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Sarlene's Touch Ch. 03

By: Fuinimel



Vardala

Vardala closed the door to her room behind her, and leaned against it for a while, suddenly nervous. She had excused herself from the late night conversation once Horvan had left to complete his own work for the night. She had claimed tiredness, but the truth was rather different. She pulled the magical glass marble from her purse, and held it in her hand, looking at it, her heart beating.

When she had found it, buried among some of the rubbish near the back of an underground chamber, she had initially planned to hand it over to the others, as part of the group's treasure haul. But that was before she had realised just how useful it would be, and exactly what she would be able to do with it... if only the others did not know. She felt guilty for doing so, especially when she considered what her true motive had been. Perhaps she should just have told them, and then claimed it as her share of the loot. It was so much easier if they did not know... but, equally, it would now be embarrassing in the extreme if they ever found out.

But it was too late for that now. She had the glass ball in her hand, and there was no point having taken it if she did not intend to use it; that would be the worst of both worlds. Taking a breath to calm herself, she slid the latch shut on the inside of the door, and walked over to her bed. She put her jacket to one side, sat on the bed, and pulled off her boots. As a gnome, she loved creature comforts, and the bed already felt inviting. She lay down, above the blankets, feeling their soft material with her bare toes, and resting her head on the deep pillow. Then, already feeling a little more relaxed, she held out the tiny magical orb in front of her.

She knew how to activate the things, of course, having seen them once before, several years ago. They were useful devices, but rare, and it was only her good fortune that had allowed one to slip into her hands. She stared into the glass, willing it to life, and then pressed it gently against one closed eye. The glass began to glow, and a hazy disc of light sprang into being before it. She opened her hand, and the ball began to rise, leaving the disc behind, still fixed in front of her face.

She could see shapes forming within the disc; another image of her darkened room, seen from the perspective of the glass ball, not from her own eyes. A magic eye, indeed, she thought. Now she just had to will it where to go, and hope that no one saw it. It was so small that, surely, nobody would, so long as she was careful. Now she could look wherever she wished, without out anyone knowing... and there was one particular place that she most certainly did want to look.

She willed the eye to float out of the open window and down to the ground floor, where it slipped in through another opening. The gap was too narrow for a person to enter, because of the metal grill over the window, but not something as small as this. She willed the eye towards the main room, where she had left the others, and left it hanging just inside the doorway, in the shadows near the ceiling. The house was only lit by a few torches here and there, leaving many patches of darkness.

Through the doorway, she could see Tarissa and Calleslyn, who already appeared to be wrapping up, apparently deciding that there was little else for them to do tonight, unless they wished to wait up for Almandar and Dolrim. Waiting for the right moment, she paused the eye where it was, until they had begun to head upstairs, and then moved it slowly across the hall, towards one of the doors at the back.

The magical view of the place was remarkable, almost as if she were standing there herself, or rather floating in mid-air, just below the ceiling. The details were as sharp as her own eyesight was, and with much the same field of view. But it was as well that she was in a darkened room, for the shadows displayed in the disc before her would have obscured everything if she herself were standing in the light.

Almost immediately after entering the rear corridor, she saw her target: Horvan. 

Horvan was, of course, human, and therein lay the tragedy. He was a handsome lad, a few years younger than she, but old enough to be her type, and mature enough to be interested. He would have made a good gnome, with his looks, his light brown hair and straight nose. But he was not, which meant there would be forever be a gulf between them. Humans often mingled with elves – Almandar was living proof of that – but never with gnomes. The size difference was too much of an obstacle to their perceptions, and, if she were honest, to that of most gnomes, as well. She was three foot two inches in height, perfectly reasonable for a gnomish woman, but against a human like Horvan... well, if the truth were known, she faced him more or less directly in the crotch.

It was a shame, it really was. If only there was some way to shrink him down to her size, to make him see her as a normal woman. It wasn't that she looked child-like in any other respect; her breasts and hips made her as shapely as any human woman. Dwarves were different, with their thickset build and stunted limbs; even if a human were dwarf sized, they would be unlikely, she thought, to find one attractive. And, if she were a dwarf, presumably she would see nothing in Horvan. But she wasn't, and the truth was that he was an attractive young man, and always considerate and helpful.

How many times had she lain in this very bed, thinking about him? How many times had she imagined his face over the last few days, waiting until she could be close to him again? How often had she, in fact, fantasised about him, imagining him somehow shrunk to her size, and of what they might do together if he was? But she did not want to do that tonight; she just wished to watch him, knowing that, if he knew the way she felt, things would become desperately awkward. Because he was a human, and could never reciprocate her feelings, her desires.

So she lay in bed, watching him closing the window shutters and putting out the torches, preparing the villa for the night. She would, she realised, with the shutters closed, have to float the eye back up the stairs after he had gone to bed, and open her door to let it back in to her room. But, for the moment, she was content to watch.

