3 comments/ 21243 views/ 2 favorites Sweltering By: Giantmarshmallow First post here, and the first adult story I ever wrote. It was written for my friends in World of Warcraft (I'm a nerd, sorry), but nothing more than a few geographic references to really make that an issue. Comments and constructive criticism is appreciated! * She was angry. He could tell. It was the way her footsteps fell just slightly too hard, the rhythm coming too quickly. Of course, she was always angry. No, Gorhasht mused, not angry. Just short. Everything about her said that their wasn't enough time in a day, days in a week, nights in a moon, and moons in a year. There was a loud thump. The slap of angry feet and something jabbed into his chest. "Your chair!" "What about it?" "It was on my side of the room!" "Was it really?" "Yes!" She hissed back at him. "You know I can't tell." "That's not my problem. My problem is you leaving your thrice damned bulky furniture where I'm trying to live!" "Well you seem to have moved it back, so there's no more problem." "There had better be no more problem." He reached out to snag her, but the trolless easily dodged out of his grasp. And that was that. Things were simple until she became involved. Even she was simple, really. She just wouldn't let herself be so. He could hear her moving around, shifting her sparse possessions. His ears twitched. "You're doing it again?" "Don't." "You know you shouldn't." "Do not lecture me, beast." "Why do you have to?" "I'd hardly expect a grazer to understand." "You'd be surprised." "If you can't even see the plains in front of your face how can you hope to see this?!" There should have been silence. It would have been right for there to be silence. Instead there was birdsong, muffled by the leather flap in front of the door. There was the susurrus of the grasses blown by the winds. That must have been what an ocean sounded like. And there was her breathing. Rapid without panting. Like she'd dragged a totem across the room instead of his chair. "It helps me think," she said, breaking the nonsilence. "I know." "When I'm stressed." "I know." "It's just a reminder." "I know." "Then what don't you know!?" "Why you need it now." She was inflating. One of those long, deliberate drawings of breath through the nose that meant a storm was coming. He'd seen them enough that it was a bit of a surprise when all she said was "nothing." He shifted in his chair. Large hands fall into even larger baskets. They crack against one another. Pebbles on a hillside. These ones hiss at him. Sand on a beach. Over here they shush. Hundreds of voices whispering. After a moment it clatters again. Bare feet slap against earth stamped down enough to be called brick. They pause for a moment as her chest closes. Then more slapping feet. There is a weight on his shoulder. It's slight. Can't be more than a pound or two. "I haven't moved them. Why would I?" "You wouldn't." "Then why bother?" "I like to know they're here." "Where would they go?" "They wouldn't. Not until it's time for me to plant them." The hand lifts. The feet slap. Ropes creak as they pull tight. "You're very stressed." He says. After a moment, when she didn't respond he pressed harder. "What's bothering you?" "Nothing." Came the curt reply. "It can't be nothing." He said. "It is nothing. It should be nothing." "Then it's something?" "No. I'll deal with it." "Let me know how it goes." He wouldn't offer to help. She wouldn't have accepted anyways. She would have just gotten angry. She just grunted. And that was that. The day wound on as usual. That night Gorhasht lay awake. Blindly he stared up at a ceiling that would have been lost in darkness anyways. She wouldn't tell him. That was nothing new, but she was getting worse than usual. She snapped at nothing, cursed him for being there, and quietly raged at the world in general. After a while he heard feet touch softly down as the wooden supports cracked a little, a burden lifted from them. Gorhasht didn't respond. She was moving now. The soft swish of the fur between her thighs sounding in tandem with a faint padding of feet. A soft sound, leather rubbing on leather and a breeze lifted his fur. She had gone outside. Strange. Usually she was more private about things. The small hut they had was fairly isolated out in the plains of Mulgore, but you still never knew if a would be mystic would be out and about trying to contact the spirits. Usually that meant she kept her nudity inside. After a while the flap of a door lifted again, and her footsteps came back. They slid across the room for a moment, then were still. He waited for the creek of the rope, the groan of the wood. All there was, was grass sighing to itself from outside, and the song of crickets calling to each other. After a few minutes, an owl hooted. For some reason this seemed to have an effect. Her feet started moving again. The bedding moved slightly, pressed down and tapped. He could hear her breath above him. There was another long pause, and his bed shifted slightly. He felt her then, a warm curve rising out of