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Drow in the City Ch. 01

By: srhammer8888



Note: The Forgotten Realms setting is not my creation, but the characters herein are my creation. This continues from Sune's Chosen: Commencement. Enjoy :)

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Shadowsight gave Iliara a distinct advantage over her prey. He dashed from alley to alley, and Iliara, the golden-haired elf, was always above him, shadow-stepping from roof to roof. A wicked, playful grin was wide across her face as she balanced perfectly over the loose shingles of a building. Her prey, a lanky human thief, stopped, panting and doubled over, at the end of an alley. He put a hand against the stone wall that halted his progress and Iliara fell silently from the rooftop. She landed so perfectly balanced that, when the balls of her feet hit the ground, they made not a sound.

But her presence, cold and dark, alerted the thief. The alley seemed to darken a measure as she stood, breathing calmly, behind him, and he perked up, ears straining to hear noise that never came. Before he was able to turn to witness his stalker, the otherworldly chill of a dark blade bit into the back of his neck, severing his brain stem, killing him instantly. The dagger slid out as quickly and cleanly as it entered, devoid of any evidence of blood. The wound froze, locking rapidly coagulated blood in place and preventing the man from bleeding out in the alley.

With ruthless proficiency, she frisked him, checking for pockets and pouches that could hold what her employer had lost. Finally, she found it. A laugh almost escaped her throat when she realized how the thief had secured the stolen item. Iliara grabbed the man by his shoulder and hip and rolled him to his back, then pulled down his pants. To her amusement, a small coin purse was tied securely to his scrotum, which seemed a bit swollen from the constant tugging. 

She untied the purse and pulled his pants back up, gently patting the man's groin as she stood and walked out of the alley, slowly loosening the pouch. The sparkle of dream powder greeted her and she grinned. Her head lightened a bit as she examined the fine powder, then, after looking around for witnesses, inhaled a small pinch. It was not enough to produce the full effect, but a heady sensation, followed by a slightly elevated pulse and energy surge gave her what she wanted. She tied the pouch tight and stuffed it into a pocket before trotting down the street, back to her employer. 

As she expected, he was waiting for her behind his small home in a poorer section of Everlund. He was rocking back and forth, muttering to himself, and idly touching his crotch through his loose pants. She scowled inwardly, but on the outside she affected a friendly countenance. This part of the city always perturbed her; it was filled with weak, pitiful beings without the motivation to better themselves in any way, and were always rewarded by the Everlund ruling council with gifts of welfare and free food to help them "get on their feet." Their welfare only served to enable their self-destructive and meaningless existence.

But they were also her most frequent employers. Most of her business came from the Slums of Everlund, so she put on her pretty face, affected a subtly seductive sway of her hips, and brushed her hair from her pale face. When she was close enough, he perked up at her, then stood quickly when he recognized her. He blathered about in rapid, incoherent speech, that she presumed was in reference to her job. She pulled the pouch from her pocket and handed it to him.

Without hesitation, the jittery man opened the bag and thrust it to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. Briefly, his eyes rolled back into his head, then they returned to normal, and he fixed Iliara with a warm smile. "And the thief?" he asked.

"He will steal from you no more," she said in a soft voice. "My payment?"

"Oh, yes, yes," he said, patting his pockets anxiously until he found the pouch of coins. He handed it to her.

Iliara opened it, inspecting its contents. It was filled with a miscellany of coppers and silvers, some small gems, and a single gold coin. She looked at him over the pouch, her lips drawing tight into a frown. "Feels light," she said evenly.

"Oh...ah...it's all I have at the moment," he said, his voice taking a quiver of fear. She tied the pouch tight and pocketed it.

"Maybe I'll come in and have a look around," she said in a voice too sweet to be sincere. He started to protest, but she fixed a deadly glare on him and he almost bit his tongue in his rush to shut his mouth. She pushed open the back door of his small, ramshackle house and was assaulted by the scent of old, unwashed clothing and stale food. Mastering her revulsion, she stepped through his dining area, ignoring the clay dishes and burning candles. In his living room was a small, weak couch whereupon sat a waifish girl. Her eyes belied her girl-like physique with the experiences of at least two decades, judging by the glaze of apathy that drowned out the anger she probably held in her youth. This one, too, was likely on her path to becoming much like the man living with her.

Iliara moved on, into the sleeping quarters that the impoverished couple shared. The bed was no more than a pile of padding on the floor, and their clothing was hung on a pole that jutted out from the wall. The only thing of interest was the dresser that stood on the wall next to the door. She began pilfering through the drawers, but found nothing of interest. 

"I...I'm sorry, Lady Shadowwhisper," the man said. "I swear I'll have more for you next time!"

"You assume there will be a next time," Iliara growled, drawing her cold dagger. She pressed the blade against the man's throat, letting him feel the unearthly cold burn his skin. The threat lingered, but in the end she withdrew her blade and sheathed it. "Let this be a lesson," she said. "Never short me again, or it will be your end."

With that, she summoned the shadows of the decrepit house and walked through the Fringe, the outer layer of the Plane of Shadow, back to the Dreaming Dragon. A smile creased her face again as she heard the lighthearted music of the tavern. Iliara had shadow-walked to the alley behind the tavern, where the innkeeper was wont to toss his refuse and garbage for the city sanitation workers to collect. Some of her more fond memories had been forged in that dark area in the dark of night.

She recalled her first mate had been in that very area. Iliara remembered the scant details of the night and the events leading up to their copulation. It was her first jaunt into thievery, led along by a roguish human named Tobin. He was well into his third decade, and she was almost at the end of her first century. By human standards, she would have been nearing the end of her second decade, while he was in his middle-aged years. They had spent the night, from sunset to the small hours of the night, breaking into stores and stealing whatever they wished. He had draped pearls and diamonds over her neck and even gave her a piercing in her ear, upon which even now hung the silver crescent moon he had given her. 

The Dreaming Dragon was their refuge. He had already booked a room for the night, having planned the escapade out all day long before coming to steal her away from her overprotective mother. They returned when the moon was on the descent, and were laughing away in the back alley behind the Dreaming Dragon. It was also their that she had her first taste of pipeweed and dream smoke. Then he had put his hand on her thigh as they leaned against the tavern's back wall. With the din of sound coming from the tavern, they were neither heard nor seen the entire night. The touch had been her catalyst.

As an elf, she was very in touch with her emotions, and her heart was hers to give to whomever she wished. At that point, she felt this man would be with her forever, thieving and stealing until they were too old to pick a lock. Such are the dreams of young elven maidens. Iliara turned and pressed into him, her mouth hungrily attacking his. Her hands swept through his loose black hair and his hands, still clad in leather, fingerless gloves, rushed up and down her slim back. They kissed hungrily, tongues forcefully lashing each other. 

The memories came back to her in a rush, every sensation, every sound permeating her consciousness. She pressed her back against the wall in the same place it had been decades ago, and thrust her nimble fingers into her tight leather breeches.

His hand grasped her buttocks, hard and rough. She grabbed at the waist of his pants, untying them and thrusting her hand down to grasp his member. Up until that point, she had only theorized with several of her maiden-friends about what a real cock would feel like, how to manipulate it, and other things. Now, her inexperienced hands simple grasped the shaft and began jerking it spasmodically back and forth. He grinned against her kisses and pushed her away, then pulled himself off the wall.

"You want dick, do you?" he had asked her. Even now she could remember his voice, thick with lust. She had only nodded quickly, and he grasped her by her tunic and pushed her face first into the wall. "Let me, then." 

Iliara surrendered, planting her hands firmly against the wall and biting her lip as he jerked her pants down. She heard him rubbing himself vigorously as he started probing her damp folds with his free hand. His fingers were electric to her, exciting her every nerve ending. For a moment, she thought it wouldn't get better than that. Then she felt the broad head of his shaft press against her, and she gasped. He paused for only a moment before he thrust his member, slowly but surely, into her pussy.

She cried out in pain as her maidenhead broke, but that sensation was quickly replaced by pleasure as she felt his shaft sliding around inside her tight canal. Iliara gasped and cried out with every thrust as he impaled her from behind, pressing her firm breasts, still relatively small compared to the handfuls they were now, into the wall.

Her fingers worked tight circles around her clit as she leaned against the wall of the Dreaming Dragon in the present. Climax took her quickly, before she finished the memory. She panted, then sighed contentedly and tasted herself on her fingers. The rest of the memory involved his climax, a promise to retrieve her again at the same time the next night, and the following failure to follow through with said promise. She had never seen Tobin again since that day, and the bitter taste of her dreams being crushed by that pig of a man still brought bile to her throat. She would kill him if she saw him again, and he were still living after all this time. 

Iliara composed herself and walked out of the alley, going toward the front entrance of the Dreaming Dragon, her erstwhile home since her mother's death two decades past. A tiefling crossed her path, which she thought strange, but not enough to give her pause. A human was next to her as the breached the entrance to the tavern, and she turned to follow. A white-haired maiden led the two with what appeared to be earnest need. The white hair flipped to the side, and Iliara saw a red streak down one side. What's more, the face beneath the luxuriant white hair was finely chiseled, with beautiful pristine onyx skin.

Drow.

The word stuck in her throat as the image of the Chosen of Sune flitted through her thoughts. By Shar! Chosen of Sune, here! Her orders took precedence over all other contracts she had taken since Abondel's visit a few days past. She rushed to her room, shut the door, stripped nude, and smashed a vial of black liquid against the wall.

"Yes?" a voice said as a face appeared in the viscous fluid.

"She's here," Iliara said breathlessly.

*****

"Don't see yer kind here often," the barkeep said as Lura approached the bar, Mikhail and Cyra in tow. "Name's Bernon, what's yer fancy?"

"Sune bless you, sir," Lura said. "I am Lura, bard and servant of the Lady Firehair. My companions and I seek lodging for an undetermined amount of time."

"Sune, eh?" Bernon replied, idly wiping down the pristine bar top. "I know of her ilk. Ye come here to set up shop?"

"Shop?" Lura asked, her fine ivory eyebrow arching.

"Ye know...to ply yer wares. Yer horned friend looks eager to get to work," Bernon said. A lascivious grin started to spread across his face.

"I believe you are mistaken, sir," Lura said, a knowing smile on her face. "Prostitution is forbidden by Sune. We do not copulate for profit, we do it for love and passion. She merely has an eager look because of the promises I gave her during our walk here."

His eyes widened at the sly smirk she gave Cyra, then wider as the tiefling stepped up to wrap her arm around the drow's waist. "Ahem...well, then...ye got yer pick of rooms. Biggest one'll cost ye a few gold a night, and ought to keep all three of ye comfy. Otherwise, I'll charge ye a few silver for a normal room."

Lura produced a sack of gold from an extra dimensional pocket hidden inside her robe and dropped it on the table. "We'll take the big one," she said, "and a fair amount of your finest wine in a few hours, if you're able."

He gawked at the bag, opened it enough to see the sparkle of gold, and felt its heft as he lifted it from the bar top. "Right away, of course, Miss Lura," he said. She reached out and grabbed his collar and pulled him over the bar to kiss him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Master Barkeep," she said with a purr. He looked stunned for a moment, then went back to furiously rubbing at the bar top. Lura cleared her throat, and he looked at her immediately, ready to aid in whatever she asked. "Our key?" He blushed a deep red and the tall man opened a cabinet by the door leading to the kitchen and pulled out a key with a large tag on it. 

"Sorry, Miss Lura. Last room, end of the hall," he said quickly, his gaze catching on her generous cleavage. Lura smirked a little, flattered at the attention, and reached out, lifting his chin so that he looked in her face. "Er, eh...sorry again?"

"Relax," she said softly, her eyes smoldering. "You're cute, Bernon. Keep up the good work." She winked at him and turned to leave, her comrades in tow. He couldn't remove his gaze from the sway of her distinctly feminine hips.

*****

Knock knock. The boy the barkeep had sent up to the large room at the end of the second floor hallway waited again for any response from the barely-used room for perhaps the tenth time. Behind him was a two-wheeled cart with a small wooden crate bearing six dusty bottles of elven wine. All he had been told was to deliver the potent alcohol and treat whoever answered the door with the utmost respect and courtesy. 

He raised his hand to knock again, but the sound of a shattering vase halted him. "Everything...everything ok in there?"

No response. He thought to knock again, but instead reached for the door knob. With shaking hands, he grasped the metal knob and slowly twisted. Locked. He fished in his pocket for the small ring of keys that unlocked each room and found the right key. He unlocked the door slowly, quietly, and pushed it open. 

As soon as the portal opened, heat and potent incense assaulted him, followed with the pungent, sweet scent of sex. His heart pounded in his chest and he poked his head in. There, at the far end of the room, on the massive bed that was usually only reserved for wealthy merchants, a wiry muscled man was on his knees, thrusting madly into the raised bottom of a drow elf. Her face was buried in the crotch of a tiefling, who's legs were spread wide, wide enough to send the vase next to the bed crashing to the floor. He could see the drow elf thrusting her arm powerfully back and forth, and could tell by the way the tiefling was shaking that her hand was buried in the exotic half-breed's sex. 

His breath caught in his throat, and he quickly shut the door. He listened intently, ear pressed against the door. Then, without warning, it was pulled away, and Lura was standing there, naked and doused with sweat. Her lips and chin glistened with what could only be the tiefling's juice. "Yes?" she prompted when he did not speak. It snapped him from his mesmerized state and he turned quickly to grab the case of wine.

"Bernon said to bring this up," he said quickly, holding it out to her. She smiled and turned to walk back toward the bed, and he followed quickly. "Where would you like it, Miss Lura?" He realized that the tiefling had mounted the human, and both were watching him as she slowly ground on his member. Both were smiling at him. Lura sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted slightly as her fingers danced on her glistening folds. 

"Ahhh...Next to the...mmm...bed," she said, indicating a spot next to her with her free hand. He moved quickly and placed the case next to her feet. "Open a bottle for me," she breathed, watching him move. He had been living in Everlund for sixteen of his eighteen years and never had he received this much attention from any of the women in the city. His only liaisons were with farmer's daughters, and those were comely at best! None of them reached the magnitude of this drow and her tiefling companion. He dutifully popped the cork on one of the bottles and handed it to her.

"Let me smell it," she said. He moved the opening to her nose, and she inhaled deeply the tangy scent of the liquid. She indicated a set of glasses on a table across the room, and he went to fill them. Her obsidian finger slipped into her canal and she gasped, then let out a soft moan and laid back on the bed. Cyra, deep into her gyrations, bent toward the drow, her tongue diving eagerly into the more submissive drow's mouth. The two tongues danced around each other as their lips locked, and Cyra grabbed for Lura's breasts, squeezing the perfect orbs and tweaking her nipples. Lura rubbed at her clit furiously and she felt her legs clench. The kiss broke and she cried out as a small orgasm shook her body. The boy was simply looking at her with wide eyes and wider mouth, glasses barely held in hand.

Lura chuckled at the absurdity, and he smiled too, though his was one of bewilderment. She stood from the bed and took the glasses, then kissed him deeply, letting him taste her tongue and Cyra's juice that lingered in her mouth. He looked like a slight breeze would send him to the floor, and she set the glasses down on a bed table. Her robe was draped over a chair, and from it she fished out a small pouch of coins, the robe responding to her wishes and producing a pouch with the desired coinage already inside. She tossed the pouch to the bewildered youth and he slowly turned and left. When the door closed, he heard giggling and then his name was called. He opened the door and Cyra was there, her breasts nearly as large as his head.

"What's your name, lad?" she asked, grazing her fine, black nails across his cheek. Pale blonde hair framed her face, and accentuated the golden glow in her pupils. 

"Samon," he replied shakily.

"Well, Samon," Cyra said, pulling him against her by his hips, "my name is Cyra. Maybe I'll come find you later. Maybe you'll find me." She kissed him, and he could taste the wine on her tongue, as well as a burning sensation, like cinnamon on his tongue. She turned and left, and he watched her tail sweep from one side to the other as her taut butt bounced with each step. He looked up in time to see her wink at him as the door closed.

*****

Lura was exhausted. Her legs were sore from being spread for so long, her buttocks ached from grinding viciously on both Mikhail and Cyra. Her jaw was tight from devouring Mikhail's cock and Cyra's burning loins, and both her pussy and anus were still recovering from being pounded by her human lover. She smiled, contented, and pleased, with a steaming bowl of stew with a frigid glass of water in front of her.


Drow in the City Ch. 01



Her exertions had left her starved and thirsty, and a little tipsy after all the wine she and her lovers had consumed, and she needed food and hydration badly. The music was lighthearted, a halfling with a flute playing a whimsical tune next to a burning hearth several tables away from her. She idly stirred her stew as she examined her surroundings. Halflings, half-elves, and elves were all in attendance, with several other common races interspersed throughout. She was not unaware of several accusatory and unsavory glares that were aimed her way from time to time, but that fact did not dampen the post-multi-orgasmic glow that radiated from her. 

Lura was content, for the moment, to ignore her surroundings and enjoy her food and music while Cyra and Mikhail napped soundly on the second floor. A spoonful of the steaming soup rose to her mouth and she was halfway through her bite when a leather-clad elf sat across from her, staring at her but saying nothing. As she savored the delightfully seasoned stew, she examined the elf's features. 

Her jaw and chin were delicate, yet strong in a feminine sense. Her eyes were cunning, and glinted in the dim light with strength and power. Lura found the elf intriguing, at least in a physical sense. Her leathers fitted to her frame like a glove, accentuating strong curves and taut limbs, formed from decades of physical work.

"Don't see many of your kind here," she finally said when Lura swallowed her stew. "A decade ago, you might have been attacked on sight."

"Times change," Lura said sweetly. Her harsh, drow accent contrasted starkly with the musical timbre of her visitor.

"That they do," her counterpart said. She leaned forward, planting her forearms and elbows on the table while interlocking her thin fingers. Lura couldn't resist a glance at her bosom as her arms pressed the compact orbs together. "My name is Iliara," she purred, sweeping her tongue over her lips. She held out a hand, palm down and fingers extended.

Lura looked from the gold elf's lips to her fingers, and then to her eyes. She took the fingers into her hand and brought the digits to her lips, then kissed them with a lingering kiss with her full, soft lips. "I am Lura Darklust," she replied in a husky voice.

"Darklust?" Iliara queried, retracting her hand to smell the dark elf's scent. Her eyebrows perked when she smelled the distinct scent of female arousal and masculine discharge. A smirk quickly swept across her face. "That does not sound like a traditional drow House surname." 

"It is of my own choosing," Lura replied, her pouty lips turning up into a small smile. "I am a bard, and a servant of Sune, Goddess of Love and Passion. Darklust is a representation of the life I have chosen: singing, loving, lusting, and serving Lady Firehair."

"And this Lady Firehair," Iliara started, a sarcastic smirk on her face as she turned sidelong to the drow. "Do you serve her in bed as well? Is it her musk that your fingers and lips left on my hand?"

"Would that it were," Lura grinned. "No, lovely Iliara, the scent I left on your hand is from my lovers upstairs, whom I left contented and exhausted on the bed."

"Lucky them," Iliara said quietly, biting her lip. "Well then, perhaps I can buy the lovely Lura Darklust a drink? Some wine, perhaps, or a honey mead?"

"I must decline," Lura said, rising slowly. Her robe barely clung to her black-skinned frame, baring most of her thighs and cleavage as she leaned over the table. "I have consumed enough elven wine to last me at least a tenday," she explained. "But perhaps, another time, we can get to know each other a bit better. I fear I have business in the Temple District much to early for my liking."

A knowing grin spread across Iliara's face, and she stood slowly. "I tend not to leave my room during the daylight hours," she said. "After sunset, you will find me down here for at least a couple hours before my own business takes me out and about." She winked, licking her lips again.

"A vampire!" Lura said in mock alarm. "I should have known, with such enchanting eyes. Night time it is, Lady Vampire."

Grinning all the wider, Iliara nodded. "Ware your neck, lovely, for my bite is sharp."

"Good," Lura said, and departed quickly, before the gold elf could form a response.

*****

Iliara swallowed her revulsion. The drow, beautiful though she certainly was, disgusted her. Her mere mention of Sune and her edicts of love and passion grated against the cruel life she had known from lovers. Her thoughts crept back to the disappointment and heartbreak Tobin had caused her, but she crushed that weakness with a force of will. Shar would not have it, and Iliara would not abide it.

She hurried to her room. The sky was lightening to a pale, pre-dawn blue, and the light of day would weaken the effects of her blackstalk mushrooms. In her dresser, in its case, the blackstalk awaited her. She thought of inhaling the blackstalk vapor, or letting a fiber dissolve on her tongue, but she needed something more direct, more potent. A vial of black liquid, blackstalk extract, sat wrapped in black silk next to the mushroom itself. Such a thing was very costy, and she would not be able to replace the vial any time soon, but her meeting with the drow bitch demanded no less. 

Iliara unwrapped the vial and removed the stopper. The odor was so powerful in its assault of her senses, that she doubled over, vomiting on the wooden floor. She steeled herself, wiping the bile from her lips and lifting her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She poured a half the vial on the soft tissue beneath the dexterous muscle and dropped the rest of the vial as her throat immediately clenched. Burning pain filled her mouth and spread down her neck, deep into her bosom. She clutched her chest tightly, in futility, but the pain passed and she lay, catatonic, on the wooden floor.

Body paralyzed, her mind went into overdrive. Lucid, surreal images flitted through her consciousness. Then there was only silky blackness. And Shar. Always Shar. The woman looked at her through eyes like black pits. Her black hair floated as if gravity had left the area, and the naked, ivory-skinned woman emerged from a curtain of black. Shar's breasts heaved as her legs carried her toward Iliara, who even in this shadow-land lay prone on the floor. The goddess reached down with hands that ended on long, black nails, sharp as razors, and scratched fine lines across the soft flesh of Iliara's compact breasts. Shar continued downward, over her stomach, to her thighs, then began back up.

Suddenly, Shar was standing imperiously over her, pristine ivory skin shining in the inky blackness as a riding crop cracked hard on her loins. Somehow, though she could not comprehend it, Iliara had come to lay on her back, legs spread wide, and Shar was dominating her as only the cruel goddess could.

"This is how you turn her!" the goddess screamed inside Iliara's head. "As I showed Sharess the beauty and pleasure of pain incarnate, you will show Sune's Chosen and turn her from Sune! Lura Darklust will be mine, and such is my revenge upon Sune!"

*****

Lura's red robe conformed to her needs, wrapping itself around her in a form-fitting, elegant red dress suspended by one thin strap that wrapped around the back of her neck, leaving her upper back exposed to the crisp air. Her hair, by virtue of a pleasantly surprising enchantment in her robe, wove itself into intricate braids, forming a delicate makeshift crown of her fine hair around her skull. Her red lock of hair hung down the side of her face, caressing her soft, black cheek. One side of her violet-hued lips was curled up into a smirk as she sprinkled some rose dust on her eyelids, which was brought out by her red lock of hair. Thus was her appearance for her mission now: to find a suitable location for a second Dancing Rose in Everlund.

There were no true temples in Everlund, merely shrines to various deities, such as Mielikki, Malar, Shiallia and others. There was, however, All Faith's Hall, which served as a gathering place for people of different faiths. She took her time appreciating the Lady's Tree, which served as Mielikki's shrine, though. The leaves were beginning to golden, but none fell despite the coming cold. A half-elven woman was tending the shrine, singing softly to herself. Lura was entranced by the faint melody that even her keen elven ears barely heard over the rustling of leaves. 

The half-elf saw her then, suddenly stopping her chores and staring at the drow as Lura stared back. A shadow fell over the half-elf's face, her lips tightening and her brow furrowing. Lura smiled, almost expecting the reaction, and strode toward the gated shrine. She placed her delicate-looking black hands on the wood, smiling merrily at the half-elf.

"Who are you?" the half-elf asked curtly. "What do you want?"

"My name is Lura," the drow said disarmingly. A bit of her bard habits crept into her demeanor as she smiled, her eyes glinting, and her natural charisma shone forth. "I am a visitor to this city, and a servant of Sune." She held her hand out, clean now of the scent of her lovers. The half-elf arched a delicate brow at her and brushed some impudent chestnut strands from her face. Lura retracted, taking no offense and retaining her amiable smile.

"I am Athytia Starbreeze. I am Mielikki's servant and the keeper of the Lady's Tree, Her shrine. I ask you again, Lura of Sune, what do you want?"

"Not much," the drow said. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Athytia Starbreeze. Perhaps our next meeting will be more...productive." Lura punctuated her statement with a wink, a slow turn, and began to stride away, leaving the keeper of the Lady's Tree with a bewildered, but curious, expression on her face. 

The encounter left a lingering smile on Lura's face as she fancied the various scenarios that she could seduce the half-elf. The most intriguing of which was high up in the strong limbs of the Lady's Tree. She could already imagine the feeling of the rough bark on her back while Athytia thrust her tongue in and out...

The drow shook her head clear of such thoughts. Or rather, she tucked them away for further review in a more private setting. She could feel the fires already building between her legs, but forced herself to focus on her current task with typical drow control. 

