large clit, and she threw back her head, letting out a loud groan of delighted pleasure.

“Yes, give it to me like that! Suck me good. Uttrag’na se!” She let out repeated gasps as he continued his ministrations, hands clenching the tablecloth as her body began to writhe around his expert fingers, hips bucking vigorously now, legs moving against the table top.

“Kusatch!” she shouted, with a hint of desperation, grabbing him by the shoulders again, and pulling him away from her. He thought at first he had done something to anger her, but the look of sheer lust in her eyes soon settled that fear.

Heaving herself up onto her knees again, she pushed the half-elf down, and grabbed at his trews, pulling them down as she whipped his erect cock free. Gut’rul bared her teeth in a wild grin, eyes glaring with passion.

“Big for a city boy,” she said, “you could almost be one of the tribe. Want to stick that where no city-born cock has ever been before?”

She didn’t wait for any response, simply grabbing him, and positioning him where she could plunge down on top of him. She pressed her lower body against him, almost squeezing his balls against the table as she sought to pull him in as far as she could.

“Uttrag’na!” she said again, with a wild look, and began to ride him. “Fuck me, city boy, yes?” she said, almost snarling, “you like it? Tell me you like it?”

She was humping him energetically, breasts heaving, his balls slamming again and again against her ass. He was practically unable to do anything in response, except surrender to the sensations rushing through his body as she continued her wild ride. Her hair was in disarray, long brown locks trailed across her face, shoulders and upper chest, large pink nipples heavily engorged on her bouncing bosom.

He grabbed onto her breasts, fondling her nipples, squeezing the large mounds beneath his hands. “Yes, I like it…” he managed, between his own gasps.

The barbarian closed her eyes, throwing her head back, and muttering something over and over in her strange tongue. Her voice held a hint of desperation, and a hint of approaching climax as her thrusts became ever quicker.

Suddenly, her blue eyes snapped open and she looked straight into his face as she let out a wordless cry, and her body spasmed against his as his seed flooded into her cunt. She continued moving against him even as began to soften, although she was slower and quieter now.

At last, she flicked back some of the locks from her face, and rolled off him, lying on her back beside him, legs dangling off the table as she regained her breath. He was almost too exhausted himself to cast the spell that would free her from Sashjant’s enchantment.

But only ‘almost’.

34: Celestial

2011-09-18T15:51:00.001+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

Nyvara looked at the water ahead of them, filling the tunnel as it sloped down into the depths. That Zarenis wanted her to swim though it was just ridiculous. She already regretted having agreed to help the tiefling out, but the problem was that she was too far into it to back out. The only escape route from this passage that she knew of was through a hideous barrier of flesh-eating vegetation that she had absolutely no idea how to neutralise. If she tried to leave, she would probably die in the attempt.

But going ahead looked no safer. She had to try to appeal to whatever sense of preservation Zarenis still had.

“We don’t know how far the water goes,” she pointed out, “we could drown.”

“It’s not that far. We’re physically fit; we can swim it.” The tiefling woman sounded quite positive. Nyvara almost asked her how she could be so certain, but bit back the question. It was the Presence, of course; that strange infernal entity that spoke to her in her head, or whatever it was it did.

“Well don’t forget, there’s a celestial waiting on the other side,” she said instead, “the creature we fought before was one thing, but how can we hope to fight a celestial? I don’t know much about them, but I do know they’re incredibly powerful. I bet even hardened adventurers would think twice about taking one on, and we’re going to allow it to jump us while we’re trying to get out of the water. It’s suicide!”

Zarenis glared at her, and, for a moment, her face transformed, her horns growing, her eyes changing to blood-red, parted lips revealing sharp and pointed teeth. “We’re going on,” she said, her voice guttural and deeper in tone than it usually was. Then, just a second later, she returned to normal.

Nyvara flinched back. She did not like what the tiefling had become, how her demonic heritage was so much stronger now than it ever had been before, how sometimes it showed itself visibly, and surely must be clouding her thoughts as well. She had agreed to help because of the promise of wealth and power, but how did she even know she could trust this woman to deliver on that promise?

It had been a mistake to agree to this. But, if the truth was known, she was too frightened now to change her mind, even if that had been an option. She knew, with a sinking feeling, that she was going to have to follow Zarenis into the water, and towards the celestial. She only hoped she wouldn’t die in the process.

She said nothing, just glancing down at the floor, and then once again at the water, her shoulders slumped in resignation. Zarenis said nothing further, and began pulling off her boots. So the flooding lasted long enough for them not to want to be weighed down by heavy clothes, she thought, as the Tiefling continued to undress. Great. At least the water would be warm.

Rolgor evidently sensed her submission, and began pulling off his own shirt, revealing a broad greyish-green chest that rippled with muscle. But she doubted his skill in street brawling would help much against what they were about to face. Reluctantly, Nyvara began to join them undressing.

Zarenis turned out to be wearing masculine underwear that showed off nothing of her figure, although, frankly, under the circumstances, Nyvara doubted she would have found the sight of more flesh distracting anyway. Besides, her interest in other women was fuelled more by the desire to corrupt the virtuous into enjoying something that subverted their moral principles, than it was from anything more overtly physical. And Zarenis was too corrupted already for that to even be meaningful.

The tiefling put her belt back on, holding her shortsword and a pouch containing whatever magical devices she had brought with her, then turned back to Nyvara, a fake smile on her face. “Follow me,” she said, with a voice that sounded annoyingly cheerful. She was evidently enjoying the sorceress’s discomfort. Bitch.

Zarenis stepped into the water, walking until it was deep enough to plunge her head under and disappear. Rolgor, dressed only in a pair of shorts, and gripping his axe tightly looked at her in the glow of her mage-light. He didn’t look at all frightened, she reflected. Although she suspected that was possibly because he hadn’t fully understood the situation.

“I go first,” he said, and followed the tiefling.

Nyvara grimaced, realising she was on her own once Rolgor’s head had vanished beneath the slick surface. She had to follow quickly if he was to have any light – Zarenis didn’t seem to need any, but even a half-orc’s night vision couldn’t cope with the absolute blackness of an underground labyrinth.

All she had taken off was her tunic and shoes, feeling that she really didn’t want to be half-naked down here. Her dress would have been inconvenient, but that was exactly why she wasn’t wearing it today, just tight black trews and matching top over a white linen shirt. That should be light enough not to weigh her down, even if Zarenis’s assurances about the length of the submerged passage were overstated. Or so she hoped.

Damn the bloody woman to hell.

Tucking the glowing source of the mage-light into the draw-band of her trews, she stepped into the water, walking quickly until it reached above her hips. She had been right about it being warm, although there was an unpleasant mineral smell to it that would make it unsuitable for bathwater. Following the others, she took a deep breath, leaned forward and ducked her head under, pushing off from the stone flagging beneath her feet and into the blackness beyond.

Her magical light had little effect in the murky water, just glimmering and giving her brief glimpses of stony walls and a submerged ceiling ahead. She pushed on with firm strokes, moving as quickly as she could through the uncertain gloom. The trip seemed to last forever, to go on for far longer than she had hoped. Her lungs were beginning to strain, but she realised she was already too far along to turn back.

Bloody… damnable… bitch, she thought. And damn you for ever agreeing to this.

There was light ahead. An orange glow coming down from above. Without pausing to think she dove for it, feeling a pain in her chest as she struggled to avoid taking a breath. Barely a second or so later – although it felt much longer – she broke the surface, gasping for air, a curse against the woman she had followed on her lips.

Moments later, she registered that there was shouting and banging from up ahead. There was obviously a fight in progress, but her long black hair was trailed across her face, and she could not make anything out, beyond the fact that it was light in here. She should have tied it back, she thought, as she flipped it away and raised her hands into a gesture for a spell.

Something loomed towards her. Something humanoid and golden, blocking the light. Nyvara was a seller of magical items, not a combat wizard, and she did not know many spells for fighting. But she did know some, and threw the deadliest she knew at whatever was in front of her.

With a flash of white light, the spell rebounded harmlessly off the thing’s skin. It spoke, a shout of command in no language she had ever heard. She could not even articulate the sounds in the word, could never have repeated those impossibly ineffable syllables, yet they echoed through her brain over and over.

And everything went black.

──◊──

She wasn’t unconscious, that was the frightening thing. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t even hear anything. She somehow vaguely sensed she was being moved, and the warmth of the water around her faded, to be replaced by a drier, cooler sensation. The paralysis made her body numb beyond that and she had no further idea what was happening.

Nyvara struggled to control her fear, aware that she wasn’t even able to scream, and that she was completely at the mercy of whatever had done this to her – no doubt the celestial. They had been defeated, that much was clear, all of her warnings now fully justified as they had faced something that had swatted them aside as if they were no more than irritating insects. And there was nothing she could do about it, nothing she could do to protect herself. All she could do was wait and see what happened, see if there might be even a slim chance of somehow saving herself.

But she feared that the being would simply kill them first. One of them was demon-tainted, after all.

Her hearing was the first sense to return. She could hear something walking about on a rough floor, and the sound of her own breathing, and, a crackling… yes, a crackling fire somewhere. Nothing else though, and it didn’t really help.

The blackness began to fade, an orange blur appearing before her eyes and growing, focussing as she began to take in the chamber around her. She was lying on her side, still unable to do more than blink her eyes, looking out across an underground room. The floor was tiled in rough stone, and the ceiling reached up out of her line of sight, while the walls looked much the same as those in the underground tunnels. A pillar of some sort occupied the centre of the room, casting a shadow in the crackling light of the fire beyond it. She couldn’t move her head to see the top of it.

The fire had to be magical, for how else would the thing get fuel down here? Besides, the room was not full of smoke. Had there been any doubt, it was clear that the being was more magically powerful than she.

At first, she could not see the celestial itself, although she could hear it moving about. From her angle, all that was visible were Rolgor’s bare legs, stretched out on the stone and what had to be Zarenis’s hand, peeking out from behind the pillar.

When it finally moved into her view, its nature was obvious. True, she knew little about the different types of such being, but that it was, indeed, a celestial, was beyond doubt. It was, she thought, about seven feet tall, perhaps a little more, humanoid except for great white feathered wings that she assumed must sprout from its shoulders, although she could only see their lower halves from where she was. It wore sandals and a white kilt with strips of silver material decorating it; above that was a belt bearing the holy symbol of the Sun God as a golden buckle.

Its skin was burnished gold in colour, almost metallic, not like mere body paint, and it shone in the reflected firelight – her own mage-light seemed to have gone out. It seemed to be bare from the waist up, although, without moving her head, she could see no more than its lower torso, legs, and part of the wings. Aside from its colour, and her guess as to its height, all that that told her was that it had no navel, just smooth skin across its belly, and that its legs were clearly muscular. As, no doubt, was the rest of it, if she could but see.

Feeling began to return, the sensation of rough stone beneath her body, and a tingling sensation in her feet and fingers. Experimentally, she flexed a hand, and the fingers twitched. Her legs and arms stubbornly refused to follow suit.

The being turned, and stepped towards her. Now she could see nothing above its knees, although, even in the shadow it cast it was close enough that she could see its skin clearly. It was entirely hairless, lacking even the pores that normally covered human skin, almost as if it was made of flexible golden metal. Not even remotely human, then, regardless of its overall form.

“You wake,” it said. The voice was deep, resonant, inhumanly smooth, and she was not even sure she was really hearing it, at least not with her ears. Instead, the voice seemed to be inside her head, although she could tell it came from the being standing in front of her. “Good.”

What did it want? At least there was no chance it would try and ravish her. As a celestial of the Sun God, the damn thing was probably sexless, and, besides, it would be a paragon of nobility, law, and general sanctimonious decency. She moved her lips, finding them responding sluggishly to her will, and tried to speak, but it came out as a slurred mumble, her tongue barely moving.

“What are you? Why are you here?”

“Go tuuh hllll…” she managed. Her voice seemed to be returning, if slowly. She could even shift her feet slightly. Although what she could do even when full control of her body had returned, she had no idea.

“Unnecessary,” it said, apparently taking the request literally, “you shall tell me, and I shall know if you speak a word of untruth.”

“Fuck off,” she said, enunciating the words carefully, and pleased at her success in doing so.

The celestial reached down, and grabbed her under one shoulder, hauling her upright, and then pushing her up against the wall – which, as it turned out, was only a few inches behind her. She found she could hold her head up, but she still had no strength to stand on her own, although a tingling in her legs told her it would not be much longer now.

“Why are you here? Why do you bring one that bears a demonic taint?”

The celestial’s head was as hairless as the rest of its body, although more or less human in its general features. Its eyes, though, glowed with an inner light, lacking any pupils or visible iris, just a featureless white sheen. Its expression showed that it knew it was completely in control of the situation, and no more worried by her than she might be by an errant mosquito.

“What makes you think I would tell you?”

“Your life matters so little?”

“You promise to spare me if I answer truthfully?” Perhaps she had a chance. She had no compunction about sacrificing Zarenis, especially after what she had been through, but she needed it to make the promise before she would take the risk.

The celestial looked away, and said nothing. Her heart sank as she realised she was surely doomed. After a pause, it looked back at her, boring down on her with those unreadable opalescent eyes.

“Nonetheless. You will tell me.”

Its arrogance and certainty were beginning to grate on her. She was acutely aware that it had her pressed up against the wall, she was only barely regaining control of her limbs, and that her shirt was soaking wet, plastered to her skin, and making her look as vulnerable as she felt. Time to show it that, no matter the situation, she still had some fight in her.

“Are you holding me like this just so you can get a good look at my tits?” she sneered, knowing that it clearly wouldn’t be, but thinking of no other way to sound defiant in her current position.

The celestial looked away suddenly, refusing to meet her gaze as it moved its mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. A mere second later, it turned back to face her.

“Do not speak such crude words in my presence, mortal,” it said, a hint of anger in its voice.

But she had seen its reaction, and, human or not, its meaning was unmistakable. Nor, she could not help but note, had it actually denied the accusation. It made no sense, for such a being should surely be free from any carnal desire. The Sun God would not make such a being corruptible, what would be the point of that?

Her words of earlier in the day came back to her, how she had sarcastically asked if the old adventurers had created a shrine to Pardror down here to summon a celestial. She now knew had been wrong about which god they had chosen, but they still had to have summoned it somehow, and sunlight was in scarce supply down here.

Then the truth dawned on her, and her eyes went wide with the sudden realisation. They had not made a shrine, not in the conventional sense. They had performed a worship rite to a different deity, and called on the Sun God through her. The adventurers had used Sarlene as their conduit, and somehow, what they had summoned had been tainted by that connection!

The celestial felt sexual desire because of how it had been summoned. It was corruptible, but only just. Yet that was all Nyvara needed to gain control of the situation; corruption was part of her stock in trade. The entity did not know it yet, but the tables had already been turned.

“Want a better look?” she said, fingers struggling against the receding paralysis to pull her shirt up out of her trews. Arm shaking, she pulled it up over her chest, large breasts hanging free, still slightly damp with water.

The celestial suddenly released her, turning away and using its arm to shade its eyes. “No mortal can tempt me with such ephemeral things,” it stated, although she fancied now that its voice was uncertain.

Nyvara realised that she was still standing, although partly slumped against the wall. Her legs could just about hold her up, so long as she did not try to step away from the support. With increasingly sure movements, she pulled the shirt over her head and threw it away. The celestial still refused to look at her.

“Replace your clothing, mortal,” commanded the being.

“Very well,” she said, putting a false hint of reluctance into her voice, “you can look back now.” As she spoke, she ran her hands over her breasts, fondling her pale nipples, rubbing herself enticingly.

The celestial, somewhat naively, looked back, and its face displayed clear shock at what it saw. “How dare you be so brazen before me!”

“You wish these were your hands, don’t you? I bet you even copped a feel while you pulled me from the water.”

“I… I would not… I should not even listen to such an accusation.”

“You did, didn’t you?” she said, realising it was true, “you couldn’t resist the opportunity!”

“Do not speak to me in such a way.”

The celestial lunged forward, grabbing her arms by the wrists and pulling them away from her chest, pinioning them against the wall. Feeling stronger every second, Nyvara pushed herself forward, so that her breasts brushed against the naked skin of the celestial’s hairless torso. Its touch was warm, she realised, noticeably more so than that of any human, although fortunately not enough to hurt. Her nipples tingled at the sensation, and she knew that the paralysis had finally faded for good.

“Nor must you touch me in such a manner. I am an agent of the divine!”

It released her hands, and tried to push her away from its chest, realising at the last second that its hands were now cupping each of her breasts. Nyvara squirmed enticingly against the wall, and the celestial held her there, eyes wide as its fingers ravaged her breasts, squeezing and caressing them, rubbing and circling her erect nipples. Its surrender to such obvious lust sent a shiver of excitement through her body, a longing ache forming in her loins. To seduce a celestial, a self-proclaimed agent of divine powers… just the thought made her wet.

Suddenly, it pulled away, as if it had only just realised what it was doing. It turned away again, covering its face in its hands, spread wings turned towards her.

“No!” it cried, “do not tempt me, foul strumpet. For I am strong, and such carnal thoughts do not affect one such as I. Beg for forgiveness, o base mortal.”

Very well, Nyvara thought, that I can do for you. She knelt, humbly, crossing her arms across her chest. “I am sorry,” she said, “you must forgive me my actions.”

It turned round again, ready to speak, and she took the opportunity to wrench its kilt free, giving it a hard tug until it came loose and fluttered to the floor. Whether this was a natural attribute of its kind, or something to do with the manner of its summoning into this world, she was relieved to discover that it had all the natural equipment of any human male. It also had a slowly stiffening erection.

“How dare you gaze upon such a thing!” it cried, “such parts are not for you to see.”

Given that the being was over seven feet tall, it was scarcely surprising that its cock was sizable, with a suitably wide girth. Its groin was, of course, as hairless as the rest of it, and the sheer gold of its hardening shaft glittered in the reflected firelight. She grabbed onto it before the celestial could turn away again, sliding her hand along its great length. The skin was soft, not at all metallic, yet completely smooth, more like silk than human flesh.

“Release me! You may not touch… wait… what are you doing?”

What she was doing was leaning her head forward, pulling the large cock down, kissing the tip, then pulling him into her mouth. It tasted like fresh water, she reflected as she ran her tongue along its smooth length, with not a hint of sweat or musk. The celestial was fully hard now as she slid its foreskin back with her tongue, pressing the glans against the back of her throat.

“No…” it gasped, doing nothing to stop her. “You must not do this. It is forbidden.”

Nyvara sensed its increasing submission to her will as she moved her head back and forth, saliva slipping on its remarkable smoothness as she cupped and tickled its hairless balls. Perhaps it did not know that forbidden pleasures were always the best kind.

“You must stop,” it said, a hint of pleading now reaching its resonant voice, “I must not… ohh… I cannot be… oh… oh…”

Despite its words, it placed a large hand behind her head, gently gripping her hair as she bobbed back and forth. Its hips began to move in response to her motions, thrusting the unnaturally hot member in and out of her moist mouth.

“Please…” it said, and the word only pushed her to further excitement, “do not do this to me. If I…”

It seemed then as if a sudden realisation had hit it, causing the celestial to momentarily return to its senses. It pulled itself free, taking several steps back out of her reach, and gazed on her with horror and incomprehension, wings slightly raised behind its back.

“You brazen strumpet! How dare you subject me to such a base act! I should smite and destroy you for such insolence that is beyond all understanding.”

“Have I been a bad girl?” asked Nyvara, unfazed, and seeing from the state of his erection that she still held all the power. She leant forward, pressing her breasts together between her arms. “A really naughty, naughty girl?” she added, tweaking one of her nipples and sliding her other hand down to the drawstring of her trews.

“Ooh, I’m so wicked and evil,” she continued, sliding her trews over her hips and down her thighs, “somebody good and noble is going to have to punish me. Punish the naughty, evilness out of me.” She pulled her trews off, and her panties soon followed. “Oh, whatever will they do to me? I need such a good, hard, punishing, don’t I?” Now naked, she spread her legs, rubbing her hand over her mound, displaying her damp and swollen pussy lips.

“Do not tempt me, mortal!”

“But I’ve been so, so, naughty…” she went on, fingering herself as the divine being stood there, still watching. She was so hot right now that it was taking all of her concentration not to come on the spot. She desperately needed him between her legs, surrendering completely to her desires, breaking all his vows, even the very justification for his existence. Judging from his expression, she wasn’t going to have to wait long.

The celestial lunged for her, flipping her over onto her front, lifting up her legs as it knelt on the ground, pulling her raised ass up to its hips. “Is this what you want?” it growled, and plunged its long cock hard into her waiting cunt.

Nyvara gasped out loud, a cry of delighted pleasure. The celestial’s silky-smooth cock felt larger than ever inside her, its burning warmth strange yet deeply fulfilling. She moaned with wordless joy as it continued to fuck her, pumping in and out with inhuman speed and vigour. She wanted her voice to sound tempting, to urge it on with excited moans, but she wasn’t having to fake anything at all.

The force of its thrusts did not abate, its stamina clearly well beyond that of any human she had known. The hot, long cock dove into her again and again, driving her to ecstasy that was only enhanced by the knowledge of how it was betraying everything it had ever believed. Its smooth, hairless balls slapped against her flesh as its hands groped round to squeeze and fondle her swaying breasts.

“Is this what you like?” it asked, still pounding her eager pussy, “you want a big, hard celestial cock in your mortal pussy?”

“Yes… oh, goddess, yes…” she managed.

“Oh fuck…” it moaned, resonant voice full of exultation and pleasure, “fuck, yes!”

Unable to control herself any more, Nyvara came with a long, sobbing cry, her whole body shaking. Seconds later, the celestial followed, an ejaculate of hot liquid spurting into her abused cunt.

As she collapsed, panting and trying to draw breath, she heard a long drawn out scream from the golden being behind her. It was full of horror and loss, wailing at the enormity of what it had just done.

The scream went on and on, changing in timbre, until it seemed to be a cry of pure physical pain, rather than emotional torment. Its hands no longer holding her, Nyvara rolled over to see what was happening.

The golden sheen was fading from its body, replaced with a dull grey as the celestial’s feathers began to fall from its wings. More importantly, a long spike of sharpened decorative metal was projecting from the middle of its chest, rivulets of fire running around it in lieu of blood.

Nyvara looked up to see Zarenis standing behind the no-longer divine being, thrusting the other end of the metal object in between its shoulder blades. The screaming stopped, and Zarenis leapt backwards as the celestial toppled sideways.

“Get out of the way!” shouted the tiefling, and Nyvara scrambled to obey the fierce note of command in her voice.

Not a moment too soon, for, seconds later, the celestial burst into flame, a great gout of yellow fire soaring up to the ceiling of the chamber, and then vanishing, along with all trace of the body. The room went black, the magical fire elsewhere that had been illuminating evidently snuffed out with the death of its creator.

“Well…” said Zarenis’s voice in the darkness, “that was not the way I would have distracted it. But it certainly worked.”

33: Rupinder

2011-08-20T19:20:00.000+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

Calleslyn waited and watched nervously as Vardala fiddled with the lock on the door; they really didn’t want to be caught by anyone while doing this. She and Almandar were standing in the alley behind the house that Sashjant had rented in the city. There was no sign of life inside, although she knew that the demon was at home, along with, at the very least, two of his female companions, and probably all of them. Except, of course, Mei-Xing, and they did not yet know whether he had worked out what had happened to her,

Hopefully not, because that would give them the element of surprise. Sashjant was expecting Ornejirhs, and doubtless had warding spells in place to warn him of the approach of a dragon, whether in human form or not. But, with any luck, he had no idea about the adventurers, allowing them to quickly get inside and deal with him.

To her surprise, the lock on the back door to the house had not been enchanted, so it had nothing to do with the magical key they had stolen. That had to be for something, but evidently it wasn’t just for accessing the building, which used a standard Haredil lock on all of its doors. Which meant that Vardala should not be much longer.

The gnome nodded, pocketing her picks, and quietly pushing the door open. Almandar beckoned to Dolrim and Lady Tarissa, standing guard at either end of the alleyway, and the two warriors quickly joined them, before they all stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind them. They were in, apparently without being spotted and suspected of burglary by the city watch… now they just had to deal with a demon and up to four of his mind-controlled slaves.

They were standing in what was obviously a kitchen, but had no cutlery, utensils, or supplies of food on display. Calleslyn wasn’t sure whether Sashjant needed to eat or not, but his servants certainly did, which made their refusal to use the kitchen rather odd.

One door led to a pantry – also suspiciously empty – and the other to a corridor that led through to the front of the house and to some stairs leading upwards. The corridor was as bare as the kitchen, totally lacking in any decoration, but simply with blank plaster walls and wooden floorboards. However, it was instantly obvious that something was wrong with the layout.

There were too many doors. Aside from those that obviously led to front rooms, there were two doors under the stairs, despite the fact that there was no space there for anything more than a small cupboard. One of the doors was made of rune-marked black metal, clearly out of place. A quick spell confirmed that the door definitely radiated magic, and strong magic at that.

Almandar motioned to the others, and stepped up to the metal opening. It had a slot just the right size for the unusual key he had taken from Mei-Xing, and when he pressed the device to it, the portal swung open silently to reveal a long stone corridor beyond. It clearly could not fit within the physical space of the house, and surely explained why the building proper looked unused. Doubtless the door, and whatever lay beyond it, was portable, allowing the demon to carry his home about with him while travelling, and making it difficult for any intruder to break in.