the darkness to press against his arm. She sighed, softly in the night beside him. Just close enough that he could almost feel the bumps of her spine through their pelts. Something must have been wrong, despite her protests. She only did this when there was. Loa be damned! She had been dreading this for quite some time. And now it was nearly here? By all that is, curse this body! She took a deep breath. No. No. Kintala, would be calm about this. Kintala would be strong. Kintala would not let herself be controlled by fickle fates, and life. This wouldn't be the first one she had dealt with, nor would it be the last. The worst part was the smell. She knew what it was. They would turn and stare at her, the few other Trolls out on Thunder Bluff. They knew, all of them. She would be once again the source of gossip for the women, and the men... There was one here now, speaking of. She stopped in her tracks to scowl through her mask at the leering face. The bustle of the crowds that she normally cursed would have been a welcome relief to this. Not yet, damnit! Not ready yet! Was he so young he couldn't tell that much? Or did he simply not care? "Ey dere leetle one. How ya doin?" He sneered, the curve of his grin pulling past his tusks. "Busy. Move." "Aww don' act so unkindly now! Gahskol jus' wan' be friendly!" "I'm in no mood for your friendliness. Leave." "Pahblic street. Can be here eef I want, choo know." The grin wouldn't even flicker. But it was beginning to fade from his eyes. "Then move to one side. I'm not here to talk to you, nor do I care to." His face twitched at that. Her mask did not. Why must he be so difficult? Look at him, standing there. Nothing more than a child, really. Too young. He had no self control, and no respect. Licking his lips he switched into the old tongue. "Come now... for such a well dressed, and good smelling lady you certainly aren't friendly." She refused to match him, sticking with the language of the orcs. To use the old tongue for something like this was abominable. "No. I'm not. You're wasting your time." He snarled actively now, stepping closer to her and pulling himself up to stand over her. "Why so unfriendly? And why not take that mask off, no reason to hide your pretty little face." She stepped back at that, one foot moving behind her to catch her weight. He noticed, and leered at the movement. "What's the matter? Afraid? Afraid you're going to like it? You know what they say about men with big tusks, after all." She snorted at that. "They say they're only good for beating their faces into walls. Get out of my path!" "You know, women have only one purpose. I don't know what desperate village you came from that thought otherwise. But I know what is right. It is not your place to speak to me like that!" He lunged. Clumsy and driven more by anger than reason. Kintala quickly brought around her mace into the side of his knee as she moved to one side. The once learing face spinning into the ground as he footing was knocked from under him. Without hesitation he pulled his arms and legs under himself ready to get back on his feet when his vision exploded. Stars danced before him as his stomach clenched, the pain racing through his body and into his belly. Vaguely, Gahksol was aware that he was being moved, but was more concerned about the bright lights making his vision swim. But when he finally managed to get his sight back, he wished he hadn't. You never really appreciate how high Thunder Bluff is until those sheer cliffs are spread out beautifully beneath you. "You've given me plenty reason to drop you today. Give me one not to." She snarled. She watched his body go rigid, felt him tense and his toes quest for purchase in the hard rock behind him. She raised him up by the belt slightly and let her arm go limp, causing him to drop down suddenly. "Well!?" Apparently it was too much for him. The other Troll blacked out at the sight of that ground rushing, however briefly, up to meet him. She snorted, and set him back on the ground. A brief bit of rope work later and she gave him a kick. Gahksol would not be pleased to find himself hanging by his ankles over the side of the city. But Loa knew he was right about some things... his face, now that it wasn't twisted by that horrid grin was not exactly a shame to look at. He was fairly fit, lean and limber. Looking back his movements had been lithe, if unrefined. There was a grace about him. Those arms... with a little bit of training he could... Kintala shook her head. It wasn't right. This creature was beneath her, and to think this way? It would only make him right. No. No, he wouldn't do. As she walked back towards the lift that would bring her back to the verdant plains around them she thought about him. No. Not him. The other trolls around. They were, for the most part, young, fit, and healthy. They might not all be what you'd call a 'catch' but out here it was what you could find. Not that she would find! No. No doubt that blind fool Gorhasht would mess something up. He'd push at anyone too hard. They would not be as forgiving