She had roamed most of the day, and her stomach began to grumble in hunger around mid-afternoon, when she returned to the Dreaming Dragon. She had taken note of several potential locations, most of them in the richer sections of the city, and felt that she'd accomplished much. Work was over with, now she could eat, play, rest, whatever her lustful drow heart desired. As she walked through the portal into the Dreaming Dragon, her Red Robe changed to suit her whim into a loose, soft gown with a daring neckline, low back, and a short skirt that danced just above her knees. Her black legs shone in the light of magical orbs that lit the walls. She looked down to her feet, smiling at the high-heeled affairs donning them, and the glittering gemstones, matching the crimson paint on her toenails, that rested atop her foot.

Her hair fell in loose, wavy lengths about her shoulders, back and breasts, with the crimson lock of hair weaving in and out of the shiny strands. She took a seat and a round table near the entrance, alone, and crossed her legs under the table as a handsome halfling made his way to the table. He was dressed in a waiter's garb, and held a circular tray in one hand. "What can I get for you, beautiful?" he asked with a charming smile.

"I need something light to eat," she said, gracing him with a broad smile. "What do you suggest, master halfling?"

He sidled up next to her, placing the tray on the table and leaning toward her. "You'd be amazed at what halflings like myself can accomplish," he said suggestively, placing a hand over his crotch. Lura was more amused than intrigued, but she licked her lips for effect, even as he pulled himself away and stood up straight. "A fresh delivery of field greens and vegetables has just arrived, my lady drow. Perhaps a salad, with some fresh mushrooms and a vinaigrette?"

"Sounds delicious," she purred.

"And might I suggest a glass of elverquisst," he said. "The Dreaming Dragon boasts the finest in Everlund."

"Certainly," she said, her mouth watering a bit at the potent elven wine. "Your service has been exemplary, master halfling."

"Please, call me Benefast," he said. "Benefast Smoothtongue."

"Master Smoothtongue, then," she said. "I am Lura Darklust, of Sune."

"A pleasure," the halfling said as he took Lura's hand, kissing it. "I'll return shortly with your order."

He turned to leave, but as he departed he was replaced just as quickly with a scowling halfling female. "You'll have to excuse my brother," she said. Her voice was high-pitched, almost like a young girl's, but rich with age and experience. "He's a bit of a womanizer. At least, that's what he tells his friends. I'm Donnara Smoothtongue, Benefast's sister and part-time proprietor of this establishment. I hope he didn't come on too strong for you, being drow and all."

Lura smiled sweetly at the halfling and replied, "Not at all, Madam Smoothtongue." She brushed a lock of silvery hair from her face. "He was quite charming, and amusing."

"Ah," Donnara said, lips pursed. "I had thought that the drow were less than welcoming of such frivolity and flirtation, especially from 'lesser races.'"

"It is true," Lura said, "but I am unlike my kin. I am a bard, and a follower of Sune. I enjoyed his attention, as I enjoy your attention, though it is not in the same light as his. I follow my passion, and love, wherever it takes me, Madam Smoothtongue."

"Please, Donnara is fine. Smoothtongue is such a mouthful," Donnara said, then blushed fiercely as Lura's grin turned into a smirk at her word choice. "Well, I can leave you on your own now, I suppose."

"Nonsense," Lura said. "I am alone for now, and would enjoy your company, Donnara." The halfling smiled brightly, then sat across the table. Lura found herself admiring the cherubic, feminine features of the halfling's face, and the curly brown hair that careened down to her shoulders. She was dressed modestly, but in fine materials that denoted her economic status. Her white blouse was ruffled at the neckline, with sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, and she wore a tan vest over it, which was tight to her form. Lura was pleased to note that Donnara was quite in shape, despite the predominant halfling disposition to enjoy food and luxury a bit too much. Her waist was slim, even while her breasts remained bountiful and firm. 

She could not see the lower half of the halfling for the table, but knew she was wearing a skirt of fine silk that was settled on wide (for a halfling) hips. Lura found herself imagining the halfling naked and sweating when Benefast returned, a scowl on his face.

"My lady Lura, your salad and elverquisst," he said, setting her lunch and wine on the table before her. The drow caught the halfling glance at the obsidian valley between her breasts, before he shot a glare at his sister. "I trust Donnara hasn't completely ruined my chances with you?"

"Not quite," Lura said before Donnara could speak, drawing a curious look from the female. Lura looked over Benefast and took note of his stature. He, too, had the firm, fit look that his sister carried so well, and even with such a small frame, he seemed to be gifted with compact, strong musculature. A quick, subtle glance and she noted a distinctive package tucked tightly into his light brown breeches. 

"You need to pay more attention to your job, Bene, and less to courting every set of breasts that walk through that door, even if they are as nice as Lady Lura's," Donnara said, irritation in her voice. Lura stared at her, though, and contemplated the compliment she had just been given. Was Donnara coming on to her too? Another, more interesting prospect occurred to her. Were they both coming on to her?

They read her expression, and her thoughts, as clearly as if she had spoken them, and she busied herself by taking the first bit of her salad. Several leaves of lettuce, a few slices of carrot, a chunk of mushroom, graced with the dark, vinaigrette dressing were impaled onto her fork, and she took her bite. Flavor exploded in her mouth, and she couldn't help but let out a small, satisfied moan as she slowly chewed. She swallowed, and took a sip of her elven wine. That, too, almost exploded onto her tongue. The aroma filled her nose as she felt all the distinctive layers of flavor weaving themselves over her tongue. She swallowed, and her eyes were alit with refreshed vigor from the experience.

"She likes it," Benefast said, smiling. "I knew she would!"

"I've never doubted your ability to read someone's palate so well," his sister said as Lura busied herself with her salad. "For all your faults, you're a damn good waiter." 

Lura would have agreed, but she was too immersed in her salad. After a few quick moments, the salad was gone, and Lura was smiling happily. "Best salad I've ever had," she said, putting a hand on her slim stomach. 

"Perhaps dessert, then," Benefast said, a sly grin on his face. Lura half-expected Donnara to protest, but he noticed that she, too, had a sly look on her face. 

"Brother and sister?" Lura asked, skeptically.

"We come from a free-loving clan of halflings," Donnara said, putting a hand on Benefast's forearm. "Our mother was the bedmate of many a lucky halfling, as were many women in our village. We are only half-siblings, not that our clan ever had such taboos. Every now and again, I'll let him bed me, because he is a very skilled lover. When we saw you, we decided that it would be best to share, rather than fight over you."

Lura's smile widened with every word. "I am honored, to be sure," she said, her voice husky, "but--"

"Lura," Mikhail said, coming up from behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them softly as his fingers tickled the fringes of her hair. Her head instinctively lolled to the side, and he bent down, kissing the delicate length of her neck.

"We know about your lovers," Donnara said. "We wouldn't dare infringe on such things."

"We understand the value many place on monogamous relationships, or bonds with their bedmates, so we took the initiative to speak to your lover, Mikhail, as well as the tiefling," Benefast said.

"My only stipulation was that I got to watch. Or join, whichever," Mikhail said, standing next to the drow. He cradled her head in his hand as she looked up at him lovingly. 

"What of Cyra?" Lura asked.

"She's...occupied," he said, a small grin on his face. "She'll be out and about for most of the day, said she'd return near dusk."

"Hm," Lura said. It was a curious thing, but she never questioned Cyra's judgment, and wouldn't begin to now. Instead, she leaned forward, hands under the table, and slid her palm up Benefast's leg. She felt him tense up, but he relaxed immediately, especially when her hand found the tightly-packed bundle at the crotch of his pants. "Now? In the middle of the day?"

"What better time?" Donnara asked, her voice husky.

The process of standing from the table and walking upstairs was a blur to Lura. She had led Mikhail, Donnara, and Benefast through the doors, and was surprised when Mikhail seized her by the shoulders and pushed her, hard, onto the bed. She fell face first, and rolled over instantly to her back as Benefast scrambled nimbly onto the high bed, crawling quickly to lock his lips with the voluptuous drow.

Mikhail stood at the foot of the bed and removed his shirt, revealing his finely chiseled torso, looking much more toned and hard since their trip from Silverymoon and the vigorous sexual exploits he had enjoyed with his female companions. Donnara veritably purred like a contented tigress as her hands latched onto his rippling stomach. The human, standing chest, shoulders and head over the halfling, casually hooked his thumb on the breach of his pants, undoing it, and leaving a perfectly shaved glimpse into what his pants held for her. Licking her lips and looking up at the grinning human, Donnara's strong, agile fingers reached into the smooth pants, across his smooth pubic region, and grasped her fingers around his slowly thickening member. She gasped when she pulled the cock out of his pants, her eyes widening. It was a good deal larger than she had anticipated, and the thick, veiny cock already had a droplet of clear precum resting on the head.




Drow in the City Ch. 01



Lura watched with appreciation as Donnara began to slowly stroke her lover's cock, eyes wide in wonderment. Likely wondering how she would manage to fit his cock, though not huge by Lura's standards, into her much smaller holes. Meanwhile, Benefast was working his tongue magically around her mouth while his hands deftly massaged her double-halfling-handful breasts while simultaneously pinching and rolling her erect nipples. His teeth playfully nipped at her lower lip, and the surprising sensation sent her back into an arch, thrusting her breasts up into the halfling. She heard his chuckle, and the amusement therein, and glowered at the side of his face. The drow decided that, when he stopped being so deliciously pleasing, she would show him how drow women mated with impertinent males.

Mikhail put his hand on one of Lura's feet, unfastening and removing the high-heeled she wore, and began to run the tips of his fingers up the arch of her foot, attention that would tickle a normal individual but only sent electric bolts of pleasure up her calves, the back of her thigh, straight to the nexus of her loins. Then he held on for dear life as, without warning, Donnara swallowed the entire length of his cock. His knees wobbled, but he mastered himself and managed to look down, gazing in appreciation at the bulge sticking out of her throat. She withdrew her face from his shaft as one might remove their torso from an impaling spear, and Mikhail couldn't help but gasp in pleasure as her tongue rubbed the underside of his cock, leaving long, thick ropes of saliva and precum bridging her tongue and lips to his now thoroughly moistened cock.

Donnara gasped. The cock had been much larger than she imagined, but her throat was almost elastic when she wanted it to be, and even his size, compared to the size of her mouth and throat, was not enough to deter her passion for cock sucking. The halfling loved sex, loved cocks, and enjoyed them in her pussy and ass alike, but nothing brought the wanton halfling more pleasure than a man losing himself in the ministrations of her tongue and mouth. The ultimate satisfaction, of course, came from the flood of hot, steamy cum filling her mouth, washing her throat, filling her belly, and even dripping out and down onto her breasts. She beat Mikhail's pulsing member furiously, the wet smacking sounds filling the room with the gasps and soft moans coming from the exceptionally steamy Lura.

Benefast, though he was shorter than Lura, felt completely in control of her prone form. She was responding instantly to everything he did to her, starting with the playful nibble on her lower lip. He moved away from her face, now, lashing her neck with his tongue, going down each side to the hollow of her throat where he paused to taste the sheen of sweat condensing there. His hand left her breast, reaching down and pulling up the hem of her skirt, and as the thin garment rose above her hips, the room was treated to an intoxicating odor. It was heady and rich, slightly pungent, but altogether sweet. His fingers traced up the insides of her thighs and found the honey pot of her pussy, already glistening with a thin layer of her arousal. Her cry was quiet, but firm when his forefinger and ring finger parted her lower lips, and his middle finger made one long, broad stroke from bottom to top, resting on the hardened bud of her clit. He began small, firm circles on that little pearl while his free hand pulled the top of her dress down, revealing her magnificent, perfectly sculpted black breasts, each capped with a violet nipple, hard as a pebble.

All thoughts that Lura had of turning the tables on this halfling were crushed away when his fingers found her sensitive pussy, and all she could do was throw her arms out to the side, grasp the fabric of the bed and cry out in lust. As if the agile ministrations of his fingers were not enough, he latched his lips onto one of her nipples, sucking hard and lashing the hard nipple with his wet tongue. She grasped him by his head, her fingernails digging in slightly to his skin beneath the curly brown hair. On sudden inspiration, she reached down, undid his pants with one hand, and thrust her hand down his pants, finding a cock so large on a halfling that it surprised her. She reckoned the cock to be at least as long as her hand, almost as long as Mikhail's, and on a body a little more than half the size. With strength that was masked by her womanly frame, she lifted the halfling's lower half and placed it over her face, jerking his pants down so that the engorged member hovered over her face.

"You could've asked," Benefast said, a smile over on his face as he looked back at her from underneath his body. Her eyes hardened and her lips went thin as she scowled at him. Lura grabbed his cock and squeezed hard enough for him to yelp.

In a very drow, very frightening voice, she said, "Cal uns'aa xor Usstan orn vaq'dos!"

The halfling, perplexed and a little afraid, looked to Mikhail.

"From what I've learned...ahh, yeah...she said...mmm, yeah...well, you'd better eat her pussy, before something bad happens to your cock," he said, then grimaced as Donnara swallowed his prick yet again. 

"Yes, mistress," Benefast muttered, and felt the delightful sensation of the drow's tongue caressing his heavy ball sack as his tongue slid once, twice, thrice, and more over her glistening slit. She moaned against his balls, and the sensation sent thrills down his shaft. Lura, for her part, relished in the feeling of droplets of precum dropping and splattering on her neck. A free hand rubbed the warm, syrupy liquid into her skin.

Taking his cue from Lura, Mikhail stood Donnara up and jerked her serving skirt down to her ankles. She wiped excess saliva from her mouth and began kissing his stomach as he pulled her vest and blouse off. Her breasts were large for a halfling, and he couldn't help but molest them, rubbing her nipples against his palms as he squeezed and kneaded her orbs. An idea hit him, pushing the former idea out as he nestled his prick between her breasts. Grinning, she grabbed her own breasts and pressed them together, forming a tight canal for his cock. He drove back and forth between her breasts as she opened her mouth, sucking the head of his cock into her mouth and releasing. 

But Lura and Donnara kept looking at each other, eyeing each other as the men continued to service them remarkably. Lura took the initiative, pulling Benefast's cock from her throat and pushing him off. He started to protest, but she leveled him with a glare that had once sent males scurrying in fear. Donnara took her cue, and Mikhail, knowing what was to come, did not protest as the halfling crawled on top of the drow, their mouths locking before Donnara turned on top of the drow, putting her face in Lura's hot cunt while the drow's tongue snaked up into the halfling's wet, but hitherto untouched cunt. Both females began moaning in unison, loudly and raucously, grunting and slurping each other's juices even as the wetness coated their chins and cheeks.

Benefast's despair vanished immediately when both females began giving each other head, and he started stroking his cock. Mikhail cued him, pointing toward Lura's head and Donnara's ass, while the human himself stood at the other end of the bed, pulling both females toward it so that Lura's legs draped over the edge. He spread the drow's legs, sliding his palms up and down her thighs and caressing Donnara's head. Benefast placed his cock on Lura's cheek, to which she grinned. Then he started rubbing the thick head against Donnara's slit. Lura pulled her face away long enough for Benefast to plant his cock into her mouth, thrusting down into her throat before letting her resume cunnilingus on his half-sister. 

Mikhail put his hand under Donnara's chin, lifting her face and thrusting his cock into her mouth, then her throat, and throat-fucked her long enough for Lura to protest by kicking him hard in the thigh. He laughed and pulled out of the halfling's throat, who looked up at him with a grin as she went back to devouring Lura's steaming cunt. He looked to Benefast, who was idly stroking his cock while he watched Lura's dark tongue lash his half-sister's pink box. They made eye contact, and Mikhail nodded. The cue was taken and both men sheathed themselves in the soaked cunts of their respective lovers. Mikhail filled Lura completely, feeling her stretch tightly around his shaft, and delighted in the expression on Donnara's face as Benefast thrust fast and hard into her snatch. 

A chorus of gasps, grunts, and loud moaning filled the room as Benefast and Mikhail both drilled Lura and Donnara. For their part, Lura and Donnara continued flicking their tongues at their clits furiously, adding to the cries of lust and passion. Then, without warning, Benefast started grunting loudly as he pulled out of his half-sister. He stroked furiously then stopped, squeezing his cock hard just under the head as several jets of his cum shot against the gaped canal of Donnara's wet cunt, and promptly slid down onto Lura's face, who gathered up as much as she could to swallow it. Mikhail, seeing no reason to continue now that Benefast had blown his load, pulled out opened Donnara's mouth, ejaculating his seed into her mouth and onto her cheeks as he gushed uncontrollably. 

Without wasting a moment, Donnara rose off Lura, and the drow sat up. They locked lips, swishing the cum from mouth to mouth. Just to show off to Mikhail and Benefast, Donnara stood, her head and shoulders over Lura as the drow sat. Lura leaned her head back, mouth open with a pool of pearly white cum within. Donnara let the cum in her mouth slowly creep out, dripping down into the drow's mouth. Then, as the males grinned and idly touched their spent cocks, Lura laid Donnara down and drooled the cum back into the halfling's mouth. They locked lips again, and, each with an equal share of mixed cum, swallowed. 

Mikhail moved to sit next to Lura, his arm around her shoulders as she leaned her head against his shoulder, purring contentedly. Benefast sat behind his half-sister, arms around her waist and legs out to her sides as she leaned back, kissing his neck affectionately.

"I think I would like to visit your clan sometime," Lura said quietly. Mikhail nodded, a grin on his face.

"The Freeheart Clan, two days travel to the east," Benefast said. "Maybe someday?"

"Certainly," Donnara said.

"What now?" asked Mikhail as he eyed a clock against a wall. "It is between lunch and dinner time."

"Well, I have a tavern to run, so I need to get back to work," Donnara said. "And you have a shift to finish, brother. And I hope you saved your energy for tonight. From what Alagan said, Iliara has special plans for the two of you."

"Iliara?" Lura asked. "The gold elf?"

"Aye," Benefast said, a shadow growing over his face even as a small smile grew. "She is quite adept at her skills, both in bed and out of, and has the finest dreamsmoke in Everlund, though I have no idea where she gets it. Likes all those mind-altering drugs, really, but me and Alagast only do the 'smoke. The dust and blackstalk are a bit much."

"Blackstalk mushroom? That's poisonous to every race I've ever known, except drow," Lura said, curious. Mikhail looked at her quizzically, but she ignored it.

"Aye, she's grown a tolerance to it," Benefast said. "Only barely, though. Seen her get sick from it a few times, but she always gets on a sexual high from it, like it gets her off. Heh, she came to from a pretty vivid hallucination and me and Alagan beat off right on her face!"

When nobody laughed, he quickly added, "She liked it, swear! She wiped it off and we went about our business afterward."

"Have you met Iliara?" Donnara said, a more concerned look on her face. Lura nodded slowly. "Be careful, lass. That one can be dangerous, no matter how sweet she looks, and I've been to bed with her before. She'll do things to you that even a drow can't imagine."

Lura took in the information quietly, nodding slowly, all the while with Mikhail studying her reactions. In truth, it only intrigued her more about the gold elf, and decided that she would need to get to know the sexy thing more. A yawn overtook her, and fatigue settled over her like a heavy blanket.

"I need a nap," she said quietly, sweetly, and nuzzled into Mikhail again. They laid down on the soft bed, her back against his chest as they curled together. Donnara pulled the blankets over the couple and lead her half-brother out of the room. 




Drow in the City Ch. 02



Cyra was dressed in tight black pants and a sleeveless tunic that accentuated the size of her breasts while staying loose around her midriff. Her daggers were sheathed at her hips, with a smaller throwing dagger in each of her black boots. She had her pale blonde hair pulled back tight in a short pony tail, and petite brown horns were bedecked with a golden ring on each. The tiefling had a diamond stud in her left nostril and sparkling diamond dust on her eyelids. She felt it necessary to paint her lips with black, to match the naturally black fingernails and toenails. Her eyes were smoldering embers of red-orange around black pupils and glanced back and forth as she strolled through Everlund.

Cyra was wondering why she had decided to go perusing the Bell Market today, at this time, when she should be back with Lura to fuck her after her return. Such is life, Cyra told herself, and blew out a frustrated sigh. Lately, she found herself aroused and in need more often than before in her life. She wanted to blame Lura, the lovely little trollop, but couldn't bring herself to. The damned drow didn't discourage her wanton sexual release, though, and for that, Cyra found herself thankful. Her world had improved manifold since meeting the former high priestess of Lolth. 

Her path headed east, away from the Dreaming Dragon, past the Lady's Tree, where Athytia Starbreeze eyed her as curiously as she had Lura, and onward to the Knightsbridge, that spanned the River Rauvin. Once over that bridge, she was in the Bell Market, and found herself wandering, despite the ache in her feet. Her curiosity was piqued when she noticed a leatherworker's shop with several vests on display in the window, as well as what appeared to be corsets the likes of which she had never seen. She approached and pushed the door open. A musical chime sounded as she entered, and the scent of leather and metal filled her nose. She smiled, hooking her thumbs on the waist of her tight pants as she began to meander around, eyeing the different pieces displayed. To her dismay, though, she saw none of the corsets she had seen from the window.

"May I help you?" came a pleasant voice. Cyra perked up and looked to the source of the voice, then smiled sweetly, her petite fangs poking into her lower lip. "Oh my, aren't you a fascinating thing."

"Indeed," Cyra said, her smile diminishing a little.

"I meant no offense," the woman said as she wove through the stands of armor and vests. "I simply meant you are quite exotic. I have never seen a tiefling before, and I must say you are quite the specimen!"

"Ah, well thank you," Cyra said. She studied the woman, a human in her middle years. She had dark hair that was pulled back in a loose pony tail. Her legs were clad in snug leather breeches and she wore a leather vest with nothing underneath. Cyra noticed that it was low cut, revealing generous cleavage, much more bounteous than Lura's elven breasts, even if they were large for her race. By Cyra's estimation, this woman's breasts were easily two of her handfuls, and she felt her mouth water at the thought of burying her face between them. She was tall, also, taller than Cyra and Lura, at almost six feet tall with long legs. Perfect, Cyra thought.

"Bah, where are my manners," the woman said as she stood in front of Cyra at last. "I am Alluva Dunnan, proprietor of this fabulous shop and crafter of all that you see around you."

"I am Cyra," the tiefling said, taking the woman's hand as she extended it. She bent to kiss it, as was her way of finding out which way a woman swung. It smelled of leather and curing agents, but she did not tense or recoil as her lips pressed firmly against the fingers. In fact, when Cyra stood, Alluva was eyeing her with a grin on her face. "You have fine craftsmanship," Cyra said, her desire stoked. "But there is a corset in the window, and I'm afraid I don't see any on display in here."

"Ah, the corset," Alluva said, biting her lip. "That is for a discerning eye to notice. I am glad you did. Come, I keep such things in a separate room for customers that know what they want."

Alluva grabbed Cyra's hand and pulled her back to a back room and shut the door behind them. To Cyra's delight, it was a room with walls lined with corsets, some dyed different colors. The human turned abruptly and pushed Cyra against the door, pinning her pointed tail against her butt. The woman leaned in and breathed lightly on the tiefling's neck and ear, making Cyra shudder with lust. Alluva pulled away slowly. "Perhaps I can fit you for a custom corset?"

"Absolutely," Cyra said huskily, her eyes burning into the woman.

"Very good!" Alluva said, abruptly separating herself from the tiefling. "Kindly remove your shirt and bra, if you fancy one..." she turned to look over her shoulder, smirking, and added, "which you clearly do not." With a wink, she went off into a closet, then reappeared with some measuring tape.

Cyra quickly shucked her sleeveless tunic, the red-tinged skin of her breasts shining and her dark, almost black nipples quickly hardening with excitement. She bit her lip, her small fangs poking a bit further than her other teeth. Alluva looked up from her tape, and stopped in mid-step, a grin slowly crawling across her face as she walked, a bit slower this time, to stand in front of the tiefling.

"Arms out wide," Alluva said, her voice quiet as her eyes roamed the tiefling's body. By comparison, the fire-tinted body before her appeared younger in years to Alluva's, but the middle-aged woman could tell the taut body had seen its share of years. For herself, Alluva was proud of her body and the firm figure she retained even past her fourth decade of life in Everlund, thanks in part to the magical enhancements she had purchased for her breasts, bottom, and stomach.

She began taking her measurements, attempting to be as business like as possible as her tape stretched around Cyra's large breasts. They were as big as her own, she figured, and more perky. Her envy was swallowed by her desire. She measured the taper of her stomach, and the flare of her hips, and, again, were it not for the intense arousal the red-hued body was igniting within her she would have been too envious to continue her measurements. With a pat on Cyra's bottom, Alluva walked away into another room, and shut the door behind her.

Cyra put her hands on her hips as she waited, then crossed them under her breasts, feeling their weight resting comfortably on her forearms. The burning arousal that was making her pants uncomfortable made her frequently shift from foot to foot. As Alluva's tape measured her, the light touches and almost teasing manner in which her tape slid across Cyra's skin had almost driven the tiefling crazy. Her infernal heritage made for a brash, wanton personality, and her patience was limited as it was. To the Hells with the corset, Cyra thought to herself, I should have pushed her against the door and fucked her on the spot!