He had evidently not counted on one of his slaves falling for Almandar’s charms, thought the elf, with a hint of amusement. Not, of course, that he had mentioned to the others how he had acquired the key, but Callesyn knew him well enough to guess, and the less said to Tarissa and Dolrim about it, the better.

Moments later, they were in. Vardala shut the door behind them, evidently realising that its presence gave them more freedom to act than they had suspected. Surely sounds did not emanate from within, allowing them to destroy the demon without waking the whole street and having a lot of awkward questions to answer. Swiftly, the party moved down the corridor.

It looked to be made of plain stone flagging, although when Dolrim brushed his hand over it, he frowned, and shook his head disapprovingly. Most likely, the entire structure was magical, or made from something extra-planar, not real earth and rock. The bright lamps set into the wall were probably fake too, since they did not seem to give off any smoke or heat, making the whole place seem a little otherworldly.

They were just about to examine the first door along the side of the corridor, when they heard a sudden shout of alarm. The red-headed slave had just turned the corner at the end of the corridor, and seen them. There was a flash of light as Almandar cast a sleep spell, striking the woman before she could dart back round the corridor, and she slumped heavily to the floor. For a few moments, her yell seemed to echo around the place, as the adventurers prepared to rush forward. The element of surprise had gone, and now they had to move swiftly.

“Let’s…” Tarissa began, just before everything went black and Calleslyn felt herself being whirled round like a spinning top.

She regained her balance as the spinning stopped. It was still pitch black, but now ominously silent as well. Calleslyn raised her hand, casting a light spell into the gloom. It surged briefly, and then went out again, plunging her back into darkness. She could feel something fighting back against her magic as the spell failed, but, more importantly, the brief glimpse it had given her showed that she was alone, and not standing in the same corridor that she had been moments before.

She stood still for a second, wondering what to do. The others could be anywhere, and she could not see in complete blackness… something that presumably did not hinder Sashjant. Her keen hearing picked up a sound. She felt sure it was Tarissa’s voice, calling out, but it was too faint to make out the words. Nonetheless, she moved towards it, hands trailing along the stone wall beside her to feel her way.

This was not going as well as they had planned.

Her fingers reached an archway, and a wooden door beyond it. The wood felt slightly odd to the touch, unnaturally regular in form, so doubtless it was no more the real material than the stone walls had been. Heart beating, and unsure what she would do if the demon were standing behind it, she pulled the door open.

Light spilled into the corridor, and she heard a sudden yelp of surprise from the illuminated room beyond. Darting in, her experience as an adventurer allowed her to instantly take stock of the chamber and evaluate its only visible threat. Before the woman standing there could even react to her presence, she had hurled a sleep spell in her direction.

With a flash of blue light, the spell deflected from its target, sputtering out without effect. She was protected, and the only spells that Calleslyn knew that might penetrate that barrier would harm the woman; an innocent victim of Sashjant’s mind-altering powers.

The room itself was a study or office of some kind, the walls clean and white, decorated with exotic tapestries in an artistic style that Calleslyn didn’t recognise. There was a small desk with a stool against one wall, covered with parchments, and three heavy chests arrayed against the far end of the room. The remaining wall, the one that did not hold the door she had just entered through, held a divan sumptuously upholstered in red and purple. Otherwise, the room was empty, save for the woman facing her.

She recognised the woman, of course, for the adventurers had been following Sashjant’s harem over the last few days. They had determined she was a secretary or clerk of some kind, perhaps a merchant who helped the demon buy the goods he needed for a life of material luxury. She was also, as with all of the women, a beauty, and, Calleslyn thought, the most exotic of the five. Mei-Xing was obviously from the distant east, the redhead and the blonde from the south, and the tall brunette from the Wild Lands, but she had no idea what part of the world this woman came from. For all she knew, it was the distant northern hemisphere, where Sashjant himself was said to have entered the physical plane.

Her skin was rich brown, lighter and more golden than that of the Jalibians, yet much darker than anyone from Haredil. Her hair was straight and jet black, cascading around her shoulders, and her features fine and exquisitely carved, with dark, dark eyes that were presently glaring at the elf intently.

Her clothing was exotic too, reminiscent of some of the Haredil styles, yet clearly belonging to none of them. Her skirts were long, draped to the ground, made from a brilliant pink fabric decorated with gold thread and sequins. However, unlike most local dresses, the upper part of her clothing, although matching, was an entirely separate garment. It was short-sleeved, leaving her arms bare to show off a number of golden bangles, and high cut beneath a decorative necklace. It was remarkably short, however, ending just below her full breasts to leave her narrow waist and belly bare, a diamond stud glittering in her navel. The outfit was completed with a long shawl of similar fabric to the dress, draped over her shoulders, and dangling silver earrings.

Any of Sashjant’s followers could turn heads, but, at least to Calleslyn’s mind, this woman was the most beautiful of them all, and the rich splendour of her clothing enhanced that all the more. It was, of course, a pity that her opponent was unlikely to hold the same opinion of her.

These thoughts and impressions, already formed by her earlier sight of the woman, flashed through the elf’s mind even as the human’s fingers began to move in a complex, yet very familiar fashion. Instinctively, Calleslyn’s own hands moved to counter the coming spell, and when the flash of glowing energy burst towards her just seconds later, she deflected it harmlessly to the side.,

The woman was a magician, then. Although, Calleslyn thought, not a strong one, perhaps only just entering on that path of study, and she would be no match in a true duel of magical power.

Perhaps having the same thought, and realising that her petty spells would have no effect on the stronger elven magician, the stranger lunged for the desk and, almost too late, Calleslyn saw the handle of a dagger there, protruding from beneath the parchments, where the blade itself was hidden.

She cast another spell, and the foreign woman’s feet whisked out from under her, spilling her in a cartwheel, arm still outstretched to grab for the dagger. Her fingers were just inches away as her body lurched up into the air, the levitation spell leaving her nothing to grab onto. She flailed about, legs and arms in a blur as she wailed in frustration, hair in disarray, shawl fluttering to the ground beneath her as it fell from her shoulders.

“You bitch!” she shouted, once it had become clear to her that she was not close enough to any solid surface to reach out for it. She was helpless, at least until the spell ended.

Calleslyn took a step back, closing the door firmly, and ensuring she was out of reach of the woman’s hands, and looked into those fiercely glaring eyes.

“So, you’re one of Sashjant’s slaves?” she said.

“I am not a slave! I serve my master willingly – and he will destroy you for this affront!” Her voice had a sing-song quality to it, a strange accent that befitted her oddly foreign appearance.

“Do you really?” asked Calleslyn. It was possible, she supposed, although that was not what she had heard from Ornejirhs. “Why would that be?”

“He is magnificent, a giant among lesser beings! He is full of splendour, inspiring devotion in my heart, and that of my companions. To see him is to be in awe, to know that nothing he does can be wrong, and we must all strive to please him. You will see, elf woman! You will see what a privilege it is to be near him.”

The words struck something of a chord with the magician. Ornejirhs had almost certainly been right, for this kind of mindless devotion could easily be induced by powerful enchantments. There were spells that could make anybody befriend you, treat you as their best confidant and companion, so that they would do almost anything you asked them. Such spells were generally forbidden, at least in civilised society, because of the misuse to which they could be put, but when they worked, they created much the kind of fervour that she saw now in the woman before her.

It made her all the more determined to free the woman from her enthrallment, just as Almandar had freed Mei-Xing. But how could she do that if her spells kept failing, as both the light and sleep spells had done? No… there was something odd there. The human woman had had no difficulty casting her own spell, and it had not even been a particularly strong one. If there was any dampening effect, it would not be able to discriminate between friend and foe, so this woman should be even more handicapped than she.

That she was not meant that something else was going on. Calleslyn’s eyes strayed to the light. Like those they had initially seen when they entered this place, it appeared to be a lamp, yet gave off no smoke. Outside, in the corridor, the magical lamps had all gone out, yet this one was still burning. Which meant that the effect that had dampened her own light spell was only outside in the corridor, not in here, and what had caused her sleep spell to misfire had to be something else entirely.

She could not cast many more spells today, not if she wanted to be able to face Sashjant should he turn up, but a detect magic was simple enough. Once cast, that told her all she needed to know. Yes, the entire place was magic, but, more importantly, so was a ring on the human woman’s finger. That had to be what was protecting her… if Calleslyn could remove the ring, she could cast the anti-enchantment spell that had freed Mei-Xing, and the demon would have one less ally.

But that might be easier said than done.

“Have you not noticed,” she asked, “that Mei-Xing has not returned to you? I am sure the other woman told you that she went away with a man, and I can tell you that that man lifted the enchantment that was on her, freed her mind from Sashjant’s compulsion.”

“Lies! Mei is as loyal as I!”

“Not any more. My friend was evidently quite persuasive.”

“I do not believe you.”

“The fact that he could do that would suggest that you still have your normal desires, that everything about you is normal, except for this slavish devotion that you feel.”

“If you are suggesting that she was lured away by some physical attraction, then I can assure you that we need no more satisfaction than our master can provide. So I know you are lying.”

“The suggestion I have heard that you five are a ‘harem’ is a literal one, then?”

She had suspected as much, for any spell that could create an unreasoning devotion in the subject could be misused for sexual purposes. Anyone under such a spell would willingly have sex with its caster if they were asked to do so, and, if the spell was potent enough, would enjoy it regardless of their prior preferences. But… such spells usually lasted for mere hours, days at the most, and trying to cast and recast it on five different people so often had to be difficult. There had to be something more to it, some way that Sashjant made the effect more permanent than it should have been.

“I would not use such a crude term. But we are his companions, and we give ourselves willingly to him, as any woman would do.”

“Any woman? So how does that work…” Seeing that got not reply, she tried a different tack. “What happened when your most recent companion joined?”

The woman frowned, perhaps wondering for a brief moment if her desperation to prove Calleslyn wrong meant that she was giving away too much. But then she ploughed ahead anyway, perhaps reassuring herself of her master’s inevitable triumph over all.

“Kara was like you at first – she said that she would not bow to our master. But when she came into his presence, he gazed into her eyes and spoke calming words to her, and we could see the shadows fall from her face as she beheld his true form. She fell to her knees in awe, and promised to do anything to help him.”

Well, that sounded like a regular spell, and only the clouding of the foreign woman’s own mind could be preventing her from seeing that. It did not explain, however, why the effect was so long-lasting. “And then what happened?” she pressed on.

“Our master took human form, and rewarded Kara for her newfound loyalty.”

“And how exactly did he do that?”

“He made love to her, of course, until she begged that she could take no more pleasure. It is how he always rewards us, a glorious experience unlike anything you can imagine.” Her eyes shone with a strange fervour as she spoke, her voice becoming softer, more reverent. The spell had certainly taken its hold on her. “We all watched, pleased to have a new sister.”

“It didn’t make you jealous?”

At last, uncertainty crossed the dark-skinned woman’s face, “I… I… no, of course not… we… that is, I… I know that nothing that the master wishes can be wrong. I was pleased for her. Yes, I was.”

“And that was it?”

“After she had been pleasured as much as any mortal can be,” her strangely accented voice had become more confident again, “Kara showed her gratitude to him. He returned to his true form, and she took him in her mouth until she drank him dry. As she has many times since, as have we all, for he says it is a sign of our undying devotion.”

Calleslyn nodded to herself. There was obviously something in the demon’s semen that extended the spell, although he probably still had to recast it from time to time. A nasty trick, indeed. Interesting though the information was, it also gave the elven woman an idea for how to take the magic ring from the trapped human. She was fairly sure that something similar had worked for Almandar, and she did not even need to go that far.

“More pleasure than any other mortal can grant?” she asked, “I rather doubt that, especially when he is in human form. Mei-Xing obviously did not think so, for, if I know my friend at all well, he pleasured her at least as much as your master has.”

“Impossible!”

“Prove it.”

The woman opened her mouth to say something, then paused, a look of confusion on her face. After a long and uncomfortable silence, she at last spoke again, “what do you mean? How could I prove it? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Could a mortal man satisfy you now, after having experienced Sashjant?”

“No.”

“Could a woman?”

There was another long silence. The human’s face flushed, a blush evident even beneath her coppery skin as she took in the import of the elven woman’s words.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said at last, her voice wavering.

“Prove it.”

“What?” Her voice had risen an octave, as her dark eyes became rounder and rounder.

“Prove to me, here, now, that I can’t make you climax. Because I think I can.”

“That’s… that’s preposterous. The idea is ridiculous.”

“Then you won’t object to the challenge.” There was no reply except another burning glare of animosity from the woman. Well, at least, Calleslyn thought, her eyes were focussed on the right place. Now to take advantage of that. “Like what you see?” she asked, “perhaps you’d like to see more?”

The elf moved over to the desk, eyes still fixed on the dark-skinned human, and half perched herself upon it, kicking her shoes off as she did so. She placed a bare foot on the velvet upholstery of the stool, and slowly slid her skirts up, exposing a long, slender leg. Once her skirt was hitched up almost to her waist, she slowly slid her hands along her shin and up to her thigh.

“You want to feel me, taste me, don’t you?” she asked the woman, her voice dropping to a purr.

“No,” said the human firmly.

But Calleslyn noticed that these deep dark eyes had not left her, and that the human looked flushed, even nervous, perhaps, but not truly frightened or revolted. In any event, as long as she could hold the woman’s attention long enough to remove the ring, that was all she needed. She had no particular intention of forcing her into having sex; she had been through enough of that already, even if she didn’t know it. She only had to be distracted.

“Want to see more?” she asked, beginning to pull her dress off, until she was clad only in her shift. She ran her hands along her waist, emphasising her shape, curving her body under the thin material, cupping one of her own breasts as she looked for a reaction. The human seemed entranced, floating helplessly in the middle of the room. “Well, I have you where I want you, so you’ll just have to wait.”

She stood up and walked over, watching out for any signs of a struggle when she got within arm’s reach. Not that fighting while suspended in mid-air would exactly be easy. Carefully, she reached out, and put a hand against the woman’s bare midriff, stroking a finger along the smooth flesh, feeling it quiver in response, tracing the outline of the navel stud.

“You may think you need Sashjant, but you don’t. I can make you come, make you cry out my name as you climax. It’s Calleslyn, by the way, I guess you’ll need to know that. What’s yours? You haven’t said yet.”

That seemed to break the woman out of her trance. “Never!” she hissed, lashing out with an arm and kicking her legs. The motion span her round, bumping an elbow against Calleslyn’s shoulder, but otherwise not making any contact. She yelped in frustration as her body revolved in the air, hair flying everywhere, limbs flailing, twisting first one way and then the other, unable to move from her fixed spot, yet without anything solid to steady herself.

Trying to dodge the thrashing limbs, Calleslyn at last managed to grab onto one of the woman’s legs, gripping her thigh, holding it firmly to stop the spinning motion. She was holding the stranger upside down, as the other woman panted heavily, a sweat breaking out on her skin. She might be floating head down, but at least she had stopped moving.

She also, it occurred to the elf, had the opportunity to pummel her tormenter with her fists, perhaps even bite, or push against the floor to propel herself up and away, at least a short distance. But either she had not realised that, or, on some level, she did not want to. As the woman’s skirts fell down around her body, Calleslyn took the opportunity to admire the now bare leg before her.

The woman’s coppery brown skin was smooth and clear, her thigh rounded but not fat, the calf long and slender. Still holding on with one hand, she ran the other along the back of the captive limb, pausing to tickle the human slightly at the back of her knees, then caressing the back of her thigh, sliding the hand lower and lower until it almost reached the base of the purple panties she could now see exposed.

She pressed her nose against the tinted flesh, scenting the other woman’s sweat. “Mmm…” she said, “I think you like this, don’t you?”

“Turn me back up, you bitch! Let go of me!”

The woman squirmed, but still she did not really fight back. “I can’t do both,” she pointed out, “so perhaps I’ll just do this, instead,” she reached for the hem of the skirt, fiddling with it one handed until she had found and released the clasp that held it, It was a loose, wrap around affair, and soon it was drifting to the ground like a large pink and gold sheet.

“That’s better,” she said, “and I think it’s beginning to work: you know I’m going to make you come.”

“Never! I will not betray my master. How can you think I enjoy this?”

Calleslyn reached her hand down, and fondled the woman’ breast through her brief halter top. “Because your nipples are hard,” she said, surprised to find it was actually true.

“How dare you!” squawked her captive, “and… and they aren’t. You’re lying! It’s all you can do, tell lies!”

“Really?”

Calleslyn pushed hard and unexpectedly, making the woman whirl in the air in a great cartwheel, kicking her legs and knocking herself off balance again, desperately trying to contact the ground with her feet, yet not quite managing it – although the elf realised she had got desperately close. She had better get this over with.

In fact, she felt guilty, especially knowing what the woman had been through. If she had really been fighting back, if her protestations had had more of a sense of verisimilitude about them, the elf did not know what she would have done. She was not a rapist, and she was embarrassed to find that she herself was finding this rather fun, forcing a supposedly heterosexual human to confront what she was beginning to suspect might be the wider horizons of her sexuality.

By the time she had managed to grab the woman again, and stop her motion, she was lying horizontally in the air, face upwards, gasping as she at last felt the blood rush away from her head. Calleslyn did not give her the opportunity to recover; she hiked up the woman’s top, pulling it under her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts.

She had to admit, they were a pleasant sight. The woman’s nipples were large, only slightly darker in tone than the rest of her body, and very clearly swollen with anticipation. Her chest was rising and falling, her breasts ample yet not flabby, smooth mounds of coppery perfection that, under any other circumstance, she would have been desperate to kiss. She felt an involuntary heat rise in her own groin, and realised that she was growing at least as excited as the woman before her,,, and, at the moment, no more able to admit it.

“Those are not a lie, not at all,” she said, “do you want me to prove that you’re getting wet next?”

The human let out a shout of frustration, and at last lashed out with her fists, trying to slap or pummel her elven tormentor. Her absence of purchase still hampered her, and the slap was feeble, making it east for Calleslyn to catch her wrist.

“How dare you!” shouted the human, genuine rage beginning to show at last, “my body is not a traitor!”

It didn’t matter. Calleslyn was holding her wrist, the woman’s fingers in front of her. With a quick motion she pulled the magic ring off, and then pushed the woman away, moving back out of reach, and throwing the ring into a corner.

“What are you doing? Give that back!”

Instead of replying, the magician cast her spell, one that should break any enchantment or mental compulsion on its target. A whitish-yellow glow enwrapped the woman’s half-naked body, and a split second later, she fell.

The levitation spell had, naturally, been broken at the same time as the mind control spell. Calleslyn leapt forward, holding out her arms to try and soften the fall as the woman hit the carpeted flooring. She barely managed it, and the woman did land harder than she had hoped.

And then she screamed.

It was a long, drawn out wail of anguish, as the woman beat her hands against the floor, throwing her head back as she gave full throat to her feelings. It went on so long that, when she had finished, she had to gulp for air, as tears ran down her face. She reached for Calleslyn, wrapping her arms around her, pressing her face into the elf’s shoulder as her body was wracked by sobs.

It wasn’t erotic any more, not at all. It was the sound of another person in genuine emotional torment, the sound of someone who desperately needed comfort. Calleslyn held the woman’s head, murmuring platitudes as she began to rock her gently back and forth, patting her back, smoothing her tangled hair.

“He enslaved us!” sobbed the stranger, “made us do terrible things. We killed people, we destroyed things we never should have. He took away my freedom, my family, my home, everything. He made me think he was like a god! But he’s not… he’s a demon, a terrible, horrible, demon!”

“I know, I know,” said Calleslyn, trying to calm her, “you’re free now. It’s over. You don’t have to do anything for him ever again.”

“Oh, gods, Kara, what I told you… it wasn’t true. She’s a sweet girl, gentle and caring. Some of the others could take it, but she would never have done those things, not without his domination. He used to take her so hard, with such inhuman energy. And Gut’rul… we all had to suck him, but sometimes he would take her in his demon shape… his cock had a…” she tried to steady her breath as the tears ran down her cheeks, “had a horn…”

“I’ll free them all, I promise. My friends are still here, somewhere. They’re inside, they’re powerful. We will take him down and free all of them, just like you. Just like Mei-Xing.”

The woman leaned back, wiping her hands over her face, drying her tears. “Yes, you did, didn’t you? Thank you, thank you. Never mind any of those things I said, I didn’t mean them.”

Yes you did, thought Calleslyn, because you were under the influence of that evil spell. But not any more, and that’s what matters.

“How can I repay you?”

“By getting out of here, as quickly as we can. I have to rejoin the others, because we have already lost time. Then we’ll bring him down. Believe me, we have weapons that can do it – we did not come here unprepared.”

The human woman nodded, eagerly. “Rupinder,” she said, suddenly, “my name is Rupinder. You asked.”

“Yes, I did. Pleased to meet you, Rupinder. The real you, that is.”

“You were right, you know. Not just about Sashjant… about everything. You could have done what you said.”

Calleslyn nodded silently. After what had presumably happened with Mei-Xing, it made sense. But now was, regrettably, not the time to be thinking about such things.

“Let’s get dressed,” she said instead, “we have a demon to defeat.”

32: Mei-Xing

2011-07-29T09:22:00.000+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

The woman was most immediately notable for her flaming red hair; a rarity in Haredil. Her long skirts and the high collar on her dress marked her out as a native of the southern lands, far from her homeland. But that was no surprise to Almandar, for that was where Ornejirhs had followed her from.

Or, more accurately, that was where he had followed Sashjant from. As the dragon had indicated, the shape-changing demon travelled with a personal harem, and the redhead was one of that number. Almandar and the others had observed the group, confirming Ornejirhs’ story, at least as far as it could be. According to Lady Tarissa, Sashjant was an unusual type of demon called a rakshasa, and highly skilled in the ways of magic. Mind-affecting enchantments were clearly among his powers, and he had used them to gather the women, and to hold them in thrall.

It had soon become apparent that the women were the route through which they could tackle the demon. Each carried some kind of magical key that they used to enter Sashjant’s home; there was no other way in, which perhaps explained Ornejirhs’ failure to get close, especially since the demon could obviously sense his approach, and knew Imrilda’s identity.

It did not, however, know the adventurers, and that was the basis of their plan. Almandar would get one of the women on her own, allowing the others to capture her without the demon realising. Between himself, Calleslyn, and Lady Tarissa, they were confident of being able to end the enchantment, freeing the woman from her slavery. Once they had the key, they had a way to approach the demon, and deal with it permanently.

They had chosen the redhead as the easiest target for the plan; she seemed to be a household servant, making her less dangerous if anything went wrong. Sashjant himself almost never went out in the open, but his women did have to venture out from time to time, whether to deal with outsiders, or, as today, simply to buy food and supplies. Unfortunately, they never went alone, and it had taken some time to find an opportunity to put their plan into action.

“You’re new here,” said Almandar, “a visitor from the south?”

The woman looked up, startled to be addressed. She had been buying fruit in the market square, pomegranates and oranges, appraising them with a skilled eye, haggling with the trader, and then putting them into a large bag. Her green eyes darted around, evidently wondering if he was speaking to someone else, before settling on Almandar.

“Yes…” she said, uncertainly, “we’re just buying some food.”

Almandar couldn’t help his eyes wandering over her. Like all of Sashjant’s women, she was young and attractive, for, no matter what else the demon might be, he seemed to have good taste. Her skin was pale, remarkably so by Haredil standards, with a pinkish tinge and freckles on the bridge of her nose that complemented the colour of her hair. She was rather short, with a slender build and high rounded breasts beneath the tight pale purplish-grey fabric of her dress. Like most southern women, she had little of her flesh on display, nothing more than her hands and face, and she even had a long blue scarf draped over her shoulders. Her skin, he reflected, probably burned easily, and, while it was approaching evening now, the scarf might help protect her from the noonday sun.

“I’m Almandar,” he said, holding a hand out, “I hope you’re enjoying your time in our city.”

“I…” she said, hesitantly, “I am busy. I have many things to do.”

“So you have not had a chance to see much? That’s a pity.” He noticed she still hadn’t given him a name.

“She is with me,” said the other woman, interrupting before the redhead could speak.

He had picked a time when just two of the women were together, hoping to find some way of distracting the companion just long enough to cast the spell and free the redhead from the demon’s influence. As yet, he wasn’t completely sure how he was going to do that, although he was conscious that the other adventurers were standing not far away, observing everything he did, ready to move when they were needed.

“Well, pleased to meet you both,” he said, still holding out his hand to the redhead, although she had not taken it yet.

The second woman was, if anything, even more exotic in appearance. She hailed, not from the south, but from the distant east, her jet black hair and almond eyes instantly giving that heritage away. She was tall for a woman, as tall as Almandar himself, with a slender, yet muscular frame, and her hair tied back in a long plait that fell to the small of her back. Her bearing alone indicated that she was a warrior of some kind, a fact confirmed by the unusual weapon at her belt. The way she was scowling at Almandar, with arms crossed, did not bode well.

The redhead looked uncertainly between the half-elf and her companion. “Yes,” she offered, “well… uh…”

“I am sure you could make time to see a little more of the city. You can’t visit Haredil and not see any of the sights.”

“She has many things to do,” said the oriental woman in her notably thick accent.

“Come on,” he said reasonably, “what harm can it do? The market will be closing soon, anyway.”

