7 comments/ 8308 views/ 5 favorites Fafnir's Quest By: neglected2much Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again; Take me to you, imprison me, for I Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. --John Donne Wizard's Quest "That is all I can do for you barbarian. The venom from the wyvern bite will slowly bring your death unless you do as I have told. You only have a few sunrises left. Seek the standing stone I spoke of to the West. Though the path you seek into the forest is now avoided by all; it is still well worn from ages past. A hunter such as you will find it." In the small smoke filled hut, the lanky old wizard was dwarfed next to the huge barbarian, by comparison, a mountain of muscle almost 6 feet tall. The blue tattoos on the wizard's bald head, face and chest showed beads of perspiration from his exertions with the black arts. "Your arm will heal slowly and cause great pain--even for one such as you. The talons of the wyvern taint the flesh causing a painful wound that does not heal, but does not kill." Fafnir tested the wizard's patchwork, rotating his left arm, gauging the pain. He was grateful it was not his sword arm. As he stood, his muscular frame snapped taut and ready for action like a sinewy predator preparing to leap at its prey. The wildness in his penetrating blue eyes an indication that he was already preparing to leave and escape the confines of the village. "If you have deceived me wizard, the last strike of my sword will be to split your lying skull." "Only a fool would lie to a slayer such as you. You need not fear treachery barbarian." The wizard peered through the smoky haze to make the sacred man-to-man, eye-to-eye, contact which he knew meant more than any words to the barbarian. The wizard understood the unspoken blue-eyed response. Few men ever looked a wizard in the eyes without fear as this barbarian did. "The villagers are grateful beyond words that you have slain the beast. Now their children and livestock are safe. It is for their thanks and our arrangement that I have helped you, not for your threats. Few men have seen such a creature and lived to tell, let alone slain one as you have. You are favored by the gods. To ignore those favored in such a way is to invite misfortune, it is as simple as that." Fafnir still saw the concern in the eyes of the wizard--real or feigned he was not sure--and knew that his threat had served its purpose. He did not think the wizard was lying, but he had been deceived before by the servants of magic so trust would need to be earned. "Remember my words barbarian. You will know the moment." Standing Stone Another night under the stars and another morning alive! The poison would not claim its price today. The morning air was brisk with the remnants of a chill fog--nothing compared to Fafnir's homeland in the frosted North. The envenomed bite in his side ached incessantly as he moved. The pain only fueled him onward. All battles had their price and their scars; he had already borne more than his fair share even for a warrior. The bandages on his right side were crusted in his dried blood, but holding. The bite was manageable for now, his wounded arm likewise. Despite a slight lightness of head, he felt vigorous and alert. The poison in his blood was unmistakable and as euphoric as Stygian lotus. The standing stone was within sight. Arriving during the moonless night, he had slept almost on top of it unnoticed. He could not read the ancient runes etched into the smooth granite (they were Elven script) but he knew their meaning: a warning to travelers of the dangers of the forest. More importantly, it bore the glyphs which warned of enchantment and the presence of evil. Evil he could handle, but magic was a bigger problem. Fafnir stood for a long while at the entrance to the wood. He felt danger prickling up his spine; the same feeling he got before a battle...or an ambush. The surrounding undergrowth was thick. The opening in the wood was like a tunnel into another land. Occasional sun beams penetrating the leaves mixed with the dark gloom of the heavy forest canopy. His barbarian instincts were analyzing: every branch, every drop of dew, every tree, every stirring leaf. His hungry blade was already out, unconsciously, ready to taste flesh, hide or fur. Power runes along the sharp heavy blade shimmered in the morning light. Fafnir entered the sun-spotted gloom, all of his hunting instincts called to bear. He proceeded cautiously along the trail, quieter than most forest animals. He would look for the slightest sign, the slightest out of place leaf. The skills of one who hunts to survive guided him. Fafnir's Quest The pixie struggles frantically to escape like she is in pain; she gasps and twitches. Is she still coming? She slaps at him, but to him it was like being slapped by a playful child, hardly the strength of the creature clinging to him earlier. "Stop! The throbbing! P-l-e-a-s-e! stop!" Fafnir stops his thrusting. "What have you done to me?" she accuses. "Have you never reached climax before woman? Hold still and wait. You are merely sensitive from your pleasure, like a human woman might be." The pixie angers immediately. "I am a human woman. This is my breeding form, in all respects human! There are no pixie males. In this form, I lust for a man and can receive his seed until I return to my natural state." Regardless, she collapses into his arms and remains motionless. Her breath still comes rapidly. His cock is still rigid within her, but he waits for her to recover. Yes, no doubt in his mind, all respects human and maybe more. The poison's euphoria and its dance with death are now a lust, deep and longing. The poison is acting like a powerful aphrodisiac. He feels like he could remain hard forever and perhaps he might if not able to achieve satisfaction. He keeps her legs trapped under him assessing his options. "Do you feel it barbarian? Our passion has