After several interminable minutes, Alluva finally appeared from her sequestered room, a grin on her face and a black corset dangling leather straps and untied strings. 

"Arms out again, lovely," Alluva said in her distinguished voice.  Sultry was the word Cyra thought of when she spoke. The tiefling obeyed and Alluva went through the jerking, jarring process of fitting the black leather corset to the tiefling's torso. Cyra heard the rub of leather on leather as straps on the back of the corset were pulled tight, jerking her body this way and that in the process. She looked down and saw the black leather pressing and pushing her breasts together and upward, and grinned at her own cleavage. Her nipples were hard against the unforgiving leather, and she relished in the sensation. 

Then, Alluva walked around to her front and tied some strings tight up her sides and on the front to secure the corset. The human backed away and looked at her handiwork, index finger tapping her pursed lips as she stared pensively. 

"It does not match your pants, I'm afraid," the woman said. "I shall have to fashion you complimenting boots, as well."

"How much will this cost me?" Cyra asked, her hands idly running up and down the leather.

"For you? A good night's fuck. Perhaps two. Maybe three. Consider it an indefinite contract so long as you're in Everlund!" Both women laughed, but Alluva did not offer any real price. Cyra, who very much intended to get in several good lays with this enchanting woman, simply could not bring herself to complain. 

"A skirt," Alluva said suddenly.

"What?"

"A skirt would compliment that perfectly!"

"I'm afraid I don't do skirts," the tiefling said, frowning a bit. Alluva fixed her with a wry smile.

"You'll do this skirt, I promise," she said as she walked back into the adjacent room. She returned with a skirt fashioned from the same leather, in the same style, as her corset. 

"You just keep these things laying around your shop hoping for a customer like me?" Cyra asked skeptically.

"Of course not," Alluva said, laughing. "I was making them for myself! But the only other woman around here that even could be arousing is my daughter, and only because she inherited my body. I don't keep it in the family, if you catch my drift. This is all better suited for you, anyway, and on that skin...well, it's just breathtaking!"

Cyra would have blushed, were she a polite lady, but she ate up the flattery, and simply grinned, agreeing with every word as she gazed at the ruddy valley of her cleavage descending into the black leather. "Fine, I'll try the skirt."

"Remove your pants," Alluva said, a professional tone to her voice. Cyra looked at her with a grin.

"You," she commanded, putting her hands on her hips. Alluva started to protest, but stopped and grinned as well, coming forward and kneeling before the tiefling.



"This is hardly professional," she said in a purr of a voice. Cyra smiled all the wider.

Alluva unfastened the pants and hooked her fingers over the waistband, slowly pulling downward. A small tuft of blonde hair that Cyra had let grow above her slit greeted the human, and she held her breath as the pants slid ever lower. A fragrant, heady scent assaulted her, watering her mouth and her loins simultaneously. The hot, cinnamon-like odor quickly created a heated, sexual atmosphere around the two as Alluva finally saw the upper part of Cyra's peak, including the hood of her clit which was standing out proudly among the glistening lips. She wondered at the contrast of the pink nether lips surrounded by the ruddy, reddish hue of the tiefling's skin.

Alluva pushed the pants down around the tiefling's ankles, eyes never leaving the pink cleft between her thighs. The woman ran her nails up and down Cyra's thighs, watching as the tiefling clenched her muscles in anticipation whenever her fingers came close to the moist slit. Alluva moved forward, kissing lightly along the insides of Cyra's thighs as the tiefling stepped out of her crumpled pants to give the human woman better access to her steaming honey pot. On a whim, Cyra put her hands on the human's forehead, pushing Alluva away and standing imperiously over her.

"Dress me, now," Cyra demanded. A grin on her face, Alluva knee-walked forward, holding the leather skirt out for Cyra to step into. She slid the cool leather up Cyra's legs and pulled two buckles on the either side of the waist tight to secure the skirt. Alluva looked longingly at Cyra's midriff, where the front of her corset arced down to a point just above the leather skirt. The skirt itself went to about mid-thigh on the tiefling, leaving half of her finely toned thighs enticingly exposed. It didn't fan out very much, Alluva noted with satisfaction. The skirt hugged her thighs for the most part, only going loose as it reached the end of its length.

"A mirror?" Cyra asked. Alluva went to the wall and rolled a full length mirror in front of Cyra, who smiled at her reflection. "I need knee-high boots to match this," she said matter-of-factly. She cut a striking figure in her tight, leather corset and leather skirt, but she would feel more powerful with thick-heeled leather boots to cover her shins. Alluva seemed to agree as she looked silently on, nodding absently. 

Finally, Cyra let her lust consumer her. She pulled a chair to her side and propped her foot on its padded surface. She looked in the mirror, watching her skirt ride up to reveal her shadowed loins. "Eat me," she commanded, pointing at the floor before her. Alluva moved without hesitation, coming before her and dropping to her knees. Without preamble, she dove face first into the hot folds of the tiefling's unnaturally warm pussy. Steam rose from her nether lips as Alluva's tongue dove between them. The warm, almost burning taste of cinnamon assaulted her tongue, driving it into a frenzy as she lapped hungrily along the tiefling's slit.

Cyra watched Alluva in the mirror, hunger in her eyes as her hands wrapped around the back of the woman's head, burying in her flowing hair. She watched her own body writhing and jerking with Alluva's tongue, and found her movements sensual, sexual, and became more aroused just by watching her own gyrations. Grinning fiendishly, she started growling instead of moaning, thrusting her pelvis against Alluva's mouth. Helpless against the stronger tiefling, Alluva could only hold her tongue out and let Cyra face-fuck her with her wet cunt. 

Not that Alluva minded in the least. Her hand was buried in her leather breeches, furiously rubbing at her own sopping clitoris while she drank down all the juice she could suck out of Cyra's hot pussy. And when the tiefling began to fuck her mouth with her steaming pussy, Alluva simply held her tongue out, rigid, and felt the hard bud of the tiefling's clit rubbing again and again over the tip of her tongue. She brought her free hand up and slid two fingers at once into the scalding pool of Cyra's canal. Alluva instantly felt the tiefling clench around her fingers, heard her breath catch at the back of her throat, and the strong fingers grasp her hair, pulling several strands out as a small orgasm shook her body briefly.

"Sune's tits," Cyra breathed. She slipped her fingers around Alluva's neck and pulled the woman to her feet, face to face with her. She could smell her own cunt on the woman's lips and face and hungrily kissed her, lashing her tongue against Alluva's before licking all around her lips and face. The tiefling reached down and pulled Alluva's hand from her pussy, savagely sucking on the dew-laden digits. She then loosened the front of her corset and pulled her heavy, perky breasts out. They sat atop the rigid corset, still pressed up firmly, presented to Alluva. Cyra rubbed her fingers over her dark red nipples while she and Alluva admired the perfect bust.

Cyra abruptly stopped and again grasped Alluva's head, pulling her face down to her breasts. "Suck my tits, woman," Cyra demanded, reaching down to force her black-nailed fingers into Alluva's leather breeches. A high-pitched squeal of delight from Alluva was muffled by the firm breast smothering her face while she sucked, hard, on Cyra's turgid nipple. Without mercy, the tiefling thrust her fingers into the woman's accommodating canal, thrusting them in and out, or curling them within the hotbox, or alternating between the two methods. Within moments, Alluva was making staccato squeals into Cyra's nipple, vibrating it as she came on the tiefling's skilled fingers.

"It's time to take these off," Cyra said commandingly as she pulled her breast from Alluva's suckling mouth. She grasped the woman's pants and jerked them down, letting them fall to her ankles. "Brace your hands against the wall, and bend over."

Alluva complied immediately. She spread her legs just past shoulder-width and saw Cyra kneeling down, her breasts spilling out over her corset as she placed the palms of her hands on Alluva's fair-skinned butt. Her eyes were fixated on the perfect orbs of Cyra's breasts as she felt her cheeks spread open and a long, dexterous tongue slide from her anus to the top of her crack. Again, a long, slow stroke ascended the crack of her ass, and she couldn't restrain a low groan of satisfaction. 

Cyra was quite pleased with her view. From behind, she could see the glistening line her tongue had left from the human woman's anus to the top of her crack. The tight little rosebud stared back at her, pristine and glistening with moisture from Cyra's tongue and wetness from Alluva's pussy. The tiefling could also see the lower portion of Alluva's slit, which was soaking wet and swollen with desire. Grinning, Cyra pulled a hand back and landed a heavy smack on one cheek, then repeated on the other. Again, and again, she smacked the human on her ass, bringing a brilliant rosy color to the flesh. Alluva gasped at the contact, then began to moan as the stinging pain turned to burning pleasure. It was then that Cyra spread her cheeks wide again, her tongue planting itself on the tight rosebud while her fingers plunged into her cunt. 

Alluva cried out, then began whimpering as she felt the tiefling's long tongue prodding against her rear entrance. She relaxed as best she could, and felt the soft, agile tongue slip inside her anus. She groaned softly as Cyra licked out her asshole, and reached down to pay heed to her clitoris, standing impertinent out from her pussy. She rubbed it furiously as Cyra licked her ass and finger-fucked her cunt.

But Cyra would not let her cum, not like this. She stood abruptly, seizing Alluva by the hair and pulling her slowly from the wall. "Lay down before me, human," she said. Alluva was slow to comply, but Cyra enjoyed the meandering way she moved, savoring each movement of the middle-aged woman's finely shaped body. Then she was on the ground, on her back, with her legs spread and knees arched, breasts perfectly formed atop her chest, and arms out wide. Cyra grinned and straddled one of her legs.

Alluva gasped at the sensation of the tiefling's pussy pressing against her thigh, the nether lips spread out on her soft skin. Then she was forced to gasp again as one of Cyra's toned thighs pressed up against her wet cunny. Slowly, the tiefling began to grind her hips against the woman's thighs, and Alluva could not resist mimicking the action, thrusting wantonly against the shapely thigh. 

The two shapely females became a writhing, gyrating form, moaning loudly in the back room of the leather shop. Cyra leaned down, holding herself over Alluva with one strong arm while squeezing and rubbing the woman's large breast with the other, occasionally nipping at her ear, neck or lips. Alluva buried her hands in Cyra's hair, grunting loudly, lewdly as they ground their respective sexes against each others thigh. Cyra slid her hand up to Alluva's neck, her fingers wrapped around her throat. Suddenly, she began to push her hand against the woman's throat, gently at first as she tested the waters. When Alluva didn't push her away, she pressed harder, until Alluva's air was cut off. 

Alluva's mouth opened in a silent cry of pleasure. Cyra felt her shaking and convulsing beneath her a the same time jets of clear liquid shot from the woman's pussy, soaking her thigh. She held her hand firmly throughout the entire orgasm, only releasing her when the orgasm subsided. Alluva gasped for air, thoroughly spent, and started laughing, which brought a smile to Cyra's face.

"What are you laughing at?" Cyra demanded, sitting back on the woman's thigh, her cunt still wet against it. 

"I've never been choked before, much less while cumming. It was amazing," she said, still catching her breath. 

"Do me," Cyra said as she laid back on the floor, her back against the wall. A wicked gleam shone in Alluva's eyes as Cyra reached her hand under the skirt, pulling it up to reveal her pink slit and began rubbing viciously on her clit, which stood out like a small pebble. The human woman came forward, her breasts hanging alluringly before Cyra as she pressed her hand against the tiefling's throat. Her other hand grasped one of the petite horns atop Cyra's head, jerking her head back to further exposed the gracefully formed neck. Cyra masturbated furiously, her fingers working quick, tight circles around her sensitive clit. Alluva pressed her hand against the tiefling's throat at just the right time, a few strokes before orgasm, and Cyra felt the convulsions and spasms of a ground shaking orgasm rock through her. Her breath caught as Alluva clenched her hand around her throat, and her head felt as if it would explode from the blood pressure. Then her orgasm hit full force, and the sensation was so profound, and intense, that she almost lost consciousness. Small squirts of clear fluid shot from her pussy, splattering against Alluva's thigh, which caused the woman to giggle.




Drow in the City Ch. 02



Cyra felt the hand come away and her breath return to her, and she couldn't contain a giggle either. Panting, breathless, she looked up at the human woman, who looked down at her with a grin on her face. "Fantastic, was it not?" she asked. Cyra could only nod enthusiastically as she pulled the top of her corset up over her breasts again. She breathed a deep sigh.

"You are correct, I believe these things do suit me," she said. "What price?"

"Oh, I think you earned it all," Alluva said, standing and offering her hand to the tiefling. Cyra took it and stood on unsteady legs. "Just come visit every now and then, and I'll consider your debt paid."

"Oh, I will," Cyra replied. "I believe some matching boots would be in order, I don't believe my boots exactly do the trick." She indicated the boots she had worn, which rose up about half her shin. 

"Indeed. I'll get to work on that...and perhaps another item," she said in a conspiratorial tone.

"Oh?" Cyra asked.

"A surprise...perhaps next time," Alluva said. "Now, I don't mean to fuck and run, but I do have a business to run."

"Of course," Cyra said. She came forward and embraced the woman, then kissed her passionately, and turned on her heel to leave.

*****

Mikhail could not have been happier. Here he was under a crystal clear night sky with Lura, the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on (and a drow, no less!), who had been unable to separate herself from him the whole of the evening. She was dressed magnificently, abandoning her Red Robe of Sune for a dark violet velvet dress, low cut in the front so that her magnificent chest, cleavage, and neck were not hidden. Her hair was tied up, bejeweled with dazzling pins. She kept her crimson lock of hair free, as she had become accustomed to, so that it framed the left side of her delicately featured face.

She looked up at him, grinning, her pearly white teeth shining behind violet-hued lips that sparkled with gold flecks, similar to her eyelids. A delicate gold chain hung around her neck, with an amethyst encrusted heart resting just above her cleavage. Mikhail looked into her eyes, brushing the crimson lock from her face, behind her pointed ear, and kissing her softly on the lips. He smirked as her crimson strands fell back to her cheek. She returned the smile and pressed her face into his shoulder, wrapping her velvet-sheathed arm around his own.

Everlunians nodded greetings to the couple as they crossed the Knightsbridge, moving north toward the Bell Market, the heart of Everlund and trade epicenter. A crisp breeze blew over the River Rauvin, tossing Mikhail's brown hair slightly. His shirt, a crisp navy blue doublet with sleeves rolled halfway up his forearm, rustled in the breeze, but settled again over his tailored black pants. The clothes had been a gift from his beloved specifically for their night out. His shoes, as well, had been given to him from Lura, and shone softly in the silver moonlight. A thin silver chain hung around his neck, visible under the partially unbuttoned doublet. 

The Bell Market was not particularly busy, as most of the stores had closed with the fall of night, but in the center of the market was a blazing bonfire, resplendent with various musicians and a revelers. Lura looked up to Mikhail questioningly.

"Why must you question me about every festival and the like that happens on the surface?" he asked her with a smile.

"You are the native here," she said, the statement emphasized with her distinctive drow accent. "The customs of the surface are still somewhat foreign to me."

"Well, shall we ask someone, or simply wander into the party?" he asked, slipping his fingers between hers.

"Let us wander," she said, feeling quite pleased with her life.

*****

Iliara watched the drow and her human cross the bridge with magically enhanced eyesight from a rooftop on the opposite side of the festival. She knew, of course, that it was a human custom, celebrating the harvest or something ridiculous like that, and that a party of any sort would draw the sunite's attention. An itch at the back of her leather bodysuit nagged at her attention, but with the discipline of a seasoned thief and a servant of Shar, she ignored it. 

She stood on the rooftop, scowling at what she knew must come, and unzipped her bodysuit. Iliara tossed it aside, unworried about the fate of the disposable suit. Her only concern now was what had been hidden beneath the leather. To her ultimate chagrin, she wore a silk dress, deep forest green, with emeralds lining the low-sweeping neckline, and a choker, centered by a larger emerald, around her neck. Her sleeves were loose around the forearms, but snug along her athletically toned upper arms. It hugged her torso, her compact breasts seeming a bit larger in the tight dress. The silk loosened below her hips, and her legs only became visible when they slipped through the thigh-high slit up each side.

Sighing to her ridiculous appearance, she stepped from the darkness of the rooftop to the shadow of a minstrel's tent, then stepped out from behind the temporary structure, affecting a false, though enchanting smile as she began to idly mingle, slowly making her way to where she figured Lura and her human would enter the festival. She busied herself but sampling several drinks, from the painfully sweet to the pungent and bitter, and nibbling on hors d'voures. Still, she remained tense and paranoid, so the gold elf slipped into the darkness behind one of the larger temporary tents and reached for her necklace.

The tarnished silver chain that hung from her neck ended in a sheathed sword, inverted so that the tip was pointing toward her modest cleavage. She twisted the sheath and it began to unscrew from the hilt of the sword pendant. Within was a fine, crystalline powder, much like diamond dust. She lifted the object to her nose and inhaled deeply with both nostrils. The powder was pulled with the air up into her sinuses, where it went to work, the narcotic dust quickly soothing her mind, bringing her into a pleasant realm of mild euphoria. Iliara re-entered the festival with a smile on her face, mingling and chatting idly with those she did not know, until she saw Lura. 

This time was different than when she spied the drow from her rooftop perch. Now, up close, Iliara could see how magnificent she looked in her deep purple evening gown, with a daring, deliciously deep neckline, thin halter, and long, form-fitting length, with a sexy thigh-high slit. She saw three clasps below her breasts holding the dress together made of thin, ornate gold that matched the gold necklace hanging from her neck. A hungry urge came upon the euphoric Shadowdancer, and it took an enormous amount of willpower to resist the sudden heat in her loins. 

Quickly, Iliara found a piece of silvered glass and checked her reflection, rearranging her hair slightly and fine-tuning her own evening gown. It occurred to her that under any other circumstance, she might have simply came up to the drow and told her she meant to bed her at the earliest possible convenience, but, whether it was the drug in her system or the affect the stunning drow had on her, Iliara felt it would be a disservice to the drow, to women in general, to treat Lura with dignity and respect by courting her. Something dark and twisted inside Iliara was very angry at the situation, but her femininity shone brighter this night than the darkness of Shar. 

*****

Lura was more than content as she mingled with the common folk of Everlund. They were mostly farmers, celebrating a fruitful harvest, but there were several attendees that appeared to be of nobility as well. She cared not, though, because, despite her cruel, matriarchal upbringing by the drow, she saw no distinction between the two.

Abruptly, the couple was approached by a slightly inebriated commoner, who was smiling stupidly until his gaze fixed on Lura. He seemed to sober somewhat as his eyes took in her form. Lura smiled to herself as he continued to look her up and down. She looked up to Mikhail, who simply shrugged and smiled. "May we help you?" Lura asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Huh? Oh!" The man, a farmer she figured, blushed fiercely in embarrassment. "Ye wanna try me ale?" he asked, a slight slur in his voice.

"Absolutely," Mikhail said. "We'd love to."

"Good!" the man said, turning to a nearby table and filling two flagons with the light golden liquid. He turned back and handed them the ale. Mikhail and Lura both tested the liquid, swirling it around in their mouths, and swallowing. 

"I favor elf-wine," Lura began, her lips pursed, "but this is quite delicious." Mikhail nodded his agreement, smiling. 

"Great!" the man said, wobbling a bit on his feet. He turned to a similar tent, stocked with kegs similar to his. "Hey! Bevin! I gots me a drow!" 

They saw a man with mutton chop sideburns and a ring of hair around the side of his otherwise bald head scowl deeply at his competitor. "Name's Dandir. That's me Golden Wheat Ale, made from my finest stock. I'd be honored if ye'd spread the word for me tonight, such a fine lookin' couple as yerself's. And not many would doubt the word of a drow elf!"

"It would be our pleasure," Lura said, smiling sweetly at him. "Sune's blessing on you, brew master."

She took Mikhail's hand and led him toward music on a sudden inspiration. The tune was quick and rousing, and she felt inspiration filling her. A quiet prayer to Sune, and she felt the music flowing through her like magical energy. Lura turned quickly to Mikhail and kissed him fiercely. "Dance with me," she demanded, and he had not the power to resist her desire. The duo wove themselves gracefully into a throng of dancing people, men and women alike, and began to gyrate and grind against each other, Lura stroking his face lovingly with one black hand while the other slid up and down her man's back, quickly working its way up under his shirt to feel the perspiration growing on his back. 

Lura straddled his leg, the slit in her dress revealing her shapely obsidian leg as she ground herself on his thigh, hands running furiously over Mikhail. She relished in the feel of his warm hand as it slid up her thigh, under her dress to her bare hip as he moved in concert with her. His other hand pressed possessively against the small of her back, pulling her tighter against him as they both danced furiously. Then, to her surprise and delight, she saw another pair of hands, lightly tanned in their complexion, slide up Mikhail's arms to his shoulders. She glanced over his shoulder and saw Iliara, the appearance of the gold elf a bit of a surprise, even more so when she considered the gorgeous evening gown the elf wore. After her initial meeting with the leather-clad, athletic-looking gold elf, she had not pinned her as the "let's dress up and play princess" type. She was glad she had been mistaken.

An almost animal-like hunger flashed through the drow's eyes as Lura locked her eyes with Iliara's. Her mouth dried as intense arousal took her by surprise, that sensation heightened by Mikhail's ever wandering hand, which was now buried under her dress, cupping and caressing her shapely bottom, and the fact that her loins were grinding against Mikhail's firm thigh. Iliara reached her hand from Mikhail's shoulder to the back of her neck, which was moist with sweet-smelling perspiration, and pulled Lura's face into a deep, tongue-dancing kiss. Iliara punctuated her intentions with a painful bite on the drow's gold-flecked lower lip.

Mikhail's neck was against her cheek, his perspiration dampening her finely-chiseled face, and she latched her lips onto his neck, sucking and licking the sweat, savoring its sweet saltiness. To the happy couple's delight, Iliara was quite light on her toes and was able to keep up with the two easily, complimenting their movements while keeping her body pressed tight against Mikhail's back and her hands busy about the man and drow.

For his part, Mikhail couldn't have been stuck in a better position. On his thigh he felt the burning heat of Lura's legs and groin tight against him and her bountiful breasts against his chest. Behind him, he could feel the compact breasts of the stranger he had not yet met pressing into his back and her hands on his shoulders and his woman. Then, abruptly, Lura turned around, her bottom pressed against his groin, grinding against a slowly growing swell at the front of his pants. She leaned back, her head resting against his shoulder and her hand wrapping around the back of his neck, playing with his hairs. His rested on her shapely hips as the danced this way and that, and he grinned wide when he saw lightly tanned hands reach around him to slide up and down Lura's stomach and flanks.

Iliara forgot her duties to Shar for the moment, relishing in the physical sensations presented to her. Surely the Dark Lady would forgive her one night's indulgence before she acted out her duties. She slid her hands up the taut abdomen of Lura to the full, magnificent breasts barely restrained by the drow's enviable evening gown. She kissed idly at Mikhail's neck and slid her palms over Lura's hardening nipples. She could feel the tight little buds poking through the fine fabric of the violet gown. Grinning as she nibbled at Mikhail's ear, she slid her hands back down, bending more at the knees so that she could reach down to Lura's thighs, sliding them tantalizingly close to the hot nexus of her shapely legs.

Mikhail pulled his hands from his beloved's hips and reached back, sliding his fingertips up the outside of the newcomer's legs, eliciting a whispered purr as her lips hovered near his ear. He repeated the movement, gliding hands up and down her legs, until her gown had been hiked up much further than it was designed for. It bundled around her hips and he felt her bare thighs under his hands. With strength he didn't anticipate, the stranger turned him by his shoulders to face her, her hand clasping his face while she thrust her hips into him, her other hand finding a handhold on the growing length in his pants. 

Iliara was smitten by his boyish good looks, the loose tangle of hair atop his head and the sparse, though stylish goatee on his face instantly attractive to her. She ran her hands over his body, feeling the taut muscle beneath his fine clothing. The gold elf undid several of his shirt's buttons, revealing sparse, fine hairs smattered about his chest, then slid her hands under the shirt, feeling his chest, his nipples beneath her palms, and pinched them lightly, drawing a gasp from his lips and a stutter in his dance.

Lura turned when she felt her lover turn away, her full breasts pressing firmly against his back and her hands reaching around his waist, fingers gliding just beneath his waistline. The drow watched the simmering lust in Iliara's eyes and found the gold elf's insatiable desire an aphrodisiac. Abandoning any sense of decency, she thrust her hand down inside Mikhail's pants, her fingers wrapping around his half-mast shaft and squeezing. Iliara felt the act, as her crotch was pressed firmly against Mikhail's, and her surprised expression soon melted into bliss as she ground her covered pussy against the action in Mikhail's pants. She felt keenly Lura's hand as it stroked Mikhail's--

"Hey!" a very angry sounding voice called. The trio looked with alarm at an approaching, steel-clad guard, complete with a shield on his back and a sword at his hip. "You're only warning: go someplace private or spend the night in a dirty cell! We won't tolerate your lewdness here, Sunite drow!"

A smattering of disapproving jeers were hurled at the guard, but Lura respected the man's duty to maintain order and decency. She silently reprimanded herself for being so wanton in public, but her drow sensibilities relished in the thrill. 