“I have to be getting back,” said the redhead, “or he…”

“I will see,” said the warrior quickly, cutting off the shorter woman in mid sentence.

The redhead blushed, a flash of sudden fear crossing her face. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, we have to be getting back. Before it is dark.”

“I will see,” repeated the warrior.

“Sorry, Mei?” asked the redhead, apparently as confused as Almandar was feeling, “what do you mean?”

“I will see city. You return home, and I will see city. Show you after.” She turned to Almandar, her face impassive, dark eyes unreadable. “Yes?”

“Uh, yes… of course,” he said, realising swiftly that it made little difference which of the two he went with. Given the oriental woman’s wariness, it did not look as if he would have much chance to try reversing the enchantment on her, but the other adventurers were watching, so all they had to do was follow the redhead, and let Calleslyn cast the counter-spell instead of him.

“But, Mei…” said the redhead, widening her eyes, and jerking her head back in the direction that Almandar knew Sashjant’s home was in. “We can’t… you know…”

“I safe,” said the oriental woman, patting the weapon at her belt. It was a curious one, a sort of small single-bladed pick with a long chain attached that looped around the belt to end in a heavy metal weight. “You go. I show you city after.”

The redhead tried to muster up a further objection, but was clearly worried about saying too much in front of Almandar. Finally, she shrugged, muttered “See you later, then,” and bustled off into the crowd. At the edge of his vision, Almandar could see Vardala moving to follow her. They had had the same idea he had; good.

“Well,” he said, turning back to the oriental woman, “Mei, is it?”

“I am Mei-Xing,” she corrected him, “you Armandar?”

“Yes, close enough.” The strangeness of her language probably meant that he would do no better at trying to pronounce her name correctly – there seemed to be some musical quality to it that he was sure he couldn’t replicate. “Have you seen the Eagle Pool?”

──◊──

He decided to take his role as a guide to the city seriously, showing her some of the sights, from the great plaza in front of the palace to the Eagle Pool, and pointing out the minarets of more distant buildings, such as the Temple of the Sun, where they reared above the surrounding rooftops.

She seemed to appreciate it, genuinely interested in what he had to say, although saying very little in response. Her hand never strayed too far from her strange weapon, but the suspicion that had initially filled her eyes seemed to fade with time. He had had no opportunity to try using the counter-spell on her, and did not see how he was going to find one. That, he decided, was a pity.

Not because it would be necessary for their plan; if all went well, the others should be able to free the redhead from her enchantment, now that he had given them the chance to do so. But Mei-Xing no more deserved to be the mentally controlled slave of a demon than anyone else. With her exotic looks and musical voice, he was beginning to warm to her, and did not want to have to send her back to her master, even for one night.

Which was why, even after the sun had set, and the western horizon was shading into a deep purple, they found themselves in one of the city parks, sitting on a bench, watching the larger moon hovering over the city skyline. Almandar realised he was trying to find reasons to delay sending her back, and that, ultimately, it would be futile, but he could not resist trying to drag things out further.

“You must have seen several cities in your travels,” he said, breaking a long silence.

“I visit many cities in south and east,” she said; it had become clear that her grasp of the Common Tongue was weak, which might explain why she had said relatively little so far. “I see few.”

“You mean, you’re busy all the time?”

“Yes. I travel with a friend. A good friend, and have much to do for him.”

“Is that why you decided to join me today? To get away?”

“No, not get away. He is good friend. But I need change some times, yes? See new things. I travel far, but see little. Today is good. So I send Kara home, and see the city.”

“I thought you might be trying to protect her.”

“Yes, I was not sure about you. But you are good man, and it is good to have change some times. Haredi,” she stumbled over the name of the city, “is pretty. I am happy to see it.”

He looked across at her, but she was staring into the night sky. Like the redhead – whose name he now knew to be Kara – she was an attractive woman. Her skin was a light golden brown, although that was no longer readily apparent in the moonlight, and her hair an absolute midnight black, perhaps more so than that of any other woman he had met. Her nose was small and delicate, her neck long and slender, the throat now exposed as she tilted her head to look at the sky. Her clothes were exotic, made from a lustrous blue satin fabric with abstract designs highlighted in a slighter darker shade. She didn’t wear a dress; instead favouring a wrap-around tunic and long trews, the edges and cuffs trimmed in golden satin. White slippers enclosed feet that looked dainty for a warrior, and she carried herself with a remarkable grace and poise that spoke of a high degree of athleticism.

“Good,” he said, honestly, “I’ve enjoyed it, too.” She said nothing for a while after that, watching the sky as the stars came out one by one. She seemed to be in no hurry to get back home, and he had no reason to encourage her. “What do you do for this friend of yours,” he asked after a while, “that keeps you so busy?”

“I am…” she frowned, apparently looking for the right word, “I am a… ‘monk’?”

Almandar grinned despite himself, “I don’t think that’s the word you’re looking for.”

“Oh. What is a monk, please?”

“It’s a man who… well, they work for temples, and they… it would take a long time to explain, but I really don’t think you fit the description.”

She nodded, leaning forward, and putting her hands together, as she tried to express herself in her limited knowledge of Common. “I trained in a temple. To keep perfect my body. To fight fast, and without weapons. To be in harmony with my… I do not know the word… like magic, but not magic. It flows and is part of… oh!” she let out a little gasp of frustration, “I cannot say in your language. Too many words.”

“That’s all right,” he said, patting her reassuringly on the arm without even thinking about it. When she didn’t flinch, he left his hand there, and was pleasantly surprised when she brought her free hand across to lay it over his. “I am sure it doesn’t matter.”

“Perhaps not,” she said, smiling. He realised it was the first time she had really done that since they had met. “I like you, Armandar. I need a good man.”

He wasn’t sure quite what she meant by that, and so said nothing. There was always a danger of mistranslation somewhere along the line.

“You like me?” she asked, dark eyes watching him, their pupils wide in the gloom.

“Yes, I do. I think you’re a good woman.” He was about to say ‘despite what has happened to you’, but bit his tongue. He didn’t want to give away the fact he knew anything about Sashjant.

She nodded, accepting the compliment. “It is dark now.”

“Yes,” he admitted; she was obviously thinking about returning to the rest of the harem, and, now that he thought about it, that would mean she might raise the alarm about the possible reason for Kara’s absence, assuming the others had managed to intercept her.

“You must want to go home,” she said, casting her eyes downwards.

“It doesn’t have to be right away.” He knew he couldn’t keep her here by force, or take the time to cast the spell. She had already admitted to being an expert in unarmed combat, even if he could somehow disarm her.

“Please, I…” she stumbled over the words again, but it seemed this time as if a range of conflicting emotions were fighting inside her, and not just a simple difficulty with translation. How strong was the charm over her… could she perhaps fight it off herself, if only just a little? Or at least subvert it? If, even subconsciously, she wanted rescuing, that made it even more difficult to abandon her.

“I said before that I need a change some times,” she said, finding her voice again. “I think I want change with you tonight. I want to… I do not know the word, not right word, but I want to stay with you tonight and not sleep. Yes?”

He breathed out, realising he had been holding his breath. “That,” he said, “sounds like a very good idea, indeed.”

──◊──

As soon as the door closed behind them, Mei-Xing pressed herself into his arms, her lips fastening onto his. They kissed passionately, his hands feeling the limber muscles of her body through the cool satin, hers running through his hair. The suddenness of her motion almost caused him to stumble, and he bumped up against the wall, still some distance from the bed. She twisted beneath him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, until it was his body that hers trapped pressed up against the surface.

Their tongues entwined, breath coming hard as he surrendered to her evident passion, her hands now moving down to pull up his shirt, roaming over his bare back as one leg wrapped tightly around his, leaving her standing on just one foot.. When she finally stopped kissing him, he was gasping for air, although she seemed hardly affected, her eyes brimming with excitement and her mouth breaking into a wide grin as she ran the tip of her tongue slowly around her lips.

He wrestled with the fastening on her belt, causing it and the strange weapon to fall to the floor as he reached for the golden sash that held the tunic together. That unravelled much more easily, the broad flaps of her tunic swinging open. Pressed against her, his hands ran over her belly, which was taut and smooth, but less muscular than he had expected. She pulled his head towards her, and they kissed again, but this time he broke free, pressing his lips to the side of her mouth, over her high cheek bones and across to nibble at her earlobe.

“Yes, you are good…” she whispered in her musical, accented voice, before he turned his attention to her long and graceful neck, gently running his lips over it, pressing them against her warm flesh.

He peeled her tunic down a few inches, feeling firm muscle as his lips explored her shoulders. She was not heavily muscled, as a man might be, but there was no doubt as to her athletic potential, and he imagined that her professed skill at unarmed combat would be quite impressive if he ever got to witness it.

The satin tunic fell loose, now held up only by her elbows, for her arms were still around him, one hand caressing his hair, the other running against his lower flank beneath his loose shirt. She wore nothing beneath it, and he paused for a moment to admire her pert breasts, firmly erect nipples rising from tiny dark areoles. A moment later, he fastened his mouth over one, kissing and sucking, teasing the hard bud with his tongue.

“Oh yes, I like that!” she cried out and he could feel her body writhing beneath his arms, her raised leg rubbing against his, her hips making slight motions back and forth.

Encouraged, he continued his ministrations before switching to the other side. She made slight moans of appreciation, arching her back to press the small globe more firmly into his face, and he obliged by sucking on her nipple more firmly yet.

At last, he broke free, straightening himself to kiss her again on the lips. Her hands moved down, pulling his shirt up further, and soon he was struggling out of his upper garments, still trying to kiss her as he did so, admiring her lithe torso as her own tunic fell to the floor.

Now it was her turn to rain kisses on his neck and down over his shoulders. One of his hands caught in her long braid, and he savoured the softness of her hair as it ran through his fingers. Her kisses moved lower, over his chest, tongue darting out to run circles around his nipples before kissing and sucking on them, exerting a slight pressure. Her leg untwined from his as she moved into a crouch, her lips now exploring his belly as her hands deftly undid his belt and pulled down his trews.

His hard cock, now free, brushed against her breasts as she dipped her tongue into his navel, determined to explore every cranny of his body. Slowly, she ran her lips down towards his groin, his erection now pressed against her chin. He did nothing, just holding his hands against her head, waiting to see what she would do next.

With a sudden motion, she pulled him inside her mouth, and he let out an involuntary sigh of contentment. Gripping his buttocks, she pushed herself against him as hard as she could, talking him the whole way in, until he was surprised she didn’t gag. Slowly, she pulled herself out again, lips sucking on his shaft before plunging him back inside. The tip of her tongue caressed his balls as she pressed her small nose into his belly, and his cock quivered against the back of her throat.

After that, she began pumping him enthusiastically, sliding him and out with rapid motions, her head bobbing back and forth, her nostrils flaring as she somehow managed to keep her breath. He looked down at her, and she paused for a moment, wide eyes locked onto his before she returned to her task, fingers softly kneading his balls.

Just as he was wondering how much longer he could hold out, she released him, straightening up to take his head in her hands and kiss him for all she was worth. He could taste some of his sweat and pre-cum on her tongue, as he pressed her back up against the wall and stepped out of his remaining clothes.

“I need you, Armandar,” she gasped between kisses, “I need you very much. Need you inside me.”

He needed no further encouragement to pull down her satin trews and the panties beneath. He glanced down, gripping one smooth buttock in his left hand. Her thighs were strong, yet still womanly, not overly muscular. His eyes, however, were irresistibly drawn to her crotch. She was partly shaven, only a small, neatly trimmed, strip of black hair pointing downwards to between her legs, where he could already see a drop of moisture on her hairless pussy lips.

He pressed himself against her, forcing her up against the wall, small breasts squeezed into his chest, as she raised her left leg, brushing the back of his thigh with her toes, as if to show how remarkably limber she was. He groaned out loud as he thrust his cock between her pussy lips, and into the sopping dampness of her eager cunt.

She cried out a short word in her own language; he needed no translation to interpret it as a complement of some kind. He ground into her slowly, moving his cock up and down in the slickness of her cunt, making her pant in appreciation, her hands gripped tightly against his back.

To his surprise, Mei-Xing raised her other leg off the floor, crossing both legs behind his buttocks as her hips moved in time to his repeated thrusts. Aside from her grip on him, her only support was the wall against her back, leaving her body weight to push him yet deeper inside her as she let out wordless cries of delight.

She began to push against the wall, making him take small steps backwards, all the time her eyes on his, trying not to surprise him with sudden motions. Then, with a little gasp of triumph, she pushed free of the wall altogether, wrapping her arms around his neck. She arched her back, leaning away from him, holding her arms straight, as her hips continued to grind against his, his hands around the small of her back to help support her.

Her mouth formed into an ‘O’ of passion as her body writhed against his cock, her pert breasts rising and falling with her exertions, her long braid dangling almost to the floor behind her. Had he not been afraid of dropping her, he would have tempted to tweak one of those small dark nipples between his hands, but instead, he concentrated on pleasuring her cunt. Although, to be fair, by this time, it was her own movements against him that contributed the most to their dual motion – for, although he was very fit for a magician, he was certainly not as athletic as she.

Somehow, they reached the bed and Almandar fell onto his back, watching Mei-Xing as she squatted over him, thrusting herself up and down on his erect cock, long braid swinging over her shoulder and down her side. It was so long that the tip actually brushed against his stomach when she leaned forward slightly.

It seemed she had had enough for the moment, for she climbed off, allowing a sudden waft of cool air to brush over his slick, but suddenly bereft, erection. He ran a hand over her flank, beads of sweat rolling against his fingertips. But only for a moment, for, the next thing he knew, she had plunged his shaft back into her mouth again, engulfing it, pressing the tip against the back of her throat as she tasted her own juices.

She bobbed her head up and down a few times, her tongue licking over every inch of his member before she pulled free again.

“We taste good together,” she said, “you see, too?”

She moved round to place her legs over his head, shaven crotch inches above his face as she took him into her mouth again. He spread her hairless lips with his fingers, and pressed his tongue into her damp folds. In response to her muffled sounds of encouragement, he wormed it deeper in, as her hips ground against his face. He sucked the nub of her pleasure, making her body buck against his for a moment before she pressed herself back. All the time, she continued sucking his cock, head bobbing back and forth as she took him deeply inside her talented mouth.

Mei-Xing straightened her legs, pulling away from him, yet slowly enough that he could easily follow. Quickly, he divined her intention, and sat upright on the bed, her legs crossed behind his head as he held her upside down, vigorously throating him as he returned to licking her, his nose, lips and tongue pressed into her willing flesh.

After what seemed an eternity, she unwrapped her legs, raising them vertically in the air, and then gracefully using her arms and body to swing herself down onto the floor, his erection slipping free of her mouth with a slight pop. As he looked down from the edge of the bed, she positioned herself beneath him, legs held wide apart and over her head, holding herself up on her shoulders and elbows.

“Please now,” she said, “do me hard and long now.”

Leaning over, he grabbed one of her thighs in each hand, looking down at her body upside down beneath him, and thrust down into her as hard as he could. Mei-Xing cried out wordlessly, and he continued to pump into her, the weight of his body allowing him to push deep inside between her open legs. Her own body moved back in response, breasts rising and falling, legs sliding against his chest as he pounded into her over and over.

Her eyes and mouth were wide, her expression clearly urging him on as he kept thrusting into her, surprised at his own reserves of stamina. The sensations flowing through his body were fantastic, and it was obvious she felt the same way. Then, she cried out something in her own language, a longer phrase than last time, the tone in her musical voice clearly ecstatic. He had no idea what she was saying, but he heard his own name in their somewhere, and increased the rapidity of his thrusts until, moments later, they both climaxed, he with a loud groan, she with a long wordless sigh of utter contentment.

──◊──

“Why so glum?” he asked cheerfully, once he had rejoined his companions.

“We had no opportunity,” muttered Vardala, “she managed to stay close to the crowds all the way. No way we could do anything without looking like we were mugging the woman. She’s back with the demon now. We didn’t get the key.”

“Well,” said Almandar, grinning as he fished something from his pocket, “I, on the other hand, did.”

“You managed to get the key off the warrior?” asked Dolrim, raising his eyebrows, “how did you manage that?”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” said Lady Tarissa, before he could reply, “I’m more interested in what happened to her afterwards.”

“She’s free,” he said simply, “I cast the counter-spell, and now she’s free of the charm. Her life is her own.”

31: History

2011-07-16T22:20:00.000+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

“I hope you know where you’re going,” said Nyvara, as the three of them trod the branching passageways beneath the city.

“I know the direction,” replied Zarenis, “I can feel it. This thing,,, the Presence, whatever you want to call it… it shows me images sometimes, but mostly I just sense the way I have to go. All I have to do is work out the details.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” complained the sorceress, “how do we know it isn’t lying to you?”

“It has no reason to. It wants to be released, and my demonic ancestry is the strongest link it has to this world.” She didn’t add that the Presence had already shown her that it had been responsible for her own birth, through a lesser demon. Since she had touched the censer, it could send her visions while she was awake, and she had experienced first hand its ability to manipulate the infernal taint in her blood, tying them together.

At least, she had now been able to gain some measure of control over the new powers in her blood. She was able to suppress all the transformations it wanted to make in her body, restoring her eyes and horns to their usual forms, and now looked as human as any tiefling should do, not like the hideous half-demon she had been at risk of becoming.

In truth, she did not know how far she could really trust the entity, but there was little doubt that following its demands was the best course of action for the time being. It said that it would bring her power, make her its primary voice in the physical world, once it was released from its prison. Given the trouble it had gone to in order to create her, that seemed at least plausible. It didn’t seem to be able to act without some sort of intermediary, and it was unlikely that a better candidate existed anywhere near Haredil.

So now she, Nyvara, and the sorceress’ bodyguard, Rolgor, where stalking through the tunnels under the city, looking for the key that could release the Presence. The visions it had sent of where exactly the key was, and how it was guarded, had been vague; evidently, the Presence had difficulty seeing into that part of the tunnel system. But she knew enough to be able to get there, and enough that it was obvious she would need assistance in doing so. Nyvara, who was simply mercenary, was a far better choice for that assistance than anyone Amloth could have provided, for it had also become clear that, in the long run, the drow would be her greatest rival if she wished to truly act as the Presence’s chief representative on Earth.

“I can’t believe,” continued Nyvara, “that there are people who do this sort of thing for a living. Is it something about penetrating deep passages? This place is dusty and grimy, and if I wasn’t holding a magical light, we wouldn’t even be able to see anything.”

“We’re not adventurers,” Zarenis reminded her, “we’re here to get one thing, not to explore. In and out, as quickly as possible, that’s the idea.”

“Well, I don’t see any treasure to steal, anyway, if that’s what they’re in it for. What kind of idiot leaves piles of gold coins lying about in a catacomb, anyway? I’m beginning to wonder whether there’s anything down here at all, except dirt, smells, and scalding water from the springs.”

They turned a corner. “There’s that,” said Zarenis.

In front of them, the corridor was choked with a vast profusion of mutated plants, springing out of the water channel that filled much of its base. The plants were greyish and blotched, unnaturally growing down here in the perfect darkness. There were tendrils that visibly writhed as they watched and buds that looked more like vicious mouths.

“Can’t hack through that,” said Rolgor, speaking for the first time since they had descended into the depths, “too much bad.”

“A spell won’t work, either,” added Nyvara, “anything I could use against it would have to be strong to risk bringing the roof down. I hope this isn’t your only way in.”

“This is a tool of the Presence,” said Zarenis, confidently, “nothing more. A sign of the encroachment of its world into ours.”

“And that helps us how?”

“Because it knows its own.” She strode forward, until she was right next to the edge of the vegetable barrier. The creepers waved about uncertainly, reaching for one her moment, then rearing away.

Zarenis closed her eyes, relaxing her hold on the blood that raged deep within her, letting a little more of the Presence out through her. It was less shocking than the previous times it had happened, partly because she knew what was coming, and partly because she had the transformation more under her control. Heat rose within her, and she felt her horns and fingernails lengthen. Her ankles twisted, and she felt a sharp pain above her buttocks as a growing tail pressed against her clothing.

She heard Nyvara take a sharp breath, not quite managing to hide her distaste at the tiefling’s shape-shifting. When Zarenis opened her eyes, she knew that they were blood-red, and that even her skin was tinged with a reddish-purple hue. In front of her, the plants reared back, pressing themselves hard against the walls of the tunnel, opening a narrow passage between their bent stalks. It went about twenty feet into the morass, before more plants closed off any view of what lay beyond.

“I would follow very closely behind me, if I were you,” she told the others.

Rolgor looked to his mistress, more uneasy about the plants than about Zarenis’ demonic appearance. The sorceress looked uncertain, but, clenching her fists, stepped forward to stand immediately behind the tiefling, and then follow as she walked into the cleared passageway. The half-orc immediately followed her, although it was clear that he was gripping the haft of the axe they had found him very tightly indeed.

The plants continued to squirm, rustling against the stone walls, but, as they walked forward, those at the far end of the vegetable tunnel began to open up, revealing yet more beyond.

By the time they were twenty feet in, the mutant plants began to close behind them again, sealing off their only escape. Nyvara and Rolgor absolutely needed her now, if they were ever to escape, for Zarenis knew that there was no route to the surface beyond this point – she would hardly have come this way if there had been. They were trapped in here, with her.

The same thought had obviously occurred to both of them, and even the muscular half-orc flinched now as tendrils began to reach out for him, stopping less than an inch from his skin. They kept very close to her after that, their bodies almost touching as they continued to walk ahead.

In fact, while it must have seemed like an eternity to the other two, Zarenis judged that they had gone only another ten feet or so before the plants continuing to open up ahead showed, not more of their own kind, but the blackness of an open corridor. Not long after that, they had passed through, and were standing on the other side, as the horrible mutated barrier closed up behind them.

The passage they were in looked no different from that on the other side, with a deep conduit for the hot spring water occupying most of its width, and a narrow walkway along one side. Zarenis paused for a moment, to allow her body to resume its normal appearance. Although she sometimes needed to allow her new demonic form to come to the surface, it was not an experience she enjoyed, and the sooner she was back in her own flesh, the better she felt.

A sudden vision sprang to her mind of a dry side passage. She knew she would find it up ahead, and that that was where she had to head next. She also felt a sense of foreboding, her senses warning her to the fact that here, beyond the protective barrier, the Presence held more sway than it did elsewhere in the mortal world, and that anything could have been attracted here by its otherworldly nature.

“I’m not sure what’s here,” she told the others, “but there’s no reason to assume anything else will behave as quietly as those plants just did. So we will have to be careful.”

“There bad smell,” said Rolgor.

“This whole place is dank,” pointed out Nyvara, “you’ll have to get used to it.”

“No, real bad smell.” The half-orc hefted his axe, and moved to stand in front of the two women.

Something scuttled out of the darkness ahead, the magical light from Nyvara’s wand catching on a glistening green flank. The thing was running along the side of the tunnel, not along the floor, and it was headed straight for Rolgor. His axe whirred through the air and hit the thing with a heavy thudding sound, making it emit a high-pitched screech and back off. They could all smell it now, an unpleasant rotting odour that perhaps gave some clue as to what the thing fed on.

Now that it had paused it was easier to see what it was… or at least, what it looked like, for none of the three could recall having seen anything quite like it before. It was about ten feet long, with a body that loosely resembled a caterpillar, or possibly some kind of maggot. An array of long tentacles sprouted from its head – one of them severed and oozing pale yellow fluid. Dark, insectile eyes glittered above a wide maw filled with dagger-like teeth and a pair of bone-crushing mandibles.

The thing hissed and lunged forward again, tentacles flying around it like a shield. Rolgor swung his axe, but there were too many tentacles and one of them slapped him across the legs, spattering transparent slime as it did so. The big half-orc let out a grunt of surprise as one leg went numb, collapsing beneath him to pitch him onto the floor. Another tentacle swung by just inches above his head, but then the monster scuttled forward across the wall, now poised directly above him, tentacles waving.

Nyvara cast a spell, a bright blue spark of energy that momentarily obscured the light from her wand. It struck the creature, making it hiss in fury as it retreated a couple of feet up the wall. With a shout of rage, Rolgor reared up on his remaining good leg, swinging the axe one-handed, powerful muscles rippling beneath his tunic. The axe bit into the creature’s side, spraying yellow fluid onto the blade, and the thing stumbled, half falling off the wall to crash down beside him.

Before it could recover, the half-orc gripped his axe in both hands, half-leaning against the wall to support himself, and rained down blow after blow on the thing’s head until long after it had stopped moving.

He remained there, panting with exertion for a while. “Leg numb,” he said, after a while, “can’t move it. I not hurt… but leg bad.”

“Some sort of paralysing contact poison,” commented Nyvara, “whatever that is, it must secrete the stuff.”

“If we find an adventurer,” said Zarenis, “we can ask them what the thing is. But can you reverse the effects?”

The sorceress nodded, “it should be simple enough, with a neutralising balm. But I hope you aren’t expecting the sort of powerful healing magic that can put limbs back. I’m not a priest, and there could be something worse out there.”

“There’s an area up ahead that’s safe,” Zarenis told her, “we just have to get there quickly.”

Nyvara’s balm was as good as she has said, and soon the three of them were headed down the tunnel again, moving a little quicker this time. The side tunnel was, as the tiefling had thought, not far ahead, and, unlike the main passage, it was entirely dry, without any conduit along the floor. It was evidently a later addition to the system, not part of the channels for the hot spring water, although its original purpose was far from clear.