After a little while, seemingly satisfied with his duties for the night, Horvan headed off through a side door. Vardala realised at once that it was not the way to his quarters. In fact, she realised, her heart almost jumping at the thought, it was the door to the bathing room!

The city of Haredil was built on hot springs, part of the reason for its very existence. The villa, like many placed throughout the city, had its own bathing room, filled with naturally warm water. She had used it herself earlier on, to remove the grime and dust of the journey – her first proper bath in over a month. Unconsciously, forgetting her resolution of a just a short while before, she moved her left hand to her breast, stroking it through the russet cloth of her tunic, her nipples hardening at the touch. Was Horvan simply going there to tidy something up, or...

She moved the eye through the doorway behind him, darting it up towards the ceiling. Horvan turned suddenly, looked behind him, and then out of the door. Had the eye been seen? Had she moved it too quickly? Vardala was paralysed now, not daring to move, as if, somehow, he would be able to see her, and not some floating glass ball. But the young human shook his head, apparently seeing nothing at all, and stepped back into the room, closing the door behind him. It had been close, but it seemed that she had managed to keep the eye out of sight. Now, however, she did not dare to move it from its current place near the ceiling, away from the two lamps that illuminated the room. She could not risk him becoming suspicious again.

Horvan fetched out one of the towels, placing it close to the sunken bath. She realised that he really was going to bathe, and her original plan faded from her thoughts altogether. She had just wanted to watch him working, until he put out the lamps and plunged the house into darkness, but now it was different. She rubbed her breast with her left hand again, wrinkling the cloth over it, feeling the thrill as she slid her other hand down to rest on the inside of her thigh, feeling the smooth leather of her trews tight against her flesh. She breathed in anticipation, her eyes widening.

Horvan slid off his tunic, and then stooped to undo his shoes. For all that she had tried, she had never seen him in a state of even partial undress before; she realised that she did not even truly know what a human man looked like naked. Just how much did they resemble gnomes? Judging by what she saw so far, there was no difference at all. Horvan was moderately well built, his fair skin flawless and smooth, a light covering of hair on his upper chest, but very little. His physique was as she had always imagined it, trim, yet not overly muscular, his belly flat. She glanced down to his waist, as she began fumbling with the cords that held her own trews.

And then Horvan turned round.

It was not his back she wanted to see, but he was now facing away from her, placing the shoes and tunic neatly upon the bench in front of him. She dared not move the eye to get a better look, and just stared at him, unable to do anything about her situation. With a smooth motion, Horvan slipped out of his trews, and then pulled down the short cotton pants beneath. His buttocks were firm, shapely, just the sort she liked. But she wanted to see more. Why was he taking so long?

Grunting in frustration, she moved her left hand down, tugging up her tunic, pushing her hand inside, and then tweaking at the bare nipple beneath. The cords undone, she slid her other hand into her trews, running her fingers over her pubic hair and down to the place between her legs. Her cunt ached with desire, and she willed him to turn round, silently begging him. Surely he had to?

Yes. 

Horvan turned towards the bath, standing before it, stark naked, everything on view. She realised at that point that she had not even thought about which of the two possibilities she had really wanted to be true. Had she hoped that, despite the human's large size in other respects, his penis would be gnome-sized, giving her a hope, if a distant one, that one day he might choose to place it between her waiting thighs? Or had she secretly hoped, in some dark recess of her mind, that humans would be proportioned as gnomes were in every way, making his cock as massive as the rest of him?

It was now abundantly clear that it was the latter possibility that was the truth. She had never seen a naked human before, but she had seen gnomish men, and, in all of his proportions, Horvan certainly resembled one. Just how huge did that mean his cock was, especially when fully erect? How much further away had this pushed whatever hopes she had? Right now, she did not care.

Her left hand working her breast, she dipped a finger between the lips of her cunt. It was wet, hot, aching for her touch. She needed release, and she needed it soon. Her finger stroked her clit, and she stifled a moan as she experienced a sudden wave of pleasure. She needed this so badly, it hurt. Yes, she had masturbated before, thinking about Horvan, but it had never been like this. The image of him standing naked before the bath was one that surely she would hold in her mind forever.

It seemed like an eternity, but it could hardly have been long before he slipped down into the warm spring waters of the bath, reaching for the very perfumed soap and pumice stone that she had used herself earlier that evening. The waters were clear, allowing her a view of his whole body, distorted by the ripples, but more than enough to fuel her fantasies.

She slipped her finger in and out of her cunt, finding a rhythm, feeling the slick wetness of her sex. Then, looking once again at the object of her affection, she did something she had never done before, and pushed in a second finger. She began pumping harder, her breath ragged, pulling on her nipple with the other hand, twisting it between forefinger and thumb. She wanted Horvan so much that it was all she could do to stop thrashing on the bed. Her fingers worked hard, as she forced them further inside, imagining that huge cock fully erect, thrusting its way into her eager pussy. Imagining those firm buttocks pounding into her with increasing vigour.