"Wait," he said suddenly. "Is your name Lura? Lura Darklust?"

"Perhaps," the drow said, a sensation of trepidation washing over her.



"Heard about you from some Silverymoon citizens. I'll warn you once now, there'll be no prostitution in this city. You have one chance."

"I assure you, sir, that no Sunite has ever whored herself out and remained associated with the church of Sune. I, being her Chosen, can assure you that. You can be certain that, should a Festhall of Sune appear in your fair city, it will be the picture of cleanliness and will obey all the laws regarding temples and faiths."

The soldier found himself taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. She stood imperiously before him, one hand on her hip, the other casual at her side, but her eyes, like garnets twinkling in torchlight, pierced into his very soul. Her words held no anger, but he felt a very real warning that he ought not every accuse any of her associates of prostitution. Ever again. "M-my apologies, Lady," he muttered. "But I must insist that you and yours take your...dancing elsewhere. If I may, it has crossed the line of decency."

"Of course," she said, her smile disarming. "You'll forgive an honest drow for losing herself in the moment?"

"Aye," he said, smiling a small smile.

"Might I have your name?" she asked.

"For what purpose?" he asked. The guard quickly added, "If you don't mind me asking."

"In case I ever run across your superior, I am sure he would like to hear how admirably you performed your duties tonight."

"Lieutenant Dar Handren," he said, bowing his head slightly.

"Very well, then, Dar Handren. A good evening to you, and Sune's blessing upon you," Lura said, curtsying. He turned to leave, and she turned to look at Iliara, who was scowling deeply.

"Don't do that," the gold elf said in a serious tone.

"What?" Lura asked, her delicate white eyebrow arched.

"Curtsy. For a drow, the movement is somehow demeaning, and though I hold no love for your race, I fancy you the domineering, brutal Matron Mother type, and seeing you act like such a lady takes some of the...eroticism of that stature away."

"You dare question me, iblith!" she asked, her face instantly turning to a scowl, her eyes glowering with the fires of rage she had long ago left behind. Her hand shot out to the gold elf's neck, squeezing slightly as she bared her teeth.

Iliara smiled, grabbing the drow's surprising strong hand and pressing it tighter against her neck, squeezing when Lura would not. She struggled to breath, and when Lura's demeanor reverted to the kind, caring expression she normally wore, she released, laughing as she choked in a deep breath. "That's better," she said, her reddened face taking its natural hue again. 

"Well, at least that wasn't arousing," Mikhail said. Lura and Iliara simultaneously looked to his bewildered face, then to the erection he was trying to hide with his hand. Lura patted it gently and kissed him on the cheek.

"Get us some drinks, beloved, won't you?" she asked, smiling sweetly at him. He nodded, sighing as he turned and walked away. Lura led Iliara to a bench with intricately crafted wrought iron supports and polished wooden slats. The two sat, sitting almost sideways, legs crossed, so as to talk with one another more easily.

"You are a submissive lover?" Lura asked bluntly.

"When the situation calls for it," Iliara responded quickly. Her throat was dry, though she doubted it had anything to do with thirst and more to do with getting into the drow's skirt.

"Indeed," Lura said, her eyes flicking quickly over the elf's body.

"Your scrutiny would be more thorough--and more enjoyable--in my bedchamber," Iliara said, her voice a purr.



"Of that I have no doubt." Lura pursed her gold-flecked lips in thought.

"What?" Iliara asked as the drow studied her.

"I'm just wondering how much you would like me as a Matron Mother. My Mother and hers before her were known for their cruelty. Many of our patrons died after a handful of visits to the bedchamber, and even the fledgling priestesses that were commanded to service them were often beaten severely if they did not perform up to par."




Drow in the City Ch. 02



"I take it you performed up to par," Iliara said flatly.

Lura shook her head. "After the first time, I was whipped until the backs of my thighs bled. Then I was stripped naked and forced to endure a hundred spider bites on my breasts."

"Sounds fun," Iliara said.

"You'd think. As drow, pain is merely an inconvenience, and can usually be interpreted as pleasure. But when you have the symbol of Lady Lolth sucking on your tits, you can't exactly swat them away, no matter how much the poison burns," Lura said, a wry grin on her face.

"Is such a thing interpreted as the kiss of Lolth herself?" Iliara asked.

"By some of the more extreme Matron Mothers, yes. Some even condition themselves to enjoy it. But by and large no. Not unless a sword spider, or another larger breed is led to bite you, that is. But even then, only a drow who's consumed a large quantity of blackstalk mushroom would even contemplate it. Sure, Matrons will mate with demons and devils for alliances and even produce offspring--Matron Baenre of Menzoberranzan comes to mind--but a spider? Makes my skin crawl."

"Demons?" Iliara asked, showing surprise for the first time.

"Aye. Lolth is Queen of the Demonweb Pits and has many infernal alliances, though they come and go as often as a House Patron, and will send one of her allies through portals for Matrons. It is considered a blessing from Lolth herself."

"Interesting," Iliara said. "You said something about blackstalk mushroom?"

"Ah, yes," Lura said. "It's generally poisonous to any non-drow, but for my kind, it's a delicacy with a particularly enjoyable effect on the libido."

"I have some," Iliara whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "I have been taking small amounts, building a resistance. I don't know what drow feel when they consume it, but I hallucinate surreal landscapes after vomiting, but once that goes away, I feel like I could service a dwarven stronghold."

"That last part is about right," Lura said, smiling wickedly. "But I have to ask: how did you come by blackstalk on the surface? I thought it was indigenous to the Underdark."

"Oh, it is," Iliara said. "But I have unique abilities, and the Underdark isn't so bad."

"Unique abilities?" Lura asked. "Shapeshifting? Invisibility?"

"I would have to show you," Iliara said, smiling coyly. "But I believe your lover is returning with our drinks."

"To be continued?" Lura asked, hopeful

"I can't wait."

*****

Cyra had returned after her tryst with the sexy leather mistress and found her body craving a nap. When she awoke and moonlight had replaced sunlight, she was a bit surprised that her nap had lasted so long. She sat up in the bed and saw that Lura and Mikhail were still out on their date. Smiling a contented smile, she slid out of the bed, her firm breasts and taut bottom bouncing merrily as she walked nude to a silver bell hanging from the ceiling in a secluded corner of the room. She stood underneath and spoke, "Sune. Niar," which, translated from drow, was "Water. Warm." The fact that the drow word for water was pronounced similar to their goddess was a coincidence Cyra found humorous.

Immediately, warm water fell upon her head, soaking her hair and falling over her soft skin. She sighed and moaned softly to herself, leaning against the wall as the magical bell angled to follow her. Cyra ran her hands over her breasts, her fingers sliding over her erect nipples, then down her stomach, and back up, until her fingers were entangled with her pale hair. Her fingers massaged the sensitive flesh around her petite horns and smiled to herself at the pleasurable sensation.

A knock at the door roused her from her self-indulgence. Scowling a bit, she stepped out of the small seclusion and wrapped a soft towel around herself, covering her breasts. Her tail prevented the towel from covering her taut bottom, but the small tuft of pale hair atop her slit was covered. She pulled open the door and a familiar face greeted her.

"Oh, sorry, ma'am, I hope I'm not interrupting," Samon said.

Cyra smirked, "Don't be silly, Samon, come on in."

"Y-you remember my name," he said as he entered. She closed the door behind him, forcing him to pass her at very close proximity. The tiefling could smell a modest, masculine cologne on Samon, and found it endearing to the young man. 

"Well of course, sweetling," she said, leaning back against the door. She crossed her arms under her chest, pushing the full, round orbs up. "What brings you to my chamber Samon?"

"Well...uhm...I was wondering if maybe you might be interested in maybe going out to this place-"

"Yes," Cyra said, stopping his rambling.

"Yes? But...yes?"

"I would love for you to take me to dinner," she said. "If you can tell me who Sune is."

"Sune? The goddess?" Samon asked.

"The same."

"Um...isn't she the goddess of Love? Lady Firehair?" He responded.

"Very good. Did you know I am a disciple of Sune?" Cyra asked, stepping forward slowly.

"I didn't, no," he replied, watching as she slowly approached.

"Now you do," she said, stopping a pace away from the young man. "How old are you?"

"Twenty summers," Samon said. 

"Do you know how old I am?" she asked, smiling sweetly.

"I wouldn't want to guess," he said, "for prudence's sake."

"Cute. And smart," Cyra said. "I am seventy-three years old."

"You...what? You can't be. You look as young as I do!"

She smiled at him. "I am a tiefling, sweet thing. Infernal blood courses through my veins. Does that bother you?"

"No," he said, his voice firm for the first time since his arrival.

"Good. Now, get out, Samon."

"What? But dinner..."



"In a bath towel? I must change, my dear, so allow me to do so and I will accompany you."

"Oh, of course!" Samon turned quickly and left, leaving Cyra smiling to herself. She giggled quietly and went about the quick task of putting on something pleasant and presentable. Samon paced nervously as he waited, but a surprisingly short time later, Cyra opened the door again, and he found himself in sincere admiration for her simple beauty.



Cyra had elected a pair of dark gray breeches, tight around her thighs and hips, and growing more loose near her polished black shoes. She wore a sheer black blouse over a black camisole which hugged and accentuated the generous swell of her breasts. The tiefling's reddish skin shone under the gauzy black material with an alluring glow, and where he skin was bare, she seemed to sparkle with latent heat. She hooked her thumbs over a thick black belt with a silver clasp, and smirked at him as his eyes wandered over her body.

After she took the time to appreciate the effort he had put into his dress, she cleared her throat suggestively. Samon, who was wearing thick black pants and a thick gray tunic that hugged his torso almost like a second skin, realized his mistake immediately looked back to her smirking eyes. She realized that the garb he worked in was not very flattering to his body, and admired the swell of his arms beneath the short-sleeved tunic, as well as the tapered shape of his torso as it descended to his waist. Cyra had a sudden desire to pull his shirt off and explore his undoubtedly chiseled torso, but refrained from doing so. 

"Shall we?" She asked, holding her arm out for him to take. He nodded excitedly and hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the hall, then down the stairs. Cyra immediately noticed some of his coworkers and patrons staring at him wide-eyed.

"They didn't think you had the stones for me, eh?" she asked, a small smile on her full lips.

"No," he said sheepishly, doing his best to retain an air of confidence.

"What was the bet?" she asked, a little flattered.



"No bet, they just told me I wouldn't do it," he said. "But I really did want to ask you out tonight. Don't think I was trying to prove anything, please."

She smiled wider and pulled her arm from his. He was a slight bit taller than she was, so she was able to comfortably wrap her arm around his waist and rest put her head to his shoulder as they walked. He took her cue and wrapped his arm around her deceptively strong shoulders as they walked to the door. Before they reached the portal, though, Cyra put her hands on his face and kissed him deeply, letting her lips linger on his and looking out of the corner of her eye as several patrons fell out of their seats. Then, she abruptly broke the kiss and led him out the door, grinning widely as he stumbled after her, a dumb smile on his face.



"Thank you?" he asked when they were outside. 

"My pleasure," she said, intertwining her fingers with his. "Now where were you planning on taking me, Master Samon?"

"Perhaps one of Everlund's fine restaurants? Maybe a playhouse?" he responded tentatively.

"Boring," she said flatly. "Where do you really want to take me?"

"The Lady's Tree. It is beautiful at night, and the leaves will be almost silver with the full moon tonight. There will also be a sacrifice at the Altar of Malar tonight, if you'd be interested in that. Then there is a small tavern that almost nobody knows about. We can get our pleasure there, then go to the rooftop and watch the stars."

"You do that on a regular basis?" She asked him.

"Watching stars, yes," Samon said, "and the Lady's Tree has always appealed to me, not to mention the half-elf that tends it is quite kind. But I've never witnessed a Malarran ritual. I've heard they're quite bloody."

"And, as a being of infernal blood, you would assume that a bloody ritual would appeal to me?" Cyra asked.



"Well...no...I mean I'd never presume to..."

"It does," she purred, grinning fiendishly as her petite fangs poked into her lower lip. "Let us enjoy the night, handsome, and see where it takes us."

Samon, having no more words for reply, simply led her away to the region of the city that was home to the Lady's Tree. He knew that she was likely not a servant of Mielikki, if she even was aware of the goddess's existence, but he figured that a beautiful woman would be able to appreciate the beauty of the tree in winter. 



They didn't take long to reach the Tree, and Cyra did indeed find her breath taken away by the almost radiant leaves swaying in the crisp night air. "It's beautiful, Samon," she said quietly, her arm tight around his waist. He draped his arm over her shoulders and smiled at her. 

"Ho, ho, wot we got here, lads?" came a loud, slurred voice. Cyra looked quickly behind them, seeing a bald man with loose clothing and a scraggly goatee approaching, glass bottle half-filled with a brown liquid in hand. He was followed by two more thuggish looking cohorts, one with short, spiky hair and the other with a long mop of black hair.

"It's ok," Samon said to her quietly, and without looking at her turned to face the three. "Who wants to know?"

"Why don't ya run along, laddy, and let real men handle the lady for the night," the bald man said, laughing and nudging his two cronies.

"Afraid I can't do that," Samon replied. Cyra noticed a distinct change in the young man's demeanor and posture. He was standing with his wait on the balls of his feet, and his fingers were tense, as if waiting to strike like a cobra at any given moment. "I promised the lady a night out, and I'd be remiss if I failed to do that."

"Well maybe she'd rather be with a real man, someone who knows a thing or two about handling a real woman," the brute said.

"For your information," Cyra said, her voice laced with venom, "Master Samon has treated me exactly the way I wish to be treated." She punctuated her statement by grabbing him by the jaw and pulling him into a passionate kiss, her tongue assaulting his mouth. Samon was quick enough to play along and not act surprised by the tiefling, a lesson he was beginning to take to heart.

The three men had approached to arms' reach by the time she broke the kiss. "Maybe ye just need to taste a real man to know for sure, heh," he said, a leer on his face as he reached out for Cyra's shoulder. With a lightning quick motion, Samon intercepted his hand, grabbing the bald man by the wrist and pushing him away.

"Insolent whelp!" the man said. He reared back and launched a haymaker punch for Samon's head. The young man easily leaned back, dodging the blow, then grabbing a hold of the fist and elbow and pushing, hard, sending the inebriated man sprawling forward. That was all the provocation his cohorts needed, as they launched themselves at Samon. He intercepted the long-haired thug first with a kick to the side of the head as he bent down for a shoulder slam. The second had maneuvered for a similar attack, and Samon simply sidestepped it, kicking out at his knee as he passed. He finished on the balls of his feet, hands out before him defensively, weaving around in the air. 

The bald man was up first and brought his hands up in a typical boxing posture. He launched several jabs, which Samon was able to lean away from or dodge to the side. The bald man tried to get creative, jabbing once, twice, then following with a right-handed punch to Samon's middle. Samon blocked that attack, knocking the fist out wide as he stepped in and drove the heel of his palm up into the bald man's nose, splattering it against his cheek. He followed up with a chop to the throat, closing the bald man's wind pipe. Another strike found his chin, this time by a hard fist, and the bald man was unconscious. 

By this time, his two cohorts were eyeing Samon warily. He looked to them and said, "You don't have to end up like him. Pick him up and be gone. Now." They complied immediately, and after a few calming breaths, Samon unclenched his fists and turned to face Cyra.

"Impressive," she said, arms crossed beneath her breasts. "Quite impressive."

"He was drunk," Samon said, shrugging. "Easier to deal with that way."

"Regardless. You protected me from three would-be assailants. I think that deserves a reward." Cyra came forward suddenly, hands on his chest, which rose and fell steadily from exertion, and kissed him lightly, letting her tongue linger for a while. She hoped he would seize the moment and take her mouth passionately with his tongue. She was not disappointed.

Overcome with adrenaline and excitement, Samon put both his hands on her face and pulled her to him, his tongue slipping past the meager defense her lips formed, and wrapped around her fiery hot tongue. She moaned quietly into his mouth, her arms hooking under his shoulders as she held herself to him, feeling the passionate heat emanating from him. 

When the kiss finally broke, Cyra found herself short of breath and smiling. She put her palms on his chest again and pressed her forehead against his. "Are you ok?" he asked, lifting her face by her chin. 

"Absolutely," she replied. "Let's go get that drink. I'm in the mood for a bit of star gazing, and now I simply must know how you learned to fight like that."

Grinning, he led her to a secluded part of Everlund. "This is Firehair's Back-room," Samon said. Tucked against the tall city wall and a large inn was a narrow building, just as tall as its neighbors, with a small courtyard walled in by a short stone partition. A stone arch with a wrought iron gate was the entrance to the courtyard, which housed about four circular tables and chairs, where a few patrons were sitting, drinking, and chatting with each other. It was a very cozy, unique establishment, and she could smell freshly cooked desserts and home-brewed drinks saturating the air. A zig-zagging stair wound up the side of the building, and Cyra supposed they would be heading up that way in the end. 

Samon ordered them both a light ale with some crisp bread snacks, and carried both flagons and the reed-bowl up the stairs, the tiefling in tow. Cyra followed Samon up the stairs, enjoying the view of his muscular hind-quarters as he ascended. When they came to the summit of the stairwell, she was surprised at what greeted her. Meticulously cared for plants lined the waist-high wall that girded the roof, and dwelling within the plants were glow-bug hives. They were harmless, and emitted a soft, yellow bioluminescence that added a relaxed, delightful atmosphere. There were tables scattered about the roof, with an unobtrusive bar nestled away in the corner. 

Cyra eyed the rakish looking man, with a long black pony tail and stubble beard, as he chatted idly with a young couple. Samon noted her interest and only smiled to himself as he led her to his chosen table. He set the two thin-handled flagons on the short table and put the crisps between them. On either side of the table were two long, reclined chairs, and Cyra followed Samon's lead by laying down, crossing her legs and folding her hands behind her head.

"I must say, Samon," Cyra began, "this is much better than I thought it'd be. I was half expecting some run-down watering hole."

"I'm full of surprises, I suppose," Samon said, smiling as he glanced sidelong at the tiefling. 

Cyra, her head turned toward Samon, smiled coyly and reached for her ale. "So you just lay here and gaze at the stars, do you?"



"Yes," he replied.



"Alone?"



"Not tonight," he said, turning to face her. She rolled over onto her side. 



"That's right. And what do you intend to do with your company?" She asked, affecting a purr to her already sultry voice.



He rolled over to look at her, taking a sip of his ale. "I intend to talk to you and get to know you."

"Really?" she asked, genuinely surprised. "Just talk?"



"Yes, why so surprised?" he asked.

"Look at me," she replied, indicating her petite horns, the slender tail, and impressive curves. "When men want to take me out they think sex and all the dirty, nasty things a tiefling might be into. Not conversation."

"I'm full of surprises, remember?" was all he replied, smiling honestly. She looked at him incredulously, then shrugged her shoulders, smiling. 

"Very well then, Samon. You got a last name?" she asked.

"Samon Armanov," he replied. "My family and all my ancestors as far as we've known have been entrepreneurs. I am the exception. Does Cyra have a last name or family history?"

"Not one that many ask about," she said, pointing to her horns. "I don't know much about my mortal family, since I was cast out at a very early age. But my ancestry, that's something I've researched." She rolled onto her back, clasping her hands behind her head and wrapping her dexterous tail around her left leg. "The demon that mated with my great-great-grandmother was from the Plane of Shadow, a servant of Shar, and had an unnatural lust. He was gray-skinned, with a tail and short horns, and though he lived in unnatural cold, radiated heat fueled by his unquenchable lust. He came to the Prime Material Plane in search of women and men to sate his sexual cravings and deviant tastes, and found my mother. The story I was told was that she felt honored by his attentions and they mated throughout the night. She survived only barely, and lived the rest of her days scarred by the demon's lash and bites. The rest of my lineage was normal, it wasn't until my birth that his heritage became obvious."

"Wow," was all Samon said. "I'm sorry, I hope that wasn't hard for you to recall."

Cyra sat up on her chair and stood, turning to face Samon, her face impassive. She walked to his chair and laid next to him, facing him, with one of her shapely legs draping over his hip. "The only hard thing is that recalling my great-great-grandfather ignites something of his that I inherited. His unquenchable lust. Now, I have to figure out how to sate it. Any ideas?"

Samon grinned at the tiefling. "I don't suppose you have any whips or chains, do you?"

*****

Lura sat on Iliara's bed chewing a blackstalk stem. It burned her tongue as a fine liquor might, and she already felt a smoldering heat developing in her loins thanks to the aphrodisiac. She opened her eyes and looked at the gold elf, a grin on her face. The two females had left Mikhail to his own devices, and last she knew he had engaged Donnara in conversation that would likely end in sex. Lura couldn't bring herself to care. Iliara was watching her reaction while her hands idly drew lines over her athletic breasts. 




Drow in the City Ch. 02



Both had discarded their evening gowns in favor of more comfortable clothing. Lura had donned her Red Robe of Sune atop a soft, tight black shirt and tight black leggings. Her soft boots were at Iliara's door. The Shadowdancer had chosen black leather pants and a loose white tunic of thin material. Her boots were also at the door. 

"You must show me how you acquired this fine mushroom," Lura purred, her eyes half-lidded as she smiled seductively at the gold elf. Iliara smirked and leaned forward, inhaling the scent of Lura's perspiration on her neck. She put her hands on the drow's waist, easing her onto her back as Iliara laid atop her. Iliara pushed the Red Robe open, revealing Lura's firm, full breasts hidden underneath the taut, thin fabric of her tank top. Deep violet nipples were hard atop the perfect mounds before Iliara, and she couldn't help but stare longingly at them. 

"I will, drow," Iliara said in a throaty whisper. "I must taste you first, though."

"No," Lura said, pushing Iliara's shoulders. "The blackstalk. I want to know how you get into the Underdark and back."

The gold elf put on a mask of frustration as the fire in her loins burned incessantly. "Fine. Take a deep breath."

Lura had little time to react, for Iliara grabbed her by the neck, and her world went black. A sensation of moving in multiple directions at the same time overwhelmed her, erasing the pleasant simmering in her loins and implanting an uncomfortable queasiness. Then, the blackness dissipated, replaced by the dull glow of bioluminescent fungi. She felt thousands of tons of dirt and rock above her and realized she had just been teleported into a section of the Underdark. Looking around, Lura recognized some of the formations from her previous life. Then, she had traveled often between Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan, though she called neither of those cities home. Her House had been a merchant House, and she, being the lowest ranking priestess, had been delegated to overseeing her House's affairs in the two rival cities. She was closer to Menzoberranzan, she realized, and if any of their patrols caught them, she would have to think quickly.

"How?" Lura asked as she slowly stood, barefoot on the cold, damp ground. 

"Shadowstep," Iliara said flatly. "I am a Shadowdancer, I can move through the Fringe, part of the Plane of Shadow, to any location. Thank Shar, or else I would not have been able to procure this addictive stuff."

Her mind a bit hazy from the blackstalk, Lura thought nothing of the mention of the Lady of Loss. Instead, she began searching for blackstalk mushrooms. 

"Here," Iliara said, kneeling next to a patch of red-glowing moss. A batch of blackstalk was growing tall and strong there, and Lura crouched next to Iliara to look upon it. 

"Delicious," the drow said, licking her lips.



"Take some so I can have my way with you," Iliara said impatiently as she stood. Lura looked up at her and scowled. 

"You do not have the right to command me," Lura said in self-righteous indignation. She was amazed at how easily her drow sensibilities returned to her. "I am a High Priestess of Lolth, and you are iblith--filth--not fit to lick the soles of my feet. Faerie elf. I spit on you." And so she did, her saliva splattering on Iliara's neck and chin. The gold elf almost lashed out, but a subtle smirk on Lura's face told her the game was on. Lura, the drow Matron, would dominate the quivering, subservient surface elf.

*****

Cyra threw her head back in rapturous bliss as her nails dug into Samon's chest. A loud moan ejaculated from her wide open mouth as another orgasm shot up her spine like white-hot fire. Her pussy clenched and quivered around the thick shaft that was buried in her soaked, delightfully stretched canal. She looked down again through hazy eyes at Samon's grinning, sweat-soaked face. His hands grasped at her breasts, which were coated in a fine sheen of perspiration, and pressed her crimson nipples between his strong fingers. She grasped one of those hands and pulled it to her mouth, tasting the hot, cinnamon-spicy remnants of her pussy still on his fingers.

She settled her hips down onto him, crossing her forearms over his chest and pressing her full lips against his. His tongue, broad and warm, into her mouth to feel her uniquely shaped tongue, which was long and thin, much like a serpent's, but not forked. Cyra wrapped her dexterous tongue around his several times and maneuvered her pointed tail around his muscular thigh. She felt his thick member thrust up into her slightly, then relax. Samon repeated the action, grinning against her lips. The tiefling reached back to feel his swollen sack, heavy with unreleased seed.

"Are you holding back, lover?" She asked, squeezing his sack for emphasis.