Three visions sprang into Zarenis’ mind in quick succession. One showed a pit, plunging down into the earth, the second a stone archway carved with runes. The third image was blurred, unclear, a murky darkness that she couldn’t understand, but accompanied by a flash of almost painful heat. She didn’t have time to make more sense of it, hopefully all would become clear when they got nearer to whatever it was.

The trio quickly moved down the side-passage, Nyvara and Rolgor glancing behind them from time to time to ensure that nothing was following.

“Stop!” shouted Zarenis suddenly, holding out her hands to grip the sides of the narrow tunnel as Nyvara almost cannoned into her.

“What now?” snapped the sorceress, irritated, and clearly a little out of her depth.

“There’s a pit just ahead. The entire floor drops away. There’s a narrow edge along one side, but we have to move carefully.”

“Is there a breeze?” asked Nyvara, and Zarenis had to agree that there was, although she had not noticed it until now. It was cold, at odds with the warm atmosphere they had encountered so far down here.

“Smells wrong,” said Rolgor, “a bad wind.”

Zarenis nodded, but said nothing; her sense of smell was obviously not as keen as the half-orc’s. “We need a good look ahead with that wand of yours,” she told Nyvara, “so we can see where the pit is.”

The wind grew stronger as they moved ahead, until they stood at the lip of a sudden chasm where the floor simply dropped away into the lightless depths. The air poured out of the gap, freezing cold and clutching at their clothes and hair. A narrow ledge just eight inches wide wound round one edge of the gap, with no clear hand-holds in the wall.

“It’s otherworldly,” said Nyvara, “it has to be. There’s no way wind could come from down there, otherwise, and, if it did, it wouldn’t be this cold. Not next to volcanic springs.”

“Don’t fall in, then,” said Zarenis wryly, “follow me carefully as I walk along the ledge. There’s a false step about half way along, make sure you don’t step on it – I’ll warn you when we get to it.”

The journey was difficult, and slow-going, but it was only about twenty feet, so it probably seemed to take longer than it actually did. Eventually, they reached the other side, Nyvara breathing heavily, and the half-orc looking uncharacteristically pale. Being down here was not a pleasant experience, and that pit was not going to stop any more of those wall-climbing creatures that might be down here.

“We should come to an archway,” Zarenis told them, “it’s magically warded, but not by the Presence. It was put here a long time ago, by the adventurers that last tried to seal the Presence in here, and used it to protect what we’re now after. If we get past the arch, we’ll be safe from any other infernal creations, but we will also lose some of my ability to sense what is ahead.”

This, in fact, was what she really needed Nyvara for. She could not hope to overcome the magical wards, or anything similar that might lie beyond. Although, as it turned out, the monster they had already encountered was probably something she would have had difficulty tackling on her own, so it seemed all of them were needed. She hoped that thinking like that wasn’t making her too much like adventurers, with their little bands that spent their days delving into old ruins in search of treasure and glory… that was no way for anyone to live.

──◊──

Four hundred years ago

“It isn’t enough.”

Romas turned to look at the elven archer, frowning. “What do you mean, it isn’t enough?” the big warrior asked, “Oshanti said her wards were almost impenetrable.”

The Jalibian magician nodded, “they are. There are multiple layers of protection on the arch, I don’t see how we could possibly make them stronger. Nothing can get through them.”

The elf brushed his long blond hair away from his face, looking slightly embarrassed, “I hate to say this… but you’re thinking like a human.”

“Well, that’s because I am human. What’s your point?”

“Will the wards still be so strong in a hundred years time? In two hundred? Five hundred? To an elf, that’s just a few generations. Will your wards last that long?”

She sighed, “no… no, perhaps not. But what else can we do? With the pit guarding the approach, I don’t see how we could have found anywhere better, and nothing’s ever permanent.”

“We could leave a guard down here.”

“For five hundred years?” asked Romas, “how is that going to work? With the enemies we’ve made among the Presence’s supporters, I don’t think we can even stay in the city for much longer.”

“I think I see what he means,” said Sister Yarona, “a guardian need not be human,”

“Exactly,” replied Carandel, “we leave something that doesn’t need to eat or sleep. A final protection in case, the gods forbid, some day someone breaks through the wards and finds this sceptre. Because we already know that we can’t destroy the thing ourselves, and the Presence will recover, given time, and send somebody down here, perhaps centuries from now, and they will, eventually, get through Oshanti’s wards.”

“The problem,” said Yarona, crossing her arms, and looking intently at the elf, “is how exactly we are supposed to summon something to do that. I am a cleric of the Sun God, and we’re underground.”

“There must be a ceremony,” said the elf, looking a little defensive, “something you can do. Or Oshanti can create something magical.”

“If you’re thinking of a golem,” said the magician, “I really don’t think that’s an option in the time we have available.”

“And to summon something, I would need candles, a great fire, something to represent the Sun God,” agreed Yarona, “we haven’t got that sort of equipment down here. Summoning ceremonies aren’t that simple.”

“Is there no other way of contacting the Sun God?” asked Romas, “it’s not as if we’re trying to do something that simply benefits ourselves.”

“Not directly, no. You need fire and light.”

“Wait…” said Oshanti, looking up, her dark eyes shining with a sudden idea, “what do you mean, ‘not directly’?”

──◊──

The arch turned out to be instantly recognisable; the past adventurers had carved runes all around it, and marked it with sigils whose paint was so old that it was peeling away, but had nonetheless stained the stone behind it. The sigils, apparently, were not much of a problem, and perhaps their fading with time was part of why the Presence was growing stronger recently. But it took Nyvara some time to neutralise the runic wards, carved so solidly into the stone that they could easily have stood for centuries more.

But succeed she eventually did, and the trio stepped through to the far side, another corridor, this one sloping slightly downwards. As soon as she did so, however, Zarenis felt the world spin around her, and she had to grab onto the wall to support herself. It wasn’t just the sudden dislocation from the Presence… she could feel something else.

“Are you all right?” asked Nyvara. She didn’t sound concerned, or at least not for the tiefling’s wellbeing. She was more worried, no doubt, about her ability to get out again.

“Yes,” said Zarenis, steadying herself. Once the initial shock of the transition was over, it no longer seemed so bad. “But there is something here, something watching us, and it isn’t good. It feels like a fire… a burning light, and its somewhere up ahead. Nothing to do with the Presence, quite the reverse. I can’t read its mind, but I can feel it probing us, trying to see what we are. The old adventurers… they left something here, something to protect what we’re looking for, and something a good deal worse than the barrier we’ve just passed.”

“When you say it’s not good, you don’t mean its infernal, do you?” asked the sorceress, evidently already guessing the answer.

“No, I mean that it isn’t good for us. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m still new to this… but I think it could be celestial.”

“Celestial is not good?” asked Rolgor, looking a little confused.

“Not when its protecting something we want to steal, no,” said Nyvara, “but how is that even possible? What did they do, build a shrine down here to summon an angel of Pardror? How much time did they have?”

“I have no idea,” said Zarenis, irritated that she was being questioned, “but there is something here. And it has already sensed us. You can ask it what it is and how it got here when you meet it – because, believe me, we are going to meet it.”

“I’m not facing something celestial! Those things are as powerful as demons, and I know a lot less about them!”

“Then you can walk back out the way you came.”

Nyvara glared at her in silence for long moments, and Zarenis simply stared back, arms on her hips. Rolgor just looked worried, although the tiefling knew that, if it came to it, he would back his mistress, not herself.
“It knows we’re here,” she said eventually, “but we know it’s here. So we make sure we’re ready for it.”

Nyvara’s shoulders slumped; she knew she didn’t have an option. “Right,” she said, curtly, “this better be worth it.”

They walked in silence for a while, as the corridor continued to slop down into the depths. At last, Nyvara’s mage-light glittered off something ahead. Soon it became clear what it was – water, wisps of light vapour wafting from its surface. The tunnel ahead was flooded, obviously having dropped below the water table of the city.

“Well, that’s that,” said Nyvara, sounding a little relieved, “unless you fancy going for a swim?”

Zarenis looked back at her, a slight grin on her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

──◊──

“I cannot believe you talked me into this.”

“It’ll work,” Carendel assured her, “you’re a cleric, which means you have a channel to the gods. We open a pathway to the right deity, one that doesn’t need candles and fires, and use that as your route through to the Sun God.”

“The operative phrase there is: I’m a cleric!”

They were alone in the chamber, the fighter and magician having moved outside to allow the ceremony to take place. Sister Yarona was glaring at the elf, her lips pursed and her eyebrows deeply frowning; she didn’t seem as enamoured of the idea as he had hoped.

“And the gods will smile on us,” he offered, “because we’re doing this to protect the city. I admit that’s the only reason it will work, but it is a good one. You’re the only one of us that can talk to the gods.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about.” Her dark eyes narrowed, “you planned this, didn’t you?”

“It’s was Oshanti’s idea, not mine!” he protested. - truthfully, as it happened, although she might not believe that.

“She’s not the one who has to do this.”

“Because she’s not the cleric. Although,” he admitted, somewhat reluctantly, “I suppose she could help out.”

“Oh, don’t be so…” she snorted in exasperation, turning away from him, and then suddenly spinning back to wave a finger under his nose. “As you so recently reminded me,” she snapped, “you’re the elf, not me!”

“Which is why we have to do the ceremony this way,” he pointed out. “Look, it’s not that bad, surely?”

“I just need…” she turned away again, looking at the wall, stumbling over the words, “I just need some time to get used to it. I mean, this isn’t exactly regular.”

She stood there in silence for a while, hands clasped in front of her; he supposed she might be praying. He did nothing, respecting her space, waiting for her to say something else. At last she let out a long sigh, squaring her shoulders, and turning back to face him.

“Right…” she said, “so how do we do this?”

“You must have some idea.”

“Very funny. You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, deciding that teasing her probably wasn’t the best idea under the circumstances. “Look… you do understand this? You open a channel to Sarlene, and she is our conduit to the Sun God, her father.”

“I understand the idea,” she said, her dark eyes staring straight into his green ones. Her white and gold robes enwrapped her form, showing a slim waist and a pleasing figure, and her long black hair fell over her shoulders from the golden sunburst and wreath on her brow. She looked, he reflected, as beautiful as always, if not more so, but she also looked very uncertain.

“My point is,” he said, speaking softly, “only you can open the channel. That means… you have to reach orgasm. It’s no good if it’s just me, it has to be you, too.”

“I think I can do that,” she said, nodding, a hint of colour rising to her cheeks, although she still did not look entirely convinced.

“You could have chosen Romas.”

“I know…” her voice was quieter now, “but I would rather it was you. Besides, he and Oshanti… well, you know.”

He nodded, “I’m still flattered.”

He reached out a hand to her cheek, feeling her soft skin beneath his fingers, and leant in closer towards her, feeling her warm breath on his face. Gently, he kissed her, their lips just touching. Her eyes closed, long dark lashes sweeping down, and he kissed the tip of her nose before moving into her mouth again, holding the kiss longer this time.

She moved in slightly towards him, their bodies touching through their clothing, and he dared to put a hand around her waist, running it slowly up her spine as she reciprocated the embrace, her own grasp less firm than his own. They broke apart, she gasping, eyes fluttering open, moving her hands away, although he kept one resting on her hip.

“That was nice,” he said, smiling in what he hoped was an encouraging way, “a good start.”

She nodded mutely, not daring to say anything, and he kissed her again. At first, she didn’t respond, but then she let out a quiet moan and pressed herself into him, exploring his lips, their tongues entwining as she reached a hand up to brush his long blond hair. He held her tightly, and the kiss seemed to go on and on, until at last they released each other, gasping for air, before he ran his lips down the angle of her jaw, brushing up against the high cloth collar of her robes.

She gasped, and Carendel took a step back, watching her dark eyes intently. They were fixed on him, watching his face, her desire evident; he thought she had never looked more beautiful. Although it was true that he had desired her for many years, and her occasional sly glances in his direction had allowed him to hold out hope that one day he might be able to consummate that desire, he had never imagined it would be like this. A woman like the cleric deserved to be romanced with roses and fine wine, and bedded on soft fresh sheets when she at last surrendered her religious inhibitions.

The middle of a dungeon was not quite what he had had in mind.

The elven archer unhitched his cloak, spreading it out on the floor and began to remove his shirt, revealing the slender yet toned body beneath. Yarona’s eyes wandered down, taking in every nuance of his pale skin, and, for a moment he felt slightly foolish standing there, the object of such attention.

He inclined his head slightly and made a vague motion towards her. “Uhh… you…” he said quietly, raising his eyebrows and hoping she would get the hint.

She nodded, as if coming to her senses, and reached for the fastening on her robes. He undid his belt and pulled his trews down, pulling off his boots while trying not to let her out of his gaze as she slowly stepped out of her outer garments. He did not want to miss a moment of this revelation of a body he had so longed to see more of.

The cleric’s white robes fell to the ground with a whisper as the elf straightened himself up, now clad only in his shorts. His eyes widened as they wandered over her body. Sister Yarona had not been wearing a conventional shift under her robes, he now saw. Instead, she had on a tight sleeveless tunic that reached to her waist, and shorts that reached a third of the way down her thighs. The skin of her arms and legs was flawless and creamy, deliciously shapely, as were the curves that her tight underwear did little to hide. A golden sunburst hung on a chain around her neck, matching the one on her brow.

He was aware that she was looking at him as eagerly as he was at her, and when her eyes dipped down to his shorts, she blushed deeply, for there could be no mistaking his deep arousal. Turning her eyes away from the sight, she reached for the headband in her rich, dark hair.

“No,” he said, reaching out an arm towards her, “it may seem strange, but you will need the holy symbols.”

“Yes, of course,” she said meekly, lowering her arms again, and then standing still, unsure of what to do next.

His arm was half way towards her, so he extended it further, brushing the soft skin of her shoulder. He traced his slender fingertips down the bare skin of her arm, even that touch of her more than he had attained before. He smiled at her, reassuringly, and his fingers reached her wrist, trailing lower to take her hand in his, squeezing it slightly.

“You are all right with this?” he asked, “Truly? Because if you are not, then it will be worthless, and I do not wish to do this with you for nothing. Without affection and absolute freedom of choice, this means nothing to Sarlene.”

“I know,” she said, “and were it anyone but you...” she looked away, eyes lowered, “I couldn’t. I am a cleric, and I have to take that seriously. But with you, I…” she turned back, and said, simply, “kiss me, Carendel.”

He moved towards her, taking her head in his hands, running long elven fingers through lustrous black hair, and kissed her once more on the lips. She responded in kind, and soon he felt her fingers running along his flanks, before one hand curled around to hold the small of his back, and another reached up for his own long hair. Her body pressed against his, and he could feel the swell of her breasts through the single piece of fabric that separated them, his erection pressed against her thigh.

They pulled apart, suddenly, and she knelt down on his cloak, pulling her shoes off as he lay down beside her. They kissed again, softly, and he patted her hip, feeling the shape of it through soft, white material. He pulled himself up onto one elbow, lying on his side, and let his eyes drink in the whole of her body, still clothed in her tight underwear.

He traced his free hand down the outside of her thigh, stroking her gently, taking his time to savour her. On impulse, he shifted his position, moving down to plant a kiss on her bent knee. He glanced up at her face, seeing only rapture reflected in it, and placed another kiss on her calf. With no objection evident he continued kissing her there, moving his lips across both her legs, all of the exposed skin of her calves, ankles, and lower thighs, sometimes darting his tongue out to taste her, to revel in the tang of the cleric’s sweet scent.

“You are so beautiful…” he whispered, pulling himself a little further up until he could take the hem of her upper garment in his fingers, and lift it a few inches.

He kissed her exposed belly, and lifted the tunic further out of the way, briefly pressing his nose into her navel, his lips caressing her narrow waist. She whispered wordless encouragement, as he hitched her clothing further up her body. He pulled away slightly to feast his eyes on her as he finally lifted the tunic over her breasts to bunch under her shoulders. He let out a sigh of appreciation as he did so, lost in the beauty of her naked flesh, unable to pull his eyes away from the rounded mounds before him.

Carendel moved his fingers over every inch of the cleric’s breasts, before pressing his lips to them, moving his kisses in ever decreasing circles towards her small, dark nipples. They were erect he saw, as he at last surrendered to his desire and kissed each of them in turn, running the tip of his tongue over them until Sister Yarona gasped aloud in pleasure.

It seemed like an eternity before he pulled back, away from her, giving the cleric a chance to pull the tunic over her head, and readjust her holy symbol so that it nestled in her enticing cleavage. Carendel removed the last item of his own clothing, seeing the cleric’s eyes drawn irresistibly to his erection, which felt larger and more swollen than it ever had in his whole life.

“You are beautiful too,” she told the elf, “although I could not tell you before.”

She moved to place a hand on his hip, feeling the toned flesh there before, ever so slowly moving it round to the base of his balls. She cupped them, before sliding the tip of her finger up the underside of his shaft. Now it was his turn to moan in pleasure, and wonder how much more of this he could take before he exploded.

“Beautiful, indeed,” she said.

He lay down beside her, and they kissed, hands exploring each others’ bodies, legs rubbing against one another. When her hand brushed his cock again, he reached for her long panties, pressing between her legs, fingers probing her through the fabric. He could feel the warmth there, perhaps a slight hint of moisture, although the fabric was relatively heavy.

Tongues entwined, the cleric’s hand caressing his buttocks, the elf dared to slide his fingers beneath the material of her panties, down across the short hair there, feeling her sex by touch alone.

“Oh, Carendel,” gasped Yarona, pulling her clothing down to give him freer access.

He pressed his fingers against her pussy lips, finding them as damp as he had expected, teasing her slightly. She wriggled against him, hip moving involuntarily, breasts sliding against his chest. He had never been driven so close to the edge before, almost dared not imagine what bliss still awaited him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, finding his voice husky.

“So, so ready…” confirmed the cleric, her burning desire evident.

He lifted her leg up, and pressed himself against her, remaining like that for a few seconds, before she rolled over onto her back, and at last he pushed himself between her open legs. His own gasp of pleasure drowned out the cleric’s, but he was barely inside, and her second gasp as he pressed the rest of the way was loud with wonder and delight.

“Yes, yes…” he cried, calling out her name as he began to move slowly and rhythmically inside her.

She was tight and fresh, enveloping him in wondrous sensations as his motion continued. The human woman moaned and cried out as he continued to pleasure her, body responding to his, hips rising to meet him, slick breasts rubbing against his chest as her fingers dug into his shoulders. He kissed her outstretched throat, gripping her body, savouring every moment, as she herself was so evidently doing.

Suddenly he pulled out, and moved away from her. Her eyes widened, begging, as she moved herself up onto her elbows. Her lips formed a silent question, evidently wondering whether it was he who was now having second thoughts.

He shook his head, not finding the words to tell her that he had been perilously close to climax, ruining the simultaneity that the ritual surely required. He gazed down at her, magnificent naked body spread out below him, still wearing the sacred sunburst in her hair, the second holy symbol nestling between those oh-so-kissable breasts.

She reached for his cock, hands sliding in her own juices, pressing him back towards her. Carefully, he pushed himself back inside, and resumed his motions. He sensed her rising urgency now, and began to move a little faster, drawing yet more moans of pleasure from his partner.

“I am close…” she whispered, “oh, goddess… I can feel her presence… oh, Carendel, I’m going to come… OHHH…”

The elf ejaculated with a long drawn out moan of pleasure as Sister Yarona bucked in the throws of a powerful orgasm. Everything went white, a brilliant blaze of divine light erupting from their coupling bodies and filling the room with its searing glory.

And something took shape.

30: Ornejirhs

2011-06-19T18:37:00.000+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

Calleslyn awoke suddenly. She felt refreshed, invigorated, as if she had just had a long nap and was ready to face the new day. And yet… she was sitting on a small, backless armchair, bound to it by her wrists, and with her ankles also tied together. There was a man sitting across from her.

“Welcome back,” said the man, “it would seem I owe you an apology.”

“You attacked me!” snapped the elf, as her memory returned.

“In fairness, you had just attacked my fighting companion. What was I supposed to infer?” His voice was calm, sounding reasonable, and almost affronted by the accusation.

“And now you’ve kidnapped me.”

“That was a necessary precaution. I did not know how you would react when you woke. I have not treated you badly.”

Glancing around to gain her bearings, Calleslyn had to admit that things could have been worse. She was not in a dungeon, or anything of that kind, although neither was she in the house where she had first encountered the pair. Instead, she was in what appeared to be a tent, a large and luxurious one of red and gold cloth, with soft cushions and mats upon the ground. The chair she was sitting in was padded, and would have been comfortable had she not been bound to it… with, she now noticed, white cords of silk that were tied firmly, but not overly tight.

There were two other people in the tent with her. Imrilda stood beside the man, dressed again in the strange mail armour that showed off most of her body, her hand hovering above her sword. She looked more worried than anything else.

The man himself was unusual and striking. He was tall, a little over six feet, and dressed in a long robe of pale blue and white, decorated with abstract designs reminiscent of no culture she was familiar with. It was a large world, of course, but still… The man had long hair of such a pale blond that it was almost white, and which seemed to have a slight silvery lustre to it. His skin was pale, and his limbs long and slender, but it was his eyes that really caught her attention. They were pale blue, paler than any she had seen before, the colour of ice crystals, and they bored into her as if looking at her soul.

Calleslyn was acutely aware that she was still dressed only in her underwear.

“If I take it that you will not attack me, Imrilda will untie you now,” the man said. “We mean you no harm.”

Imrilda looked less than certain about that, but she stepped forward, looking between Calleslyn and the stranger. Calleslyn slumped in the chair, and nodded reluctantly. Attacking them both now, when they were alert, was unlikely to achieve anything, and at least this way she would be free. The man nodded to Imrilda, and the warrior woman stooped down to undo the silken cords, still looking wary as she stood back, her hand moving back to the hilt of her sword.

“You say you owe me an apology,” she said angrily, standing up to face the pair. “I think you owe me rather more than that. You are Ornejirhs, I take it?”

“I am,” said the man, still watching her calmly, “I believe there has been something of a misunderstanding.”

“She,” Calleslyn pointed at Imrilda, “tried to drug me.”

“A case of mistaken identity. I think, perhaps, I should explain.”

“You can start with who and what you are.”

“I am a magician, just like you. I met my fighting companion here in the lands you refer to as the South. She is a Shield Daughter, a skilled warrior, and trained in what we might call arts of distraction.”

“I asked about you, not her” said the elf, jabbing a finger towards the still seated magician, “your name isn’t southern, your taste in art doesn’t look southern, and you certainly don’t look to be from the same part of the world as she does. I can believe she is what you say she is, but you are being very cagey about yourself.”

“I am from the south,” said the man, still looking calm, “geographically speaking, at least. My homeland is rather further south than Imrilda’s, that is all.”

"I do know a little geography,” Calleslyn pointed out, “and there isn’t anything south of the southern lands. Just tundra and ice.”

“Well, that is true,” conceded Ornejirhs, with a smile, “but there is rather a lot of tundra and ice.”

“I’m still waiting for a clear answer.” There was much more she wanted to ask as well, such as what he was doing in the city, and who they had – supposedly – mistaken her for. But getting the man to confess his origins would at least be a good start.

“I’m…” for the first time, he hesitated, a worried look crossing his flawless alabaster features. “Yes, I suppose I do owe this much, under the circumstances. Very well, then… I am not human.”

“What?” She hadn’t expected that. His features were unusual, certainly, but not so much as to give her any hint about what he had just said. Which meant that it had to be a disguise for his true form…

“I am a dragon,” said Ornejirhs, “I have the power to take human form when I wish it, and generally find it to be quite convenient.”

Calleslyn was so stunned by that revelation that she found herself sitting back on the chair, staring at the man in amazement. It actually made sense, now that he said it. The unusual name, the skill at magic, the oddly abstract designs that he favoured… even his preference for living in luxury, surrounded by what might well be called treasure. Not many dragons were said to be able to take on human form, but neither was it something entirely new to her.

“I hope I do not need to transform to convince you,” he continued, “that would be rather awkward at the moment. Suffice it to say that when I claim to be a hunter of demons, that also, is entirely true. There are many of my kind that spend their days gathering hordes, or that seek to dominate the lands around them, but I am not one such.”

“Silver…” said Calleslyn, finding her voice again, “you’re a silver dragon, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” replied Ornejirhs, giving a slight tip of his head, “and if you have heard of my kind, you have also heard, I hope, that we are an honourable breed. My choice of lifestyle is unusual for a dragon, perhaps, but it has its merits. Demons are as much a concern of ours as they are for the humanoid races. Which is why I have dedicated my life to defeating them, and why I have arrived in this city.”

“Well,” he added, “we are now outside the city, as you may have guessed, but we are close by, and I assure you that you may return at any time.”

If he was telling the truth – and that was seeming increasingly likely – did that mean he knew of the demonic threat she and her companions had uncovered? If he was here to fight it, that would be good news indeed. But it still didn’t explain why Imrilda had tried to drug her.

“My companion tells me,” he continued, “that you wanted to see me because of a matter concerning a demon. May I ask what that was?”

“Once you have answered my questions, perhaps,” she shot back, “you have said you a dragon. Very well, I believe you. But why are you here? What interest does Haredil hold for a demon hunter?”