She thrust a third finger into her heat, finding it tight, almost painful. "I could take you, I know I could..." she gasped, suddenly realising she had spoken out loud. Then her climax hit her, and she arched back on the bed, her small body convulsing as waves of orgasm crashed over her, stunning in their ferocity, blinding her even to the view of the naked man in the disc of light before her.

Sarlene's Touch Ch. 04



Hiring

Soft soled leather boots made little sound as the dark cloaked figure strode along the back street. The houses nearby were large, some of the more opulent ones in Haredil, many of them lit by lantern light from within at this time of night. Even were it not for the darkness outside, little would have been visible of the figure's features, shrouded beneath the long, hooded cloak. The figure glanced about, to make sure that no one was watching, but the street was otherwise deserted. It stepped up to the back door of one of the homes, and knocked softly.

After a long pause, the door opened slightly, and a human face peered out. Apparently satisfying himself as to the identity of the visitor, the man opened the door further, and the figure disappeared within.

The room within was gloomy, lit only by the candelabrum that the manservant held. Zarenis pulled back the hood on her cloak, revealing a pretty, yet serious face with pale skin and shoulder-length brown hair. However, her heritage was immediately apparent, as was, perhaps, her reason for concealment. Just peeking up from beneath her hair were the tips of two tiny, black horns, and her eyes glittered in the candlelight like two dark garnets, the reddish tinge decidedly unnatural. 

"I will inform her ladyship of your presence," said the man, not reacting at all to her appearance, "please wait here." With that, he was gone, taking the candle with him, and plunging the room into near-total darkness.

That mattered little to Zarenis, although she had no idea whether the man had realised that or not. She was a tiefling, her blood tainted with the darkness of Hell itself. Most of her ancestors had been human, of course, but one of her great-great grandmothers had pledged herself to a night of wanton debauchery with a devil, leaving her great-grandfather as the result. She neither knew nor cared about the precise details, or much about how her Hell-touched line had propagated itself down the generations since, but the infernal taint in her blood gave her some advantages over more mundane humans. One of which was the ability to see in darkness that would have challenged even a cat.

This was, she concluded, a waiting room for visitors that the owner of the house did not want others to see arriving. Tradesmen for the most part, perhaps, but also those such as herself. The room had little in the way of decoration, and just a single window, which was firmly shuttered. There were a couple of chairs here, both functional but not expensive enough to truly befit the house. The only touch of personality was out in the hallway beyond, standing on a small pedestal. It was a figurine, cast of bronze, showing a satyr with an implausibly large penis busily fucking a nymph doggy-style. The nymph's mouth was open, screaming, but the statuette was too ambiguous to tell whether the sculptor had intended it to be in pleasure or pain. Which was, she suspected, quite deliberate. Either way, it seemed an odd thing to have in one's hallway.

The man returned, after a wait surely intended to put her in her place, yet not quite long enough to be truly inconvenient. "Her ladyship will see you now," he said, and beckoned for her to follow. He led the way through a hallway that, aside from the pedestal and its figurine, looked much the same as that of any other expensive household. She wondered if the bronze had put there for her benefit, and, if so, what the message was supposed to have been. Perhaps it was just intended to put her ill at ease but, if so, it had failed; it would take more than that to shock a tiefling.

At last they came to a double door of wood carved in an abstract bas-relief, which the man opened to indicate a more brightly lit room beyond. He motioned for her to enter, then, once she had done so, silently bowed to the room's occupant before backing out and closing the door.

Her ladyship was clearly a pervert.

Tapestries hung from three of the walls, concealing any other doors or windows there might have been. The only bare wall was the one holding the door she had just come through, which held bright lanterns in sconces shedding light onto the room. In addition, there were two chairs and a small table, holding what appeared to be a bottle of wine and a glass. If she sat down in the empty chair, the table would be out of reach, but, more importantly, only the three walls with tapestries would be in view.

And if the figurine in the hallway had been intended to make her feel uncomfortable, then the tapestries surely were. Each showed a night-time garden, filled with cavorting naked bodies engaged in graphic sexual acts. They ranged from the passionate to the bizarre and even brutal. In addition to humans and elves, beast-men and fey seemed to feature prominently, and many of the couples were same-sex. None of this had anything to do with why she had been invited here, and her mind began to formulate escape tactics, just as a precaution.

Lady Amloth sat in the larger of the two chairs, which was throne-like and quilted with red fabric. "Good evening," she said, her voice silky smooth, "have a seat."

Zarenis had already done her homework on the woman before her. Lady Jhaeluit Amloth was rarely seen in the social circles of the local nobility, and with good reason; she was a drow. She had, so far as Zarenis could determine, been outcast from her own society for some reason, and had settled here, building up her fortune with mercantile and magical work. The title of 'lady' was a mere affectation, some remnant of her supercilious drow upbringing.

She sat down in the empty chair, facing the drow woman. Over her ladyship's left shoulder was a depiction of an elven woman choking on a minotaur's stiff cock, and over the other, a picture of a human man, shackled to a tree while a male drow sodomised him. Judging from the human's own condition, this was apparently something he greatly enjoyed, shackles notwithstanding. Zarenis ignored both images, keeping her eyes firmly on the woman in front of her.