"I don't release until my mate is completely sated," he said, licking his lips. She nipped at his lower lip, her pointed incisors piercing the flesh a little. Realizing her unique oral traits, she looked at him in alarm, but his grin, broad with sadistic intent, disarmed her worry. 

"It's ok," he said quietly. "I like pain." Cyra grinned wickedly and wrapped her fingers around his neck, slowly drawing her hips off his. She felt the thick mushroom-head stretching her opening, and just before it popped out, she slammed her hips back down, pressing her hand against his windpipe as the loud smack resonated in Samon's small apartment. She slowly released the pressure on his neck, little air in little by little as she slowly pulled off him again. 

"Yes," he gasped just before she squeezed tight and slammed back down onto his hips. She slid her hand down his torso, slick with their sweat, and reached between her legs and grasped the base of his shaft firmly with her hand. Slowly, she began to stroke the lower half of his meaty cock as her pussy stroked the upper half. Samon groaned audibly, his hands gripping the sensual flare of Cyra's hips. The man reached further around, pulling the twin mounds of her bottom apart to reveal the cleft between. Further his fingers reached, nearing the puckered rosebud so close to where his cock was enveloped. Instead, he reached to her tail, his hands wrapping around its base and squeezing, pulling, and stroking. 

A pleasure unlike any Cyra had ever felt shot from the base of her dexterous tail to the back of her throat, as if every nerve ending within her had curled in pleasure. She involuntarily shut her eyes and let a moan of intense pleasure shout from her throat. When Samon suddenly stopped stroking her tail, she looked down, impatient, and was met with an expression of alarm.

"Don't stop," she said. She couldn't hear the double-tone that came from her mouth, but Samon surely did. Her voice was loudest, but beneath that was a sinister, evil voice, something dark and malevolent, yet sensual. Adding to the frightening change was her eyes, which had become solid black with burning orange pinpoints where her pupils had once been. "Do not stop," she said again, and he found his hands involuntarily massaging and stroking the strong tail.

"Mmm," she said, licking her lips. He noticed her sharp teeth had grown a bit and now poked out over her lower lip slightly, and even sliced her tongue. Blood trickled off her lip to land on his own lips, and she seemed not to even notice the laceration. She continued to slide up and down on his shaft, holding his cock firmly in hand as she did so, and Samon found himself lost in her blackened eyes. Her sinister appearance became arousing to him, and he felt his member swell even as her motions grew quicker, more urgent, her panting moans louder and quicker. 

"Cum in me," she panted, the sinister double-tone voice sounding oddly sexual. He hesitated, and she opened he eyes, staring down at him with lust-driven intensity, and shouted, "Cum in me now, Samon!"

He groaned loudly, his voice carrying the throaty, savage shout to resonate against the thin apartment walls, and his sack emptied its contents into Cyra's fiery cunt. Hot jets of thick, viscous seed coated her inner walls, and the sensation of her pulsating canal being pumped full of hot seed sent her over the edge into her third and final orgasm. Her cry of ecstasy sounded like the scream of a demoness in the throes of pure pleasure. 



Her body went rigid and her back arched violently, pulling her upright. Involuntarily, her arms were thrown out and back, finely honed muscles flexing in the dim candlelight. She threw her head back, mouth wide open as the unearthly wail of ecstasy poured forth, and Samon watched in helpless curiosity and a small amount of fear as her horns grew to a full handspan and black, wispy tendrils of shadowstuff began leaking from her eyes and mouth. The room blackened, candles dying without a wind to snuff them, and her breast heaved as she drew in deep, ragged breaths. Black fingernails grew to three-inch claws, her breasts quivered as her body strained against an unseen force. 

Then it stopped. She collapsed atop him, drawing no breath, and the candles flickered to life. Samon flipped her over on his inclined couch, and she laid unconscious beneath him, lips parted and body limp. He tapped her on the cheek with his open hand, and when that made no effect, he patted her harder.

"Cyra," he said. "Cyra!" She began to stir, and he held her face in his hands. 

"Samon?" she said, her voice weak and normal again. "What happened? I remember...well, I remember holding you in my hand while I was on top of you...did that feel good by the way?"

"Amazing," he said, smiling and dropping down next to her, pulling her close to him. "It felt amazing. But I'm not sure you want to know what happened..."

"Tell me," Cyra said, propping herself up on an elbow. Samon recounted the changes she experienced, and when he finished, she only had more questions. 

"It was as if some sort of wickedness had possessed you," he said. Cyra stared at him incredulously. 

"Perhaps my heritage got the better of me, but I sincerely doubt I was possessed by anything, dear Samon," Cyra said, laying herself on his naked chest. She let her fingers play over his sparsely haired torso, down to the trail of hair below his navel. She kissed lightly along his collar bone and laid her face on his chest, looking up at him as he propped his head on a pillow. 

"Whatever it was, it was at once frightening and arousing. As long as you don't start carving me up in the bed, I can get used to it," Samon said, smiling down at her.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind. What I'm interested in, though, is that you seem to believe this could be a regular occurrence," Cyra said, smirking up at him.

"After tonight, after the bliss I gave you that sent you into...whatever it sent you into...I can't see how you could resist the opportunity," Samon said.

"Ah, you're appealing to my pragmatism?" Cyra asked. "You are correct. I believe a continued relationship would benefit us both. But under what terms?"

"Terms? Relationships don't have terms, my dear," Samon said. 

"Humor me."

"Fine. We do what we want, when we want, with minimal regard to our health and safety."

"Damn, you're good. It's a deal, then. You and me. Samon and Cyra. But I'll have to know a little bit more about you. How in all the Nine Hells did a busboy land a girl like me?" She propped herself up on his chest and looked down at him.

"Testicular fortitude," he said, to which they both laughed heartily. "I'm just a simple man living a simple life," he said, smiling, "and now I've got a not-so-simple woman on my arm." 

She smiled at him, kissing him quickly and rolling off the couch. "Come with me, Samon."

"Where?"

"It's early," she said, "and you've made me a very hungry woman."

*****

Iliara didn't know what she had gotten herself in to. The gold elf had little experience with the drow outside of the general stereotypes surfacers still held after the Spellplague. More of the black-skinned cousins of the surface elves lived in the World Above than ever before, yet still they were rarely seen anywhere outside the most metropolitan of cities. Lura certainly did not fit into the mold observed by the World Above when it came to drow, Iliara knew, but in light of her current surroundings, she questioned that view.

The dark elf was lit only by a single candle, yet Iliara could plainly see her features thanks to her elven darkvision. She wore only a spidersilk robe that was so transparent no decent person would wear it in public. A thin mithril chain wrapped around her waist, settled on her sensual hips, and a gem-studded tiara with spider web-like designs sat atop her thick mane of white hair. Iliara could see the full breasts through the robe and the stiff peaks atop them. Only hours ago, the drow's beauty had been hidden by a fine evening gown. Now, it was plain to be seen through the spidersilk robe, but Iliara found the garment more infuriatingly teasing. 

Lura's countenance had changed dramatically as well. The normally smiling Chosen of Sune scowled at the elf in open contempt. "Do you know the word 'iblith' elf?" Lura asked, her voice thick with the characteristic snarl she had left behind long ago.

"No," Iliara said. She barely registered the movement as Lura backhanded her across the face. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as her lip began to bleed. 

"Ignorance. It means filth. That is what you are: filth. You are a lesser creature than I, for you are not drow. One day you will come to understand this. If the Spider Queen does not consume you first." Lura began to pace around the chair Iliara sat in. "When I ask you a question, you will address me as Mistress. You will not speak unless prompted by none other than myself. You will not relieve yourself without my say so, and you will not fuck yourself unless it serves my whim. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Iliara said. Another stinging slap hit her, this time on the other side of her face. Her nose began to trickle blood and she saw Lura licking flecks of the crimson liquid from the back of her black hand. "Yes, Mistress," Iliara corrected. 

Lura smiled a wicked smile at the gold elf. She had shackled her wrists to the chair's arms and her ankles to the legs, but refrained from disrobing the elf. In the time it took the drow to find and don her old high priestess robe, Iliara had replaced her gown with loose linen pants and shirt. Lura pulled a dagger from a sheath hidden at the back of her thigh that Iliara had somehow overlooked and began slicing ragged tears in the thin garments. 

"There, you look like a proper slave now, iblith," Lura said. She scraped a finely filed nail over Iliara's throat. A quick flick sliced a shallow cut, drawing a fine line of blood. The drow leaned forward quickly, her tongue pressing against the hot blood and leaning the chair back so that only her grasp kept the elf from falling to the ground. Iliara let out a soft moan, feeling the heat of blood and drow igniting a flicker of arousal deep inside her loins.

With a flick of her wrists, Lura commanded her magical shackles to open, releasing the elf. Iliara looked at her skeptically and Lura lunged, grasping her around the neck and lifting her off the chair. She pushed her to the bed, and the gold elf fell backward. Lura mounted her in a heartbeat, her hand on Iliara's neck as she leaned forward, pressing hard as she bit the point of the elf's ear. "You wish to know how a drow makes love to her mate?"

"Yes...mistress..." Iliara managed.

"We do not make love, ignorant wench. We conquer what we desire with a Spider's Kiss." A flash of fear crossed Iliara's eyes, and Lura could not suppress a smile. She kissed her savagely, torturing the elf's already broken lips, but when Lura pressed her tongue into Iliara's mouth, she found it open and willing, a moan resonating in her throat. The drow pulled herself up, kneeling atop the prone elf, and grabbed a tear in Iliara's shirt between the breasts. She ripped, her arms and shoulders flexing in the process, and tore the shirt wide open, revealing the compact, athletically sculpted breasts. Iliara began to smile, but Lura crushed the expression with two slaps, one for each breast, leaving a rosy handprint on the bronzed skin.

Iliara bit her lip hard enough to squeeze out more blood that trickled down her delicate jaw line. Lura was quick to lunge for the metallic liquid, savoring the sweetness of it as she grasped the petite breasts in her skilled hands. Lura reached down to a torn seam in Iliara's pant leg, tearing it violently until the garment was torn asunder in the front, revealing a gleaming slit of pink nestled between a plump mound, and under a strip of fine, golden hairs. Without any attempt at delicacy, Lura thrust her fingers into the moist mound, splaying open the inner lips to reveal the musky center. A few short strokes of her middle finger up the slit was enough to draw out Iliara's clit from it's hood.

Lura felt Iliara's strong hips thrust up into her hand, and the drow obliged her by plunging her middle finger into the sodden canal. Iliara cried out in a throaty moan, and was repaid with a vicious slap across her face.

"I see there is still an issue for us to deal with," Lura said, pulling her hand from Iliara's crotch and smearing the juices across the gold elf's face. She reached behind her and procured a leather strap, from where Iliara had no clue, and fastened it around the gold elf's face. A black ball made of leather was in the center and fit into Iliara's mouth, muffling any moans she might make. "There we go," Lura said, smiling sweetly as she reached between Iliara's legs again. "All better now, yes?"

Iliara nodded her head, three muffled syllables coming from behind the ball-gag. Lura smacked her across the face again. "If you can't address me properly, then you had best limit your utterances to helpless moaning." Iliara glared at her, but could not hide the lust burning in her eyes. Lura pulled her spidersilk gown apart, throwing her arms back to let the wispy garment fall off her, revealing her body to the candlelight. Iliara admired the body before her, as if Lura had been carved meticulously out of pure obsidian. She dared not reach up to touch the drow's body for fear of her mistress's retribution.

Lura pressed her thigh up against Iliara's wet slit and tore open a pant leg to reveal a surprisingly muscular thigh. She pressed herself into Iliara's smooth skin, feeling her own loins spreading open on Iliara's thigh. The drow leaned forward, bracing herself with both hands on Iliara's neck as she began to grind her slit against the muscular thigh beneath her.

The two elves started grinding in unison, Lura moaning loudly into the darkness while Iliara's moans were muffled by the leather ball in her mouth. Lura reached behind herself (Iliara figured even through the haze of lust and sex that the drow was able to magically conjure things) and procured two small strips of blackstalk mushroom stalk. She pulled the ball from Iliara's mouth and placed the strip on her tongue, then replaced the ball and took her own strip of the potent drug, letting the libido-enhancing effects take hold of her.

Lura closed her eyes and let her hands rest on Iliara's breasts, savoring the bitter taste on her tongue. When she opened her eyes, though, Iliara was not there to greet her. In her stead, a woman with deathly pale skin and hair blacker than the shadows around them. She smiled up at Lura, an expression filled with malevolent intent, and reached down to the sodden drow sex. Lura pulled her hands away from the pale form, revealing breasts much bigger than Iliara's, but not quite as big as hers, topped with midnight blue nipples and areolas. 

The drow looked down in a mixture of fear and desire and watched as slender fingers reached for her sodden sex. She noticed, at the last moment, that every pore in the woman's body was leaking languid tendrils of shadow. Then she felt the touch; electricity, heat, cold, all assaulted her, shocking her body from the hallucination and sending her into a cataclysmic orgasm that had juice spurting from her loins and coating Iliara's thigh.




Drow in the City Ch. 02



The gold elf simply looked up at her, clearly already spent, though Lura had missed her orgasm, with a grin in her eyes. 

"You wanted to know how drow fuck?" Lura asked, her voice slurred. "You should know how we finish...with the Spider's Kiss." Again, Lura reached behind herself and summoned a long, twisted dagger, the hilt formed as a spider, with the eight legs pointing up the blade. She held the sacrificial dagger high over her head and Iliara was gripped with fear. She had provoked the wrong drow. 

The dagger came down, aimed true for the gold elf's heart. Iliara didn't have time to gasp.

It landed flat between her breasts, the blade pointing harmlessly toward Lura and the eight legs of the spider fanned out around it. "Had I been a true Matron Mother, Lady Lolth would be feasting on your heart right now."

"Praise Shar that you are not, then," Iliara said. 

Shar, Lura thought to herself. Shar.

"Is something the matter?" Iliara asked, suppressing a knowing grin.

"No," Lura replied defensively. "Just...I think the blackstalk gave me a hallucination. It is nothing, simply a side effect. Nothing Sune could not explain to me."

"Perhaps it was more than that," Iliara said. "Sharrans have been known to partake of blackstalk in dark ceremonies to commune with Lady of Loss."

"You speak from experience?"

"I am an assassin," Iliara said, "among other things. The darkness is my ally, so it's logical that I owe her at least some fealty. I'm merely speculating on your behalf, though. Maybe she is linked in some way to blackstalk mushroom, we mortals cannot know for sure. I have heard, though, that Shar has some quite devious methods of pleasuring her faithful. Bondage and the like. Perhaps that kind of thing interests a deviant like yourself?" Iliara grinned playfully at Lura to mask her true feelings, and Lura took the bait, falling down to lay against the gold elf. 

"I would not be opposed to exploring this side of sex," Lura said, nipping playfully at the sensitive points of Iliara's ear. "Safely, though. Sune exalts pleasure and love, not destruction."

"Of course," Iliara said, smiling. Inwardly, she grinned darkly, and through the latent effects of the blackstalk, she heard Shar's whisper.

You have done well, sweetling. Better than the piece-of-dung Abondel ever dreamed. Bring the drow into my influence and you will know unending pleasures.

*****

Lura was in a daze as she walked from Iliara's room to her own, where she hoped Mikhail was waiting for her. She pushed herself through the doorway, her arms limp at her sides and her spider-silk gown open wide. Mikhail was there, likely naked underneath the voluminous covers of their bed, and cracked his eyes open at the sound of her entrance. He immediately sat up, throwing off the covers and moving out of bed. 

"Are you ok?" he asked, walking toward her and pulling her into an embrace with a smile on his face. "Did she wear you out?"

"Something like that," Lura said, burying her face in his chest and resting her hands on his hips. "Something strange happened. A vision, or a hallucination, I cannot be sure."

"What?" he asked, curious as he walked her to the bed. He laid her down, then crawled under the covers with her. 

"I saw...I don't know...I ingested a large quantity of blackstalk mushroom, which is poisonous to must surface races but an aphrodisiac to the drow. Enough of it will act as a narcotic, though, and I fear I may have ingested more than enough." Her eyes fluttered and she seemed to drift off for a moment. When she came to, her eyes were glazed. "I just...I just need sleep."

"Ok, my dear," Mikhail said, stroking her clammy cheek and kissing her forehead. "I'll be here with you."

A faint smile found her face, but was quickly replaced by a look of apprehension. "I saw...Shar...I saw...I saw..." 

Sleep took her, leaving Mikhail with a troubled look on his face. He laid on his back and put his hands behind his head even as Lura rolled to her side, her hand resting on his chest. Shar. He knew well of Shar, that was for certain. He knew well of the Plane of Shadow, and of Shar's minions: the shadow demons, shadow dragons, all the wicked, malformed creatures that were the spawn of that dark plane. 

Yes, Mikhail new much of Shar and her kingdom. He had escaped long, long ago.



Drow in the City Ch. 03



Dark thing swept this way and that in the violet sky. The moon did little to illuminated the surroundings; pale, sallow light did little to combat the pervasive darkness of the Plane of Shadow. Faceless people were all around him, bound by shadowy webs at the wrists, waist, neck, and ankles. The tormentors patrolled the blackness, their beady red eyes piercing the victims' souls.

In their hands, long rods leaked inky black shadow. Mikhail watched as a poor soul was prodded with one of those rods, watched as their veins stood out in their skin as the flesh was drawn tight over the skin. They screamed in pain and abject terror. Mikhail was compelled by an unseen force and thrust his shadow-rod into a woman's neck. She convulsed, her skin tightening all over. He saw her bone structure, muscle striations, and veins standing out in her neck, shoulders, arms, and chest. A tear opened in her skin over her shoulder, and her cry congealed his blood.

Mikhail wondered, not for the first time, why had accepted Shar's bargain. An eternity serving her so that he never had to worry for food, shelter, anything again. Homelessness had been torturous, to be certain, but this life...this wasn't a life to him. But he was bound to his word, wasn't he? 

A whispered voice carried on stagnant air to his ears, fading as it repeated itself again and again. "Mikhail," came the sultry, wicked woman's voice. He knew what she wanted, it was that time of day. "Mikhail, pet, come to me."

The words were honey, but laced with venom. He knew this all too well. And it was not a request by any stretch of the term. Shar was demanding his presence, and before he could think of the best way to her Black Castle, the world before him was torn asunder by shimmering violet fire. The portal spread open, revealing the utter blackness of Shar's castle. He did not step through, rather, an unseen hand pushed him into the portal, and into Shar's sanctum.

"Hello, pet," Shar said, her voice demanding and alluring at once. His eyes, enhanced by Shar's magic to pierce the deepest darkness, made out her shadowy form in the pitch. She was reclining lazily on a divan made completely of shadowstuff, the building blocks of the Plane of Shadow. Like smoke, wisps of the shadowstuff curled into the air, and curled lazily about Shar's naked form. In another life, he might have found her body attractive, even arousing. But here, under her lash, he felt only fear and revulsion. Not at what he knew was coming, but knowing the dark, twisted magic that Shar commanded would trick his mind into enjoying what was about to come. 

In the blink of a weary eye, his clothes were simply gone. He was naked, hairless, with gaunt features and sinewy limbs wrought from despair and malnourishment. Shar stood, and he watched the darkness wrap around her waist, girding her loins and forming into something like a penis where her vagina was. Except one could hardly call the new phallus a penis. In the Plane of Shadow, everything was a twisted, malformed image of its Prime Material Plane's representation. This "shadow cock," as it were, grew from Shar's clitoris in bulges, like too many stones stuffed into a small sock. The head of the cock was blunted, and oozed a viscous green liquid that Mikhail figured was an analog for human semen. Bile formed in the back of his throat, then forced itself out as he doubled over and wretched.

"Now, now, my sweet," she purred in an otherworldly voice. "Does my body not please you?"

Mikhail gasped for air, hands on his knees, and failed to respond.

"Answer me, swine!" she roared. Her anger rose and shook the floor Mikhail stood on. "How dare you ignore my question, you filthy excuse for a servant. I was going to take it easy on you today, because you've done well on my breeding grounds. But this...this I cannot abide. Kneel before your Queen, you pitiful creature!"

Compelled by Shar's vile magic, Mikhail knelt down before her, then turned so that his back was to her and braced his hands on the floor. He heard her approach, felt her cold hand spread open the cheeks of his ass, felt the...

*****

Mikhail's scream tore through the silent apartment, and he sat up straight, cloaked in a sheen of cold sweat. He looked around frantically, and swore he saw shadows crawling into themselves as he came to. Lura was not there, nor was Cyra. He was alone and, looking down, physically aroused, despite the waning terror. He slipped his hand under the covers and felt his shaft, wrapping his fingers around the base. 

Eager to take his mind off the dream, he threw off the covers and began to stroke himself with a firm grip. The door opened quickly and Donnara barged in.

"Mikhail? Are you o...k..." Her eyes fixated on him as he paused mid-stroke. "Anything I can help with?"

Mikhail's grin was all she needed, and she darted to the bed, licking her lips and crawling between his legs. She thrust her hand inside her loose sleeping pants and began to stroke her nether lips while licking Mikhail's sack. He stroked faster and faster, eyes locked shut as Donnara lapped at his testes. His breath caught, and Donnara put her mouth over the head of Mikhail's cock just before a few spurts of salty-sweet cum shot out. She locked her lips over his member and drank his seed, swallowing hungrily.

She licked her lips clean and looked up at him, sitting on her knees.

"Thank you," he said, smiling kindly.

"My pleasure. Why did you scream?"

"Just a bad dream," he said. "It's nothing."

"You sure?" he nodded and closed his eyes. "Sleep tight then, handsome." She climbed off the bed and left, savoring the after-taste of cum in her mouth

*****

Cyra was almost alarmed. Her fingers were dancing rapidly over her clitoris and she watched herself in the mirror that Samon held. She wanted to see what transformation she had taken when he was fucking her the night before, but so far none of her orgasms or ministrations had triggered any sort of change. Orgasm shook her gently, and she released her over-sensitive clit. No changes had taken her.

"I don't know why it's not working," Samon said, sighing. 

"Well," Cyra said, gasping, "I can't say I don't enjoy trying."

Samon glanced at her with bemusement. "I don't think there's much you wouldn't enjoy while naked," he said sardonically. She shrugged her shoulders and grinned. "I suppose that's enough experimentation for one morning. Your fingers...or something...has to be tired."

"I could handle another round or two, but I am quite hungry. Perhaps we could meet up with my companions for lunch?" Cyra prompted, pulling her pants up from a wrinkled pile on the floor. She stood and clasped a wide black belt around her taut waist, and smirked as Samon stared at the generous swell of her breasts, bare in the late morning sunlight. Her nipples, to his delight, were erect, turgid and insolent in their revelry. 

Samon snapped himself out of his trance, and he stood, donning functional, casual breeches and a thin tunic, half-laced to reveal the sparse hair on his finely chiseled chest. Cyra, teasingly, slowly put on her clothes from the previous evening, when she noticed her obsidian fingernails had grown an inch and seemed sharper than before. She thought it strange, but considering Samon's account of the previous night, she dismissed it as a side-effect. Cyra did not like to dwell on things she could not understand, rather she let things run their course, trusting that answers would make themselves known in due time.

The couple were out the door and on their way to the Dreaming Dragon, hand in hand, and approaching the tavern when a contingent of plate-wearing guards approached them. "Samon Armanov, you will come with us by the order of Lord Armanov."

"Go away," Samon said. "I am just fine where I am."

"Lord Armanov demands your presence in his court," the guard persisted. "He directly ordered me to bring you home, that you have had enough slumming for one week."

"Slumming?" Cyra said. "Does he look like he's slumming to you?"

"By the looks of those horns, I'd say yes," the guard said, venom in his voice. "Mind your place, tiefling, this noble is above your station."

"Ware your tongue, Staven," Samon said, coming forward quickly. "By all rights you work for me as much as my father, and I'll have you drinking out of the gutters by nightfall if you speak in such a way to Lady Cyra."

"Or I'll just run you through," Cyra said, the muscles in her athletic body rigid with anticipation.

"You don't fill our gold coffers, lad," Staven said, "your father does. And he wants you home. We don't do what he wants, we get fired. We don't do what you want, you get paid. Now come with us or we'll make your pretty plaything something we can all enjoy."

"Try it," Cyra said. She reached for her daggers, and realized she had not brought them out the previous night. Growling with almost feral aggression, she widened her stance and arced her fingers, as if her fingernails were talons. 

"Last chance, boy," Staven said as his guards drew swords, leering at Cyra.

"Don't do this," Samon pleaded. It was no use. Staven and his men converged on Cyra, and Samon lunged at the nearest attacker. He seized the man's sword hand, twisting it painfully and forcing the blade out of his grasp. A tug had the man doubled over, and Samon brought his knee into the guard's exposed midsection. A downward punch to the back of his neck had the guard face-first on the road, unconscious.

Samon went for the next guard, but the armored man had seen his comrade fall and was more prepared. He feinted with his blade, drawing Samon's guard away from his face, and then smashed his pommel against Samon's face. He followed with a punch from a steel-clad fist, sending Samon sprawling to the ground. 