drawn out the poison. I must drain it from you now." Fafnir did not understand but when she moved to rise, he lifted to let her free. His body did not feel any pain from his wounds, his side and his arm were healed as good as new; he only felt the restored sense of euphoria from the poison without the weakness or aching head. After the pixie stands, she reaches out for Fafnir's hands gesturing for him to rise as well. Out of reflex, he snatches up Reliever from his discarded sword belt as he rises, suddenly suspicious. His member is aching with desire and need for relief. He thinks about taking her again, but does not know if the curse would still seek to consume him. The pixie kneels in front of him bowing her head close to his erect manhood. "If you are ready barbarian, I will complete your cure and lift my curse." Does he understand her intentions correctly? She looks up, into his eyes, the beginning of tears in her pale blue eyes. In almost a whisper, she asks, "Please...I must." As she licks her lips, Fafnir knows for sure now; he did understand her intentions. He steps closer, placing his outthrust cock in front of her mouth. At the same time, he places Reliever against her delicate white throat. Its keen edge stopped short of drawing blood only due to his finely tuned skill with the weapon. The pixie gasps at the sensation and the threat, but she does not question. She knows his intent is not to kill her or he would have already done so. She takes the head of his cock in her soft mouth. Her tongue begins to pleasure him with a surprising speed and skill, perhaps it is just his own nearness to release amplifying his pleasure. He looks down to see she is looking back up at him as if seeking approval. The longing is there again. The loneliness. The hint of tears. She knows that soon she will be returning to her lonely life in the forest. She sucks on him now as she works her mouth up and down the length of his shaft. No longer looking up, she aligns her mouth to take him in deeper, concentrating on his pleasure. The sensation is in incredible. Fafnir feels the point of no return nearing. He deftly tosses Reliever aside; its point embedding in a nearby tree with a thunk. With both hands free, he grabs the pixie on each side of her head guiding her and thrusting back deep into her throat. He can tell she is struggling for breath, but she makes no effort to resist. At last Fafnir feels his release burst with a force beyond any previous experience. Her mouth is flooded with his spunk. The pumping continues on and on well past normal. Clearly, the pixie's magic is working. He is not pumping out just his come. He is pumping out the poison as well. His head clears more and more as the fluids leave his body. On and on it went. He was grunting with enjoyment, but also grunting with the effort. He could not stop. The pixie is gulping furiously, licking and swallowing his transmogrified fluid. She never lets up and keeps working his shaft better than any back street whore. Despite the transcendent moment, he does not forget his quest. He draws the pixie in using his left hand to grip her hair. The pain seems to renew her efforts. His right hand, concealed from her by his own body, reaches into his pouch. He can feel the smooth cold metal circlet, his part of the bargain made with the wizard. Finally, his body is slowing down, the endless pumping nearing an end. The pixie can sense it. As she consumes the last drops of his tainted come, she starts to pull away. "Free! At long last, free of the curse!" She cries out. Fafnir times the moment perfectly. Her hair is still in his hand. He pulls her forward off balance. He'll never forget the look in her face as his right hand thrusts to her neck closing the circlet. It makes a sharp metal snick and then glows brightly for a moment, each of the thin runes in its surface glowing in yellow light. "No force on Earth can ever remove it save the gods," were the words of the wizard. "NO!" She screams. "Do you know what you have done?" For several minutes, the pixie frantically tries to remove the collar. The brilliant silver steel adamantine is unyielding. The faint enchanted runes around its length binding her magic and binding her to him with ancient power. She stares daggers at him and screams in frustration. Still, hinted within her words, the barbarian detects insincerity. She is not as outraged as she would like to appear. She enters the enchanted pool, but nothing happens. She once again screams, "NO!" She splashes the water all over her, but nothing happens. The barbarian sits on a log, chin propped by his fist, patiently waiting for her to calm down. Finally after a several minutes, she seems coherent again. "How will I live trapped in this form?" The barbarian patiently answers, "With me. Your loneliness and mine are at an end." "You know that my lust will be never ending in this form, my breeding form?" "Yes." She pauses with realization. Realization that he knew exactly what he would do from the start. He not only sought her cure, but her very being itself. Deep down, it was her deepest wish, someone to come to save her, to use her, to make her his own. Did that really just happen? Did he know? Fafnir grins at her, seeing her understanding coming to light. She will learn more of his control in time. He gives her a moment before asking, "What is your name, my little pixie?" "No mortal man can say or know my true name." He considers for a brief moment. "In the legends of my homeland there is a tale of a woman. She appears in dreams so real that they are hard to tell from reality. She gives men favors, the favors a woman gives to a man. In the morning she is gone like a phantom and he wonders if she was real, only for her to return the next night. Her name is Tasha." "Tasha? I like the sound of it. What should I call you?" "It's really quite simple Tasha, you will call me 'Master' just like any other slave would."