"I hear you are good," said her ladyship. The tiefling said nothing; under the circumstances, the question was rather ambiguous. "At obtaining things without their owner's knowledge," added the drow after a short silence, "at entering premises where others would prefer you were not. Is this true?"

"Yes," replied Zarenis, a simple statement of fact. Amloth knew this already, or she would not be here.

The drow nodded, her expression haughty. Her dress, if it could be called that, was made of a dark purple material, but Zarenis suspected that its maker could not have been charging by the square inch. The upper part consisted of two pieces of material stretched tight over Amloth's breasts, held together by a golden clasp with a single ruby lying in her ample cleavage, and black strips of cloth around her back and over her shoulders. She also wore a cloak of a thin black silky material, forming a choker around her neck, but she had it pushed back, to best display the skimpy cut of the rest of her clothing. Silver bangles decorated her bare upper arms, while pieces of black padding covered her lower arms, shaped like armour, but clearly decorative rather than practical.

Her skin was jet black, smooth, and flawless. Her midriff was bare, slim and curvaceous, decorated only by a golden filigree chain just below her navel, holding a small, pendant gem. Below that came the second part of her dress, two wide strips of the dark purple material draped between her legs, reaching to midway down her calves. They were held together by two more black strips, one stretching high over her bare hips, and the other lower down at the top of her thighs. It looked almost like a shirt, yet still left her legs all but bare.

"I have a task that requires someone of your particular talents," said Lady Amloth, "needless to say, your discretion is absolutely essential."

"You'll know that silence comes as guaranteed," the tiefling replied. Amloth would already have checked that out, too. It was to be expected in this business.

"Good," the drow replied, a slight smile on her jet lips. Her hair was pure white, like snow, gathered up into a long pony-tail, with loose fringes framing her face. Her eyes were brilliant amber in colour, yet somehow as cold as ice. She would not be a woman to cross, but Zarenis had dealt with many such during her life, and there were few people that could intimidate her now. 

Amloth languidly crossed her legs, showing off the smooth black expanse of a bare thigh, and – probably quite intentionally – a flash of her dark purple panties. Her whole approach, Zarenis had to admit, was a new one. Normally if somebody wanted to impress upon her how powerful and scary they were, they would use the implied threat of violence. This was the first time somebody had attempted to unnerve her through sexuality. But she was determined it would work no better than any other approach.

And it was not merely through the use of the décor and revealing clothes that Amloth was attempting to make her uncomfortable. Even in the short time she had been in the room, the drow's eyes had already lingered over her body. Zarenis was wearing leathers, covering every inch of her skin save for her head, but there was no doubt she was being mentally undressed. As a tiefling, that was an unusual experience, and it did not seem that Amloth was faking her desire. But then, if the tapestries were any guide, her tastes ran to the unusual, although, unfortunately for the drow, Zarenis had no intention of ever making it with another woman.

"There are some individuals that recently returned to this city," said Lady Amloth, "the sort of people who tend to delve in subterranean ruins in search of gold; I am sure you know the type. They are skilled and experienced, as anyone who survives such a career for long will be. And they have acquired something, something that I would like you to obtain for me..."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 05



Messandra

Calleslyn climbed the stairs at the back of the map shop. Messandra, who owned the shop, was someone she had known for a long time. She had often provided the party with interesting documents or maps, which had led them on dramatic adventures across the northern lands. The latest such map had proven particularly useful, and she deserved to know the outcome of that escapade, which was why Calleslyn was here after hours.

She knocked on the door to Messandra's living quarters above the shop, and was rewarded a brief time later when the owner opened the door. The human woman was dressed well, Calleslyn saw, wearing a rich blue sleeveless dress with a long skirt slit down the side to show off one slender leg, and ankle-length boots. A wide belt girdled her waist, accentuating her figure, and the dress itself had an open diamond between her breasts, and straps over her bare shoulders, where a necklace of amber stones hung down to her collar bone.

Calleslyn took all this in, realising at once that this was probably not her friend's casual wear. "Have I interrupted you?" she asked, "I can always come back tomorrow."

Messandra looked puzzled for a moment, and then glanced down at herself, following the elf's eyes. "Oh, nothing that can't be postponed," she said, flushing slightly, "I was just... no, it's nothing. Come in."

"If you're sure," replied Calleslyn, stepping inside. She had been in here before, but not often. Messandra kept the best and most valuable documents up here, where they would be most secure. Having discovered that Calleslyn's party paid well for such information, she had made them valued customers, as well as friends, and they were among the few granted access to her inner sanctum. A long upholstered couch occupied the centre of the room, sitting on a rich blue and white carpet before an ornamental fireplace that, at this time of year, remained unlit. Old vases and items of artwork decorated the room, showing the woman's passion for things of the past. At the back of the room a desk held a number of pieces of parchment, which Messandra was clearly in the process of examining.