Cyra lunged at Staven, pushing away the man's sword and raking him across the face with her fingernails. To her surprise, four deep gashes crossed the man's face, deep and angry with rushing blood. She had rendered one of his eyes useless. She turned to the other guard as Staven fell to his knees, clutching his bloody face. 

An arc of fiery red energy shot into the man before Cyra could attack, and he fell to his knees. Cyra saw Lura standing behind him, her Red Robe formed into a sturdy, tight but flexible low-neck top with long, flowing skirt over top of black leggings. The laces on her top were tied tight, keeping her precious chest in check, and her hand was thrust out, still sparkling with ruby red magic.

"Forgive me, Mistress," the man said as he began to knee-walk toward Lura. The drow ignored him and walked over to Cyra, pulling the tiefling into a tight hug, kissing her on the lips and cheeks.

"Are you alright, Cyra?" Lura asked.

"Fine," Cyra said, lifting her bloodstained hand to her face. "I suppose. I'm not sure, but I think there's something wrong with my hand."

Lura looked at the cat-like claws that had formed where Cyra's fingernails had been. As she gazed upon them, they slowly reverted back to their normal, obsidian fingernail state. "I've heard of this before, in the Dancing Rose. Every now and then, we would get certain followers of Sharess. Not clerics or anything like that, or the usual revelers and deviants, but something else. Something more militaristic. They called themselves celebrants of Sharess."

"I've heard of this, but never understood their order," Cyra said as Lura knelt to revive and heal Samon's wounds. Sune's magic flowed from Lura's hands in a golden glow, and Samon began to stir.

"Apparently, they are a part of an ancient order of Sharess, from when she was simply the goddess of cats, and fought against Set, from the east. They follow her edicts now, following their passions and the like, but do not neglect her old ways, righting wrongs, fighting evil, that kind of thing." Lura and Cyra helped Samon to his feet, and he was looking down at Lura's cleavage when the drow began speaking again. "I fought with some of them, and they had amazing cat-like abilities, and some even had the ability to transform their fingers into claws. It appears Sharess has found you worthy of such an honor, being the brutally efficient fighter that you are," Lura finished with a wink to Samon. "Come, there is mutton and ale within."

When Lura turned back to the Dreaming Dragon, Cyra grabbed Samon by the arm and turned him to her. "A simple busboy? You lied to me, Samon."

"Perhaps now is not the best time to explain," Samon said. Cyra's glare was unrelenting though, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Cyra, I did not want you to think less of me. I didn't want you to think that I was slumming, because I don't feel like I am any better than anybody else in this city. I wanted you to see me for what I was, not what my station is."

"What you are remains to be seen," Cyra said, quelling her anger. "Next time, though, just tell me the truth. Hammer, a barbarian that traveled with Lura and I before we came here, had a philosophy that I respected, and still live by. 'Speak plainly, speak truthfully, or do not speak at all.'"

"I will remember that," Samon said. "I truly am sorry, Cyra."

The tiefling looked over her shoulder at him, the fire in her eyes simmering still, but her demeanor softened at his apologetic expression. She took a few quick strides to him and grabbed his elbow, pulling him to her and kissing him on the lips. "It's done, Samon. Let's go...you've yet to meet my friends...at least, not with their clothes on."

He smiled at her. "It was quite a sight though," he said.

"Oh, I know, trust me. Don't get too excited though, nobody's fucking during lunch," she said, pulling him along to the Dreaming Dragon. The tiefling had more on her mind than a simple fib told by her current lover. She had always considered herself a follower of Sune, but if Lura was correct, then Sharess was showing her special attention, and she couldn't be sure why. Not yet, at least. But, as Cyra generally deals with perplexing and confusing circumstances, she ignored it, accepted the change and moved forward accordingly. 

She entered the tavern, and found that it was eerily quiet. Lura and Mikhail sat at one of the larger corner tables, along with Benefast and Donnara. The drow beckoned to Cyra and Samon, and they joined them around a giant platter of steamed vegetables and roasted pork. Cyra reached for a large piece of meat and placed it on a plate before her seat. "What's going on?"

"We're discussing the future of the Dreaming Dragon," Benefast said.

"And Sune's presence in Everlund," Lura said, a coy smile on her face. Cyra admired the sweeping neckline Lura's Red Robe affected for the occasion, and the sculpt of Lura's shoulders and arms, poorly hidden by the thin straps of the Robe. 

"We're considering forming a Festhall to honor Sune, Sharess, and Lliira out of the Dreaming Dragon. It would maintain the same name and ownership, but Lura, Sune's Chosen, would administrate the festivities, revelries, all the things that those three, the Loving Triumvirate if you will, stand for," Donnara said, a twinkle in her eye.

"Sounds great," Cyra said. "What's keeping the final decision from being made?"

"Size," Mikhail chimed in. "I have some background in these things, and frankly, a Festhall like the Dancing Rose would never work in a building this size, impressive though it is. We would need to expand, build a basement dedicated to steam baths and the like, more lodging area and a larger main hall."

"Negotiate with our neighbors," Cyra said. "We should be able to convince them to go into business with us."

Benefast indicated the north wall. "Old Branley will go along with it. He's as lascivious as they come, even in his old age. I'm sure he'd offer close shop immediately and work for us. It's Dandril we have to worry about. He's a staunch purist."

"I'll handle him," Cyra said. "Me and Samon, actually. He is a lord's son, after all." She winked at him sarcastically, and he just smiled.

"Very well then," Lura said. "Let's get to work. Mikhail and I will go see Branley with the proposal, Benefast and his half-sister can draw up expansion plans, and you take Samon to see Dandril."

"Not before I eat," Cyra said. "Stallion over here has worked up yet another appetite in me after breakfast." Lura grinned at the two, bemused.

*****

Lura walked arm in arm with Mikhail to the next building, where the old cobbler Branley had worked for decades. When the two walked into the quaint shop, they were surprised to find the old man was only half man. Subtly pointed ears poked out of the thin shroud of silvery hair that danced around his shoulders. He was a half-elf, and like much older than she had previously assumed. 

"Greetings, Master Cobbler," Lura said in a smooth, honeyed voice, strangely lilting with her drow accent. The aged cobbler craned his head over a workbench and stood immediately.

"Corellon bless my eyes, a drow in my shop. I never thought I'd see the day," he said in a throaty, deep voice. "And so lovely, my eyes must deceive me. To what do I owe the pleasure, Lady..."

"Lura," she said. "I am surprised at the welcome."

"Elves are elves in Corellon's eyes, and you wear the robes of a Sunite. There is nothing wicked about you, my dear, except perhaps what you do to that young fellow in the bedchamber," he said, winking lasciviously at Mikhail. "Come, come! Sit. What can I do for you?"

"Well, first, if you would be so kind, you could humor my curiosity. You recognize my robe?" Lura asked, one delicate eyebrow arched as she sat, her hand in Mikhail's.

"Of course, my dear. I've been around for more than a century and I've seen more than one Chosen of Sune pass through here. Always running from Shar, or some such, they are. You aren't running, are you?"

"No," Lura said, a cloud crossing her features at the mention of Shar. "No, sir, we are here to expand the presence of Sune, and were wondering if you would concede your shop to the Dreaming Dragon to further that cause. We are aiming to form a--"

"Say no more," Branley said. "For Sune, for Lura, I will do such a thing, but on two conditions."

"Name them," Mikhail said hastily, but pleasantly.

"First off, I get to work for the Dreaming Dragon, making a wage comparable to the business I do on my own," he said, businesslike.

"Done," Lura said, smiling.

"Second," Branley started, looking more closely at Lura. "A kiss. And a hug. Please, it has been a long time since an elven beauty, drow or otherwise, has paid any heed to this aged half-elf." 

Lura smiled, eyes sparkling with Sune's grace as she stood, walking like a willow toward the older half-elf. He was handsome, in a distinguished kind of way, and that made it easier for her to bend at the waist and kiss him gently on the lips, hands on his cheek, then wrap her arms around his shoulders in a gentle, warm embrace.

"You've made me a happy man, Lura of Sune. Tell Benefast that he has my concession and loyalty," Branley said, smiling.

"Thank you, Master Branley. You deserve your happiness and Sune's blessing," she said. She held her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes, channeling Sune's divine grace into the half-elf. Before Mikhail's eyes, he took on the build and look of a Branley half the age he should have been. Branley looked at Lura, a twinkle in his eyes, then turned to a polished window pane, seeing his translucent reflection within and smiling wide.

"Mistress Lura, you are a fine lass. Corellon bless you and your bonded lover," Branley said. Lura's smile tempered somewhat, but she turned and left, Mikhail in her wake. She was uncharacteristically silent as they walked the short distance to the Dreaming Dragon, and Mikhail stopped her when they reached the door.

"Lura," he said, placing his hand gently, but firmly on her shoulder. "What did he mean by bonded lover? What is that?"




Drow in the City Ch. 03



"It is an elven tradition," Lura said dismissively. "Do not worry yourself with it, it's nothing."

"It's something," Mikhail said, seeing through the weak smile Lura offered. "Tell me."

Lura sighed, looking down at the stones, then back up at Mikhail. "It is what elves do when they find a lover that they want to spend the rest of their not-so-short lives with. For humans, it is called marriage."

"Oh," Mikhail said, a sly smile finding his face. "How's that make you feel, then?"

"Stop it," Lura said, flipping her hair dismissively while hiding her feelings in the process. In truth, it was not the first time such an idea had entered her mind, but while a part of her fancied the idea of bonding herself with Mikhail. He was only human though. In less than a century, he would be old and gray, if not already dead, and, should she not fall to an enemy's sword or disease, she would still have several more centuries of life left. Her logic dictated that it would not be worth the pain of losing a loved one, especially one that had grown so dear to her, for a few decades' pleasure. She couldn't allow herself to succumb to her emotional need to bond with Mikhail. Could she?

"Fine then," Mikhail said, a little disappointed. "Perhaps another time we can discuss this?"

"Yes, perhaps," Lura said weakly, already feeling her walls of drow pragmatism crumbling at the thought of bonding with her human lover. 

*****

Cyra had a warm meal of roasted pheasant in blackberry sauce settling nicely in her stomach when she led Samon out of the Dragon to Dandril's establishment. When they came to his door, Cyra was discouraged to find the gauntlet symbol of Torm on Dandril's door. Torm, a god that championed good and lawfulness, a deity who's followers were primarily paladins and clerics, stood against the kind of wanton, depraved behavior of Sharess and Sune. A hiss found its way to Cyra's throat.

"Perhaps I should handle this," Samon said, noticing her uneasiness. 

"Indeed," Cyra said. "Kiss me first." Samon did so, with gusto, pulling the tiefling's sexual form against him, crushing her breasts against his chest while his tongue invaded her mouth in a moist dance of passion and desire. He broke the kiss abruptly, leaving Cyra gasping for air. She grinned as Samon rapped on the door.

"Who is it," a gruff voice called.

"I am Samon Armanov, son of Lord Armanov. I wish to discuss a matter of business with you," Samon said, standing with his shoulders back and chest out. There was a moment of silence, then the rattle of locks being thrown. The door opened, and the man on the other side was handsome enough to make Cyra suppress a gasp. She was thankful for her modest attire. Her pants weren't tight enough to be suggestive, and her camisole was covered enough to diminish her impressive cleavage, though she certainly hadn't intended it that way. The man immediately glared at her, noticing first her horns, then her ruddy skin.

"The son of a lord cavorting with a tiefling? Speak your business now, I'll not allow the unclean into my abode," he snapped. Cyra scowled almost as deeply as Dandril did behind his thick goatee. The man had it meticulously trimmed, though it's thickness was another story. She imagined it might be impossible to shave without a keen scimitar. His hair, black with flecks of silver from his middle age, was neatly trimmed as well, cut short on the sides and smoothly blending with the longer top, which was combed neatly, as a naval captain might keep his hair. 

"The tiefling has actually recently discovered herself a divine champion, of sorts," Mikhail said, "so she might not be as unclean as you are so quick to assume."

"What deity would stoop so low as to champion devilspawn?" Dandril asked.

"Sharess," Cyra declared in a voice that held a distinct double-tone. The hair on Samon's neck stood on end as he glanced at the tiefling. "The Dancing Lady has made me her celebrant. I am as much a conduit of her power as a paladin of Torm is to his god."

"Torm is a just god, a righteous god. Sharess is nothing but a debauched, hedonistic harlot among the gods. She has no more right to dwell among the upper planes as you do in my home. Begone!" Dandril shouted.

"Not so fast," Samon said, and edge in his voice. "Lord Armanov has taken personal interest in the business I am attempting to conduct with you. It would behoove you to hear my words before you dismiss us."

"Fine," Dandril said after a moment. "But only because I respect the works of your father. He's a just man, knows his place and respects the law. But speak fast, my tolerance of the vile one at your side is waning."

Samon explained the expansion of the Dreaming Dragon to Dandril, omitting any business that might include Sune, Sharess, Festhalls, and orgies, and Dandril looked at Samon with hard eyes.

"Never appreciated having a tavern next door. Only a step down from a brothel, if you ask me. But if Lord Armanov has plans for it, and is going to bestow me a private home, away from the impurities of taverns and harlots, in the richer side of town, then I will comply. I'll have my things gone in less than a tenday."

"Thank you, Dandril. My father will be pleased to hear this, and will look favorably on you. He may even consider owing you a debt of gratitude," Samon said.

"I would be honored," Dandril said, his voice gruff again. "Now if you don't mind, get that slut off my doorstep." He shut the door, slamming it loudly and quickly latching it.

"I'd show him what a slut I can be," Cyra said. "What I wouldn't give to defile his bed with you."

"Likewise," Samon said. "But enough of this. I do not like that he insulted you; it offends me. Let us be on to happier things."

"Like what?" Cyra asked as they turned back to the Dragon. They both glimpsed Lura and Mikhail at the entrance, and though they were a good deal away, Cyra could tell Samon was eyeing the drow's curves. "Ah, I see," the tiefling said coyly. "She tastes as good as she looks."

"What? I wasn't even...really? Not that I'd do that, being with you and all..." Samon was cut off by Cyra's laughter.

"Relax, Samon. Lura and I are not afraid to share, remember? Mikhail was fucking us both real proper when you delivered our wine the other night. I'm sure she'd go a few rounds with us if that's what you wanted."

Samon felt his loins stir with excitement at the thought. "I think, somehow, I would be ok with that," he said sarcastically, reaching to Cyra's firm buttocks for a good feel. "I don't think her body is quite as nice as yours, though."

"Oh really?" Cyra asked. "That'd be a first, I think."

"Aye...for one, your breasts are larger. Your stomach and arms are taut with muscle borne from fighting, as well as your firm thighs. And your ass...my dear, your ass is unbeatable."

"Samon, handsome...are you a butt man?" Cyra asked, giggling a little.

"I must confess, I do enjoy ass," he replied grinning at her as her long fingers wrapped around his forearm.

*****

Iliara, of course, knew the brewing plans for the Dreaming Dragon, and despite her loyalties to Shar, she couldn't help but feel excited by the prospect of a Sunite Festhall under her bed. The possibilities of such a decadent, sexual venue were endless to her. Therein lay her predicament. Something about Lura, something about Sune, was appealing to what little love was left in her, while the influence of her goddess, Shar, the Lady of Loss, was attempting to crush that glimmer of light left in her darkened soul.

The elf tightened the ties of her studded leather vest, then smoothed the form-fitting sleeves of her under-tunic. She may have been a servant of Shar, but she was still had to make a living. It just so happened that being an assassin, a bringer of loss, aligned with Shar's universal will. It was not the first time she had been hired to slay a local lord or lady, but this time was different. Her employer was a devout follower of Torm. But Iliara was not choosy, and pretending to be a follower of a lawful, just god didn't make him pay any less for her services.

She pulled on her tall boots, her tight leather leggings comfortable inside the shin-high boots. The elf stood comfortably on the soft leather soles and climbed out the window of her apartment, making not a sound as she made the roof and silently quickstepped across. She dropped off the back of the tavern, falling into a roll to protect herself from damage and traveled the shadows to the richer parts of Everlund. 

Iliara jumped from shadow to shadow across town until she was in a well-lit, ornately decorated part of town, and was standing before a large brick home. This was her target's home, a lord in good standing, but known for his ruthless business dealings and shady after-hours habits. Iliara knew them well, for her employer had been loose with his information. Either this was a trap, Iliara thought, or a very easy job. 

Hiding in the shadows, she watched the darkened windows with Shar-enhanced vision. She saw as clearly in the darkened windows as easily as day, though in shades of grey. A figure passed through one window, into a next, and paused, looking around the room he was in as if sensing her presence. She grinned. 

Iliara sprinted to the wall, shrouded in a veil of shadow that made her invisible to curious eyes. She scaled the brick wall with ease, using barely perceptible divots and vines that scaled the walls as handholds. When she reached the window sill, she pulled herself up slowly, until she could just see through the window, into the room it led to. It was empty, and she pulled shadows around her, letting them consume her. She was in the Shadow Fringe, a part of the Plane of Shadow that bordered so close with the Prime Material Plane that it allowed her to see her surroundings, yet manipulate them with her power of the shadows. The elf walked through the glass window as if it had been a thin waterfall.

She emerged from the Fringe into the "real" world, and all the sensations returned to her. The mansion was warm. Iliara could smell wax candles being burnt in the next room. She heard irregular, staccato slaps of flesh on flesh. A wry grin found her face as she silently stepped through the room, to the door that led to the next room. Behind it, she heard the smacking sounds, and decided some reconnaissance was in order. Pulling strands of darkness from her surroundings, she drew a square on the door, then spoke a word of power. The square filled with swirling shadows for a moment, then the shadows disappeared, leaving a window that only she could see through. Her breath caught in her throat as the view she was greeted with surprised her. 

There was a wooden stockade in the middle of the room, and a man wearing a black hood was locked inside it. He was naked, bent over at the waist, and had long red welts on his backside. Iliara turned her focus to the administrator of punisher. She was somewhat pleased to see that it was a woman with pale blonde hair, naked save for stiletto heels and a metal and leather collar around her neck. She held a rope in her hand that was attached by a leather loop to the man's genitals. 

Iliara thought for a moment that she could distract herself for a moment with her fingers while she watched the woman. Her breasts were a solid handful each, with long nipples. Her legs were long and willowy, as were her arms, and each were built for sensuality. Not hard and strong like, for instance, the tiefling that associated herself with Lura, or even the drow's arms which were honed from swordplay. This woman's body was soft, a product, no doubt, of a life of wealth and luxury. Iliara's gaze sat on the woman's hips for a moment, admiring their flare, a product of multiple child births. 

Her fingers had just found the small cleft between her thighs when the woman smacked her hand across the man's backside, and the sound of bare feet and muttering voices was carried down a hall into the room Iliara was in. Silently reprimanding herself, she diverted her hand from her crotch to the nearest dagger on her hip. She slowly drew it, her hand over the blade to prevent any light from the outside reflecting off of it. Iliara quickly stepped to a corner and crouched behind a table and two chairs, watching.

A young woman, probably just past her second decade of life, waded into the room wearing a wispy, gauzy nightgown that Iliara could see completely through. She had breasts much like the woman in the next room, perhaps a bit smaller, but much perkier. Following behind her was what appeared to be a handmaiden of sorts. She was fully clothed in a thick robe to ward off the cold.

"Come here, Greta," the beautiful young lady said, brushing a wavy golden lock from her face. "See what happens at night in this house." Iliara grinned, her suspicions confirmed.

Greta, a slightly younger girl with her dirty blonde hair up in a messy bun, padded over to where the woman's daughter stood. Iliara perked up when the young woman started whispering arcane words. "Mistress Varla," Greta whispered in warning. "You're not supposed to use the Art in the house, by your father's word!"

Varla finished the spell and the door became transparent on the one side, just like Iliara's shadow window, they could see through on their side, but on the other side of the door, it was as solid and opaque as solid wood. Greta gasped audibly when she witnessed the older woman smack the man again, tugging on the rope tethered to his genitals. He groaned out loud, and she reached between his legs from behind to stroke his erect member. 

"Mistress," Greta said, "is that..."

"Yes, my pet," Varla said, her eyes locked on Greta's face. "How does it make you feel?"

Iliara was taken by Varla's sharp features, high, noble cheek bones, and her intense eyes.

"I...I don't know, mistress," Greta whispered. Varla leaned forward suddenly, her lips and tongue caressing the girl's ear and neck.

"How does that make you feel, then," Varla said. Iliara could barely hear the young woman's voice with her elven ears.

"It...I ought not say, mistress, it is forbidden for a servant to associate with her masters in such a way," Greta whispered in response.

"Foolish girl," Varla whispered harshly. Her hand went to Greta's hair and yanked back while her other hand grasped the servant's mouth to muffle her surprised squeak. "I will have what I desire. I see you around here and I know your body is not as fluffy and soft as the others. Your body was made for something more than scrubbing dishes and mopping my floors. Take off your robe."

Greta was quick to comply, though Iliara suspected it was more out of fear than desire. She wore nothing under her sleeping robe except for a cotton undergarment over her loins. Iliara watched Varla pull the panties down a bit, revealing a tuft of soft dark hair.

"Disgusting," Varla said. "After tonight, you will keep your nethers bare of any hair, do you understand Greta?" The girl nodded. "Very good. Do you like my body? Answer me truthfully."

"I...I have always liked your body, mistress," Greta whispered in a quivering voice. 

"You like girls then?" Varla queried.

"S-some, yes. I like boys too, though," Greta said quickly. 

"Have you ever been with a girl?" Varla asked, walking around behind Greta. She pointed through the door at the older woman who was kneeling behind the man, her tongue lapping hungrily at his sack while her hand stroked him masterfully.

"I've kissed one, but never laid with one," Greta said timidly. Varla walked around in front of her, placing her hands on Greta's shoulders. They were a bit wider than Varla's, and where Varla's skin was a rich tan, Greta was a healthy pale. Varla looked the girl's body up and down: her breasts were large, but firm, and her stomach tapered before flaring out to prominent hips. She was not as thin as Varla, but her body possessed such sensual curves that Iliara could scarcely deny the quivering desire welling up between her thighs. 

"Until you shave yourself, you will not lay with me. Would you like to lay with me?" Varla asked.

"Yes, mistress," Greta said without hesitation. "I'll shave it first thing in the morning for you."

"Good girl...but for tonight, I want my pleasure," Varla said, grinning wickedly. Then her grin vanished as she noticed a shadow that was out of place. "Who goes there!" she whispered loudly.

Iliara cursed to herself, but stood slowly, holding her hands out wide, dagger sheathed.

"Who are you," Varla said, coming forward imperiously. Iliara couldn't help the bounce and sway of Varla's perky, noble breasts as she approached. 

"A shadow," Iliara said. In a flash of darkness, Iliara's hands snapped out, twisting Varla around and slapping her hand over the young woman's mouth to stifle her yelp, then jerked her along as she put her hand around quivering Greta's throat. She noticed, to her surprise, that neither of them struggled. "You like being roughed up a little?" Iliara whispered, watching Greta and feeling Varla's head nod slowly in her grasp. The elf released them both, feeling a strange kinship with them.

"I like a strong woman," Varla said in a throaty voice. She ran her hand over her mouth, then licked the taste of leather off her lips. "And Greta does what I say."

"I'm no woman," Iliara said, brushing her hair over her pointed ear to emphasize the point.

"All the better. I've heard elves taste like a ripe fruit," Varla said, grinning lasciviously. She spread her gown open, revealing her slender body to Iliara. "See anything you like?"

Iliara allowed herself a glance at the young woman's pert breasts and the scrumptious mound between her thighs, then looked back to Varla's eyes. "Girl, if it were any other time, I'd ravish you right here, but I've got a job to do." To emphasize the point, Iliara drew her knives. 

"That's my father in there. Lord Armanov. Is he your job?" Varla asked, her voice mixed with venom. 

"I take it you won't be stopping me?" Iliara asked.

"Why should I. He's a rapist and deviant. I lost my real dad when I was six years old. Something came over him, sending him into a spiral of deviant sex, drugs, and abuse. I was wondering when that Tormite would follow through on his word," Varla said.

"You know Dandril?" Iliara asked.

"He's been pining over me for years now. After I told him what my father was about, he pledged that he wouldn't rest until he was dead. Seems like the crusading type anyway; probably figured this was all the justification he needed. Surprised he sent an assassin, though, and not a paladin of some sort," Varla said.

"No bleeding heart paladin can do this kind of work as effectively as I can. It's a fine paying job, on top of the pleasure," Iliara said. "Tell you what, take your girl toy to the Dreaming Dragon, ask for Lura, tell her Iliara sent you. Trust me, you'll find all the pleasure you want out of her and more. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do."

Varla nodded, taking Greta up in her wake to pack a small suitcase with clothing, and ran for the front door. Before they made it, they heard a woman scream, a man shout, and both end with terrifying suddenness. They stopped in their tracks, looking to each other, then ran out the door for the Dreaming Dragon, avoiding known patrol routes in the process.

*****

Lura was reclining in Mikhail's lap in the Dreaming Dragon common room, a post-orgasmic glow about her head, when the door to the tavern creaked open. It was early in the morning, before dawn still, and even though all the patrons had left and the tavern was closed, Benefast had neglected to lock the door when he and his half-sister retired.