“The answer to that is simple: I am pursuing a demon. He – or more accurately ‘it’ – is named Sashjant, and he entered our world in a place much further away from here than even my homeland. The other side of the equator, in fact – a land in the northern hemisphere. He is a corrupt being, as all infernal creatures are, yet very wily, and a master of illusion and mental powers.”

“Indeed, I have been having difficulty locating him here. He is, I believe, aware of my presence, and his powers now alert him whenever I get close; a fact that, I confess, is most frustrating to me. That he has not left, however, may be significant, for normally he does not remain in one place for long, and I cannot imagine he would do so without good reason once aware that one such as I were so close to him.”

“In short, I believe there may be something that keeps him here specifically. Which is why I am most intrigued by your claim that you have met a demon recently, and why I must once again apologise for the manner of our greeting. I understand why that might have made it difficult for you to trust us. None the less, it is Sashjant we seek, not you, although naturally any demonic threat is of interest to us.”

“And, yes,” he went on, seeing her expression, “I see I must return once again to the source of our mistake. You see, Sashjant travels around with what we might loosely call a ‘harem’. He has a number of young, female human followers, all comely in appearance, who do his bidding. He controls them, using his powers, and they work as his eyes and ears, his merchants and artisans, warriors and concubines.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but the reality is you are a very attractive woman, Calleslyn, a fact that made my companion wary. She believed you might be a servant of our foe, and sought to detain you until I could arrive and be sure you were not a trap, or a spy. I know now that is not true, for my own senses can discern no taint upon you.”

“I will say, in our defence, that my companion did not actually drug you, although she had prepared for that possibility, should it prove necessary.”

“No,” admitted Calleslyn, “that wasn’t quite how she detained me.” She glanced across at Imrilda, noting that the woman was blushing, and carefully nor looking at either of them.

“Yes,” said Ornejirhs, smiling amiably, “I understand that a dance was involved. She can be distracting when she wishes.”

“You could call it a dance, I suppose,” said Calleslyn, now fixing her gaze on Imrilda. The warrior was turning a brighter red, and seemingly entranced by some object in the corner of the tent.

“Oh?” said the dragon, looking genuinely curious, “what else might one call it? Imrilda?” He looked up at the blonde for an answer, but she was avoiding him, hands fidgeting behind her back.

“Let’s just say it went a little further than a regular dance,” replied the elf.

“It doesn’t matter!” snapped Imrilda, speaking at last, and turning back to Ornejirhs, “I thought I needed to detain her, so I came up with a ruse. The details don’t really matter. It was nothing.”

Calleslyn frowned. She still had not fully forgiven the human woman, and the way she was speaking now only added to her irritation. She decided that a bit more truth was called for, to put the warrior in her place.

“So you were faking it?” she asked, “I congratulate you on how far you were prepared to go. You certainly seemed to be enjoying it when we were both naked together.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Imrilda cried, flushing redder still, “really it wasn’t, Ornejirhs - don’t listen to her. It was just a ruse.”

“This sounds most interesting,” replied the dragon, “do continue, Calleslyn.”

The elven magician decided to twist the knife just a little further. “I can’t speak to Imrilda’s motives, but I really doubt she could have faked getting that damp when I was fingering her. Isn’t that right, Imrilda?”

The blonde warrior glared back at her. “Why… I… I…”

“If it’s any consolation, if that was really your first time, you were doing pretty well when you had your tongue between my legs.”

Imrilda gasped. “It’s not true! I didn’t! Ornejirhs – you can’t believe her!”

“I confess ,” said the dragon, “that if what she says is true, it does reveal a side to you of which I was not previously aware.” The warrior spluttered, apparently unable to find a good response to the remark, but Ornejirhs calmly continued. “On the other hand, it does not seem entirely at odds with your modus operandi.”

“What do you mean?” asked Imrilda, now looking a little worried.

“You are a Shield Daughter, belonging to a group of female warriors that use revealing magical armour to distract their male foes. It is natural to assume that that is an advantage you would use for other purposes, and, indeed, I have observed it to be so. Consider the young ranger that you convinced to help us a few months ago, as we crossed the wilds to get here. It was evident to me not only that you flirted with him, but that the pair of you had sexual intercourse. I should add that I was grateful for his assistance, and was glad that you had persuaded him to provide it, no matter what means you chose to employ.”

“Moreover, while I have not seen the purpose in mentioning this to you before, there have been occasions on which I have overheard you engaged in sexual acts with others, and always to good purpose so far as it concerns me. And on those occasions, I had observed that you certainly gave every audible indication of your personal satisfaction, for which I was also happy.”

“I trust you do not mind that I speak so openly of this matter now, but the issue has been raised, and I sense that you are somewhat disturbed by it.”

Calleslyn struggled to suppress a smile at Ornejihrs’ polite speech, and the faintly bemused tone that had crept into his voice. It certainly supported his claim that he was not as human as he appeared.

Imrilda struggled for words again, but eventually found her voice. “You’re not upset?”

The dragon frowned. “No, why should I be?” Then realisation appeared to dawn, “ah – I see it now. Of course, your species is generally monogamous, or at least professes that it be so. You are concerned that I might feel jealousy towards your partners. I should explain,” he added, turning back to Calleslyn, “that Imrilda is not merely a sword-hand to protect me when I am in human form, but that she and I have enjoyed the delights of each other’s bodies on more than one occasion – an act which we both find most stimulating.”

“But you need not be afraid, my friend,” he said to the warrior, “for my species is not monogamous, as yours is. We form no lasting partnerships, for such is not our way. The idea that you should remain faithful to me alone is not one I have ever entertained. Especially when, judging by the cries I have heard you utter, you find great joy in the act. Why should I not be happy that you are also happy?”

“It seems,” he went on, a little ruefully, “that this is a conversation we should have had some time ago, for you may have been labouring under an unpleasant misapprehension, even a sense of guilt, for which you had no good reason. But, for now, I am curious – is what our new friend says the truth?”

Imrilda sighed, and reluctantly nodded. “I didn’t think you…”

“Pay it no mind. And you reached sexual climax with this woman?”

“Yes, dammit,” muttered the warrior, blushing again, “she made me come, all right?”

“And you her, by her account. But that both of you are female… this is, as I say, something new to me. I was not aware of such a practice, for it is unknown among my kind.”

“It’s an elven thing,” said Calleslyn, amused at the way the conversation had turned.

“That may explain its rarity. It is even so, a concept I find most intriguing. Over the years that I have adopted this form and spent time with Imrilda, I have attained a considerable appreciation of the female humanoid form.” He reached out a slender hand, casualty stroking his companion’s bare flank above her belt. “Imrilda,” he said, meeting her gaze, “despite my earlier statements, I have never yet had relations with a woman other than you. You are not of my kind, yet I have learned to find your body most enticing, and to take great pleasure in it. When I embrace you, and penetrate you, my every motion and thought are sincere.”

“I know,” replied the human woman softly, taking his hand in hers.

Calleslyn cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should leave at this point?”

“You are free to do so, of course, yet that was not what I had in mind. If we are to cement a new friendship, a new understanding between my companion and myself, what better way to do so than we three together? If you are amenable, Calleslyn, I would be most interested to see this new practice of which you have spoken, and to take my part as well.”

The suggestion caught Calleslyn entirely by surprise, especially given the dragon’s continued polite and reasonable tone of voice. Perhaps she had been speaking entirely too freely, and giving the wrong impression?

But it was the warrior who spoke first. “You want to watch us?” she asked, eyes wide with shock. “I can’t imagine Calleslyn would be interested in such a thing!”

It was Imrilda choosing to speak on her behalf that settled the matter for the elven woman. She strode up to where the pair were standing, and, with a swift movement, pulled the human’s upper garment up around her shoulders, letting her ample breasts swing free. She massaged one with her hand, watching the expression on the woman’s shocked face.

“We started like this,” she told Orenjirhs, “your girlfriend has magnificent breasts.”

“As I have observed,” admitted the dragon, leaning forward to tweak the nipple of the other breast between his fingers. Then he bent his head, and poked out a remarkably long tongue, replacing his fingers with its moist tip.

Calleslyn moved down, planting kisses across the soft mound, rubbing the hardening nipple inside her own mouth, moving a hand down towards the woman’s crotch. Imrilda let out a strangled gasp, and almost fell away from them, and quickly laid herself down on the floor, removing her sword belt and top. Calleslyn moved down on top of her, her mouth eagerly finding the breast once again, as Ornejirhs climbed out of his chair and lay down on Imrilda’s other side.

The warrior woman panted and mewled, arching her back as the pair of them feasted on her breasts. There was no doubting Ornejirh’s enthusiasm, Calleslyn reflected, as their hands met across Imrilda’s belly, fingers briefly entwining before Calleslyn’s hand darted lower, towards the woman’s lower garments.

Soon she had pulled them down, exposing Imrilda’s thick blonde bush. The dragon watched in interest as she stroked it, dipping a finger down to run across the damp pussy lips, presenting the moisture for his inspection.

“Ornejirhs…” breathed Imrilda, her shapely buttocks squirming against the blanket that they lay on.

The man got up onto his knees, and began to remove his robes, as Calleslyn began to move her fingers deeper, pressing them between the swollen folds, and planting a kiss on the other woman’s navel.

Ornejirhs was naked now, kneeling beside his companion’s head. His body was almost devoid of hair, an expanse of smooth milky skin, with nipples scarcely darker, and well defined muscles. His cock was fully erect, a short fuzz of golden-white hair adorning its base. Calleslyn reflected that it must have been a full eight inches long, larger than anything she had seen on an elven man. Imrilda was stroking it gently along the length, teasing back the foreskin as the man sighed in contentment.

Calleslyn bent down, her long golden hair draped across the other woman’s belly and thighs, and pressed her lips to Imrilda’s pussy. Her tongue darted inside, tasting the human’s evident excitement, sucking gently on her clit. The warrior cried out, pressing her face against Ornejirh’s thigh as she did so.

“Not faking anything now, are we?” asked the elf, releasing the damp pussy to sit back on her knees. Imrilda shook her head dumbly, and the dragon smiled, before turning his piercing blue eyes onto Calleslyn.

She slowly raised the hem of her shift, moving it up inch by inch until she could pull it over her head, and then slid her panties down her thighs. Ornejirhs watched every movement, eyes drinking in every curve of her body, cock still throbbing in Imrilda’s hand.

“Most satisfying,” he said, still watching her.

Calleslyn decided to give the human woman something other than the dragon’s cock to focus on, and moved up to sit on the other side of her head, legs slightly apart. She pressed one hand against the warrior’s cheek, turning the woman’s face towards her own body. Imrilda got the hint, and released the man, rolling over onto her front, knocking the chair beside them over in the process, but not taking any heed of it.

Calleslyn settled back, resting on her arms, thighs akimbo, noting how the dragon’s eyes were now fixed on the spot between them. Hungrily, Imrilda pressed her head to that place, kissing the elf’s pussy, then pushing her tongue in, nose tight against her partner’s narrow bush.

Ornejirhs breathed another sigh, his eyes wider than ever, as Calleslyn pushed a hand down to her crotch, pulling the pussy lips apart to give the warrior greater access to her cunt. She found it hard to believe that Imrilda had not done this until the day before, for she was expert at it, her tongue caressing every fold, flicking her clit, curling in circles until the elven woman found herself moaning in appreciation.

It seemed the dragon could contain himself no more. He moved round behind Imrilda, stroking her sides and buttocks as he did so, his bulging cock seemingly longer than ever. Slowly he eased himself inside his companion, making her gasp out loud in pleasure, and to temporarily halt her ministrations.

Calleslyn pushed the woman’s head back down, feeling her tongue press its way inside again. Ornejirhs began moving himself in and out with rhythmic thrusts, and soon Imrilda’s tongue was moving in time to his motions. The elf moaned again, louder this time, as the dragon focused his ice-blue eyes on the movements of her slick body, and the way her small breasts were now rising and falling in time with his own thrusts.

He began to press into Imrilda harder, hips grinding and skin slapping on skin as the warrior let out moans muffled by Calleslyn’s thighs. All three of them were groaning now, and the elf found herself watching the man’s taut belly and the base of his long shaft, so coated now in Imrilda’s juices.

At one point, the blonde warrior let out her deepest moan yet, losing her grip on Calleslyn’s cunt. She tried to return to her task, but the increasingly urgent thrusts from her partner were too much for her, and she lost her rhythm, tongue fumbling at the pink flesh as she continued her moans. Reluctantly the elf moved herself back, and watched as Ornejirhs pulled his strong arms around the other woman’s waist, pulling her upright, against his chest.

Imrilda was now pumping herself up and down on the dragon’s cock, his arms about her waist, her breasts heaving in time to the motion. Calleslyn could see the man’s balls and the base of his cock pressing into her again and again, both their hips thrusting against each other as the warrior let out deep moans of satisfaction.

The elven woman pressed herself in, fastening her mouth on one sweet bouncing nipple and sucking for all she was worth as she slid a hand down to the seat of the action, rubbing against both Ornejirhs’ smooth balls and the stretched pussy lips of his partner.

Imrilda practically screamed her release, and the dragon at last slid out of her, as she slumped over onto the rug. As she lay panting on the ground, Calleslyn found her eyes irresistibly drawn to the man in front of her.

It was a remarkably long time since she had been with a man. She was as bisexual as any of her people, although she had to confess to a slight preference for the fairer sex. Yet, somehow, she had avoided the men of Haredil, and she found herself slightly uncertain faced with Ornejirhs’ obvious masculinity. That he was not truly human, despite appearances, also lent a degree of uncertainty to it. How would it feel to have sex with a man after all these years, and how would it feel to have sex with one that was also a dragon?

His muscular chest was moving only slightly, as if he was hardly put out by his recent exertions. His belly was smooth and firm, his hips strong. If he had chosen this form, he had chosen well, with more of a sense of human aesthetics than might have been expected. His long cock stood proudly erect, covered in Imrilda’s juices, the pink head throbbing. It was evident that he had not yet reached his own climax.

He reached out for her, running one finger along her flank, and then brushing the length of her arm, those piercing blue eyes fixed on her own green ones, a slightly quizzical look on his face. Slowly, his hand trailed over her shoulder, and onto the base of her neck, as he gently pulled her towards him. Their lips met, just for a couple of seconds, and her eyes fluttered shut. She felt his hand move downwards, over her breasts now, until it circled the nipple, lazily forming an intricate pattern.

“Yes?” he said, his voice a quiet breath, hardly audible, yet hot against her cheek.

“Yes,” she replied, opening her eyes again.

He leaned back, and she moved over onto the carpet, beside the other woman. Ornejirhs was poised between her legs now, his hands running along the curves of both her thighs, his erection still damp. His eyes were still fixed on hers – she noticed now that he hardly ever blinked – as he moved over her, into position.

He pressed just the head in at first, moving it in a gentle circle for a few seconds as he watched her reaction. Then he began to slide his way in. Calleslyn had not felt a cock inside her for years, only fingers and tongues, and this one was unusual in its length. She moaned as he filled her, further than she could imagine, sending thrills through her body. He was taking her slowly, obviously savouring the pleasure as much as she was.

His hips ground into her in a controlled and gentle rhythm, the motion of his cock driving her to heights of ecstasy. She had almost forgotten Imrilda until a shadow moved over her, and she saw the woman leaning above her, facing her companion, large breasts obscuring Calleslyn’s view of the tent top, with sunlight still filtering through.

The couple kissed, the man’s hand wandering down the warrior’s naked body, feeling her back and caressing her buttocks, yet never pausing in his other movements. The elf pulled down the human’s woman’s hips towards her, and reached out a hand to stroke the swollen labia. She pressed her index finger inside, finding her still damp.

Imrilda gasped as Calleslyn drove her tongue into the pink folds, wet with the juices of her recent orgasm. The elf enfolded the other woman’s bud, sucking her clit until the warrior’s hips began to move involuntarily against her face. At no point did Ornejirhs’ motion change, he just continued slowly driving her towards the brink as she strove to re-ignite Imrilda’s fires, to wring a second orgasm from her, proving herself the equal of the great dragon.

Unexpectedly, he pulled out, leaving her feeling empty. Why did it have to end so soon? Imrilda was climbing off her, and they both looked up towards the dragon. He was watching them, his eyes moving between the two, apparently trying to decide between them. Did he want them to beg for him, Calleslyn wondered? She was not going to do that – no, instead she would finish her aim with Imrilda, show him that sometimes, men were not needed.

She moved up into a sitting position, next to the warrior, and kissed her passionately on the lips. To her delight, the warrior returned the kiss fully, and soon the pair were sitting pressed facing each other, their hands exploring each other’s bodies, squeezing and fondling every curve, lips wandering over chins, ears, and necks until Calleslyn plunged down to lose herself once more in the delight of the warrior’s curving breasts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ornejirhs moving again, but paid him little heed, sliding her hands down between the other woman’s thighs. A moment later, she felt a damp flickering movement there, and bent her head to watch as the dragon began to taste Imrilda’s cunt. She could see his tongue was long, and that it evidently pleased the warrior, for soon she was quietly moaning again, and changing her position so that she squatted over the dragon's face.

Calleslyn silenced her cries with another kiss, pressing her small breasts against the much larger ones of the human. Their nipples rubbed together as their hands returned to exploring each other, and Imrilda began to make whimpering noises in the back of her throat.

The elf felt a hand against one of her thighs, moving gently up, and she let it do so. Shortly, that magnificent cock was back inside her again, Ornejirhs sliding into her even as he continued to lick at his human partner. His hands were wandering up, one over Imrilda’s bucking back, the other pressing its way between their breasts, fondling them both at once.

This time, his motions inside her were more urgent, powerful, as they had been with Imrilda the first time. The sensation was overwhelming, and the elf could not help herself crying out, until the increasingly loud moans of both women filled the tent.

Remembering her mission, she darted a free hand down the warrior’s belly, curling the fingers between her lips, pulling them out of reach of the dragon's long tongue, caressing and rubbing the nub for all she was worth. Imrilda’s second orgasm was quieter than her first, but no less mistakable for all that.

Hearing the sound, Ornejirhs increased the speed of his thrusts still further, and Calleslyn pushed back against him, desperate to feel it all. They came together, he letting out a roar of pleasure that drowned her own long cry, his cock jerking again and again inside her pulsing cunt.

The dragon’s orgasm seemed to go on and on, flooding her with his semen. Even when he pulled out, after what seemed an eternity of delightful torment, more white fluid dribbled down it, splashing into her thigh before it finally stopped.

Even Ornejirhs seemed contented after that.

29: Nariti

2011-05-14T20:42:00.000+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

“She went to see a magician named Ornejirhs,” explained Almandar, as they stood outside the Wizards’ College, “he’s a visitor to the city, not somebody I’ve heard of before.”

“I have,” said Tarissa, unexpectedly, “he’s a demon hunter. They mentioned him at the Pardror temple. I was going to suggest we pay him a visit anyway.”

“And after seeing him, Calleslyn disappears? I’m not sure I like this, especially since we don’t know anything about him. We don’t even know where he’s from.”

“I was told that he was from the south,” replied the paladin, “although I suspect they may have got confused on that point – it’s not a name from any southern culture I’m familiar with.” Tarissa, of course, was from the southern lands, herself, as her blonde hair and blue eyes made apparent. “Although I was told that he does have a companion called Imrilda, who certainly is southern, from the description. She belongs to an order called the Shield Daughters, who have some rather strange ideas about dress, but are essentially honourable. From everything I was told, this Ornejirhs sounds a trustable person.”

“Then why hasn’t Calleslyn returned?” Almandar reminded her, “she went to see him yesterday afternoon.”

“Perhaps she spent the night,” suggested Tarissa, “it’s not as if you haven’t done the same more than once.”

That caught him a little of guard. It was, of course, perfectly true, and it was something that he suspected the paladin felt a little uncomfortable even mentioning. If Tarissa herself had a sex life, he knew nothing about it, and her moral code was certainly opposed to casual encounters of the sort that he had so often. She was, perhaps, being generous in usually glossing over his activity. And it was at least possible that she was right, although with Calleslyn’s elven heritage, it was likely she would be as interested in Imrilda as Ornejirhs himself.

“Well,” he said, “at least we know where to go.”

“Actually, I’d like you to stay here,” she said, “there might be something useful in the restricted section of your library. I’m sure Vardala and I can find this demon hunter.” Dolrim was still guarding the villa, although the chances of a return visit by the intruder seemed unlikely. “I doubt the Wizards’ College knows more about fighting demons than my church, but you never know. At the least, it might be interesting to know who has been poking around with those sorts of books. Even if it is all down to this Lady Amloth that Vardala found out about, she will probably need allies to conduct a major ritual, or this dark influence beneath the city could have infected the College – which would really be something we’d need to know about.”

“All right, all right,” Almandar held his hands up, “I suppose we don’t want magicians working against us. But I’ll try to be quick, and I might follow you to this Ornejirhs’ house after I finish.”

As the two women left, Almandar headed back into the college, and towards the library. He hoped that Tarissa was right, and that Calleslyn’s failure to return to the villa that morning was not the result of something sinister. But, since he had been asked to view the restricted section, that was probably what he should do. First, of course, he would need permission, and, since the Master of the College was likely to be busy, that meant talking to the librarian.

──◊──

“The restricted section!” squeaked Nariti, her eyes widening, “whatever for?”

“I want to know who might have summoned this demon who attacked us, and that means I need at least some idea how they might have done it.”

“Oh, yes… you said.” The small woman still looked rather nervous, “are you really sure?”

“I won’t be long. Look, you can come with me, if you want.”

“I don’t know… perhaps I should ask the Master. I think he might be free this evening…”

“I know that access to that part of the library is limited,“ conceded Almandar, “but we do have it for a reason. Why keep books if nobody reads them? And I think I have a pretty good reason. I really need your help on this – you know more about magic books than anyone.”

“Uh… yes… well, I suppose so,” she nodded her head up and down, her hands fluttering nervously over the scroll on her desk, “if you really need my help. Yes, I will give you permission, then. I haven’t been in there for a while myself, so I should probably check on it. Make sure that everything is back where it should be. Cataloguing is important, you know.”

She seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as him, so he did not interrupt, and allowed her to lead the way. He couldn’t help but notice how her confidence had increased once she had begun to think about cataloguing; that was obviously something she found easier to deal with than people.

They descended a narrow flight of steps at the rear of the main section of the library, until they came to a small metal door, painted black. There was no lock or handle, just a red rune where one might otherwise be found. Nariti pulled a wand from the satchel at her side, and muttered an incantation under her breath as she tapped the rune. It glowed for a second, and then the door swung soundlessly open.

The room within was gloomy, windowless, but with a permanent light spell cast onto a fitting against one wall, perhaps as much a protection against fire as a convenience. There was a small desk, and a single leather-padded chair, but otherwise the room was free of furniture, except for the numerous bookshelves stacked tightly against the walls.

The shelves were packed with a number of books and scrolls of all shapes and sizes. A great many of the books had black covers or sinister designs on them; evidently the people who produced such things couldn’t resist adding a suitably dramatic flair.

The door shut behind them, locking out the rest of the college. Almandar looked up at the shelves, wondering where to start. “So what have we got on summoning spells?” he asked, “it might be useful to see what things are required.”

“Uh… well…” Nariti looked nervous again, her hands fidgeting now that she had put the wand away, “I suppose that the… uh… the Umbrosus Pacta would be the best place to start.” She stood there for a moment, apparently not realising that he had no idea where to look, and then suddenly gave a little jerk, “oh, yes, of course. It should be over here, on the third shelf, just along from the…” she frowned suddenly, and stepped across to the place she had indicated. “Oh, really! People should put books back where they find them. How else am I supposed to catalogue anything? But wizards will do whatever they please, sometimes. Its as if they don’t understand the importance of an efficient manuscript retrieval system!”

It was about as passionate and confident as he’d ever heard her be. Clearly he’d found a topic of conversation she actually thought was important. She scurried around the room, sifting through the shelves, and casting her eye over all of them, small hands darting over the scrolls, sometimes raising small puffs of dust.

“Oh my goodness me!” she stepped back, into the middle of the room, hand rushing up to her mouth, a look of near panic on her face. “It’s not here! It’s not here!”

“But nobody can take things out from here,” pointed out Almandar, “are you saying it’s been stolen?”

“Steal a book? From a library! Oh my gosh… that’s… that’s quite outrageous!” Her voice had reached a high pitched squeak of indignation, and a slight flush of red rose to her pale cheeks.

“More to the point, why?” mused the other magician. “You said you hadn’t been in here recently, so who has been in here since you last checked it?”

“Only Valmor. Oh, he wouldn’t… surely not. Besides, it’s a big book, how would he get it out?”

“Shrunk it, perhaps? Or concealed it in a magic bag? Of course,” he added, worried that she might rush off and confront the man, which would be a very bad idea if he really was in league with demon summoners, “it might not have been him. Perhaps somebody found a way of by-passing the magic lock – it’s not impossible, and if they shrunk the book and carried it out, well, you’d never know, would you?”

“No, I suppose not. You’re right. It was probably some irresponsible student who got hold of a wand they shouldn’t have done. Or something like that. I shall report it to the Master of the College – we simply can’t have this sort of thing happening!”

“Oh!” she gasped suddenly, “but what if others have been taken? I must check them. My library, stolen from!”

The little magician seemed almost close to tears, and Almandar felt quite sorry for her. None of this had been her fault after all; it had not even been she who gave Valmor permission to enter the place, and to do so without supervision. He reached out an arm and gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Surprised by the gesture, she turned to look at him, giving him a small smile of gratitude, and then darted back towards the shelves, checking them more thoroughly.