as she was. He'd probably get himself killed. Not that it would stop him. He'd probably linger on as one of those silly ancestor ghost things the Tauren went on about. It made no sense. If a cow has all the brains, cunning, and strength to get himself killed he's somehow better than the ones that didn't? Ridiculous. She could go to Orgrimmar. Plenty of young men there. And she'd be sure to find something a bit better than that leering face. She'd rather have be with one of those rotting humans they saw occasionally. Wouldn't she? Of course! There was no doubt! The very idea... "Women should know their place" ha! Well. He'd gotten a new one, hadn't he? She liked to think she could almost hear his scream when he came to... No. Not Orgrimmar. If she went there she'd find Gom'zal, no doubt. She'd have to start looking for him if not. And last she'd heard he'd been heading to Thunder Bluff. To Mulgore. So he was here somewhere. Just because no one had heard of him, or seen him didn't prove anything. He knew how to keep himself hidden. There was no chance she'd go to the Undercity, it was little more than a sewer. Silvermoon was little better, though it was filled with sewage of a different sort. Well. She'd just have to stay at home for a while. Let it pass. After all, it was nothing but trouble. Poor Niethan... He'd always thought that Khiskiva had wanted him out of the house. After that incident there was no doubt in anyone's mind what the Shaman had thought about him being around her daughter. At least when it came up. And how dare her mother bar her from such a thing anyways? Wasn't that why it happened? Because she was younger did her urges count for less? By the time she had gotten back to the hut hidden between two hills she was in a foul mood. The ground was dry, but not terribly so. It crumbled nicely between his fingers. Well, the air felt sticky, the breeze coming in from the south was heavy with a promise of rains to come. Gorhasht breathed it in gently, a calming wind to fill his lungs. He let it out slowly, savoring the simple action. At his belt were a number of pouches, the rustled, they clattered, they thumped quietly against his hips as he shifted his weight. This would be a fine year for corn; he thought as he stuck a few more kernels into the ground, more would have to be planted. Some wheat as well, not that he cared for wheat. It was harder to tell it apart from the grass, and a hassle to harvest. And when it was all done he'd have to drag it aways to find a miller who could grind it into a flower. Still, the bread it would bake was delicious. Gorhasht finished poking a few more seeds into his farm, stood and stretched. The wind felt good in his fur, a few errant gusts curled around the individual strands to brush lightly against the smooth skin that hid beneath them. It spoke to him, the wind, not in the secret and hushed language of the spirits, or in the longing clarion of that the druids heard, but in the simple words that all could hear, if they took the time. The feel of the air spoke more of the rain to come, promising to carry it out, heavy and thick. It told of the forests beyond the cliffs that ringed the land. It told his ears of birds singing out to each other, and bees exploring his garden for flowers. It told of a heard of Kodo moving past, their feet going with the unmistakeable pounding that followed them everywhere. Thump Thump Thump Thump THUNK Thump Thump. Gorhasht turned, one ear flicking out. It had come from their house, that was certain. Gorhasht let one hand trail against the leather walls as he came to the parting that would allow entrance. He had barely set foot inside when his head was knocked back to one side by a sharp impact against his horns. Shaking his head he brought blind eyes back to the inside of the tent. He knew she was their, cursing and panting to herself. "It was on my side again!" "No harm there. Why did you hit it?" "That damn log? What does it matter! It won't be hurt!" "It's sturdy." "It's a chunk of tree! Be glad I need this other hammerhead or I'd get you between the eyes!" "I still don't see what was wrong with the old one." "You wouldn't, farmer." "You say that as though I have something to be ashamed of." She snorted and was quiet for a long time. He could hear the shifting of the stone head rubbing against the wooden pole while she worked. Gorhasht walked over, hands stretched out to find his chair. He sat down heavily, noting as he did the grinding noise stilling. There was stillness for a long time, as he felt her eyes watching him. Then a soft tinkling sound as her clay mask was set down. The ropes of her bed creaked, and the grinding began again. She woke again in the middle of the night. Restless. She hadn't been able to go a solid night asleep, but it didn't seem to matter. She itched. Or wanted to. There was lightning in her pelt as she stretched. She could feel it, even if she couldn't see it. No, there was no lightning tonight. Gorhasht was right, there would be a storm tomorrow. Pity. Wouldn't it have been wonderful to wake look