Lura smiled when she saw the two young women hurry in. One, the tan-skinned girl, had an overstuffed sack over her shoulder, while the other, a delectably curvy, pale-skinned blonde had a relatively small bag with very little within. Lura read Mikhail's hungry gaze and smirked. "Lura?" one of them called tentatively. Curious, the drow slowly extricated herself from Mikhail's possessive grasp and emerged from the darkened corner.




Drow in the City Ch. 03



"I am Lura," she said, her voice a purr as she swayed out into the open. Her Red Robe, attuned to her every whim, was draped over her shoulders, barely covering the firm orbs at her chest, and coming together at her navel to drape down between her legs, blocking her still-glistening slit from a frontal view. "What can I do for you lovely ladies?"

The taller, tan girl gasped. "You're a...a drow!"

"Yes, love, I am," Lura said, beyond taking offense to the common reaction to her race. "I am Lura, Chosen of Sune. At your service."

"The elf, an assassin, told me to find you. She was about to murder my father, Lord Armanov. I am Varla, his only daughter," Varla said timidly.

"An elf assassin...Iliara?" Lura asked. Varla shrugged. "Must be. You take no offense to her actions?"

"Not at all," Varla said. "He was vile. This is my handmaiden, Greta."

Lura bowed her head at the curvier girl. She appreciated Greta's curvy suppleness, and found the prospect of her hands moving from the girls heavy breasts, down her smooth stomach, and to those wide, child-bearing hips quite delectable. "Well met to both of you. What is it I can do for you?"

"A new life," Varla said. "For myself and my servant." Lura watched as Greta's face fell, almost imperceptibly, at the comment. Lura resolved to instill a new life in the former servant as well.

"Well, to begin with," Lura said, "you are new people, though your names have not changed. The restrictions that bound you in your previous life no longer apply. Therefore, Greta, you are no longer a servant, and Varla, you are no longer a noble."

Greta's face lit up as Varla's brow furrowed. "What do you mean," Varla asked in a measured voice.

"I mean, that if you want my help, and the help of Sune, then you must accept her as an equal. In Sune's eyes, and in mine, there are none greater or lesser than any other because of their bloodline," Lura said. "If you cannot accept that, then perhaps you should find another Matron."

Varla ignored the excited expression on Greta's face, one of excitement and trepidation. "Fine," Varla said. "It will be harder for you now, Greta, having to take care of yourself without me to guide your actions, telling you what to do."

"I can handle myself," Greta said quietly.

"Fine then," Varla said. "What would you have us do, Lura?"

"I can help you," the drow said, "but not for free. The Dreaming Dragon is undergoing some changes to become a Festhall dedicated to Sune, and, as you can imagine, we need employees."

"I am not a harlot," Varla said, indignation in her voice.

"You misunderstand," Lura said. "While Sune embraces love and all that it encompasses, Sunites are not in the business of prostitution. It is strictly forbidden, as a matter of fact. However, that does not keep some of our employees, especially those devoted to Sharess, from partaking in the pleasures of the flesh however they wish. I will only ask of you to work for a brief time among my friends and fellow revelers. It is not so bad a deal, really. Payment for enjoyment."

"I will do as you ask, Matron Lura," Greta said. "Happily."

Varla rolled her eyes. "Very well, then. I will work with my friend for your assistance."

Greta looked at her in astonishment. "What?" Varla queried.

"Are we really friends?" Greta asked. 

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose we are," Varla said. "But you still need to shave yourself for me."

Greta, beaming, nodded eagerly.

"Ah...perhaps I can assist with that?" Lura asked, a hint of excitement in her voice. "As a Chosen of Sune, I have been given powerful abilities, and some abilities for simple cosmetic purposes. That, in conjunction with my bardic magic and some things I learned as a priestess of Lolth many decades ago, I'm sure that you and I can have quite a fun time."

Greta looked to Varla, as if for permission. Intrigued, the willowy woman smirked. "As long as you do me, too, it's a deal. I'm in need of a touch-up."

"Excellent," Lura said. 

*****

"Where's Lura," Cyra asked. She ran her hand over her petite horns, then smoothed her platinum hair. Mikhail looked up at her, a long, stringed instrument in his hands. He plucked the strings while maneuvering his fingers to create pleasant-sounding chords.

"Bathing with our two new recruits," Mikhail said, strumming slowly. He sniffed a few times and muted the strings with his palm. "You smell like sex."

"Jealous?" Cyra asked with a wolfish grin. She sat next to him. "Play me something."

Mikhail smirked and put the instrument aside. "I'm afraid I'm not as skilled as Lura at producing music. However, my fingers are skilled in other areas, if you wish to sample them."

"That so?" Cyra asked, moving to straddle the man. She slid her hands around the back of his neck and pressed her breasts together in front of his face. In the gauzy, low-cut night shirt she was wearing, the pale red valley of her breasts were vividly exposed. "Lura won't mind?"

"If she can fuck you, so can I," Mikhail said in a throaty voice. "And Samon?"

"Sound asleep. I wore him out, but my hunger is far from sated," Cyra responded. Her lips pressed into Mikhail's in a searing, tongue-filled kiss. She ground her crotch down on Mikhail's and he slid his hands up her thighs. Her night shirt rode up over her bottom, freeing her tail to writhe about as it pleased, and grasped the firm, perfect globes of her ass. He squeezed and she growled into his mouth.

"Smell my cunny," she breathed and he inhaled deeply. He was surprised at how potent her scent was. It made him light-headed, but not unpleasantly so, and the rich feminine musk set his senses on edge. His cock responded immediately, and something struck him as unusual. He dismissed it, though, as he was overcome by an irresistible urge to bury himself in Cyra. She reached down with her dexterous hands and extracted his bulging member from the loose confines of his trousers. 

Her lips locked on his again, and she bit down as she impaled herself on Mikhail's engorged cock. Pain shout into his lip as her petite fangs drew pinpricks of blood, and the coppery taste of his own life-essence splashed onto his tongue. His mind hazed over, a crimson fog of passion and lust robbing him of coherent thought and sending him into a barbarian-like sexual frenzy. Mikhail seized her hips, forcefully pushing her down onto him. He felt his shaft enveloped in her burning sex, and groaned to himself.

Cyra had a different reaction. She grunted like some sort of animal and began to viciously grind herself into him. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders, fingernails digging in painfully. Mikhail lost himself in sexual frenzy, and she cried out in exultation as he continued to slam her hips down, his cock pushing to the far limits of her loins. 

Mikhail reached up, grabbing the loose cloth and tearing it asunder down the middle. Her large, firm breasts hung free, unrestrained, from her chest, the ruddy globes capped with big, hard nipples that begged attention from his mouth. He complied, his lips locking onto the firm globes and sucking mightily on the nipples. His tongue swirled around them rapidly and he heard a throaty purr resonating deep in her chest. 

Cyra felt wetness under her hands as she slammed herself down furiously. She looked down and saw blood trickling down Mikhail's shoulders. Her fingernails had drawn blood. Eyes aflame, she licked her lips hungrily, and bent down, licking up the coppery fluid. Mikhail didn't notice what she was doing, even despite the burning sensation of her tongue over his open wounds. When she rose up, her pussy clenching around his cock, and cried out in orgasm, he saw his blood on her chin and lips. 

But his senses were not with him, and he couldn't bring himself to protest when she smothered his mouth with another hungry kiss. Cyra pulled herself off him and sat on the table behind them. She spread her legs lewdly, her hands between her legs pulling the lips of her pussy wide open. Mikhail didn't need to be told what to do as he was assaulted anew by the potent musk of her heated sex. The human stood and pressed the inflamed head of his cock against the gaping canal of her cunt. 

He felt her stretch around his member as he slid the length home, all the way to the hilt. He mauled at her breasts, grabbing them roughly and pinching her nipples between his extended fingers. His hips slammed into her with loud, wet sounds, her pussy spasmodically emitting creamy jets of her arousal against his bare crotch. 

"Fuck me," Cyra demanded. "Fuck me!" She growled, her eyes turning to blackened orbs and her horns growing fivefold in size. Another voice sounded from her throat as she grunted and moaned. Her pussy clenched on his cock again, and held on. Her orgasm shook her body relentlessly and Mikhail continued to slam into her throughout the prolonged climax. Her legs clamped around his waist, holding his cock deep inside her pussy as she milked his cock. Mikhail ejaculated thick, hot streams of cum into her womb...and kept cumming. Under normal circumstances, Mikhail would have been shocked at the volume of cum he was pouring into the tiefling, but he was intoxicated by the pheromones of her heated sex, and even the seemingly demonic changes that had overtaken her did not phase him. 

Sweat coated their bodies as they came down from their sexual highs. Cyra lost consciousness, night shirt torn open to reveal her taut stomach and large breasts coated in sweat, and legs splayed out wide to reveal her drooling pussy, which began to seep small streams of Mikhail's cum. Mikhail fell back onto the booth bench, blood drying on his shoulders and his cock slowly going flaccid, coated in cum and Cyra's arousal.

*****

For the first time, Greta's crotch was bare, hairless, and she had Varla and Lura to thank for it. She had been unsure as to why it was such a big deal, but when she felt Varla's smooth cunt grinding against hers, she completely understood. Sweat and arousal coated her plump mound and the hairless span of skin above it as she and Varla ground against each other. The sensations were incredible, setting her loins aflame with need and lust. She watched Varla's body writhing in the throes of passion, her petite, noble breasts shaking and shuddering as the rest of her body undulated.

And then there was Lura. Greta's hands were locked onto Lura's firm, toned thighs. Lura was quietly murmuring encouragement to the former servant girl while her obsidian hands wrapped around Greta's big breasts. Her black skin contrasted starkly with Greta's pale breasts, and the cherry colored nipples were pinched between her fingers. 

The drow was content to go without pleasure as long as she was showing these lovely young women the pleasures of sexual love. But that didn't inhibit her juices from flowing copiously from between her thighs. She knew there was a dark wet spot underneath her on the large bed, but she didn't care. Her nipples were painfully erect and pressing into Greta's smooth back. 

Lura grinned widely when both girls began to pant louder, moan louder and shudder. Greta began to convulse in her grasp as orgasm took them both simultaneously. The chorus of pleasure and climax ended, leaving Greta and Varla panting and exhausted on the bed. Lura, though, was far from tired. She threw a thick blanket over the girls as they repositioned, holding each other arm in arm, smiles on their faces, and fading quickly into contented sleep. 

The drow reached for her Red Robe, but decided against going outside her room in the early morning hour. Instead, she pulled open the door that led to a small deck outside her room and stood on the balcony, clad only in a smile. Her perfectly sculpted body cut a proud figure in the pre-dawn air, with full, noble breasts standing perky with deep violet nipples hard atop those mounds. Her white main of hair cascaded down her slender back, all the way down to the swell of her round bottom. The thin strip of hair nestled above the violet cleft of her sex stood out on her black skin like a sliver of moon in the night sky.

Without warning, strong hands seized her from behind. She was pushed forward, and only her quick reflexes had her hands on the wrought iron railing to keep her from falling over the edge. Without a word, she felt a rubbery shaft glide up the back of her thigh to the cleft of her ass. A part of her that she had suppressed long ago rose up, and arousal overtook the fear. She relinquished control of her body to whoever was behind her, a willing participant in whatever vile acts her attacker had planned. 

A hand dug into her thick white hair and jerked her head back. She looked out over the scene before her, the empty streets and flickering street torches staring back judgmentally at her, scorning her for what she was engaging in. The rubbery shaft pressed insistently between her thighs and she jutted her ass out toward whoever was behind her. There was a brief chortle, and then the shaft thrust into her wet cunt. 

There was nothing soft or sensual about the act. There was no loving touch, no passion, only violence and selfish fulfillment as her attacker raped her. Lura knew Sune would not approve, but a dark part of her mind didn't care. She wanted this. A secret desire from her training as a priestess of Lolth was to be forcibly taken by the High Priestess, the Mistress of the Temple of Lolth, even Lolth herself, forced into submission and raped in front of her House and all of her home city. And now, with this stranger forcing the false cock into her cunt without heed to her pleasure, she could see only the crimson eyes of drow looking back at her from the streets, jeering and shouting insults at her, calling her a whore, filth, and all manner of drow insults. 

And she got off on it. 

Her pussy clenched spasmodically, thin jets of her arousal spurting from her pussy as her rapist continued abusing her pussy. She felt a warm liquid burst from the tip of the fake cock and splash around inside her. Then there was more laughter. She didn't dare turn around, though, even though the laughter was somewhat familiar, for she didn't, couldn't ruin the fantasy. Instead, she fell to her knees, head against the cold iron bars of the railing. She heard footsteps walking away, silent as a whisper, and after a long while, she figured they were gone. Lura turned and faced the portal leading back into her room and sat on her bare bottom on the wooden floor. One knee was up, the other lay on the floor, and she looked down at her weeping pussy. A glittering pinkish liquid oozed from her canal, and she watched the false cum much as she had watched Mikhail's seep from her before. She slipped her fingers inside of her and withdrew them.

They were coated in the false cum, and she smiled a small smile, then brought her fingers to her lips. She tasted herself and the syrupy, cloying nectar that the mysterious attacker had left inside her. Then the flavor shifted to bittersweet as she swallowed, and she purred to herself, enjoying the flavor. She didn't know why, but her head suddenly grew light, and her reality grew dark. Shadowy figures lurked everywhere she looked and the sky took on an unnatural darkness, not a darkness of night but of shadow. Unconsciousness took her without warning, and she lay naked and sweaty out on her deck. 



Drow in the City Ch. 04



Samon was sound asleep when the sun rose, but urgent knocking on his door roused him from that slumber. He had convinced the fiery tiefling that they should have a separate room from the one Lura shared with Mikhail and whoever else they took to bed, and she had agreed. He knew she had left him after their lovemaking session, but didn't figure she'd bother knocking to come back in. Towel around his waist for precaution, he opened the door. To his surprise, two of his father's House Guard were there in full uniform waiting for him.

"Samon Armanov?" the taller of the two asked. He nodded. "We regret to inform you that early this morning, before sunrise, your father was found murdered in his bedroom."

The words almost didn't even register to the man, and he prompted them to repeat themselves. They did, and his strength left him. He dismissed them and closed the door, scrambling to put on a pair of relaxed fit trousers and a loose blue tunic. Approaching the door again, he ran a calloused hand through his dark hair, then left, making the quickest possible path to the common room. A leather-clad elf passed him, but he paid her no heed, and didn't even notice the wary glance she shot him as she passed. He needed Cyra, that was all.

But when he made the common room and saw her splayed out on a table, legs spread like a common whore, still wearing the night shirt she had worn with him, his heart fell again. Emotion put his mind in an animal state, and he knew only instinct. His gaze locked on Mikhail, who sat with his flaccid cock hanging out of his breeches, and a red fire of rage ignited in his mind. Cyra was his mate, and both Mikhail and Cyra had betrayed that. He threw himself at Mikhail in a fury, his fist careening for the sleeping man's head. He connected, and the resounding crack of splintering bone was loud enough to rouse Cyra from her slumber. 

The tiefling was groggy, though, and did not know what was happening even as Samon grabbed Mikhail by the hair and jerked him off the booth seat. He mounted the unconscious man and began to rain down furious blows until a solid mass hit him square in the side. Cyra was atop him, snarling like a feral animal, eyes dark and horns long and curving atop her head. Her hands had morphed into cat-like talons and her snarling visage was complete with sharpened teeth. Primal fear welled up in Samon,, and Cyra released him, standing quickly and looking to Mikhail. His head and face was bleeding and his chest imperceptibly rose with breath. 

Cyra's body returned to normal and she pressed her hands to Mikhail's head and spoke words that were foreign even to her. Radiant light emanated from her hands and an unfamiliar warmth flowed down her arms as healing magic repaired the damage that had been done to Lura's lover. 

Naked save for the tattered night shirt, Cyra stood and whirled on Samon. "What in the Nine Hells are you doing?" she roared.

"I...I don't know," he stammered, standing slowly and backing into a wall. Cyra stalked him, taking measured steps toward him with anger in her eyes.

"I put trust in you, Samon, and is this how you will repay that?" Cyra asked in a low voice.

"The betrayal is yours," Samon said, gaining courage in the accusation. "I needed you, and I come down to find you splayed out like a common whore for another woman's mate. I don't need this, and I know that I sure as the Hells don't need you." A glare lingering on Cyra, Samon walked past her, never breaking eye contact until he passed her.

"Samon, wait," Cyra said, a measure of understanding hitting her. "What did you need me for?"

He stopped and turned in the same instant. "My father was murdered last night. I needed a shoulder. I'll go without." He made the door, but a sky-shattering scream stopped him. Samon recognized his sister's scream.

His eyes found Cyra's again, but didn't bother saying anything. He sprinted for the stairs, climbing them four at a time and charging into Lura's room. His sister was wrapped in a blanket, the serving girl Greta at her side, and both staring aghast at the figure crumpled out on the small balcony. He recognized Lura, and the black ichor that oozed from her slack mouth set him at alarm.

"Lura!" Cyra shouted. Mikhail was behind her, though still clearly dazed. She charged past Samon, the other human in tow, and leapt onto the balcony, the tiefling pulling the drow close and wiping her mouth with what remained of her nightshirt. Mikhail knelt opposite her, his hands grasping Lura's limp hands and bringing them to his face as he repeatedly murmured her name.

"She's not waking up," came a voice they all knew to some extent. 

Iliara stepped slowly into the room, still wearing her leather leggings from the previous night, but with a loose white blouse, unbuttoned down to her small cleavage. "Give me your shirt," she said to Cyra. The tiefling tossed the torn garment. Iliara sniffed it, then put her tongue to the black stain. "Darkstalk poison," she said.

"Why in the Hells does she have darkstalk poison in her mouth?" Cyra asked.

"Shar," Iliara said, anger welling up in her throat. "The Lady of Loss visited this upon your friend. I know, because she did it to me as well. Lura's spirit is gone from this place, but not for very long." Iliara knelt between Mikhail and Cyra, her hand pressing against Lura's chest. "She's cold, bring her in and wrap her in as many blankets as you can."

Lura was light, even for a well-proportioned drow maiden, and Cyra lifted her easily in arms honed by swordplay. The tiefling carried Lura's cool body into the bedroom and Varla and Greta dispersed immediately, donning their nudity without shame as they abandoned the thick blanket they had been wearing. 

"Who did you say caused this?" Mikhail asked Iliara.

"Shar, the Goddess of--"

"I know Shar," Mikhail said, his face clouding over. "More than you could possibly know."

"What are you talking about," Cyra asked, barely interested in the conversation Mikhail was having with the elf. 

"Lura's mind is in the Plane of Shadow," Mikhail said, "inhabiting a body like this. She is being taken to Shar's palace by the Despaired, creatures taken from the underbelly of this realm to serve Shar, as opposed to suffering on this plane.."

"You know a lot," Iliara said. "How?"

"I used to serve Shar," Mikhail said with gritted teeth as he moved to huddle over his love. "For much of my life I was homeless until a beautiful, pale woman came to me, telling me her mistress possessed great power and wealth, and compassion for those like me. She offered me a life of servitude, where all my needs would be taken care of, and I would never want for food, water, or shelter again. I accepted, and before I could draw my next breath I was on the Plane of Shadow. Lura knows all of this, knows what I experienced there. I could not keep my secret from her, because we have become so close and intimate. I still retain some of the power I had there."

To emphasize this point, Mikhail moved to a darkened part of the room, then completely faded from sight. He reemerged on the other side sheathed in wispy shadow. "I gave myself to Sune when I knew Lura had become her Chosen. We can only pray now that Shar does not succeed in whatever she has planned."

"She won't," Cyra said with determination, "even if I have to go there myself to save her."

Iliara scoffed. "You don't know what she has planned, or her power on that plane. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Mikhail's gaze snapped to the rogue. "Now you know much. And I see more than I did, Sharran." He approached the elf with a snarl, shadow fire sheathing his fists. He grabbed her by the collar of her blouse and pushed her into a wall. "What does that bitch want with my Lura," he demanded.

"To turn her," Iliara said quietly, unable to hold Mikhail's gaze. 

"Turn her?" Cyra asked, standing from Lura's side. She approached the elf as well, her tiefling heritage lending her a sinister countenance.

"She wants to take Sune's Chosen for her own designs. I was to be the one to deliver Lura to Shar by subtler means of persuasion. Apparently, she was angered by my actions last night and decided to take things into her own hands," Iliara said.

"What actions?" Mikhail asked, releasing the elf.

"An assassination of some deviant lord," Iliara said. "I don't see what the issue is, though, Shar's never had an issue with my work before."

"What was his name?" Samon demanded, pushing Mikhail aside. "Armanov? Was it Armanov?!"

"Yes," Iliara said. "Those girls were over there, said they didn't mind it either. He was apparently too much of a degenerate for their tastes, what with his drug addictions, prostitutes, and submission to several mistresses."

"Liar!" Samon yelled, backhanding her across the face. "That was my father!"

Varla seized Samon and pulled him away from the elf. Iliara spat a bit of blood from her mouth and glared. "It's true," Varla said. "All of it. We never let you know because you cared so much about our father, even though you were never at home. He hasn't done a good thing since mother died."

"I don't believe you," Samon said, glaring at Varla. "I'm going home to see the truth for myself." He ran out the door, leaving them with the more important matter of Lura's safety.

"What are we going to do?" Mikhail asked Cyra. She looked at him with watery eyes, then to Iliara.

"I'm going to talk to Sune," she said, determination in her voice. "Get me Lura's incense and her robe, Mikhail." He nodded and went to a closet. Cyra looked at Iliara. "As for you, I suggest you don't go too far. You'll make amends for your service to Shar, I promise." Iliara only nodded. Somewhere in the elf's heart, she knew she had been wrong all those years ago, that her very first lover's betrayal had shown her a path she should have never laid eyes on. Feeling sadness for the first time in decades, Iliara sat on a chair in the corner, watching as Cyra bathed thoroughly and Mikhail set up Lura's incense and censer.

Cyra stepped from the steaming shower cubicle and didn't bother drying her ruddy skin, relishing in the cool air as it danced across her taut flesh. Her nipples stood on end, impudent and rigid, as she removed the thick red robe that Lura had been given by Sune. With a glance at her unconscious friend, she threw the robe on, closing her eyes as the distinct scent of the drow bard wafted to her nostrils. She felt the magic of the robe take hold, forming a sympathetic bond with her will. It parted up the back, allowing her tail to comfortably slip out and wave around on its own. It softened to silk and lost some opacity, her burnished red nipples visible through the red veil. The final touch was a shrinkage of the fabric so that it draped down only to mid-thigh and parted before her large breasts. 

Cyra didn't bother with the enchanted pleasure rod that Lura sometimes used, but simply gathered the censer and incense from Mikhail, setting it on the floor before a thick blanket. She sat with legs spread on either side of the incense, her tail resting languidly near her left thigh, and she leaned back against the foot of the bed. 

"Come, Mikhail," she said. "Your assistance will help, I think."

The human nodded, glanced at Iliara, who seemed to be watching with avid anticipation, and disrobed, tossing his shirt to the floor and dropping his pants as he walked toward Cyra. He tossed down a towel and laid on it, his face turned to see Cyra, who gave a small smile at the appreciation his gaze offered her. She looked down at his flaccid cock as he grasped it, slowly stroking, coaxing it to its impressively rigid state. 

As his hand began to stroke, she licked the tips of her fingers and settled herself against the back of the bed. She slid her black-nailed fingers over the smooth flesh of her pubic mound, pressing the sensitive flesh together and feeling the moisture already coating her inner petals. The tiefling bit her lip and slipped her ruddy finger into the pink folds within the juicy mound, letting out a long, ragged sigh as a curl of pleasure shot up into her stomach. 

Off to the side, Varla and Greta watched in disbelief, combined with a measure of excitement. The two girls, naked and hugging each other, noticed the pleasurable sensation of soft, pliable flesh against each other, and furtive glances were all the inspiration they needed to gently explore each others mouths. Their tongues danced about, hands on each others hips, gliding about their backs, and breasts pressing insistently together.

On the other side of the room, Iliara was experiencing similar sensations. Hers was born from the leather firmly pressed against the tight slit of her cunny and the loose fabric of her blouse grating insistently at her painfully erect nipples. The sights before her reminded her of her mother, oddly enough. Or not so oddly, in retrospect, as her mother had been a devout cleric of Hanali Celanil, the elven equivalent to Sune, and her mother had often engaged in masturbation rituals to commune with her goddess. Iliara recalled those moments, and looked to Lura, a drow that, for some reason, was growing very important to her. An irresistible urge to help the drow, a long-time enemy to her race, overcame her, and she unbuttoned her blouse. It spilled open, revealing the athletic, compact breasts and hard, berry violet nipples atop them. She untied her too-tight leather pants, and her hand slid timidly down the soft skin to her pliant slit.