There was nothing Almandar could do but watch her, wondering about the strange little woman with the mousy hair. She seemed so isolated from the outside world, only happy when in her element. He felt sure he had never seen her outside the building, realising she must use the accommodation here, like some of the students. Her library was the only thing that really mattered to her, and it was a small affront that the demonic forces beneath the city had hurt her like this.

As he did so, he noticed one book that seemed to stand out from the others. It was slim, and bound in red leather, but what most caught his attention was the sigil on the spine. It was the holy symbol of Sarlene, the same shape as the one he wore about his neck. As the librarian continued to search, he slid it out, and opened it, noting that it appeared to be a book of spells.

“No, nothing else gone,” she said, after a surprisingly short yet thorough search, “oh, thank goodness.” She leaned back against the shelves, waving a hand to cool herself, and brushing a strand of mousy hair back from her forehead.

“I see you’ve found the… uh… yes…” she said flustered again, as she saw the book in his hands.

“Oh, yes…” he was the one to be embarrassed this time, “I didn’t realise this sort of thing counted as restricted. Or that we had books like this at all. Some rather unusual spells in it, I see.” He put the book back, making sure it was in the exact position that he had found it.

“Yes,” agreed the librarian, nodding, “I did read some of it once, and found them most curious. Most of the other books in here are a bit… well, they don’t seem very nice. That one was different, but very puzzling. Why would you want a spell to make a specific body part larger, for instance? And it only worked on men.”

“Yes,” said Almandar, cautiously trying to feel his away around the conversation, “I can see why you might find that odd.”

“Obviously, it has something to do with Sarlene,” said Nariti, apparently feeling a little more relaxed now that she knew nothing else was missing, “you can tell that from the cover. But there doesn’t seem to be anything religious in it, just spells. And it used some curious words, which I haven’t seen elsewhere. Do you think they might be religious terms? I worship Nyrandos, of course, so I wouldn’t know.”

Nyrandos was the god of knowledge, who tended to be the most popular among magicians, but the revelation was doubly unsurprising, coming from her.

“Yes, that seems quite possible,” he said, as noncommittally as he could.

“It was quite vexing. I don’t like not understanding things. I suppose I should…” her eyes widened, as she caught a glimpse of the silver symbol around his neck. “Oh, but you worship Sarlene, don’t you? That’s most… well… not very usual, but I’m sure it must have some advantages. Love is important, all the books are clear on that.”

“Yes, it’s all part of the world,” he conceded, “it keeps everything together.”

“So they say. Uh… would you mind… could you explain some of the words to me? I think it would be important if I understood the book. As it’s custodian, you see.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said. The goddess taught that you should spread her message where you could, although he suspected any such conversation with Nariti was likely to be a very strange one indeed.

“Not the actual prayers and history of the Church,” the librarian went on, “I found books on those. Just… uh… just some of the more specific terms, and the bits about… um… what those spells would be for? Because that’s really, you know, the bits that I… well… that I want to understand better.”

“Right,” said Almandar, uncertainly. “Didn’t your parents ever give you this talk?” She frowned, deeply. “No, evidently not. I guess… sure, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Is it… um… practical? I mean, there’s obviously… well… a sort of physical component,” she looked a little flustered, fingers twitching, “Obviously,” she repeated. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t know roughly what’s involved. I get the general idea. But what I mean is… uh…” she trailed off, giving him a pleading look.

“Yes?” he asked, prompting her to continue.

“I know where babies come from, if that’s what you’re wondering. I know what has to be put where… more or less. It’s the specific details, like the words in that book. ‘Cunnilingus’, for instance, that was one of them. What does that mean? Which is where… you know, considering the general subject matter… that was where… well, I was wondering if you’d have to… uh… show me?”

Almandar was struggling to get his head round the conversation. If she was coming on to him, it had to be just about the strangest way of doing it that he’d ever encountered.

“You’re wondering if I would need to give you cunnilingus?” he said slowly, “no, I don’t think that would actually be mandatory.”

“Oh. Because I wouldn’t mind, if that was the best way.”

“Nariti,” he said, grasping the nettle, “I’m going to be blunt about this: are you asking me to have sex with you?”

“Um… yes?”

“Are you sure about this? I know you’re a grown woman, but you seem a little inexperienced, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“How else am I going to get experience? And… well… you know, you’ve always been nice to me. And you know all about it, so I think you’d be a good teacher.”

Almandar thought back to just a few days before, when he’d told Calleslyn that the librarian ‘wasn’t his type’. Which was true, in a general sort of way, although she wasn’t exactly unattractive. It was more that she was socially awkward, in a way that didn’t really inspire sexual thoughts. Plus, there was the worry that he would be taking advantage of her innocence.

On the other hand, it might help her to loosen up a little. The gift of love, whether manifested through romance or through physical communion, was an important one, that everyone should have the chance to experience. Might she find somebody else, if he said no, somebody that might be less considerate? And she was, of course, right, that there was no other way to gain experience.

“Right,” he said, making his mind up, “sure. I’ll be happy to help you, if that’s what you’d like.”

The librarian relaxed suddenly, almost deflating, and rolling back slightly on her heels. She let out a small puff of relief, and flashed him a nervous smile. Then she unbuckled her satchel, and began to fiddle with the hem of her dress.

“What, now?” he said, almost incredulous, “here?”

“Well… um… yes?” she said, glancing up at him, already holding her outer skirts up around her waist, “Why not?”

“Because we’re in a library?”

“Of course,” she said, continuing to remove her dress, “but it’s my library, isn’t it? And the smell of parchment always make me feel… uh, good?”

He glanced towards the door. It was solid, and the stairway beyond reasonably long. He had to admit that they were unlikely to cause much of a disturbance. Even so, it seemed a rather odd environment, even if it was one that made Nariti feel comfortable. He watched as she carefully laid her dress on the floor, giving them at least something soft to lay on, rather than the stone flagging beneath it. More of a problem at the moment was that her odd approach had not got him particularly aroused.

The little librarian pulled her shoes off, and stepped towards him, wearing a short-sleeved shift that came to her knees. She stood up on tip-toe, reaching out gingerly to move his head down, and then gave him a nervous little peck on the lips. She leaned back slightly, her mouth twitching, one hand bunching the material of her shift, kneading it beneath her fingers.

He gently reached out, and pulled her back in, kissing her again, but this time doing it properly. Her lips were soft beneath his, and he sensed a slight smell of ink from her hair, as he moved his hand around her back. She was tense at first, but soon relaxed, her lips parting as he slid his tongue inside her mouth, and pressed her body gently against his.

They broke free, she grinning slightly. “That was nice,” she said, clasping her hands together, and looking at him earnestly, “I mean, uh… a nice start. Now… um… let me see…”

Her hands reached gingerly towards him, and she began to unfasten his tunic. He helped her remove first that, and then his shirt, pulling it over his head, and dropping it beside her dress on the floor. The librarian looked at his exposed upper body with what appeared to be satisfaction, running her hands across his chest so that just her fingertips brushed it. She gave a shy smile, and then glanced downwards, her fingers beginning to untie the fastenings on his trews.

It took a while, her fingers fumbling on the knot, but at last his trews slid down around his ankles. Gingerly, she moved for the top of the drawers he wore underneath, pulling them down slowly over his hips, until they followed his trews. He was only semi-erect, and stood there in slight embarrassment as she looked at his cock, as if wondering what it might do.

He was about to say something when Nariti suddenly kneeled down, and reached out for him. Her fluttering fingers brushed his pubic hair, and stroked down along his length. She seemed to be curious, more than anything, but, intentionally or otherwise, the way she touched him was at last beginning to arouse him. The librarian jerked back slightly in surprise as his cock began to swell, rising upwards, but she soon overcame her reaction to reach out for it again, gently stroking his shaft, moving her small fingers over every part of it, then exploring his balls.

Reaching the tip again, Nariti gently pulled back his foreskin, her head just inches away as she tried to get a close look. Her fingertips caressed the head, and he found himself fully erect as she continued to tease him, dabbing at a drop of pre-cum.

“Interesting,” she said, which was perhaps not the reaction he had been particularly hoping for.

Then she moved away, and sat down on her dress, arranging his tunic and shirt to form further padding, as he removed his shoes and stepped out of his remaining clothing. He lay down beside her, and they kissed again, her fingers tracing the feel of his sides, from below his armpit to the swell of his buttocks.

He ran a hand along her calves, up to her knees, where he began to raise the hem of her shift. She watched curiously as he lifted it higher, exposing the creamy skin of her slender thighs. He ran his hands over them, feeling the soft skin, then motioned for her to adjust her position so that he could lift the shift over her hips.

She did so, and he pulled it up to beneath her chest. Her waist was narrow and her belly flat, the skin essentially flawless. She shivered slightly as he ran a hand over her skin, but grinned slightly when he glanced at her. He slid his hand further up, beneath the fabric, round the side of her chest, but it was she who took the initiative, and finally pulled the shift up over her head.

Her breasts were small, as had been obvious when she was fully clothed, but more rounded than he had expected, not at all child-like. Her body was thin, making them appear more prominent, and her nipples were small and dark. He trailed a finger over one globe, twining in towards the centre.

“So…” she said unexpectedly, “you said you would teach me some words.”

He smiled, and nodded. He moved the finger between her small breasts. “Cleavage,” he said.

“I had worked out that one,” she said, sounding slightly affronted.

“I see. What about…” he leaned in closer, and kissed the skin of her right breast gently, before moving his tongue to run in a tight circle around the nub of her nipple. “Aureoles?”

“Ooh…” she said, her voice squeaking, “I like that one.”

Encouraged, he pressed his lips against her nipple again, kissing it and sliding his tongue over the tip. It was definitely getting harder in response, and her body was beginning to move, as she let out a little sigh of pleasure. He moved to the other side, and treated it similarly, causing Nariti to hold his head there to prevent him stopping his ministrations for some time.

“Mmm…” she said, after a while, “what about you? Words, I mean.”

He leaned back on his knees. This still felt really strange, but he supposed it was the best way. “Scrotum… uh, testicles, I guess… foreskin… glans – or just head,” he indicated each part in turn, “but you’ve already seen this. There are still some other words you need to know,” he glanced meaningfully down at her slightly over-sized panties.

She slid them off, and he gently moved her legs apart to get a better view. First, he ran his hand over her belly, down towards the light thatch of mousy brown hair, slowly rubbing it. “Mons,” he said, “sometimes called the mound of Sarlene, you know. And…” he trailed the finger lower, “labia.”

She let out a gasp as he continued to fondle her, noting that her lips were already engorged, and finding a slight dampness between her legs. He wondered if he should demonstrate ‘cunnilingus’, but decided against it for now. “Of course,” he went on, “it’s also true that if your book mentions lips, it might not mean the ones on your face. Now…”

He slipped his index finger inside, finding her damp and inviting.

“Lots of words for this, but let’s stick with ‘vagina’ for now… wizards like the technical terms.”

“Oh!” cried out Nariti wordlessly, her back arching, and a hand reaching out to steady herself against the bookshelf behind her. She gazed towards him, face intense yet flushed, her breath coming in short gasps, and her small breasts rising and falling as he moved his finger inside her.

“And this…” he said, reaching her nub, “is the clitoris.”

“Oh, my gosh!” she cried out, “Goodness me.” He continued to tease her, moving his finger in small circles, as her hips began to buck. She let out a long moan, her body squirming until he finally released her.

He moved up beside her, folding an arm across her belly, and kissed her again, a lingering caress as he gently fondled one of her breasts. She murmured something – he couldn’t catch quite what in between the kisses – and her hands began to stray down his sides, fluttering little gestures, fingertips only briefly brushing his skin as they wandered down to his buttocks.

He tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She wasn’t the prettiest woman he had ever been with, although she had a certain kind of attraction, and right now she had him fully aroused, desperate to find out what it would feel like to be inside her. She bowed her head, unwilling to meet his gaze, and nestled it in the crook of his neck, skinny body pressed against his.

Her hand wandered round, running along the length of his shaft again, holding it against her belly. “So…” she said.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked again, uncertain what he would do if she said ‘no’, but feeling the need to ask, anyway.

She pulled away from him slightly, leaning back against the bookshelf again, and nodded wordlessly.

“It might hurt a little,” he warned her, “the first time. But I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

She nodded again, eyes wide, looking nervous once more, and he gave her a reassuring kiss.

“So… how do we… um…?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he moved himself over her, so that she was lying partly underneath him, and moved one of her legs aside to gain a better angle. Her gaze flicked between his face and his cock, now inches from her damp pussy, and her lips moved as she was about to ask another question, and couldn’t quite articulate it.

He pressed against her, wrapping an arm around her back, and pushing the head of his cock between her inviting lips. She gasped, body bucking under his, legs sliding against his thighs. Slowly, he pushed his way further in until suddenly she cried out, fingers digging hard into his back, body shivering. He waited a moment before continuing, pressing in until his whole cock was inside her welcoming cunt, her slender little hips embracing him.

He began to move gradually, gently thrusting into her, trying not to hurt her. Her cunt was tight, enfolding him in pleasurable sensations, and soon her hips were moving in time to his. The little librarian let out a series of gasps as he continued to move against her, her small breasts pressed against his chest, the nipples hard against his flesh.

“Oh my goodness…” she managed, “I hadn’t realised… oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh…”

He continued to slide in and out, soon letting her set a mutual rhythm that belied her otherwise evident inexperience. Her head was thrown back, mousy hair spilling across the shelf, one hand gripping onto it, the other on his back. One of his own hands was around her back, partially holding her up, the other pressed against the floor to support himself. Pleasuring Nariti was turning out to be slow, yet wonderfully gratifying, work.

She leaned her head forward off the shelf, locking eyes with him, rather more firmly than she had before, face flushed with passion, breath coming in short little pants. He quickened his pace, and she cried out in pleasure as her body responded in kind.

“There’s one more word you really need to know…” he managed, between her increasingly rapid high pitched gasps. She nodded slightly, unable to speak for the moment. “Orgasm,” he told her.

Seconds later, they climaxed together. Nariti let out a long, high-pitched cry as she pressed herself into him, her whole body shaking as he felt his seed gush into her tight, convulsing cunt. They remained clamped together like that for a little while, before he released her, drawing himself out, as they rolled over to lie on the clothes laid out beneath them.

His arms enfolded her, her back pressed against his chest, his face against the back of her head, smelling her hair. It still smelled of ink and dry parchment, although only a little bit. He recalled that the librarian had implied that the smell was pleasurable to her, even sexually attractive.

Right now, he found himself agreeing.

26: Leren

2011-04-16T16:18:00.000+01:00

[Start from the beginning]

Two figures crept their way along a narrow tunnel beneath the city. The larger one held a small lantern, casting long shadows on the walls, and illuminating patches of glistening moisture where the warm air condensed against cold stone. The tunnel turned sharply downwards, uneven steps plunging into the darkness beneath. With a grunt, the larger figure extinguished the lantern.

“’Er ladyship don’t like no lights,” sad a gruff, masculine voice, “‘sept the ones already down there. So watch yer step.”

“Easy enough for her ladyship to say,” commented a woman’s voice, “drow don’t need light.”

“We do it ‘er way, and that’s that. Or you ain’t coming. I only brung yer ‘cause she asked. You ain’t one of us, I can leave yer behind and say yer’s too scared.”

“I didn’t say I needed light, did I? You’re the one going to have difficulty on those stairs, not me.”

The man grunted again, put out. “Yeah, whatever. You comin’ or what?”

In any event, they had not gone far before a faint splash of light began to illuminate the stairway, coming from somewhere ahead. The pair eased their way downward, the thickset man moving slowly, feeling his way along the wall, hobnail boots scuffing on the flagging. Behind him, the woman moved with greater sureness, her light footfalls almost silent. As the light improved, the man looked behind him, saw her obvious lack of concern, and even slight impatience at his slow progress, and swore something about ‘damned witches’ under his breath.

Soon, they stepped out into a round chamber, lit with a small number of torches set in sconces against the walls. Rubble choked some of the floor, but there was a more or less open space in the middle, and various other narrow archways leading off into the gloom, in addition to the one they had entered through. A group of robed figures stood in the middle of the room, evidently awaiting their arrival.

“You took your time, Scaggs,” said the tallest. A deep, sonorous voice, the sort used to giving orders, or perhaps to public speaking.

“’Ad to bring ‘er, didn’t I?” said the man, pulling his own hood up over his head, and moving to join the others, who were already forming themselves into a rough circle.

“Yes, quite why is she here?” said another voice, this time one she recognised – Valmor, the wizard.

“And who exactly is this wretch, for that matter?” said a woman with a sharp, supercilious voice. “I do hope it isn’t the sacrifice – we were promised better.”

“She is here because I asked Scaggs to bring her.” That was Lady Amloth, easily identifiable by the way her robes, unlike everyone else’s, hugged her figure, and by the silver chain she wore across her chest. “Her name is Yelvann,” continued the drow, “and she is going to help us.”

“Myrek has the captive, though, I assume?”

“No, I am afraid not. That is why I have called this meeting.”

Amloth seemed a little uncertain as she spoke. Was she losing her grip on the situation, Yelvann wondered? Her eyes cast around at the others in the chamber. Some were difficult to make out in the shadow, now that the presence of light forced her to rely on normal vision alone. The others she didn’t know, except for Valmor, Amloth, and Scaggs. There were, she could see, twelve of them – a coven of thirteen, if you counted the missing Myrek.

“No? Why not?” There was a general murmur of agreement from the other robed figures.

“Because he is dead.”

That silenced them, at least for a moment. Then the clamour began and Amloth had to raise her hand to demand silence.

“The Presence has informed me of his demise. We must assume that the sacrifice escaped from him, perhaps turned the tables on him. She is a wererat, after all, so hardly defenceless. Myrek evidently made a mistake, and now he has paid for it with his life. I trust that nobody else here will be so foolish!”

“Do we know exactly what happened?” it was a woman’s voice, one who had not spoken until now.

“The Presence does not see through our eyes. It merely sensed his demise, and the rest is supposition. But consider, a wererat is hardly going to go to the authorities, so what have we to fear? Even if she did learn of our plans, which I doubt.”

“I’ve heard nothing,” confirmed a man. A clipped, military way of speaking… Yelvann assumed he was a guardsman. It made sense that this coven of conspirators would have people in as many different positions of authority as they could.

“Precisely. But it does mean that we need a new sacrifice. Does anybody have any suggestions? Family, for preference.”

“It should also be,” said Valmor, insistently, “a young and attractive woman. Don’t forget what we’re planning to do to her before the sacrifice.”

“What you are planning to do, Valmor,” said the woman with the supercilious voice, “you know, some of us would rather prefer a man.”

“We’ve been through this – over half of us are men, so we get the choice!”

“If it must be family,” said the man who had spoken first, the one with the powerful voice, “you are married, are you not, Valmor?”

“Yes, to my sister!” broke in another voice, to a ripple of amusement.

“Well, double the value, then. That is the sort of betrayal we need.”

Valmor spluttered, “have you seen my wife? Short, fat, and dull as a wet flannel! Which I am sure her brother can vouch for!”

“True,” conceded the brother, “he has a point there.”

“I married her for her wealthy connections, as you well know. I certainly haven’t had sex with the bloody woman for years, and I’m not about to start now. Leren probably doesn’t even remember what sex is.”

──◊──

Valmor’s wife, Leren, was, as he had rather ungraciously described, a rather short, plump woman with a figure that was more apple-shaped than hourglass. She had mousy hair and the sort of round chubby face that, though not yet lined with age, few men would really notice. At the moment that her husband and brother were disparaging her, however, she happened to be squatting on all fours on her marital bed, stark naked, as her man-servant gave her a vigorous, doggy-style fucking.

Stuath had been quite a discovery. He was relatively new to their employ, one of the servants that she and her husband insisted on having around the place, although Valmor was rarely there during the day, and increasingly, away at night as well. Which suited Leren perfectly well, for she had as little interest in him as he had in her. The marriage had been one of convenience, the rich merchant’s daughter who could help the snobbish magician enter the social circles of the city’s elite. She had not had much say in the matter, and soon found her husband not at all to her taste.

By the time Stuath arrived, she had had to endure several years of reluctant celibacy. A good-looking young man, single and not much more than half her age, she had wrestled with her conscience before trying to seduce him. She still remembered that first encounter vividly.

They had been alone in the house, Valmor off goodness knew where, and the cook and maid on a long shopping errand at the market. She had told him to head up to her room, and that she needed some assistance with her wardrobe, and he had rather reluctantly agreed. The plan had been to flirt with him, getting him used to the idea, giving her to build on over the coming weeks, but it hadn’t quite worked out like that.

He had been laying out her dresses on the bed, looking rather bashful and quiet, eyes rarely straying upwards. Leren leaned in next to him, closer than was proper.

“That one is a little frayed, do you see? It will need some repair.”

“I am not sure I see,” he said, taking a half step away from her, and still not looking in her direction.

“Just there,” she said, reaching out and pointing at an imaginary flaw on the cuff. As she did so, she moved her arm so as to deliberately rub against his crotch. To her shock, she discovered that he was already nursing the beginnings of an erection.

“Uh, yes, of course, madam,” he said, moving out of her way, but not before she could see the flush of red rising to his cheeks. Fortunately, he was looking the wrong way to see her own smile of satisfaction. This was a more promising start than she had expected.

“I need a dress for the dinner at the guildhall next week,” she informed him, “do you have any recommendations?”

“I… really, it would not be my place to… it’s not something…” the words were falling over each other, as he struggled to avoid her eyes, “I mean, I don’t think that would be appropriate for me, madam.”

“Oh, nonsense, I decide what is appropriate. Tell you what, I shall try one of them on, and you can tell me what you think.”

He looked nervous, gripping his hands together, but managed an “if you wish, madam. I shall wait outside.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, just wait there.”

“But…”

“That’s an order.” She turned away from him, and began to undo her dress, pulling it over her head, and standing there in her shift. She felt as nervous as he looked about what she was doing, and resolved that this would be enough for today. Get him used to the fact that she would sometimes strip down to her underwear in front of him, and she would surely have the opportunity to press things further on future occasions. After all, that partial erection of his was surely just due to nerves, and he would need careful coaxing to really see her as a sexual partner.

She turned round, to see him blushing and holding his hands over his groin, trying to look like it was a casual gesture, but really not succeeding. His eyes flicked over her, no longer avoiding her, despite his attempt to pretend otherwise. This was already going better than she had thought it would!

Slowly and deliberately, she bent over to undo one of her shoes. Her shift was loose enough that that gave him a full view of her plump cleavage, and when she glanced up, she could see his eyes fixed on it, before suddenly looking away, as if all the while he had been fascinated by a spot on the wall.

She removed the other shoe, and sat down on the bed. She had been going to put on one of the dresses now lying beside her, and then leave it at that, but his reactions so far suggested that she might be about to miss a golden opportunity if she did. How far could she take it tonight, she wondered, her own heart hammering in her chest?

“Come over here,” she said.

“Uh… yes, madam,” he replied, trying to shuffle across while still holding his hands across his groin. The reason was obvious to her; the bulge in his trews unmistakable. “What… um, what do you want me to do?” he licked his lips, obviously still unsure of how to react to her.

“You’ve been hiding something from me, Stuath,” she informed him, letting a stern note creep into her voice.

“I’m sorry madam… I don’t understand.”

She reached out, swatted his hands aside, and yanked his trews down around his hips. The bulge in his cotton pants was even more evident now, and he feebly grappled with her hands as she gripped the drawstring to pull them aside. His cock sprang free, large and very obviously firm in front of her.

“Madam!” he gasped, at last thinking to stagger backwards, but now impeded by the trews sliding down around his thighs, “I’m so sorry… I…” He struggled with his clothes, trying to pull them back up, but fumbling too much in his embarrassment.

“I don’t see anything to be sorry about. Nothing at all.”

“I… I mean, I…” the nature of her reaction finally seemed to dawn on him. “What do you mean?” His hands fell to his sides, his trews and pants sliding the rest of the way to his ankles, his cock standing proud, his eyes at last daring to look at her properly.

“I think I’ve been fairly clear. I’ve seen what I needed to see… and it looks like you want to see something, too.” She hitched the hem of her shift up around her hips, watching his reaction. Her thighs were chubby and pale, and she worried for a second that his evident ardour might at last begin to fail. But, far from it – instead he fixed his gaze on her exposed skin and began to slowly stroke his cock.

She pulled the shift over her head, letting her plump breasts swing free, and was rewarded by seeing Stuath’s eyes almost pop out of his head. He released his cock, fumbling suddenly with his clothing, pulling off his shirt, and stepping out of his remaining clothes, as she lay back on the bed, bare back pressed against the elaborate dresses arranged there.

“Oh, yes!” gasped Stuath, now naked, climbing onto the bed as she pulled off her panties and threw them away.

Stuath gazed at her, eyes seemingly drinking in every rounded curve of her body as he leaned over her. She spread her chubby thighs as far apart as she could, letting him see everything, rubbing her hot pussy enticingly. He looked down at her, throbbing erection just inches from her moist slit… and, with a sobbing cry, ejaculated prematurely.

He stepped away from her, anguish suddenly written across his face. “Oh, madam… I’m so sorry… I can’t… please forgive me!” His eyes, starting to brim with tears, followed the trail of warm semen as it slid down her fat little thighs and onto the fabric of one of the expensive dresses.