down at the stretched skin of her stomach, past the curve of her breasts and see the bolts shoot as she moved? Tiny storm clouds across her body, their wrath leaping from hair to hair in the night. She heaved, her muscles clenching down as they lifted her from the woven net of rope. And they pulled. Her body weight had held them tightly against her flesh. Now it didn't want to let them go, and pulled them with her. She stifled a gasp as they slowly peeled off of her back, her shoulders, her thighs, and her ass. Sliding her feet to the floor she moved carefully. Eyes always locked on the sleeping form of Gorhasht she stalked out to the soft patch of grass just beyond the door. Thousands of blades pressed into her legs as she sat. The grass was soft, but still held an edge to it. It clung to her, casting her lower body into shadow while the moonlight cascaded over her top. She sat there for a while, watching the moon. It was rare that she would go out without her mask. It wouldn't do for people to see her face, to see the sharp lines she'd inherited from her father. There was a small bowl to her left, which she picked up and looked into. The light of the moon casting silver shadows over her features while she inspected herself for the first time in a long while. Her forehead was high, and gently curved, complementing the set of her eyes. They were her mother's eyes, and gave her an exotic look, now without the accustomed pride that shone within. A fierce pride, that made her feel like nothing more then a snarling beast. Her nose pointed a bit more than was necessarily attractive, the very image of Sulajin's. But it was her mouth that got her. Large tusks, ungainly and heavy in her mouth. They said a Trolless with tusks too large would be nothing but trouble. Now hers were awkwardly set, too. They stuck out at an odd angle, almost backward and the flesh around her mouth was lined by scar. Curse that dwarf that did this to her! Her body, though, was spectacular. The moonlight sent shadows playing under the swoops and curves of flesh, ever out of reach by the silver light that illuminated her frame. The air was cool, but a fine pelt kept out the chill. There was a mist rolling out of the plains, and as it reached her it embraced the trolless in a caress of vapors. Soon her still image was covered in a fine mesh of glittering beads of dew. Droplets hung from her, a pair hovering just beyond dropping off of her erect nipples, catching the reflected light and sending a blue glow to the ground in front of her. Wide hips that accentuated her ample, if not abundant, chest line with a swatch of pubic hair darkened to a rich purple. A quick tremor passed through her body, sending the dew cascading off of her and breaking the reflection in the water bowl. She looked back to the hut. It would be so easy to wander off, to go out and find a real troll and never deal with the blind fool again. He would hardly know she was gone. He already acted like the hut was entirely his, though she still lived in it. Kintala got to her feet and took a step towards the horizon before pausing. What would become of him if she left? As if she didn't know. He'd probably step in a gofer hole, and twist his ankle again. Without her there to bring in meat and fresh fruit from Thunder Bluff he'd probably starve unable to get to his precious garden. No. She had to stay and watch over him. Turning on her heel Kintala strode back into the hut, pausing to look over Gorhasht's sleeping form. Well. If he was going to live here with her, hold her down and chain her to this land he was going to earn his keep. He woke abruptly, snorting as firm hands grabbed him by the horns and shook. She was breathing loudly, as though coming home from a chase. Before he had time to react there were two bony ridges pressing against his mouth, and a softness between them. Warm and insisting, and above all wet. Her tongue pressed between his lips and into his muzzle, the firm hands never letting their grip on his horns fail. Blinking in the darkness, Gorhasht paused, trying to find an appropriate (or at least suitable) reaction to this. When the growling began to rumble low in her throat, he realized that it was not a difficult decision all things considered. The blind fool was meeting her tongue now. Good. Had he never kissed before? Didn't he know how it was supposed to go? Whatever the reason, he was fast getting the message. Her growling faltered as he reached over and slid one thick finger between her legs. She felt weak. Every urge in her body was screaming at her to fall, to press down hard against the roughness that sent her body tingling. His hand felt warm under her, or maybe it was her own heat that gave him such a temperature. Sweltering She was damp to the touch. It clung to his fingers as readily as glue, but slid as smooth as oil. Feeling the quivering of her legs he drew his hand away. There was the briefest wimper of protest, which was soon replaced by another warning growl. Not the usual growls of irritance, aggravation and strained temper. This one held