"I wanted to let you know how your last sale turned out," explained the elven woman, "it was very profitable for us."

"Yes, I heard you were back," agreed Messandra, "news travels fast. Almandar and Dolrim were at the Brass Goblet just two nights ago, and already half the city knows."

Calleslyn nodded, smiling. Almandar had not returned until the following morning, which was hardly unusual, and even Dolrim had been back late. Doubtless they had spent their time regaling anyone who would listen. "So you already know the story?" she asked, slightly disappointed.

"Only the vaguest outline; you must fill it in for me. But, before that, I do have some business. I have come across a document that I think you might find rather interesting."

"We aren't about to head out again just yet," Calleslyn warned her, "but that is no reason not to take a look, I agree." If the document proved useful, it would be better to buy it now than have the risk of it being sold to other adventurers before they could obtain it. She followed Messandra over to the desk, and looked curiously at the pieces of parchment before her.

"This is the one," Messandra told her, holding up a sheaf of older parchments. "It is actually about the city, here. An old document, which came into my hands rather fortuitously. It seems to be an account of some adventurers from times past. They found something beneath the city, in the old springs, I think. Look, there are some maps in here – rather rudely drawn, I know, but they seem to be referring to something dangerous."

"Nothing dangerous enough to destroy the city in the last century or so, I take it?" replied the elf, smiling.

Messandra smiled in response, a flash of white teeth. "No, I suppose not. But interesting nonetheless, don't you think? And right here, so there will be no need to 'head out' anywhere to investigate it. I think you may find reading it rewarding."

Calleslyn nodded, "I'm interested. We can discuss prices later."

"Of course... but there is one last thing. Something I need your help with, actually. I came across another document recently. No reason to suppose it is of any particular interest to adventurers... but, well, it is in an archaic dialect of elven, which I am having difficulty translating. To be honest, I am not getting very far at all; there are just too many unfamiliar words. If you could look at it, give me some idea of whether it would be worth my while looking into it further... I might be able to give you a discount on this," she lightly patted the sheaf with the maps.

"Sure, why not? Let me have a look, and I'll see what I can tell you." Messandra handed over a few sheets of parchment, which did not look as old as the others. If the dialect was so archaic, it must have been copied several times, but the writing was clearly elven. She scanned them for a short time, and then stifled a laugh, putting her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement. "I'm sorry," she said, "It's not quite what you think. It's not really archaic... rather the opposite, if anything. But no, I can see that many of these words are not ones you would normally come across in your work. And the style is... not really one you would be familiar with, either."

Messandra frowned, looking confused. The corners of her mouth twitched, though, in sympathy with the elf's amusement, but uncertain of what the joke was. "So what is it? Is it not valuable? Tell me it's not just a shopping list, or something!"

"No, it's not that," Calleslyn was having difficulty preventing herself from grinning. It really wasn't her friend's fault that she had come across this. "And I suppose it might be worth something to the right sort of buyer. It's just that... well, perhaps I should just read you some of it."

***

The fragrant scent of roses wafted on the air, the light dappling the green leaves like the touch of sunlight on glistening water. The elf-maid waited for the blissful enrapture that would herald a fresh dawn, her heart singing a tune old, yet new, a promise of fertile awakening. Her lover's breath as soft as summer rain on her face, her kiss the promise of a future yet unrevealed. The touch of a butterfly would be as sweet, as when the elf-maid raised the glistening globes of her lover's breasts to her desiring tongue...

***

"I'm sorry – I just can't go on!" Calleslyn laughed out loud now. "But I think you get the picture. This... this is basically elven pornography. And the style is probably rather more overblown even than it sounds translated into Common. Poetic allusions and so on... people do read this stuff, but is not a part of your usual trade, I don't think. You don't want to get a reputation."

Messandra, it seemed, had a rather different reaction. She looked more flustered than anything else, her eyes wide, although her mouth was still twitching into a half-smile, as if she could at least see the funny side. He mouth opened, as if she was about to say something, but she seemed to think better of it.

"Yes?" said Calleslyn, rather more gently, although still smiling.

"But... uh... I mean, the elf-maid in the... uh, didn't you say 'her lover's'..." She left the sentence uncompleted, now starting to blush a little.

The elf immediately realised the source of her friend's confusion. Humans were usually a little different like that. "Yes," she said, looking a little more serious now, "the 'elf-maid's' lover is another woman. Without reading more, it's difficult to be sure, but there do not appear to be any men involved in this particular story."

"Is that... is that common?" Messandra's eyes were still wide, and she was now gripping the side of the desk with one hand, a welter of emotions crossing her face. She was clearly embarrassed to ask more, yet curious at the same time, wanting to know the answer.