He had almost run away at that point, but the time it took him to gather his clothes had given her the chance to dissuade him. Although unable to perform in other ways, he had given her a thorough lashing of cunnilingus in an effort to apologise, and Leren had achieved what was undoubtedly the best orgasm of her life up until that point.

But that, of course, had just been the first time.

──◊──

“In any event,” said Amloth, “an estranged wife is hardly a terrible betrayal. We need to break a trust that the victim believes sacred. A family member is good, but perhaps some of you have other trusts just as inviolate?

“Well, ain’t no trust among my lot,” growled Scaggs, “I can get yer people, but people what trusts me? Nah.”

“Well, quite,” snipped the supercilious woman, “and one doesn’t want to associate with common prostitutes in any case. One might catch something.”

“Oy! I don’t just know tarts, Eristacia! ‘Sides, what about your family?”

“If they gave me the respect to which I am entitled, I would not be here. Their doom comes when we take control of the city, and not a moment before. They must see me take my rightful place.”

“Enough bickering!” snapped Lady Amloth, “a suggestion from somebody, please?”

“I can supply someone,” said the tall man with the deep voice, “As a senior priest of the Sun God, there are many who have placed their trust in me. I am sure I can find a suitable…” he paused, savouring the words, “nun, perhaps?”

“A nun! Now that sounds a good idea!” said one of the men.

“A young one, of course,” said Valmor.

“I am sure I can find someone suitably trusting and innocent. In return for delivering her to you, I would expect to be the one who deflowers her, of course.”

“As we all watch and wait to take our turn,” agreed Amloth, “subjecting her to the most degrading sex acts our minds can conjure. An excellent idea, Domand, I commend you. But now there is another matter that requires our attention.”

“Need I remind you,” she went on. “that there needs to be thirteen of us for the ceremony. With Myrek gone, we need another.”

“The Presence occupies the minds of many of our own followers,” pointed out the guardsman, “we can pick any of them.”

“Not so, Tenik,” replied the drow, “they are merely tools of the Presence. We need to induct someone willingly, someone who chooses to be one of us. Which brings me to Yelvann, here.”

So that was it. She stepped from the shadows into the circle, looking round at the robed and hooded figures. She knew the names of some of them now, and it had become clear why they were unafraid to use those names in her presence. She was to join them, or so they hoped.

“Yelvann here is a necromancer. She worked with Myrek recently, and can easily take his place. Her necromantic arts are, in any case, crucial to our plan to seize control of the city.”

“And what, exactly, do you have to offer me? I imagine that Valmor here has already been promised rule over the magicians of this new city of yours. Not that I would want such a duty, in any case.”

“We offer you knowledge,” said Amloth, “that is what you have demanded for your pay so far, is it not? And what we have offered you thus far is a pittance in comparison to the dark knowledge that you will gain from communing with the Presence. It is a creature of Hell itself, and its secrets are terrible. I know you do not seek after power, strange though that concept is to me, but you do seek understanding of the blackest of powers. Where better to acquire it?”

Yelvann hesitated, a twitch of curiosity on her thin features. Yet her bony hands moved at her side, ready to cast spells if she needed to escape. “And submit myself to the power of some other entity? That does not sound rewarding.”

“Not submit yourself, no. We twelve – we thirteen, if you join us – retain our free will, it has no control over us as it does over the others. The Presence will assist you, whisper its knowledge to you, in exchange for your help in bringing it to reign here in the mortal world. What you do after that is of no concern of its, or ours.”

She hesitated. The promise of such understanding, a voice from the infernal powers themselves, was tempting indeed. Besides, would they really let her stay outside the conspiracy, after everything that had already happened? There seemed to be little choice, if she wanted to live.

“Very well,” she said, “then I will join you.”

“Step forward, my dear,” said the drow, extending an arm, the sheer blackness of her skin making it almost invisible in the gloom.

“I do have one question.” It was Eristacia, the noblewoman, speaking.

“Yes?” Amloth’s voice showed a flicker of irritation.

“We have lost our original sacrifice, but may I ask what has happened to the censer?”

“Oh that,” Lady Amloth grinned, a flash of white teeth against jet black lips, “that part worked well. We have it, in our possession. For the time being, the agent that I hired to acquire it is keeping it safe. The Presence assures me that hers are the very safest hands of all in which to keep it. You may question it yourselves, if you wish. But you may trust me: our plans move perfectly smoothly there. Once we have the sacrifice, and the stellar conjunction is right, nothing will be able to stop us.”

“Now,” she said, turning back to the necromancer, “approach me.”

──◊──

Since that first time, Leren had found regular excuses to get the other servants out of the house to give herself time alone with Stuath. They had probably worked out what was going on by now, but it seemed the right thing to do. Valmor, of course, had no clue, and was so rarely around these days that he was no longer much of a concern anyway.

Stuath panted as he continued to pump into her, hips thrusting in time to the rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh. It wasn’t just that he was good looking, although he was – dark haired with long sideburns and deep brown eyes. He was also trim of build with a washboard stomach, athletic chest, and broad shoulders, all of which she found enticing. But, despite all that, it was his evident enthusiasm that truly enthralled her. She had sometimes wondered what drove him to such heights when other men didn’t react to her in the same way, but, in the end, it didn’t really matter.

Stuath gripped her round buttocks as he continued to pound his cock in and out, filling her with wonderful sensations that made her positively whimper in pleasure. Her thighs and belly were wobbling with the force of his thrusts, her toes digging into the mattress. She realised that his movements were coming quicker now, his groans higher in pitch, as he obviously approached his climax.

But she was not done with him yet, and wanted more. She twisted round, forcing his cock to slide free and slap against one of her thighs. The man-servant let out a disappointed moan as she rolled over onto her back, moving round on the bed to get a better look at him, now kneeling beside her. His body was sweaty with his recent exertions, hairy chest moving in and out, cock bobbing up and down, still slick with her juices.

He sat down on his haunches, brushing a strand of hair away from his face, then gazing at her longingly. “Leren,” he said, simply, moving a hand to grip one of her breasts, massaging her large nipples. He looked into her eyes, continuing to knead her flesh as his erection pressed into her side. Making a sudden motion, he straddled her, legs either side of her belly. “Please, madam,” he said, “please?”

She knew what he meant, and was reluctant to grant the wish, since she knew that this had occasioned the only instance since their first tryst when he had been unable to contain his seed. But perhaps he deserved just a little bit tonight.

She nodded, and he leant forwards, cock pressing against her ample cleavage. She pressed her breasts together, enveloping him, and he began thrusting enthusiastically between them, moaning with pure bliss. She let him continue for only a little while, savouring the feel of his firm shaft against her flesh before releasing him again.

He nodded, apparently understanding her reasons for not continuing. “Thank you, madam,” he said, and moved himself backwards, running his cock over the swell of her belly, pausing just a second to press the tip against her navel before moving back between her spread legs.

He rubbed the curve of her inner thighs with his fingers, following the motion of her own hand with his eyes, as she slid it down over her body and through the thick thatch of hair over her mound. She slid her fingers between the damp lips, then pulled them apart, allowing him to see into her, silently begging him to restart what she had stopped.

With a sudden thrust, he was back inside her, filling her, his muscular hips grinding against the soft cushion of her body. He gasped loudly, hands running over her plump breasts and flanks as his cock slid in and out, sometimes almost completely free, other times pushed as far in as he could go. Her chubby belly slid against his flatter one, and he increased the urgency and force of his thrusts, making the bed creak and her breasts wobble.

This time, she surrendered to the sensation, letting herself go. She moaned, fingers digging into his back, squeezing his thighs between her own, her hips rising to meet his motions. They came together, he letting out a long cry of release, and she a moan of deep contentment as they gripped and held each other.

At last, he rolled over beside her, nestling his face in her breasts, gently kissing and licking at her nipples as she came down from the peak. Oh, yes, he was good to have around the house.

──◊──

Images flashed through her mind, of dark passages and odd-looking temples. Somewhere in the distance was the sound of a beating heart, getting steadily louder and closer. A room lit by four towering green flames filled her mind, and she felt… a presence.

It was malevolent, as she had known it would be, patient yet full of anger. She could feel it probing her own thoughts and memories, and, too late, had renewed doubts about her decision. The thing did want to take her over, no matter what Amloth had just said. Perhaps the ceremony only required that the initial step had to be taken through a free choice, or perhaps the demonic entity’s understanding of free will was more limited than was her own. Either way, it wanted to possess her.

She slammed up mental walls, blocking off her mind. She had developed that skill as a necromancer, and, at least, had some understanding of the kind of entity she was facing. Not the details, and she had never faced something so powerful, but she dealt in the magics of the dead, the hideous forces of the Other Side. She had more ability to do this than anyone else here, except maybe Amloth herself.

She thought of things it would already know, or guess; knowledge of the dark arts. She let it feast on those, thinking it had consumed the depths of her own understanding. Keep it away from the core of her being. She would not be controlled, would not be a puppet.

But, for the time being, she would serve the Presence, and bring about its victory here in the mortal world. It was just that she would also look out for her own safety, if that became needed.

Yelvann opened her eyes, and Amloth was grinning.

“Welcome, sister,” said the drow. “Now let us prepare”

27: Imrilda

2011-03-24T08:20:00.000Z

[Start from the beginning]
Calleslyn crossed the lobby of the Wizards’ College, looking about for someone she knew well enough to talk to. The villa had been attacked by a demon, obviously sent to steal something, and Lady Tarissa had sent her here to find out what she could. Until now they had been reluctant to tell people what they knew of the infernal threat to the city, but having seen a demon openly, they could now ask questions without raising suspicion among the conspirators – whoever they were. Indeed, it would some strange if they did not.

The lobby, however, was relatively empty, so the elf decided to make her next port of call the library. It occupied a significant part of the building, and, while it was not a good place for socialising as such, there was always likely to be someone there. She stepped through the stone archway and looked around, the numerous stacks of books and scrolls hiding much of her view of the interior.

“Can I help you?”

She turned round to see the librarian peering up from a collection of scrolls, a slightly nervous smile on her face. Nariti knew a lot about books and scrolls, but rather less about the actual human world, which would not have made her Calleslyn’s first choice for uncovering any wizards that might be involved in the dark arts. But at least she was present.

“Yes, perhaps,” she said, coming over as the small, mousy woman reflexively smoothed her robes down. “I was wondering about the restricted section of the library.”

“Oh,” said Nariti, looking a little taken aback, “it’s in the basement. And it is, well… it is restricted, you know. You need permission to read those books. They are about demons and things, you know. Not… well, not very nice at all.”

“Yes,” agreed Calleslyn, trying not to sound as if she was stating the obvious, “and I would need to get permission from you, would I not? As the librarian.”

“Well, yes… yes, you would. That would be… or the Master of the College. But otherwise, yes. Um… why do you want to go to the restricted section?”

She decided for the direct approach. “My house has been attacked by a demon.”

Nariti’s eyes widened, and she physically jerked backwards, clutching out for a quill, as if for security. “Oh, my goodness me!” she managed, voice wavering.

“So, I was wondering… who have you given permission to recently? Has anyone been in the restricted section in the past few weeks?”

“You… you can’t imagine that someone from the College…?” asked the librarian, her voice moving up half an octave to a virtual squeak, “I mean… that’s… that’s… Those books are restricted for a reason. I am very careful, I don’t just let people in, you know. We couldn’t be having with that sort of thing.” She fiddled with her quill, looking almost as if she expected a demon to pop up from behind the stacks.

“So, nobody then?”

“No, no… nobody has been in there for a while. Well, except Valmor, and he had permission from the Master of the College. Something about defences, I think. But other than that, no… even I haven’t been in there recently. There isn’t much call for it. The books are perfectly safe.”

Valmor – that was interesting. Calleslyn knew the man as a pompous and arrogant fool, but was he the sort to summon demons? At first the idea seemed absurd, since the man operated more by ingratiating himself with the wealthy and influential members of society. But if the thing beneath the city, whatever it was, was seeking to corrupt people, wouldn’t they be the sort of people it looked for? And would Valmor be the kind to turn down an offer of true power if it was offered to him? She certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

“Well, thank you, Nariti,” she said, “I don’t think I will need to use the restricted section myself, at least not yet,” as a paladin, Lady Tarissa would probably be able to find more useful information on the demon and how to fight it. “But as long as there have been no strangers poking about with infernal tomes, I suppose I may to have to look further afield.”

“Oh good,” said the librarian, looking distinctly relieved, “that’s very good to hear. Glad I could help.” And she sat down at her desk again, spreading out the scrolls as Calleslyn turned away to find someone who might know more about sinister gossip than the socially isolated young woman.

“No, no,” muttered, Nariti, half to herself, “there’s been no strangers doing anything like that since the business with Ornejirhs.”

Calleslyn turned round, frowning in puzzlement, “what business?”

The librarian looked up, as if startled by being heard, “um, you know, with the staff.”

The elf walked back over to the desk, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who’s Ornejirhs? And what sort of name is that, anyway?”

“Southern. Um, I think. I mean, he looks southern, doesn’t he? Oh, right, you don’t know. But it was…” suddenly an expression of realisation crossed her face, “oh, of course, that’s right, you were out of the city, doing dangerous things in the wilds. Anyway, he destroyed a magic staff, that’s all I was saying.”

“And this has a connection with demons?”

“Well, it was a demonic staff. Or diabolic, or something. Cursed and evil, anyway. He destroyed it for us, and banished the curse. They say he’s a demon hunter, or something. From the south,” she added again. “I think. Is it important?”

“My house has been attacked by a demon, and this man hunts demons,” Calleslyn pointed out, reflecting that the librarian really didn’t seem very savvy outside her narrow area of expertise, “where can I find him?”

──◊──

Ornejirhs turned out to have rented a moderately sized house on the outskirts of the city, almost on the opposite side to the adventurers’ villa. The neighbourhood was quiet, suggesting that this might well be a man who valued his privacy, since surely somewhere nearer to the college would have been more convenient.

Calleslyn wondered again about the wisdom of coming on her own. Ornejirhs was something of a mystery, a stranger with knowledge of demons who had turned up out of nowhere. But, in a way, that counted in his favour. The little they knew of the thing beneath the city implied that it had taken a long time to establish its control, which meant that an outsider should be free from its taint. Of course, there was always the possibility that it had summoned him here specifically, but that didn’t fit with the fact that he had clearly destroyed a demonic artefact, rather than stealing it for himself, or at least preserving it for future use.

Everything suggested that the stranger was what he claimed to be; a hunter of demons, which was exactly the sort of person she needed information from. She wouldn’t tell him about her fears for the city, but it would be reasonable enough to ask the expert about the demon that had invaded her home. Besides, she wasn’t exactly defenceless.

So why did she have a nagging feeling that something was strange about this mysterious arrival? Perhaps it was just the name, which didn’t sound as if it belonged to any culture she knew of.

So it was with a slight sense of trepidation that she knocked on the door to the rented house. She could hear someone moving about inside, but all the curtains were drawn, hiding any view of the interior. She knocked again, and this time heard footsteps approaching the door… a door that was soon opened by a woman in a most remarkable costume.

It looked, at first glance, as if it ought to have been armour, but that someone had forgotten some of the pieces. Or, to be more accurate, and forgotten almost all of them. The woman wore tight leather boots to just below her knees, and metal bracers around each wrist, and apart from that… well, technically, it was mail armour, but it didn’t look as if it would protect very much. Two triangular pieces of tightly woven steel mail covered each breast, with a narrow armoured strap in between and additional leather straps over each shoulder, and round her back. That last strap was tight enough for the pieces of mail to raise up the woman’s ample breasts, providing them with significant support, and emphasising a rather impressive cleavage.

And that, aside from the bracers and a silver necklace decorated with a carved piece of pale green stone was all she wore above the waist. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare, her long blonde hair falling in rivulets down her back, and her bare waist showed a perfect hourglass figure. Calleslyn’s eyes involuntarily wandered lower, to something that, even being charitable, she was hard pressed to describe as a skirt.

It, too, consisted of two triangular pieces of tight mail, albeit more elongated than those of her upper garment. They hung, front and back, from a narrow belt covered with metal segments, and did nothing at all to conceal the woman’s hips or thighs. Above this curious garment was a second, heavier, belt, from which hung a narrow sword, of the sort sometimes favoured by the people of the south.

For there was no doubt that the woman was from one of the southern lands. Her skin – most of which was on display – was pale, her hair pure blonde and her eyes dazzlingly blue. Calleslyn decided that the woman couldn’t have gone out dressed like this very often, since, aside from the obvious effect on the menfolk of Haredil, with skin that colour, she surely ought to have got sunburned.

“You wanted something?” asked the woman, her distinct accent again betraying her southern origins.

Calleslyn was aware that she had been staring. Not that that was an unreasonable reaction to such a costume, but it was not very polite. She was still trying to work out what the point of it was, unless this was some sort of exotic dancer. The sword rather counted against that theory, but what kind of warrior would want to wear armour that left almost her entire body unprotected, she had no idea – Lady Tarissa was from the south, and she wore full plate.

“I was looking for Ornejirhs. I was told he lives here.”

“Yes, he does,” the oddly dressed woman eyed the elf with suspicion, “but who are you, and why do you want to speak to him?”

“My name is Calleslyn. I am a magician, from the Wizards’ College here. I understand Ornejirhs is an expert on demons, and I wanted his advice.”

“It is true that he knows much about fighting evil,” admitted the woman, then stood silently for a moment, critically appraising the elven magician. After an uncomfortable pause, she opened the door further, although her expression still did not look much more welcoming. “You had better come inside.”

The interior of the house was shadowy, the drawn curtains keeping out the direct sunlight, although they were not heavy enough for the rooms to be truly dark. The strange woman led Calleslyn into the first room on the right of the corridor, which turned out to be fairly spacious, and well decorated.

The room was lit with a reddish light, thanks to the colour of the curtain that covered the window. Most of the furniture looked to have been purchased in Haredil, but there were exotic hangings on the wall whose origins the elf could not place. There was a long, curving sofa, which looked local, but numerous scatter cushions across the floor that did not. This unknown magician and his strange companion, then, had brought at least some more portable items with them, whether from their home, or from some other place that they had visited.

“I am Imrilda,” said the woman, “I am Ornejirhs’ fighting companion. Please, sit anywhere you like.”

“So, is he around?” asked Calleslyn, not entirely sure what to make of the situation.

“No, I am afraid not. He is out on business. But he should be back very shortly, so it would be best for you to wait here. We have wine or water, if you would like to quench your thirst.”

“Thank you.” The elf sat down on the sofa, her earlier feelings of uneasiness having not at all subsided. Something was not quite right about this set up, but she could not put her finger on it. She at least took consolation from the fact that Imrilda looked equally uncertain, and that she probably did not know how experienced a magician Calleslyn actually was.

The blonde woman left the room and returned shortly after with a bottle of white wine and a couple of glasses. She did not sit herself, standing instead, near to the door.

“So, where are you from?” she asked, breaking the uneasy silence as both women eyed the other.

“South of here.”

Well, that was vague. “And Ornejirhs?”

“Yes, he is from the south, too.”

“It’s not a southern name, though.”

“Haredil is a long way north, there is much to the south of here. There are many different peoples there.”

“So which people does Ornejirhs belong to?”

Imrilda stiffened slightly, and clearly thought about her answer before replying. “He is from further south than I am. A distant land, not well known to my people, and even less so here.”

“How did you meet?”

“He’ll be here shortly, you can ask him then.” The blonde crossed her arms, and leaned back against the wall, her eyes not straying from her guest. It seemed that she was not in the mood for further conversation. Not that she had been very forthcoming so far, even assuming she was being truthful.

Having little else to do, Calleslyn looked around the room. It looked comfortable enough, and the decorations were not, she suspected, cheap. Ornejirhs, then, had somewhat expensive tastes. There were a few carvings here and there, she noticed, placed on low tables or stands. Some were stone, images of what appeared to be gods or heroes, but others were ivory, and these were either of animals – many of which were unfamiliar to her – or strange abstract designs of curving shapes and intricate swirls. The decorations on the wall hangings were all abstract, too, she noticed, and there seemed something a little odd about them. Whatever culture Ornejirhs called home, it had a different sense of aesthetics than any of those she knew.

Imrilda was a puzzle, as well. She wore that sword, and claimed to be a ‘fighting companion’ whatever that meant. Yet, at least when she was at home, she wore outlandish and provocative clothing that seemed out of place for a warrior. Considering what she was wearing, it was difficult to avoid noticing that she had a stunning figure, with a narrow waist and flat belly, well moulded thighs, and an ample bosom.

Her pale skin looked flawless, which was another puzzle. Any fighter had a few scars, but there were none that Calleslyn could see. That could have just been good healing magic, but it occurred to the elf that there was a good chance the armour itself was magic. It made no sense in any other context, but if it somehow projected magical protection over those parts of the body that it didn’t cover, that was at least a partial explanation. Although, even so, it was a wonder she didn’t wear anything over it – and Imrilda’s natural pose suggested that she was used to the clothing, and hadn’t been caught half-undressed.

Not to mention that it was very cold down south, which surely made the choice of clothing even more unwise.

The time dragged on, with Imrilda simply standing there, watching, and Calleslyn feeling increasingly ill at ease. Finally, she broke the silence.

“Is he going to be much longer? Because it has been a while already.”

“I do not think it will be much longer.”

The elf was not convinced by the warrior-woman’s continued evasion. “Perhaps I could leave a message,” she said, “I can be back tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you have another glass of wine? I’ll pour one.” Imrilda moved over to the bottle, turning away from Calleslyn to pour another glass, giving the elven woman a good view of her shapely buttocks, only half-hidden by the triangle of skirt-like mail. “Here,” she said, turning round and holding out the glass.”

“No thank you, I must be getting back.”

Calleslyn stepped towards the door, and Imrilda immediately put the glass down and moved to stand in her way. Her right hand was hovering just above the hilt of her sword.

“It will not be long. It will be easier to wait than to return tomorrow. It will save you a walk.”

Behind her back, Calleslyn flexed her fingers, preparing a sleeping spell that would knock the blonde woman out cold. The magical energy began to curl around her fingers, and she prepared to make the sudden motion that would cast the spell.

“Elves,” said Imrilda, “we have stories about them where I am from. Near the pine forests.”

The magician paused, uncertain what to make of the sudden change of topic, but wondering if it might give her further information.

“They say that they enchant people away. They cast a glamour of some kind on young men, leading them away into the forests. Many are not seen again, but some, they say, come back changed. Is that true, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’m not that familiar with that part of the world, as you pointed out yourself.”

Imrilda nodded, her eyes not leaving Calleslyn’s own, but her hand moving away from her sword, fingers spread, as if in a gesture of peace. “But that’s not all they say.”

“Oh?”

“They say that the young men… it is not always the elven women that enchant them away. They say that sometimes, it’s the elven men. Does that seem possible?”

“Perhaps. But I don’t know if it’s true.”

“You see, there is something I’ve noticed about you, Calleslyn. Something that makes me curious. I wear this armour to protect me.”

“It’s magical, I assume?”

“Naturally; it would have to be, as I am sure you realise. But that’s not the only way it protects me, or I would choose something else. Because it is also distracting. When men look at it, they tend to falter, perhaps make mistakes they would not otherwise; it can be very advantageous at times. Not all the time, of course. It doesn’t distract animals, obviously enough, and, of course, it doesn’t work on women, either.”

Calleslyn said nothing, waiting for Imrilda to make her point.

“Except, Calleslyn…” her voice dropped to a purring tone, soft and slow, yet tinged with a slightly cold menace, “except it has been distracting you, hasn’t it? Ever since you first saw me, you have been looking at me as a man would… and, believe me, I know how men look at me. I did wonder at first if you were using some sort of powerful disguising magic, but I don’t think that’s it. I thought I had to be wary of you, keep you here until Ornejirhs returned, but I don’t think you present that kind of danger to me, after all.”

“No,” she went on, “I don’t think you want to hurt me, or Ornejirhs either, for that matter. I don’t think that that is what you want to do to me at all. Because you know what I think, Calleslyn? I think those stories about the elves are true. And the way you’ve been looking at me, it’s not just the elven men, is it?”

She took a half step forward, leaning towards the elven woman, so that their faces were inches apart. “I think I know what you want to do to me, Calleslyn. What you’d really, really, like to do to me.”

They stood like that, silently facing each other, with the elf trying not to give any hint of an answer on her face. Behind her back, she moved her fingers again, ready to throw the spell.

“No answer? Well, we’ll just have to see whether I am right, won’t we?”

So saying, she leaned a little further forward, took the surprised elf’s face in her hands and kissed her on the lips. Calleslyn pulled back, unsure of how to react, but Imrilda simply pushed more forcefully forwards, kissing her again, and pressing her body up against the elf’s own. This time Calleslyn held the kiss, wanting to see how Imrilda would react, but if she was faking anything, she was good at it, because moments later they were locked together in a passionate kiss, tongues entwining, the human woman’s hand running through her long hair.

Calleslyn flicked her fingers, negating the prepared spell, and instead reached out to caress her partner’s bare flank. The skin was smooth and soft, warm beneath her touch as she slid her hand round to feel the bumps along Imrilda’s spine. The other woman certainly didn’t seem to be so cold and distant now!