all the threat a noise could. He raised a finger, and began to quest. Her flesh was soft, and soon began to split. It spread over the tip of his finger, warmly and invitingly. Smooth skin enveloped him as a quick intake of breath sounded before him. A long tense moment ensued, her breath seemingly caught in her throat as she quivered around him for a moment. There was a sudden weight, and she slid the rest of the way down his finger with a gasp. The grip tightened as Gorhasht wriggled his way to a sitting position. Bringing his other hand around to cup her ass and squeeze her lower back he raised her up to just above his waist. Never having a chance to explore her breasts before he now took the chance with gusto. The grip around his horns went limp and he felt the simple weight of her head resting on his own. They were firm, soft, and smooth. Well underlined with a support of muscle. The delicate hairs that covered her body fell short at the nipples, leaving them exposed, hardened and warm to the caressing of his tongue. She was electric. She was the goddess of the flames. The primal huntress. The culmination of all life. This act, this deed, here and now with this Tauren. Her breath was off, the rhythm was wrong and it kept hitching in her throat. She wanted to grind down, pressing onto the firmness filling her. Stretching out her legs with a groan she managed to pull herself off of him. It was hard to see in the dark, but he was there all right. A firm, hot, twitching length of flesh that had begun to drip into his navel. Wrapping one hand around it she lifted the length away and up. His own hide was twitching now, she could feel the tremors that passed through his thighs and stomach as she moved over him. It smelled interesting. Not unpleasant, though far from nice, and yet it had an allure all its own to it. Niethan had once made something for them, when they were younger. Gelatin he had called it. It wriggled, and danced when prodded much the amusement of the then young Kintala. Bits of it had melted before she'd finished it. And the fluid Gorhasht leaked now had a texture like that. She lapped at some of the substance out of his fur, spreading it around the roof of her mouth. Then began to spread it over his slightly bowed cock. Her hands kneeded into the flesh while she brought herself up to breathe his scent into the large face. Faint insults roiled through her head, danced on the tip of her tongue in the clear precum, but she bit them back. The tusks were pressing to his lips again. Her tongue moving incessantly into his mouth as her weight shifted. The wonderfully dexterous three fingered hands halted and pulled him back further. The warmth of her face was gone, and for a moment all he knew was the hard grip on his member. Then the warmth that seemed to spread out and roll over the very tip of his crown. She slid down further eliciting a moan of pleasure from the blind form beneath her. Despite the incredible searing heat she carried in her it didn't hurt. Her walls clenched around him, feeling like they were trying to shove the flesh from him in search of a steel core. The Tauren pressed blindly upwards, his body instinctively trying to burry itself in the velvety warmth. It was all Kintala could do to hold herself there, letting the massive creature beneath her press itself into her. It hurt, too. But it filled a need, an aching longing that shunt aside whatever pain manifest. She began to roll her hips back and forth, the dancing lessons her mother had given letting her roll with the flesh inside of her. Faster and faster she went, letting the circles she wove grow smaller and smaller until she bounced up and down on him. Sensitive lips dragged longingly against the smooth flesh as she rose, drawing him out only to curl tightly on themselves when she slid back down. Each thrust was ecstasy, and the reverse motion brought with it the longing to be filled. Gorhasht wasn't paying much attention to her anymore. His thoughts had turned inwards, towards the sensations she caused. His body was tightening. Her flesh, slick on hot with her juices still dragged on him. Lines of muscles beneath the thin skin arched out and gripped his cock, they tugged on his flesh. In waves they came, pulling rhythmically on him as she tried to pull him deeper. It made him gasp, the long fleshy rod straining against nothing in particular within her. It would pulse, stretching so tight he feared the skin must give way. His back was tense, and there was a pressure that rose and fell within him. It grew and grew while the hot flesh twisted and turned around him, pulling him this way and that. It was too much, too much to bear. His thick arm reached out to curl around her back. It pulled her down off her feet to collapse onto his chest while his legs pressed him as deeply as he could fit into the creature above him. Wave after wave of fluid pulsed out, sinking deeply into the hot folds that even now pulled him ever inwards. She struggled for purchase for a moment, heaving her self up while her lover went limp beneath her. With