"Among elves? Yes, it is." A straight answer seemed the best way to deal with the subject. At least the human woman had not freaked out, or reacted negatively. She deserved a clear explanation for that, at least... but Calleslyn was still unclear as to where the questions were going. "Look, basically, we elves are a free people. Sex is another experience, something we enjoy, as part of our love of nature; we don't tie it in with strict rules and regulations. And that freedom extends to our partner's gender, as much as to anything else. It's not just women; elven men are often intimate with one another in a way that the majority of human males are not. To us, it is really all part of life."

"So..." she seemed unsure of how to get the next words out. Her blue eyes were fixed on Calleslyn's own, and she swallowed slightly in her nervousness. Suddenly, it was quite clear to the elf where this was going. And she would not object for a moment, if only Messandra could get the question out. "So..." the map-seller continued, "have you actually...?"

"Made love to another woman?" She knew she was safe answering this now, and just wanted to see the human's reaction. "Yes, I have. There is nothing wrong with a man... as I said, we are free with our affections. But, despite that, there is nothing quite like the feel of a woman; they always know just where to touch. I find it truly divine." She took a step forward, so that they were just inches apart, but Messandra made no move, and her eyes had still not left Calleslyn's own.

She licked her lips to moisten them, and Calleslyn watched the pink tongue slide over her lips. Messandra's breast was rising and falling now, clearly visible through the low-cut dress. The elf wondered if the dress, attractive as it was, had been intended for her. Messandra would have known she was coming round... but she had clearly not anticipated this; her confusion on hearing the passage read had been all too clear. Perhaps she had wanted it in some deep part of her mind, but had not truly realised it until now. Now that the opportunity presented itself as clearly as it ever could.

Messandra took another breath, and then, with a voice that almost quavered, and that was barely audible even at this distance, asked, "Could you show me?"

Instead of answering, Calleslyn leaned forward, caressing the map-seller's cheek, and then kissing her on the lips. It was a mere brush, and for a moment, Messandra pulled back, unsure of herself. But only for a moment, for it was Messandra who made the next move, kissing the elven magician in response, and this time more confidently than before. Their lips parted, and their tongues entwined as Calleslyn pressed her body against her friend's, feeling the shape of her breasts through their clothing. 

She pulled back, taking a good look at Messandra's face, gazing into her blue eyes, sensing the desire within that her words were having such difficulty articulating. Her sandy hair was pulled up, leaving her long neck bare, enticing. Calleslyn ran the tip of her finger along Messandra's chin, raising it up a fraction, then kissed her throat, and the side of her neck, her other hand reaching round the woman's waist, feeling the soft warmth of the fabric.

"Perhaps we should move to the couch?" she suggested. There was a bedroom here, somewhere, but the elf was too eager to waste timing moving to it, and she suspected the human woman was even more so. Better here, in this room familiar to them both. The other woman nodded, perhaps thinking the same thoughts, or perhaps too carried away in the moment to think at all.

Messandra sat down on the couch, almost collapsing into it, her legs weak. Calleslyn smiled, reaching out to touch the woman's face again. "Don't worry," she said reassuringly, "this will be good."

She half-sat on the couch beside her, so that they were still facing each other. Messandra was gripping the back, as if for support, her arms outstretched, her mouth half-open, the rise and fall of her chest more apparent than ever. A silver clasp held the fabric of her dress together over the open diamond through which Calleslyn could glimpse part of the woman's cleavage. She slid her finger down her partner's collarbone, past the jewelled necklace, then deftly undid the clasp, pulling the two pieces of fabric down and aside, exposing Messandra's breasts. The human woman made no move, as if frozen in place, so Calleslyn gave her another smile, and reached for the shoulder straps. At last, Messandra moved her arms, as if in a trance, releasing the back of the couch, so that Calleslyn could pull the dress over her shoulders, and down to her waist.

"You look lovely," she said, honestly, but the woman made no reply. They kissed again, briefly, Messandra's lips and tongue saying more in their eagerness than they could manage in words. Her bare breasts were now rubbing against the fabric of Calleslyn's own dress, but the elf decided to keep her own clothes on for a little while longer.

Ending the kiss, she looked down again at Messandra's chest. The woman's breasts were ample, larger than her own, but not over-endowed. She moved her hands over them, feeling the softness of the skin, and teasing the hard, pink, nipples. The map-seller let out a gasp at that, a squeak of pleasure rising involuntarily. Calleslyn smiled again; she was savouring this, taking her time.

She bent down to kiss one breast, rolling the nipple beneath her tongue, and making her friend gasp out again, louder this time. Her passion was rising now, undeniable, but still she made no move towards the elven woman. Calleslyn kissed the other breast, moving her hand against the free one, and then stood up. Messandra looked aggrieved for a second, clearly wanting the pleasure to continue, until she realised that Calleslyn was reaching for the fastenings of her own dress.