Under any other circumstance, Mikhail would have felt an extremely lucky man, but the woman he loved was in dire need, and that was keeping him from performing up to his usual standards. He couldn't get Lura's limp form out of his head, and his cock was stuck somewhere between flaccid and rigid. So he turned his gaze at Cyra, the next best thing to Lura, and drank in her visage. The light in the room was dimmed, though he couldn't recollect anybody closing the shutters, but Cyra seemed to glow with an ethereal light. There was magic in the room, likely Sune's, though he had no way to confirm or deny that. But Cyra, the gorgeous, voluptuous tiefling, was sliding her fingers up and down her slit, fixing him with a determined gaze. 

"For Lura," the tiefling said to him in a throaty voice. 

Mikhail nodded, understanding, and his cock responded immediately. It became rigid in his grasp, and Cyra crawled like a stalking lioness toward him. She approached from his feet, crawling between his legs until her hips were atop his and he could feel the supernatural heat emanating from her loins. Cyra laid atop him, her face hovering over his as her full breasts pressed against his chest. She reached down between her legs and grasped his cock and his hand, positioning it, then slipping just its head into the firm grasp of her cunny.

Her breath caught as they simultaneously released his throbbing manhood. Slowly, agonizingly so, she slid down his veiny shaft, feeling every contour, every vein-formed ridge, gliding up the velvety embrace of her love canal. His cock sank to the hilt, and he felt her tail curl to tickle against his swollen sack. Both groaned and gasped in sudden pleasure. Mikhail's hands grasped her hips, then slid up her firmly toned back until they buried in her platinum hair. She didn't move, and he lifted his hips rhythmically, pressing himself deep against her cervix, then relaxing, so that only half his cock was removed.

Around them, the magic of Sune was swirling about the room. There was no light, as if the windows had been blacked out, save for a golden light emanating from the heart of the censer. Varla and Greta laid next to Cyra and Mikhail, their tongues burrowing into each others mouths and their hands wandering eagerly. Greta laid atop the thinner woman, her large breasts pressed against the noble globes on Varla's chest. Varla spread her willowy legs for Greta to lay between, and wrapped them around Greta's voluptuous hips. Slowly, the pale-skinned girl began to thrust her bare mound against Varla's slit, drawing small gasps from both. Greta, inspired by pure passion, broke the kiss and nuzzled against Varla's neck, nipping seductively at the soft skin there.

Iliara, likewise overcome by some sort of magic, tossed her shirt and pants aside, unabashedly sliding her fingers into her juicing cunny. It was the first time the assassin had felt pleasure out of love rather than pure selfish fulfillment. She rose from her seat at the wall and tried to walk. Her legs failed her, and she crawled, her body quivering, toward Mikhail and Cyra, though her eyes never left the tiefling's undulating form. She came to the mating couple and crawled around so that she could lay next to Mikhail. Looking up at Cyra's face, the elf merely laid between the two couples, drinking in her surroundings, and sliding her fingers in and out of her loins. Cyra looked over to Iliara and pulled her into an embrace. She whispered in her ear.

"You can feel...it," she said between gasps. "You've been wrong so long, and now you feel...ahhhh...what we are about...mmm...what love is, what Sune is."

"Yes," Iliara moaned, slipping a third finger into her tight canal. "I do."

"You know who your goddess is, Iliara. Unnhh...You knew her long ago. Know her again," Cyra whispered. "This is how you call to her." With that, she slid her hand down Iliara's taught, rippling stomach, and thrust her fingers into the elf's twat, stretching it wider around fingers from both hands. 

Iliara cried out at the sudden stretch, but not out of pain. An ecstasy the likes of which she had never known shook her body, and Cyra withdrew her hand. Iliara understood. She pressed her fingers into a cone and reached as far down as she could. The elf curled her slim hand and began to slide it into herself. Slowly her canal stretched, wider, and wider, and wider. Then her last knuckles were inside, and her pussy was closing around her wrist. With gentle care, she began to fuck herself with her hand, legs wide open, resting on Cyra and Greta's back. Cyra's hand again slid down her body, this time to press into and stroke her clit slowly and methodically. Greta also reached over, though her face was buried in Varla's breasts, and began to pinch and massage the elf's nipples. Iliara cried out suddenly, her loud moan shattering the sensual atmosphere and sending the two couples into urgent coupling. Creamy, cloyed liquid shot from her pussy, splashing on her wrist and back down onto her stomach.

*****

Darkness whirled around her. Lura was not a stranger to darkness, for she was born in the lightless depths of the Underdark, where her infravision, her ability to see in gradients of heat rather than light, was as sharp as a human's daytime vision. But here, the darkness was different. It was inky, murky, as if it didn't want to be peered through. It was unnaturally cold as well, enough so that her natural elven resilience was not sufficient to keep her comfortable. The fact that she was naked helped her not.

Lura began walking, though she couldn't tell one direction from another. It all seemed a darkened wasteland all around her, save for twisted, gnarled vegetation growing sparsely throughout. Looking up, the drow saw a small disc of pale yellow light, but it clearly wasn't there to illuminate the blackness around her. It didn't take long for the former drow priestess to understand she was on the Plane of Shadow. The fact didn't brighten her mood, but she found it did not worry her either. She knew who ruled on this Plane, of course. Mask, the God of Thieves, dwelt here, though she knew only because the real ruler allowed it. 

Shar, the Lady of Loss, the creator of the Shadow Weave and ultimately evil goddess, ruled this plane from her Black Castle. Lura did not fear Shar, of course. The drow had learned early in life that fear was a weakness that a High Priestess of Lolth should not ever carry. But she knew that Sune, her beloved Lady Firehair, was opposed to the black-haired, black-hearted Shar, and that gave the drow hope. If Sune was against Shar, then Lura had faith that her goddess was with her.




Drow in the City Ch. 04



But when naked woman with pale skin and midnight hair suddenly appeared, flanked by two hulking, equally naked shadow giants, a tremor did course her spine. Lura was aware of the sadistic tendencies of Shar, and the massive...no, gigantic cocks that were swinging between the two giants' legs made her think twice about tempting the Lady of Loss.

"Lura," the woman purred. Her voice was as smooth as the silky shadows that swirled around her. "I have been expecting you."

"What do you want, Shar," Lura asked, drawing on her drow upbringing to give her bravado in the face of impossible odds. 

"Why...you, of course," Shar purred. "Come with me, I want to speak with you in a more hospitable environment."

"I'm not--" Lura was cut off by an abrupt change of scenery. She knew she was still on the Plane of Shadow. Her senses were not wrong, she knew. But she was surrounded by drow architecture and décor, complete with arachnid sculptures and violet faerie fire. Shar was curled on an overstuffed loveseat, carved from petrified mushroom stalk, the drow substitute for wood. Her a wispy, shadowy gown was draped over her exquisite body, but did not cover the black areola and nipples atop her firm, round breasts. In fact, the only part of her body it truly covered was her stomach. Even her legs, curled as they were, were parted just enough to expose a soft thatch of shadowy pubic hair, neatly trimmed atop a perfectly formed, juicy little mound. Lura found herself salivating despite her situation.

"You like what you see," Shar purred, licking her lips, painted black. Or were they simply black lips? 

"I...do," Lura found herself saying. "What...what do you want from me."

Shar smirked at the forced bravado Lura was trying to hold on to. "I want...you," Shar said. Lura blinked, and then she was laying on a thick mattress atop an enormous bed. Violet and crimson sheer drapes hung from the ceiling, encompassing the bed, and Shar was next to her. The goddess was so close Lura could smell what she could only describe as shadow, or darkness, worn as a perfume. 

"I am the Chosen of Sune," Lura said, but her conviction was long gone. 

"Forget Sune," Shar said. "She cannot show you the pleasures I can show you. The pleasure of pain," Shar slid her finger across one of Lura's thighs, and the burning sensation of a whip emanated from that area. Lura moaned and arched her back as the pain turned to pleasure. "The pleasure of helplessness," Shar said and Lura felt her body go rigid as a magical hold bound her body. Shar licked her lips and Lura felt a tongue sliding between her thighs, burrowing deep into her pussy. "The pleasure of male after male after male servicing your every whim," she said, and her gaze was drawn to a foursome of giant, naked men, each with an erection the size of her arm, each oozing copious amounts of cum onto the floor. Her mind invariably wandered to the feeling of having their cocks all over her, in her every orifice, covering her with their seed. "The pleasure of a goddess fucking you every night, every day, every hour and minute, and the pleasure of feeling a cock growing from between your legs, magical and temporary, so that you can put that goddess into submission, fuck her until she cries and impregnate her with your spawn."

Lura's eyes went wide. A cock as big as those dripping seed on the floor grew from her clitoris, and Shar straddled her, hands grasping the magical phallus and stroking it. Lura looked up into those dark, hateful, lustful eyes, and found she could not look away.

*****

Iliara's volcanic orgasm sent the room into a frenzy. Cyra put her hands on Mikhail's chest, digging her fingers into the flesh as she began to grind her soaked pussy against his rigid, uncompromising cock. The wet smack of her pussy smacking down on his groin shot through the smoky, humid air, and then she began to change. Her horns elongated, curving forward, and her eyes went black, though this time golden slits, like that of a cat's eye, appeared in the middle. Her fingernails grew into long, black claws, and she retained the presence of mind to not dig them all the way into Mikhail's chest. Her rippling stomach was coated in a sheen of sweat, as well as her large breasts. Droplets fell from her painfully erect nipples to splash on Mikhail's taut abdomen.

On Iliara's other side, Greta had fallen back from Varla. Their legs were spread and Greta put one leg under the former noble, the other draped over Varla's tanned thigh. Her plump mound was mashed against Varla's cunny, and they ground together mercilessly, their cries resounding through the smoky room. They fed off the sexual energy and the magic of Sune flowing through the room. Iliara rolled her head over to the coupling girls, instantly reaching for Varla's face and pulling the plump, soft lips to hers. Without any sense of courtship, she simply drove her tongue into the woman's mouth, tasting her tongue as the two organs whirled around each other.

Her hands groped hurriedly at Varla's body, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples as her tongue danced along the salty, sweaty skin of her neck. The girl's body went rigid under her hands, began to shudder, and with a loud cry, the former noble shook through an orgasm. Iliara looked down to see creamy jets of girlcum spouting from the two grinding pussies. Iliara forgot her own pleasure and crawled to the orgasmic geyser, lapping at the firm, tan stomach to taste the delicious brew. Her tongue slid further down, slipping down between Greta's plump mound and Varla's soaked lips. Iliara slid her tongue back and forth, simultaneously licking both clits while managing to avoid the violently bucking hips of both girls. The two tastes were different, but mingled together on her tongue in one delicate brand. The taste of both girls' cunts on her tongue, Iliara couldn't help but thrust her hand between her own golden thighs, splay apart the glistening lips of her pussy, and thrust two of her fingers into herself. 

Grinding her hips on Mikhail's chest, the transformed Cyra couldn't resist the musky scent of Iliara's ass and pussy near her head. Grinning like a lioness, Cyra, the celebrant of Sharess, leaned over to the exposed honey pot and her tongue snaked out. Mikhail watch in wonderment as the tiefling's tongue doubled in length, slipping into Iliara's snatch along with the elf's finger. The elf, shocked at the sensation, was forced to draw her tongue out of two grinding pussies to see Cyra, in her Sharess-given form, grinding still on Mikhail while her face hovered against her pussy, tongue burrowing into it. 

"Ooooh, Hanali," Iliara said suddenly as a rapturous bliss overtook her. Her body quaked and she buried her face into the two grinding cunnies again as orgasm shook her body yet again. Then Greta cried out, her quivering mound spraying directly into Iliara's mouth. The elf let it splash around her mouth, against her tongue, and then onto her cheeks. She had never seen a woman orgasm in such a way, and the taste, the sensation of bathing her face in a woman's love juice robbed her of her reasoning, her senses.

Slowly, Cyra withdrew her tongue from Iliara's quivering snatch, and with tantalizingly slow speed, slid her tongue from the very top of Iliara's bottom, all the way down the pristine cleft, to the puckered rosebud just above her pussy. Eyes glittering with devious sensuality, Cyra stroked Iliara's anus with her tongue, moistening it, and ever so slowly working it inside.

"What in the Hells," Iliara gasped, her fingers busy now rubbing Varla and Greta's clits. She looked underneath her, past her pert, athletic breasts as they hung down slightly from her chest, to see Iliara's chin and neck. Then that insidious, slithering tongue slid up into her ass, and Iliara gave a low grunt, then a gasp, followed by a winded moan of disbelief as pleasure like none before coursed through her. Liquid fire was flowing through her veins, her mind was frayed and her heart beat like a smith's hammer in her chest. She grunted as Cyra's amazing tongue thrust in and out of her tight, virgin asshole, and realized she was pressing her hands quite firmly into the human cunts before her. They were in no way complaining.

Mikhail, while watching Cyra's oral work, slipped his hand down to where all his action was, and pressed it firmly against the tiefling's hardened clit. A few quick thrusts of his thumb and Cyra gasped, shuddering on top of him, her tongue faltering inside Iliara's asshole. Her orgasm sent small spurts of crystalline cum from her twat, splattering on Mikhail's rippling, sweaty stomach. Iliara quickly brought her attention from the two panting girls to the essence of Cyra's orgasm, her tongue lapping eagerly at the cloyed substance, then sliding her tongue to Cyra's parted nether lips.

Movement to his side drew Mikhail's attention. Varla and Greta had repositioned, the tanned girl curled inside Greta's grasp. Her head laid on Greta's shapely arm, which was extended toward Mikhail's head, fingers tracing the lines of his face. Varla's hands were pressed between her legs, where her top leg was draped over Greta's, and Greta's hand was busy frigging away at the nexus of Varla's pleasure. Their gazes were locked with his as Iliara circled around behind Cyra.

Behind the tiefling now, the gold-skinned elf had her body pressed firmly against the voluptuous, grinding red skin. Her stiff nipples pressed firmly into Cyra's firm, toned back, her hands wrapping around the curvy, soft hips to meet between Cyra's legs. To Iliara's utter delight, Cyra's tail stiffed between the elf's legs, pressing into the damp folds of her sex. It was thick there at the base, like a firm cock, and Iliara rocked her hips back and forth, sawing the tail into her sex.

Varla and Greta shifted their gaze to the dance between Iliara and Cyra as the tiefling reached behind her, to Iliara's mane of golden hair, and pulled their lips together in a sloppy, wet kiss. The tiefling held their faces in that position as the combination of Mikhail's throbbing member began to spurt cum into her. The tiefling felt her loins fill with liquid passion, and that combined with Iliara's manual ministrations, sent her into another squirting, grunting orgasm.

*****

Lura looked down between her legs as the illusory phallus dematerialized before her eyes. Shar mounted her, her pale knees on either side of Lura's black thighs. She raised her hand and made a subtle gesture with her long, sensual fingers. One of the large men walked over, thickly muscled legs carrying him in long strides, until his hardened member was before Lura's face. She laid their, staring at the thick, long organ, her mouth involuntarily salivating.

"This, you can have, and more," Shar said, her hands grasping Lura's thighs and slowly sliding up, closer and closer to the small mound of her sex. 

Lura could smell the masculine scent of the cock and droplets of precum cumulating at the tip of the twitching phallus. Her pulse drummed in her head. She felt moisture cumulating inside the mound of her pussy, and she gripped her hands at nothing. The drow sank her teeth into her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. A droplet of masculine essence fell onto her cheek, and she resisted the urge to scoop it up into her mouth with a finger. A long, ragged breath filled her logs, and her drow sensibilities took over. 

"Goddess or not," Lura said, her voice a growl, "I won't be your slave."

Shar glared, her hands gripping Lura's thighs and stopping their progress. Slowly, the pale hands withdrew from Lura's thighs, and Shar backed away. Her eyes began to radiate a blackness so deep that it sucked in what light there was on the Plane of Shadow, and her hands were wreathed in black flame. Lura stood, and she felt the love and passion of Sune filling her entire being. 

Lura tapped into that power, summoning it from deep within her, calling to Sune with every beat of her heart, and her hands were sheathed in ruby and golden light. Eyes burning with passion, the crimson light piercing the blackness of the Black Castle, Lura lashed out first. Her hands shot forward, twin beams of gold, shot through with ruby red, seared toward Shar. But the goddess lashed out as well, her magic of blackness, loss, and evil slamming into Lura's divinely channeled magic. There was an explosion, the entire castle shaking, and the entire Plane of Shadow was temporarily ravaged by magical desolation.

Shar was thrown violently into the wall of her room. Her divine nature made her impervious to such bodily damage, but she still reeled from the cataclysmic clash of divine magic. She shook her head clear, wrapping shadowstuff around her naked body, and stood, searching around for the drow. 

She was gone.

In a fit of rage, she unleashed her raw power on the naked men in her room, slaying instantly. 

*****

Lura was surrounded by soft music and pleasant smells, including familiar incense. She was laying on the ground, still nude, and warm marble accepted her body with an almost sentient pleasantness. Her limbs were numb, but slowly regaining sensation and function. After a short while, she rolled over onto her stomach, her body aching from the unleashed power of clashing divine magic. With a groan, she brought herself to her hands and knees, then slowly stood up straight.

In front of her was a font of cloudy water made from the same marble as the floor. In fact, on closer inspection, she realized the font was actually a part of the marble floor. Lura put her hands on the font, staring at her reflection and taking in several deep breaths. She knew not where she was, but had her suspicions based on the incense. 

"I have longed for this for a long time," came a voice so musical and beautiful that it made Lura's eyes water. She lifted her gaze. "Welcome to my domain, Lura."

Before the naked drow was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Standing as tall as the drow, a pale-skinned woman, with shining, luxurious locks of wavy red hair wore a gauzy white gown, suspended by thin string to her neck, and leaving her shoulders and cleavage daringly bared. Her vivid emerald eyes pierced Lura's soul, and the drow fell to her knees before her. Sune stepped forward, kneeling and putting her hands on Lura's cheeks. With her full, ruby red lips, Sune kissed Lura, and Lura felt soothing, sensual power flowing into her. Then they stood, facing each other, and embraced in a tight, loving embrace.

Tears began to well up in Lura's eyes, slowly drifting down her cheeks to splash onto Sune's shoulders. The loving goddess ran her hands up and down Lura's back, then up into her hair. Sune pushed the drow away, holding her by the shoulders. "I must confess," Sune said, smiling as she took in the drow's body, "I have seen you naked many times, though never in person, and now that I have you here, I can't help but admire your figure. You are truly worthy of inhabiting this place of beauty."

"Inhabiting? Am I..."

"No, my darling," Sune said. "It is not yet your time, I assure you, I only brought you here to save you from my foe's cruelty."

Lura looked down at the marble floor, her deceptively delicate feet, then back up to Sune. "I almost gave in," Lura muttered.

"I know," Sune said. "She is a temptress, and promises much that would make most women quiver in anticipation. There is someone I would like you to meet."

On cue, another woman entered the grotto. She and Sune had been standing on a marble floor, with four marble columns rising up to support a marble ring over top. Around the construct were trees, shrubberies, a vast array of flowers and plant life, and quietly murmuring streams. The sun was radiating the grotto with warm, comfortable light, that didn't so much as make Lura's drow eyes squint. 

Stepping barefoot through the shallow stream, a raven-haired woman with fair skin approached, wearing two strips of gauzy violet cloth, connected by mithril rings at her shoulders, and tied together at the waist by a vivid blue sash. Her pert, handful breasts were visible through the cloth, dark nipples hard and protruding, while the neatly trimmed tuft of black hair above her sex mound was visible through the thin cloth that hung down between her legs. She entered the marble area and gave Lura a soft kiss, her tongue grazing the drow's lips as she broke off to stand next to Sune.

"I am Sharess," the woman said, "formerly Bast of Mulhorand, now a dear friend of Sune." Lura looked on in amazement at the two goddesses. Where Sune was willowy, with an air of caring and love about her, Sharess was sultry, seductive, with a gaze that could set Lura's loins aflame if she held it too long. Sune, the goddess of Love and Beauty, stood next to Sharess, Goddess of Hedonism, Sexual Fulfillment, and Cats. "We both have had an unsavory experience with the Lady of Loss. As Sune saved me from her dark grasp, so has she saved you. We, along with our friends, have been watching you and your companions, and have been pleased."

A gorgeous elf entered then, arm in arm with another humanoid woman. "Hanali Celanil, elven goddess of love, and Lliira, Mistress of Revels," Sune said. "We four inhabit this place, though Hanali also serves in Arvandor, with the elven pantheon."

"As we speak, a certain elf that you have acquainted yourself with is turning from Shar to me," Hanali said. Lura stared at the elf with supernatural hunger. She could have passed as human with her figure, but the exaggeratedly long ears extending from her blonde hair should never be hid. Lura eyed them with hunger, wanting to taste the deliciously erotic tips of those ears and make the elven goddess quiver helplessly under her. Not to mention the unusually large (for an elf, at least) breasts that were barely contained by the short, exaggerated low cut pink dress she wore. Her cleavage was impressive, and though the material was solid, she could still see the hardened, long nipples tenting the material. The skirt flared out just below the curve of her bottom, leaving her legs, toned to the peak of sensuality, delightfully exposed. Her giggle shook Lura from her mesmerized state.

"I am pleased to hear that," Lura said, slightly embarrassed at making herself seem a fool in front of divinity. 

Lliira eyed her, and Lura felt her gaze pulled toward the waifish goddess. She was thin, though not unhealthy thin, and wore a long golden gown with thin shoulder straps and a low neck. Her breasts were the smallest of the four, and would probably only barely fill Lura's skilled hands. Her hair was shoulder length and dark, though not raven black like Sharess. Her body was built for dancing, revelry, and her playful nature gave Lura a giddy feeling inside. "I am preparing a celebration for you and your companions," she said. "One day, when it is ready, I will invite you all here to Brightwater, in the Gates of the Moon."

"We would be honored," Lura said. "My companions and I have been doing our utmost to further the causes of Love, Passion, Sensuality, and Revelry."

"And you have done well," Sune said. "Better than we could have ever hoped. You, my beloved Chosen. Cyra, Sharess's Celebrant and Divine Champion. Iliara, the newly formed Seeker of Hanali Celanil. You three have been the most important champions of our cause in decades, even centuries. And all three of you have devoted time to Lliira as well, engaging in Revelry with each other and others whenever you gain the opportunity. There are places reserved for such important people here, you know.

"Very comfortable places," Sune said, winking. "Mostly beds, I assure you. I think Sharess will have her way with all of us before all is said and done!" The goddesses and Lura all shared a hearty laugh.

"How long will I stay here?" Lura asked after a moment. Sune smiled warmly, then pointed to the font, where the scene of Cyra, Mikhail, Iliara, Greta, and Varla were all joined together in a simultaneous orgasm, Lura's body laying motionless on the bed behind them.




Drow in the City Ch. 04



"The time is near for you to leave," Sune said. "And it's a shame you had to miss that, it was quite...amazing. And that is quite a compliment coming from any of us!"

"I will strive to do better," Lura said with a lascivious grin.

"That is why we love you so," Sharess said, smirking. Lura noticed that the raven-haired goddess had her hand behind Hanali, likely under the elf deity's skirt, while Lady Goldheart had a rather vicious blush on her cheeks, knees bent just slightly.

Lura licked her lips, "I can't wait to come back." Sune smirked, glancing furtively at the engaged duo, the to Lliira, who began whistling a seductive tune.

"We can't wait to have you," Sune said. "Go now, and live."

*****

Lura's opened her eyes and drew in a silent breath. Her body tingled with numbness, and she couldn't yet move her limbs. Mikhail was sitting with his back to her on the edge of the bed, his forehead in his hands, and Cyra was speaking quietly with Iliara. She couldn't see Greta or Varla, but believed they were still in the room. The drow mustered her will and began clenching her fingers to get the blood moving to her arm. Finally, she brought her fingers to Mikhail's back, lightly brushing them over his taut skin.

Mikhail jumped at the touch, then turned abruptly and fell on Lura, burying his face in her fragrant hair and lifting her from the bed. She embraced him with equal fervor, her face buried in his neck. Cyra immediately took notice and leapt onto the bed, knee-walking her way to the drow and crushing her in a hug on the other side of Mikhail. Iliara moved to the bed with Varla and Greta, the three of them sitting at the foot of the bed, smiling at the embraced trio.

When Lura was released, she sat with teary eyes and a warms mile, her blanket wrapped around her chest to cover her generous breasts. Her eyes fell over Iliara immediately, and the Chosen of Sune beckoned the gold elf to her. The elf slowly slid toward Lura, looking down, and when she was within Lura's reach, the drow reached out and pulled her into a warm embrace. Tears welled in Iliara's eyes, splashing onto Lura's shoulder. 

"Hanali is with you," Lura whispered, and Iliara fell into shuddering sobs. She looked and addressed the rest of her friends. "I have been with Sune," she began, "as well as Sharess, Hanali Celanil, and Lliira. They are with us, watching us, and always protecting us. But we have much to do here, in Everlund, and eventually elsewhere. For now, though, we must focus our attention on the Dreaming Dragon. 

"I've never known such capable friends," she continued. "I know that our goddesses are proud of us, and believe in us. Come, let us rest. Tomorrow, Sune's work awaits us."