a sliding squish she pulled herself of the deflating member. Hoisting herself to her knees, energized flesh demanding more. Acting on memories of her parents her hands darted out once more to the large horns before her. There was a moisture on his nose. Dampness dripping down along silky smooth thighs released a fresh surge of longing in Gorhasht. The hands tugging at him insistently, he let his tongue slip out past his lips. She was growling again, her frustration boiling over into a wrath towards him as she waited for what was to come. The firm, thick, and above all warm tongue made contact lightly, deliberately at long last with aching flesh. It traced down beneath the hairs and into a pair of lips beneath. It was too much for her. Her body started to quake and the guiding grip quickly became a stabilizing necessity as Kintala's legs threatened to give out beneath her. She moaned quietly, urging the muscle to return. The chest extending beneath her she growled still, the noise mixing into a noise of pure wanton lust. A wind of hot breath preceding it, Gorhasht's tongue came once more to press against her sex. Then it slipped up onto the button of flesh nestled at the head of her moist valley and she really did collapse. Arcs of blazing cold electricity arced up her spine, changing as they went to an impossible number of felt-tipped claws hooking into her brain. He shifted again, his arm going around the back of her thighs to hoist the convulsing figure to a more pleasing angle, shook his head out and tended to his ministrations, vaguely aware of the pattering of his own fluids dripping out onto his chest. Mildly surprised he found that she bore a taste mostly of lemon, which he continued to explore. She was moaning now, and grinding her hips into his face, her body screaming for the work he did. A strange flower bloomed beneath his tongue, folds upon folds continued to open, occasionally closing onto the tip of the warm moist flesh slickening the area. A new flavor was rising now, uncovered by the ministrations of his tongue he found the taste of wet skin. Unique, individual, the truest taste of Kintala that could be found. While aware beyond any thought of the actions of the tongue beneath her, many of the subtleties of it's work were lost as the broad flat muscle probed her. She took notice however when it dipped into the still damp hole that bore him earlier. It wriggled and pressed, teasing the flesh open to accept her lover once more inside of her. She could hear him, vaguely, the tongue squishing and slurping amongst their mingled juices. Quietly it slipped back out, running along back to fondle her clitoris. Another spasm wracked her body, leaving Kintala shivering as she managed to struggle back upright. Her muscles were crying out, demanding to work. Her skin itched and tingled with suppressed energies. As she fell back again Kintala recognized the length pressing into her neck and hair. Gorhasht seemed to be enjoying herself and this was a chance to stretch. Working her arms and legs under her Kintala pressed down, arching her back up. Letting her head lull down she saw the twitching mass pointing at her as another drop of the smooth oil glistened at the tip. There was a new warmth, and Gorhasht was the one to shudder this time. Her own tongue was lithe, inquisitive and above all insistent. It trailed around in circles around the head, occasionally dipping beneath the mushroom cap to explore the skin beneath. He pushed himself up again, aching to feel more of the warmth around him as that thick firm tongue pressed itself against the length sliding past. He winced every now and then, sharp teeth occasionally pressing into the sensitive skin. There was a pressure shortly after, an odd sensation that felt like it was pressing and squeezing him into himself, but he knew was actually pulling. In again he pressed, his clenched buttocks holding the massive waist into the air and into the tight seal of flesh wrapped around him. She wanted to gag, but didn't. He'd press forward into her mouth and press at the entrance to her throat. It blocked her airway and sent filled her neck uncomfortably. Still, she did her best not to, and to watch her teeth. It was difficult, the cold waves of lightning that made her shoulders struggle in their skin, and the effects of his own tongue on her. It was somewhat strange. She knew there would be a hood of flesh, but had never experienced one like this before. It was soft, but not so smooth as the flesh that lay under it. It fell back with her motions, causing Gorhasht to moan and thrust deeper into her mouth as she ran the tip of her tongue along the smoothness it hid. Beneath her she could see the hide of his belly pulling taught. It curled in around itself as though trying to escape the tickling presence of her hair, leaving only the hardened cock to distract the bull from his own working tongue. It wasn't long before the flesh stretched out, its tip opening beneath her tongue to gush ever more fluid into her mouth. It was sticky, wet, and clumped. Not at all like