Unlike the human woman, she had not dressed especially for today, although, in retrospect, she rather wished that she had. She was wearing a long green dress, cut to the collarbone, but no lower, with long sleeves, and a pale yellow bodice that showed off her slender waist. Her hair was held back from her pointed ears by green bands at the top, but tumbled loose down her back, reaching almost to the top of her buttocks. Now, she undid the fastening that held the dress together at the back of her neck, and pulled her arms free of the narrow sleeves, sliding the dress down over her hips. While her friend had evidently chosen to wear nothing beneath the upper part of her dress, Calleslyn still had a shift beneath hers, soft white silk that clung to her curves. She could see the anticipation in Messandra's eyes as she took in the sight, her gaze travelling from slender calves and soft green shoes, up along the silk-covered body to the curve of her small breasts.

Protracting the moment just a little longer, Calleslyn stepped out of her dress, and removed her shoes one by one. Then she knelt down on the carpet, feeling the thick material on her bare knees. She released one shoulder from the shift, and then the other, pushing the silk slowly down her body, to pool at her waist. Messandra made no move to touch her, so she reached up slightly, and kissed her again. Their breasts touched, the elf's smaller pair pressing against those of the human. The map seller gasped at that, pulling back from the kiss, her excitement evident. Calleslyn decided that she had waited long enough.

She leaned back on her heels again, and moved her hands down Messandra's smooth belly, teasing her navel on the way, then unbuckled the belt, laying it aside before pulling the blue dress down over the woman's legs, to pool above her feet. Messandra kicked it away, eager to continue, and now dressed only in her boots and a skimpy pair of white panties. They were the next to go, although neither woman moved to take off the boots. Calleslyn gently moved the human's legs apart, and caressed the inside of her exposed thigh. Messandra shivered, suddenly vulnerable, everything exposed.

"You do want this?" the elf asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear the words. But Messandra was silent, merely nodding her head in wordless assent. She ran her fingers down the woman's belly again, this time reaching further, stroking the curly hair above her pussy. Then she kneeled forward, and kissed it.

The map-seller's body arched, and she let out a groan of pleasure, the loudest sound she had yet made. Encouraged, Calleslyn ran her tongue along the full length of the woman's pussy lips, and then plunged her tongue deep into her cunt. The moan this time was louder still, her thighs convulsing, and Messandra reached down, running her fingers through the elven woman's hair, holding her against her crotch.

Calleslyn continued, sliding her tongue in and out, tasting every drop of the human's excitement, teasing her clit. Her hands caressed the woman's thighs and buttocks, lifting her up to get a better purchase. Messandra was moaning, squeezing her own left breast with one hand, and gripping the elven magician's head with the other. She spoke for the first time, calling out Calleslyn's name, her hips grinding. As the elf continued to probe, licking and flicking her clit with the tip of her tongue, she could tell that the map-seller was close to climax. All trace of her former silence had gone now, her moans of pleasure ringing across the room. She could not take much more.

And Calleslyn did not want her too.

With a long, drawn out shuddering moan, Messandra climaxed, her body arching against the couch, her booted feet drumming on the floor, her breasts heaving. The elf leaned back, watching the woman as she panted, beads of sweat now adorning her naked body.

"That was... that was..." gasped Messandra, as she struggled to get her breath back to normal.

"That," said Calleslyn, "wasn't over. I think you still want more... and I know I do." She stood up, letting the shift slide down over her legs to the floor. The human woman looked almost guilty as she did so, and then licked her lips as she took in the full view of the elf standing unclothed before her.

"I don't know if I can..." she said, imploring. "Not yet... you are beautiful, Calleslyn, and I do want to... but I need to catch my breath."

"Oh, I think you're still ready," she replied, leaning forward to kiss those lips once again. Messandra closed her eyes, the kiss lingering, and the motion of her body as their breasts touched once again convinced the elf that she was right. Which was good, because her own cunt was aching now, her pleasure too long delayed.

She took Messandra's hand, and pulled her down to the carpet, so that they were both lying face to face. They kissed again, their bodies entwining, legs sliding against each other. They embraced, Messandra running the fingers of one hand down the elf's long and silky hair, then caressing the small of her back, while Calleslyn fondled her buttocks. The kiss continued, the map-seller's body now rubbing against Calleslyn's own, her nipples hardening once more.

The elf released her, sliding her hand up to cup a breast, then rubbing a finger over the pink nipple. "See?" she said, "You're more than ready again. But this time..."

"Oh, yes," said Messandra, "I want this to be for both of us. I've so often thought of it... of something like this. What it would be like to be with another woman, but I never... I didn't think I'd have the chance. Now I do, I don't want to waste the moment."

"No fear," replied the elf, kissing her once more. Messandra's hands moved, sliding round her belly, and up towards the elf's small breasts. Calleslyn sighed in contentment, rolling onto her back. The map-seller reached over her, kissing her collarbone, cupping a breast, feeling it against her hands, but no more. To encourage her, the elven adventurer ran her own hand down the woman's belly, probing between her legs once more, finding her lips wet and swollen, still inviting. 




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 05



Messandra gasped, then bent to kiss each of Calleslyn's nipples in turn, her tongue moist and eager. "Yes..." she murmured, "oh yes..."