They broke apart, breathing heavily, and Imrilda gently, but forcefully pressed down on the elf’s shoulders, pushing her down to lie among the scatter cushions. Calleslyn lay back, watching the other woman kneel over her, legs either side of her own. She still didn’t know what to make of the turn of events, although it was difficult to drag her attention from the human’s magnificent cleavage, now rising and falling most enticingly beneath the skimpy mail protection.

“You’re not still trying to keep me here, are you?” she asked.

“Not for that reason,” replied Imrilda, breathily. “If I were, would I do this?” she unbuckled the wide belt that held her sword, and threw both it and the weapon away to one side, out of easy reach. “You think only elven women have those sorts of desires?”

“I’m realising that it’s more common among human women than I thought,” admitted the magician.

“Perhaps this will demonstrate my sincerity,” said Imrilda, reaching behind her back to undo the ties of her upper garment. She tossed it away, exposing her large, well rounded breasts.

Calleslyn slid her hands up the other woman’s flanks, running over her ribs and then moving to fondle her breasts. Imrilda’s nipples were pink and rosy, swelling as the elf’s fingertips brushed over them. Whatever else she might be hiding, Calleslyn doubted the human woman could fake that reaction.

Imrilda leaned forward, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, poised over the magician, long blond hair cascading over her shoulders and large breasts hanging down. She bent down for another brief kiss, then pulled back to reach down and undo her skirt-like garment, throwing that beside another cushion. Underneath, she wore panties consisting of no more than a single piece of soft brown material held over her bare hips by a narrow thong.

The elf squeezed one of Imrilda’s breasts, tweaking the nipple slightly beneath her fingers and drawing a pleasured grunt from her partner. At last, the human woman rolled over onto her back, hooking a leg around one of Calleslyn’s to pull the elf over on top of her.

The magician lost no time in moving straight to those large breasts again, running her hands over every inch of them, kissing Imrilda’s heaving cleavage, then fastening her mouth onto a long pink nipple, licking and sucking it, teasing it with the edge of her teeth. The warrior woman let out a soft moan, grinding her hips in a circular motion against the carpet beneath their entwined bodies.

“Mmm… you are good,” said Imrilda contentedly as Calleslyn briefly licked the inner sides of both her breasts before moving the attentions of her tongue to the other side.

One of the human woman’s hands wandered up to feel the curve of Calleslyn’s slight breasts through the fabric of her dress, doubtless discovering that the elf’s nipples were already hard with desire. But the magician pulled away from her, kneeling upright to take a good look at the almost naked woman laid out before her. She ran a hand over Imrilda’s belly, teasing her finger into the navel, then moving down over her rounded hips.

She raised the woman’s legs up one by one – Imrilda was no longer using them to hold her down – and slowly pulled off each long boot. The human woman wriggled her toes, and she kissed her ankles, sliding her tongue over the inside of her shin, then blowing gently against the backs of her knees. The warrior’s legs were spread apart, the skimpy panties now her only remaining item of clothing. Calleslyn slid a hand down one shapely thigh to reach for the thong.

Before she knew it, Imrilda had twisted her legs around, and thrown her onto her back, once again leaning over her.

“Your turn to show,” said the blonde warrior, “let me see what you have to offer.”

She hiked Calleslyn’s skirts up around her hips, running her hands over the exposed thighs then up into the back of her panties to feel her buttocks.

“You keep in good shape,” she observed, “let me see the rest.”
With some difficulty, for Imrilda was still holding her legs pinioned between her own, Calleslyn began to wriggle out of her dress. The other woman was soon helping her, divesting her of both the outer garment and the shift underneath. She cupped one of the elf’s small breasts, rubbing the nipple with her thumb.

“I think my theory about elven women is looking pretty good at the moment, don’t you?” she asked, bending down to kiss the magician before she could reply.

It was a long, passionate kiss, Calleslyn running her hands through the woman’s hair and down her back as their breasts pressed together. The human’s legs released their grip, as her hips began moving slightly against Calleslyn’s own, and she took the opportunity to roll her partner over onto her back, into another pile of the scatter cushions.

She moved back onto her knees as Imrilda’s hands wandered over her body, their soft touch enticing. The hands wandered lower, easing her panties down around her thighs. Imrilda stroked her exposed mound, riffling the soft hair there, and making appreciative sounds.

Calleslyn reached down, caressing her partner’s thighs and hips for a moment, before pulling down her panties. Imrilda’s blonde bush was thick, and the way her legs were already parted, holding the elf in position meant that her sex was fully exposed. Calleslyn ran a finger along it, finding it damp with anticipation. The warrior shivered at the touch, letting out a long gasp as the elf continued to rub her swollen and obviously eager lips.

Calleslyn eased a finger inside, rubbing gently as she did so, making the other woman squirm with desire. Imrilda’s legs trembled as she let out a sobbing moan, and with a twist, Calleslyn was free of them, taking the opportunity to fully remove both her own panties and those of her partner. Imrilda sat up, and they embraced, kissing, hands exploring each other’s bodies.

The human woman’s kisses moved down her neck, over her collarbone, as Calleslyn arched her head backwards. Imrilda pressed her lips against each of the elf’s nipples in turn, licking each with the tip of her tongue. Then she took Calleslyn’s body in her hands, easing her slowly backwards and away. At first, the magician was unsure what the other woman wanted, but soon her legs were being adjusted, and they sat, half leaning away from each other, legs placed so that their pussies touched.

Imrilda began to rub herself up and down, their exposed and sensitive lips sliding against one another in a rhythmic motion. The warrior woman was flushed, eyes closed, and repeatedly gasping out loud, as her hips continued their delightful gyration against Calleslyn’s own. The elf reached out to caress her partner’s full breasts, admiring the way that they moved as Imrilda’s cries became more urgent.

She pressed against the other woman, gently forcing her down onto her back, and breaking the embrace. Imrilda moaned in frustration until Calleslyn placed her hand back over the damp pussy, its juices now slightly mingled with her own. She slid a finger in, and then a second as Imrilda arched her back, thrusting her hips up into the air.

Calleslyn grabbed one of the cushions with her free hand, placing it beneath the warrior’s buttocks to make her more comfortable. Imrilda was bucking against her slender hand, urging her to thrust more quickly, and Calleslyn obliged, drawing the loudest cries yet from the human woman. She continued the motion, pumping harder, rubbing her thumb against the other woman’s clit, and admiring the increasingly rapid rise and fall of Imrilda’s ample breasts.

Leaning over, without easing her ministrations on the woman’s slick cunt, she once again took a long pink nipple in her mouth, kissing it and pressing her face into the softness of the mound. Imrilda came suddenly, crying out, and then panting heavily as she regained her breath, and slid away from the elf’s still teasing fingers.

“I thought you would be good,” she said, “but…” and then she trailed off as Callesyn manoeuvred herself over her face, dying for her own release, knowing that her own pussy was more than ready.

She felt Imrilda’s probing finger on her clit, and sighed with relief as the warrior began to move it in gently circling motions. Soon the finger was moving deeper in, repeating her own urgent actions of just moments before. She lowered herself, until she felt the woman’s tongue and lips begin to lick at her clit as the finger continued its rhythmic probing.

She was close, she knew, moving her hips back and forth in time, unable to prevent passionate moans from escaping her own lips. Imrilda’s heavy breasts ground against her belly, nipples pressing into her flesh, as the finger reached its deepest yet and she felt a gentle suction on her clit that finally brought her over the edge.

She collapsed, rolling over to lie on the cushions as she regained her breath. After a moment, she rose onto one elbow, flipping a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. The warrior was still lying there, breasts rising and falling gently now, legs slightly apart, and with a deeply contented expression on her face.

Calleslyn got to her feet and walked over to the forgotten wine glass, thinking to quench her thirst. But as she raised it to her lips, she noticed an unmistakable tang to the bouquet that had not been there before. The wine was drugged, something that a mere human nose might have difficulty detecting. Imrilda obviously did not know elves quite as well as she had thought.

The warrior must have noticed her reaction, and hesitation with the wine glass, because, with a sudden curse, she rolled across the floor reaching for her discarded sword belt to draw the weapon.

Before she could even finish pulling it from the scabbard, Calleslyn’s hand moved with a blur, and she muttered an incantation, flinging a burst of silvery blue light towards the woman. Imrilda’s eyes closed, and she collapsed, the sword hilt falling from her numb fingers as a heavy sleep overtook her.

Calleslyn swore under her breath, and reached for her clothes, scattered among the cushions on the floor. As she finished pulling the shift over her head, there was a sudden bang behind her and she whirled to see a man standing in the suddenly open doorway.

He was dressed in long robes, decorated with abstract symbols, tall and with long hair so blonde it was almost white. She tried to cast another spell, but her hands were still caught in her clothing, and an instant later it was he who cast a spell, a flash of light filling her vision.

And then everything went black as Calleslyn slumped to the floor unconscious.

26: Skort

2011-02-19T14:02:00.000Z

[Start from the beginning]

Vardala stepped warily into the back room of the inn, closing the door carefully behind her, as she had been instructed. The room was dark, heavy shutters closed across the only window. Outside, the sun would already be dipping towards the horizon, but the intent was not just to keep light out but to stop passers-by from looking in.

The rogue made out a shape standing next to the unlit fireplace, and could sense its eyes on her. She said nothing, waiting for the figure to make the first move. After a long silence, it did so, reaching forward across a low table to pull back a shutter from some metal object placed there.

A whitish-blue light spilled across the table, shining into her face. She had seen such things before; a metal box with a narrow shutter at one side, and a rod inside enchanted with a long-lasting light spell. It was safer than a regular lantern, and almost never needed refuelling. Because of its shape, the light poured out in only one direction, and the figure standing behind it was more in the shadow than ever, now that her eyes could not adjust to the darkness.

“The prodigal returns,” said the figure, his voice calm, with a rich timbre.

She could just about make out that he was wearing a cloak, further obscuring his shape, and, perhaps more significantly, that he was, like her, a gnome. Not that it mattered, for she recognised the voice, knew that this was, indeed, the man she had come to meet.

“I haven’t betrayed the Guild,” she said, defiantly, trying not to squint too obviously in the light directed at her. “I work outside the city now.”

“As an adventurer, yes; I well recall that. Are you not ever tempted to return to your old ways? To rejoin the fold?”

“I don’t need to. I have enough.”

“Enough to abandon us?” the voice was stern, critical, “It seems it must be so, since this is the first time you have entered Guild premises in… what, over two years now? I am sure you remember the date as well as I. Or was it not important to you?”

“It’s not an abandonment, merely a change. I haven’t done anything wrong, not by the Guild’s laws. I have just taken a different path.”

“One that means you no longer need us,” the voice was sharply critical, and Vardala began to wonder if she had done the right thing in coming here. Clearly there were deeper wounds over her departure than she had thought. In retrospect, that should perhaps have been more obvious.

“So, you no longer need the family that helped raise you, from your teenage years, at least. The family that taught you the skills you know rely on, whether within our purview or not. The Guild is a lifelong commitment, not just something you pop in and out of at your convenience. Had you forgotten that?”

“I’m not here to offer my services.”

“But you need us for something, don’t you? Something has brought you back to us again. What I am trying to establish is why you should think we have the slightest interest in helping you.”

“Because I have money. Which is, in the end, what the Guild is about acquiring, isn’t it?”

“Oh, money?” the voice sneered, and its owner leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, and allowing some of the light to spill onto his cloak, though still leaving his face in shadow, “What makes you think I’d be interested in that, from you?”

“Because I know you, Shadow-knife,” she used the assassin’s codename, the one she had employed to get access to this private room, to get audience with the man.

“Perhaps I’ve changed,” he said, sounding a little defensive for the first time, and leaning back out of the light. “None of us stays the same forever. The Guild has moved on without you, you know.”

“But you haven’t, have you?” she said, taking a step forward, emboldened as she saw that she might be getting beneath the other rogue’s cool exterior. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t? These shadows and your attempted intimidation? I can tell you now that it isn’t going to work, not with me.”

“Everything isn’t always about you!” snapped Shadow-knife, banging the table and leaning forward into the light again. This time, she could see more of his face, the sharp nose and neat little goatee, a flash of his teeth as he all but snarled at her.

“But it is this time, isn’t it? You’re still pissed off. Well, whatever – you should just get over it. I’ve had enough of being messed about. All I want is a little information, and I’m willing to pay for it. Are you going to help me, or not?”

“You couldn’t pay what I’d want!”

His voice was raised, sounding dangerous, and Vardala wondered if she’d pushed him too far. He was a skilled killer, after all, and a trusted official of the Guild. But her frustration at the way he was acting, when she so badly needed vengeance for what that inhuman thing had done, overwhelmed her common sense.

“You don’t know what I’ve got to offer!” she snapped back, “so stop being such a bloody child about it.”

“You know exactly what it is I want,” he growled, and stepped out from behind the table, lunging for her.

She raised her left hand instinctively to ward him off, her right reaching for her concealed knife. But he was too quick, and took her head in both hands, kissing her passionately on the lips.

Forgetting the knife, she took a step back and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

The sound of the slap seemed to echo across the room; it had been a really good one. Shadow-knife staggered back a pace, almost bumping into the table, reaching out a hand to steady himself.

“Damn – that really hurt,” he said, making no further movement, “shit! Vardala, you pack a mean hand, these days.” He gave a bitter little laugh, “I guess you haven’t changed so much.”

“Well, you deserved it, Skort.”

He winced slightly at the use of his real name, but then seemed to relax, all his thunder and bluster gone. “Yeah, I guess,” he muttered at last, leaning back against the table, and rubbing his cheek, the hood of his cloak pushed back slightly to reveal his close-cropped black hair. “Where did we go so wrong?”

“You couldn’t accept that I had my own life. Looks like you still can’t.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I had a lot of things to do when I moved up in the Guild. I could have done with some more support, too. It’s not like it was one sided.”

She shrugged, “perhaps. But I couldn’t be there all the time. Like I said, I have my own life now.”

Skort adjusted the magical lantern, widening the aperture so that more light spilled into the room, although it still wasn’t much.

“You look the same as ever,” he commented, “as if it was yesterday. You shouldn’t have left me.”

“You said it yourself a moment ago – nobody stays the same forever. We were over, it wasn’t working. I thought you’d have learned to live with it by now. It’s been two years.”

“Yeah, it has,” he said, rubbing his face and staring into the darkness of the ceiling, “But it was good while it lasted… I mean, it was, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah… yeah, it was.”

He sighed deeply, “well… you wanted to ask me something,” he said eventually, “You might as well go ahead.”

“Somebody stole something from me,” said Vardala, “and I want to know who that is.” She didn’t add that she wanted revenge on that person for hurting Horvan, for nearly killing him. That would just complicate what was already an awkward meeting even further, Especially since she still hadn’t quite worked out what she felt for the manservant.

Skort gave a short barking laugh, “I’m hardly going to rat on one of my fellows! Gods, you know the Guild as well as I do, how can you even ask?”

“Because it’s not somebody from the Guild.”

“A freelancer?” he looked interested, his expression quizzical. “Anyone good enough to steal from a bunch of adventurers probably isn’t a freelancer, and even if they were, it pretty much goes without saying that they’d also be good enough for us not to know about them.”

“The thing that stole from us wasn’t a person, at least not in the normal sense. It was a demon.”

“A demon?” his eyebrows shot up, “you mean a tiefling? There’s a…”

“No, not a tiefling. I know what a tiefling looks like, and this sure as hell wasn’t one of them. We’re talking a full-on demon, huge horns, glowing eyes, the lot. Could have been an illusion, but that seems unlikely. But no, so far as we can tell, this was an honest-to-goodness demon, the kind that somebody summons. Know anything about that?”

“Uh, no, why would I? We’re not magicians.”

She sensed the brief hesitation in his voice, noted the shifting in his eyes as he looked away from her when he spoke. He might be good at lying to others, but not to her. He did know something, and she just had to find out what it was.

“Demonologists need illegal goods to cast their spells. If they don’t get them from you, you’d probably know where they would get them. There’s a pretty good chance you’d at least have heard rumours. And since you’re not magicians, whoever did this is outside the Guild, and, really, you’re not breaking any trust by telling who they are. Or who you suspect they are.”

“I don’t know any demons. Or demon-summoners. I’m sorry, Vardala, I just don’t know anything.”

She stepped up to him, looking him squarely in the eyes. “You’re lying. Why?”

“Uh, no I…” he seemed to sense it wasn’t working, and swore under his breath, trying to avoid looking at her. “Hell, Vardala. You don’t understand this. This is… this is just not something I can tell you, okay?”

“What’s your price?”

“Damn it, I don’t have a price! I’m telling you, this is really… just walk away from it, all right?”

He sounded concerned, genuinely worried by something, but Vardala was not going to stop there. She had to do something to strike back for Horvan, no matter what it meant. The demon’s attack had made it personal, and she wouldn’t forgive it for that. That thought was even more important to her than her concern about the city’s fate. For Horvan, she was willing to do whatever it took.

She reached down with a hand and gently cupped Skort through his trews. “You sure there’s nothing I can offer you?”

He squirmed as she began to rub him, a bulge definitely beginning to form beneath her fingers. “I… uh… no. I don’t want that. And I can’t tell you anything.” She began to undo the fastenings. “Heck, Vardala, don’t be ridiculous. You said it was over.”

He’d been eager enough when he’d been the one taking charge, she thought, as she caressed a growing erection that was giving the lie to his denials of interest. “It is,” she told him, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t make an exception tonight.”

“Look… there’s a Guild connection. That’s why I can’t say anything.”

“But not a formal one,” she said, kneeling, “or you’d have mentioned it earlier. Who’s got you scared?”

“Nobody! I’m not scared.” He seemed affronted by the suggestion. Good.

She eased his swollen cock out of his trews, running her hand along its length, then bending forward to kiss the tip.

“Vardala!” he cried, “this isn’t going to work on me.” She slipped his cock briefly into her mouth, running her lips around the head, and then pulling it out again. “Uh, well, not in that way. I’m not going to tell you about Mr. Scaggs.”

“He’s the Rake’s number two man, isn’t he?” asked Vardala, before pulling him full into her mouth, first tickling his glans with her tongue, then pushing her head forward into his groin, easing his balls out with a free hand and gently rubbing them.

Skort gasped, his hips pushing slightly forward into her face. She raised her eyes to look at him, enjoying the look of pleasurable torment on his face, and then began to suck him more vigorously, sliding him in and out.

“Uhh… yes… all right… Scaggs has some friends. Some very powerful friends… oh, yeah… he’s been acting kind of weird, even the Rake senses it. But we… oh, Goddess… we don’t have any proof of anything. There’s been whispers of magic rituals, demons and bad stuff like that. But nothing we know for sure.”

She released him, leaning back onto her haunches, his erection, slick with her saliva, throbbing just inches from her face. “I need names. Who are these friends?”

“I don’t know… magicians, I guess.”

Vardala undid her tunic, pulling it off, followed by her shirt. Looking up at Skort, she deliberately fondled one of her breasts, then leaned over to suck and nibble at his balls, gripping his cock with her other hand.

“Names,” she said, again,

“Vardala, I…”

“Yes you do. You’re bad at lying to me, remember?” She ran her tongue up his shaft and swallowed him again, continuing to massage her breast as she did so.

“Uhh… Lady Amloth. She’s the ringleader. She’s a drow, poses as a merchant, but drow are all demon-worshippers or something, aren’t they? Oh, yes… Vardala…”

“Is that all you know?” she asked, pulling him out of her mouth again.

“Yes, that’s it! But, I swear, you’d better not stop there – my balls are aching.”

She evaluated his expression. He seemed sincere this time. “Yeah, I believe you. The part about not knowing any more, I mean.”

“Dammit, Scaggs can’t find out I told you any of this! He’s higher in the Guild than I am, and the Rake’s hardly going to back me up for spreading rumours about his deputy.”

Vardala stood up, and unfastened her own trews, dropping them to the floor with her panties. Skort watched her, wide-eyed, as she stepped over to the table beside him, and leaned across it, spreading her legs apart.

“Then you better persuade me not to tell,” she informed him, “I could do with some really good persuasion right now.”

Skort gave an almost feral grin, and she wondered briefly if her approach might have been a bad idea. But it had worked, and that was all that had mattered. The truth was, it had made her horny. It wasn’t so much that she enjoyed giving oral sex, which she was happy to do, but was never particularly exciting in itself. No, it was…

Actually, what the heck was it? She had certainly had no intention of bedding Skort when she had come here; she had just wanted information from him, and had assumed, at the most, that she might have to pay for it with gold. Yet things had progressed since then, not least because of his refusal to let go of the past, which she hadn’t really expected. It had felt good to make him squirm, but now she needed a release, to make up for the tension that Horvan’s injury and near-death had instilled in her.

She couldn’t fuck Horvan, but she could take out her frustration on her former lover, and clear her mind with some wild sex. Hopefully, he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Yeah, some chance there, she thought ruefully, but it was too late now, for either of them.

Skort had stripped off, the bluish light casting a dark shadow from his glistening erection over his firm, flat belly. His build was muscular for a gnome, with brawny arms and strong thighs, the dark hair on his chest contrasting with pale skin. A familiar tattoo, showing a blade and some writing in gnomish script, decorated his left shoulder. He moved behind her, as she lay face forward on the table, arms gripping the far side. He gripped the inside of her right thigh, pinching it slightly and shifting it aside, then using the fingers of his other hand to spread her pussy lips apart, gazing at her exposed cunt for a while.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, “you don’t know how much I’ve thought about this.”

He thrust his cock into her forcefully, partially lifting her hips up off the table, and making her grunt in satisfaction. He began taking her with hard, urgent thrusts, groaning loudly with each new movement, his body pounding into hers. She had to admit that it felt good, just what she needed right now, although she tried to keep her own voice down – it was unlikely anyone was listening outside, but they were in the backroom of an inn, and if either of them got loud enough, that might not make much difference.

She looked back at him, still gripping the table with her own hands, watching his bare chest moving, and the shadow cast by his body against the wall. He was taking her forcefully, his cock slamming into her cunt over and over, filling it, his head thrown back and teeth bared. When they’d been together before, he’d never fucked her this hard, and the sensations were overwhelming. He must have noticed her gaze on him, for he looked down at her, seeing the lust burning in her eyes, the need to be satisfied. If only he realised that it wasn’t really him she was thinking of.

“You like it rough?” he asked, “you didn’t use to.”

With a sudden wicked grin, he slapped her across the buttocks. It stung a little, but was nothing against the more pleasurable feelings that his rapidly pounding cock was inducing in her.

“That’s for slapping me earlier,” he informed her.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

He slapped her again, much harder this time, reddening her buttock, then gripping it with his fingers as he thrust into her again, pushing her forward on the table, and lifting her feet off the floor. A second, hard slap followed, on the other side this time, enough to hurt. “Fuck you!” he snarled.

She pushed back against the table, forcing him backwards, making him stumble so that his cock slid out of her as she regained her feet, still standing with her back to him. He gave a surprised and frustrated cry, but she grabbed for him, finding his slick and wet erection and pushing it back inside again.

She ground her body against his, feeling his hard muscle against her back, lifting a leg to give him easier access. He wrapped a muscled arm around her waist, almost lifting her off the ground as he continued to fuck her. His free hand gripped one of her breasts, and he pressed his face into the hair at the back of her neck, groaning loudly.

She kicked one of his legs out from under him, making him stumble and swear, releasing his grip on her to steady himself. But she hadn’t finished with him yet, and climbed up onto the table, knocking over the magical lantern, so that its light cast crazy rocking shadows against the ceiling.

Skort climbed onto the table after her, his silhouette looming over her as she rolled onto her back. He grabbed for her arms, and they wrestled, each trying to get the upper hand. Skort’s face glowered with a mixture of anger and lust; she was playing with him, but wondered how seriously he took the game. Their bodies slid against each other as they grappled, hands wandering, legs entwining, and he was obviously trying to force her down, to show his mastery… well, two could play at that game.

With one hand she yanked on his cock, making him yelp, and his grip suddenly relaxed, giving her the opportunity to flip him over onto his back. Quickly, she straddled him, back towards his face, gripping his legs with one hand as she used the other to guide him back inside her.

She humped him vigorously, thighs and hips working as his balls smacked against her groin and his hard cock pumped in and out of her aching pussy. She let out an exultant whoop, forgetting her earlier resolution to remain quiet, and savoured the feeling as she continued to ride him.

Skort’s fingers gripped her back, trying to knead her heaving buttocks, but finding little purchase against sweat-slick flesh moving with such urgency. He groaned, louder than before, calling her name, and she threw her whole body into an arc, head thrown back, one hand squeezing a breast as the speed of her motion increased.

Her partner cried out again, a desperate, almost sobbing sound, as she felt his cock finally release its seed inside of her. With a few more thrusts, she joined him, letting out a passionate shout as her body erupted with pleasurable release and her cunt contracted around his still spasming member,

Skort was panting, his hands by his side now, as she clambered off him, and slid down from the table. She looked at him there for a moment, his chest heaving, struggling to regain his breath. Then she began to gather her clothes.

“What…?” he managed, forcing himself up onto one elbow, “Don’t go so soon…”

“I’ve got what I came for,” she said, pulling on her boots, “I don’t need any more.”

“Now wait a minute!” he shouted, but, still holding her tunic, and tucking her shirt back in, she strode over to the door, and pulled it open.

He was still lying naked on the table, grimacing in helpless frustration, as the door slammed shut in his face.