the fluid he dripped before. It was salty, yet with an underlying sweetness. Quietly her tongue stroked the cock head as she swallowed the mess. First the lemony sweet skin pulled down, the softness of her ass settling on his chest while a pair of lips dragged slowly off his failing cock head. The brush of tusks against the hyper sensitive flesh causing him to curl instantly and nearly dislodge her. He lay panting for a moment while she shifted around, gripping his flesh. There was a snort, and he felt her fingers sinking deeper into the flaccid flesh. Quickly he sat up, pushing his hand out and groping around until he made contact with the warm curvature of her breasts. Gripping the torso he pulled her down into his bed, laying her back while shifting to kneel beside her. His hand already placed, Gorhasht leaned down to find the two hard tusks that would announce her lips to his own. As soon as Kintala felt the large tongue parting her lips a pair of arms wrapped around the back of the Tauren's head, locking together just behind his horns. The hand that rested on her chest began to travel downwards, large fingers seeking out the warmth she held. His fingers slid along her underside, against the still moist hole and up into the cleft of her buttocks. There was a sharp inhalation as he probed the tight rim of her anus, but it soon quieted. As he pulled back he pressed up, the length of his finger sliding along across her clit. As his finger once more penetrated into her, filling the aching need resounded through her body she clamped her legs shut around his hand. It wouldn't get away from her. Not this time. She wasn't done yet. She rode his finger, crushing the hand that nestled between her thighs to hold it in place. It wasn't enough though. With agonizing slowness the hand began to slip away, the passage eased by Kintala's own lubricant. She thrashed out, grabbing at the hand only to have her wrist grabbed and wrenched away. A long horn struck into the underside folding her legs up even as she kicked down at him with her feet. He was shushing her, and grabbed her leg with the hand that gripped her arm and pressed them both into her chest. Then managed to get her other leg and arm folded into her torso. He held her there, as she thrashed her neck about, cursing and spitting as Gorhasht lifted her off the floor. There it was again, the rock hard shaft of flesh that rose to pierce into her. Kintala's head snapped back, her muscles gone rigid. White hot ecstasy poured through her as the delightfully solid flesh once more part her. Gorhasht was pulling her down, he had her pinned and was not going to be stopped. Good. Let him. Let his flesh fill her. Let his seed pulse into her. She strained against his massive hands. Her muscles screaming a symphony of radiant life as her arms pulled free of the grasp. Beneath her they went. She would feel herself stretched around her lover. And there was more. He pulled down on her, jamming more and more of his length into her until Kintala cried out for a mingled fear and ecstacy. She felt she would burst, but her needs quenched as he did so. She could feel him there. Despite his tugging there was nowhere left to go, and a good handful of the massive beast still protruded from her hips. She grabbed onto it, and squeezed hard. It pulsed beneath, expanding in every direction to come against her. He lifted her again, sliding her up. She wouldn't let go. Above all else the fingers gripped into him, as though she'd pull herself back down if he lifted to high. He was feeling light headed, now. All that Gorhasht knew was a fiery moisture enveloping him and a grip like iron that stretched his skin over his flesh as it was lifted. Down he pulled, the grips pressing him down into himself, yet up into her. There was a wall in there, one he could not pass though he longed to. When he pulled up again he could feel her grip slipping, her finger's purchase stolen by the juices that even now seeped out from around their juncture. Walls clamped down hard, tugging on him as he lifted. Warm, moist and pulling she fought his lift until only a few scant breadths of flesh remained in contact. Harshly he pulled down, his breath failing at the electric contact that brought them together. She gasped out as he grew still more. Surely he must have redoubled twice by now, but still her stretched flesh cried for more. He swelled in her grasp, a pressure building that her firmly clasped hands fought to contain even as her own mind was shot blank by the force invading the young shamaness. Breath failed her as the large creature that held her gripped her tightly and forced her down around him. The pressure burst forth from past her fingers, shooting up into her with all the strength the Tauren could muster as he spilled himself out into her velvet depths. Clumps of the fluid dripped out from between the two of them to patter softly onto her hands as they both Tauren and Troll locked into a montage of fulfillment. The dawn broke outside, and Gorhasht began to stir. He was stopped by a pressure around his arm and a familiar tension in the air that sounded of habitual wrath. "I need to get up." "You're staying." "The day has begun already." "Let it." "It's my arm." "I have a knife. That can change." He chuckled softly to himself and lay back down in his still sweat dampened bed. The pressure around his arm relaxed, and the warm curve of her spine pressed back into his side. Soft hair fell, and the gentle weight of a head met his shoulder. She was so seldom at peace, he could spare another hour or two for her to snuggle with his arm. Sweltering It's sweltering. 4 p.m. in the middle of summer. A one bedroom apartment and a broken fan. My clothes stick to my body. And I crave cock. I know who to call. I send the quick message. And pray with the dazed fervour only this heat can inspire that he is free. A reply five agonising minutes later: get ready. I am already getting hard as I grind into the bed. Salivating. Wanting. The next twenty minutes are agony in confirmed anticipation. When he finally knocks, I feel the first moisture escape me. He enters (it's always unlocked for him). A hot draft wafts through the room. It's not just the outside. All his bulk comes to a stand in front of my bed. I look up at him. The tight navy-coloured uniform. The thick arms protruding. The heavy chest. That square, scruffy face, still with sunglasses on. Hungry today, he says. I nod. He walks to the windows to close the shutters. I admire that round, tight arse. Want it naked. He's back, right in front of my face. Beg, he says. Please, I say, looking up into his impassive face. The thick lips curve into a smile. Please, I don't want to beg today, I just need it, I'm upfront. He nods, almost imperceptibly. He loosens his belt, undoes his shirt buttons, moves forward. I feel the heat from him in my face, am drawn forward. He unzips and lets his pants drop. I gasp at his heavy bulge in tight briefs. His thick shaft extends across to his hips. I reach out but he knocks my hands off. He grabs my head instead, burying it in his crotch. I sniff, feel myself drooling, feel the moisture of the fabric, see it darkened, from sweat and - I hope - his precum. Finally he loosens his grip on my head and lowers the waistband. His cock pops out, and I feel myself leaking a second time. His perfect tool, long, curved and made for my mouth. Honey brown on its veiny shaft, shiny pink on its fat cockhead. I greedily stuff it in my mouth. Make it wet. Begin sucking. He groans, it's all the approval I needed. I suck deeper, feel it going down my throat. Feel myself impossibly hard, my cock crushed underneath as I suck him and grind myself. It's uncomfortable, agonising, but I continue. His cock in my mouth is the real reward. And he wants it there. That's a good boy, he says, taking off his sunglasses and looking at me intently. Suck it deep. He groans louder. I look into his eyes in between sucks. Run my tongue around the thick cockhead. Tease the underside of its ridge. Silently plead with him for more. And he does. Those thick palms are on my head. They start pushing down. The hips move slowly, fucking my face. I beat back the urge to choke. Expand my throat, let it all in. Soon my lips brush his pubic hair. I feel his balls on my lower lips. I reach out for them. Grab at them. His groans enter a deeper register, and he pushes my hands away. I latch on instead to his arse. Knead his tight butt cheeks through his damp briefs. He lets them rest. He moves faster. Slurping sounds fill the air as his cock slides in and out of my wet mouth. Every so often he pushes in deep and holds my head down. He only lets go when my fingers dig in too painfully into his arse. When he releases, I gasp for breath, and take him in again. Gonna fill you up real soon, he says. I assent; it comes out muffled. When he releases for a little bit I beg, give it to me, please. You ready then, slut? Muffled groans again. Open wide then. He fucks faster now. His hold on my hair is almost painful. I match my grinding, wanting to cum at the same time. He notices and slaps my arse, just once. It feels heavenly. But I concentrate. Suck deeper. Feel the engorging of his cockhead. Relish that almost high pitched moan. The first taste of his seed. And then the explosion. Wave after wave of hot cream. I struggle to swallow it all. Some escapes the sides of my mouth. And he keeps spurting. And groaning like a mad bull. I am on the edge. And when he pushes my mouth in one final time to suck down every last drop, I succumb. Feel the sudden wetness as I cream myself. Waves of pleasure along with the heavy force still on my head. I spasm uncontrollably, writhe on the bed. Only my head is still, and it's attached to his cock. He pushes me off and I fall back on my bed, still in a daze. I watch as he slides his briefs over the still hard cock. The pants are done up, and the shirt. He picks up his sunglasses and smiles. You done good, he says. I tremble. He shows himself out. I watch that perfect arse move away. Try to fall into sleep in my filthy, hot mess. The door slams. It's sweltering again.