The elf responded by moving her fingers in, penetrating the wetness of the woman's cunt. Her partner moaned, twisting on the carpet, as Calleslyn hooked one leg in hers. At last, Messandra seemed to realise what her lover needed, gingerly touching the patch between the elf's legs, running a finger between her thighs. How she ached for that touch, that release!

Calleslyn moved her own fingers in and out, slipping into the wetness of Messandra's cunt, showing the woman what she herself wanted. The human fumbled, her thumb sliding along the elven woman's pussy, in the slickness of her sex. The elf moaned softly, encouraging her, moving her own fingers faster.

It was too much for Messandra. She rolled onto her own back, bucking, her legs thrashing, disentangling themselves. Calleslyn raised herself on an elbow, her fingers still pumping in and out, as Messandra reached for one of her breasts. The woman was imploring her now, gasping and crying out in pleasure. Calleslyn twisted, bringing her face to Messandra's pussy once more.

She licked it eagerly, her index finger still sliding in and out of the woman's wetness, finding her clit with her tongue. Messandra cried out, her own caresses forgotten, one hand just gripping Calleslyn's buttock, her nose pressed against her friend's belly. The elf straddled her, one thigh on either side of her face, still licking and sucking as her finger continued to probe.

With a final wordless shout, Messandra came a second time, her body convulsing, gripping Calleslyn's back, her face now pressed against one of the elf's inner thighs. Her legs thrashed, and she whimpered, as the adventurer's long hair slid down over her side.

"Goddess, I'm sorry," the human said. "You're just so good." She gulped before continuing, "But I do want it all. I know to know what it feels like. To make another woman cum like I have. I just need... I just need to know how to do it right."

"I think you know what to do," Calleslyn said, "just like you do to yourself." She was impatient now, but trying not to let it show. "I need you, I really need you now. I can't wait any longer."

Messandra reached up, turning her face towards the elf's own pussy. Calleslyn felt her finger slide in, gasped again as the pleasure began to build. She needed the release, needed it so badly. She rocked her hips back and forward, rubbing the finger against the inside of her cunt. The map-seller was breathing heavily, still unsure of herself. "Yes, that's good" the elf moaned, "don't stop."

Messandra was moving her finger eagerly now, and Calleslyn shuddered in anticipation. The human woman's hand was now slick with her sex, as the elf kissed the inside of her thigh, ran the tip of her tongue along one lip of her pussy. At the touch, the map-seller let out a strangled yelp, pulled her finger our, and grabbed Calleslyn's buttocks in both hands, forcing her down over her mouth.

Her tongue slid into the elf's cunt, slipping around inexpertly, until she found the clit. "Yes, right there!" Calleslyn cried, grinding her hips into the woman's face. Messandra sucked, her skill and confidence obviously growing. That was it; the elf could speak no longer. She gasped, cried out her lover's name, as the delicious pleasure mounted.

She came suddenly, her thighs almost gripping Messandra's head. It was an explosion, her pent up passion releasing itself in one sudden moment, her moans echoing her partner's own. Waves of pleasure crashed through her body, blinding white. 

Messandra now knew exactly what it was like to have a woman orgasm into her face...



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 06



The shop was a moderately large one, yet still dominated by many of the other buildings in the neighbourhood. The spires and domes of the nearby temples reared over the nearby roofs, giving this quarter its distinctive character. Even the streets were relatively quiet, at least when worship services were not beginning or ending. This building, then, while better than many others in the city, looked almost nondescript here, its smooth stone walls and decorative sign no more impressive than many others on the street.

Almandar and Tarissa were here to stock up on supplies in anticipation of their next foray into the wilderness. There was no great urgency, for they had no plans to head out again for a couple of months at least, but one never knew when supplies would come in handy, even here in the city. The shop, of course, given the neighbourhood, specialised in religious goods. That was, primarily, Lady Tarissa's field of expertise, but it was still useful for another party member to be present.

In fact, while he had passed the shop before, on previous visits to this quarter, he had not been inside. Tarissa, apparently, was a regular, so it clearly made sense for him to let the paladin do the talking.

Inside, the shop looked a little less discrete than it had from the street. A range of holy symbols decorated the walls, and the long counter held a number of assorted items, making the place look as much like an antique shop as anything else. There were prayer wheels, incense holders, decorated flasks, and a few items whose function Almandar could only guess at. Evidently, he mused, he had not attended a wide range of religious services. At least he could recognise most of the symbols on the wall...

The man behind the counter was middle-aged, and well dressed in a navy blue tunic. He greeted Tarissa as if she were an old friend, and then called out through the back door to the room that they had customers; apparently, he had a shop assistant working out the back.

"What can I do for you today, my lady?" he asked, turning back to the paladin.

"I was looking for some holy water," she replied, "we used our entire supply on the last trip, and we will need some more. And some of your healing potions, of course."

"Certainly..." said the shopkeeper, but Almandar's attention was distracted from the next part of the conversation by the arrival of the shop assistant.

She was a young woman, perhaps the shopkeeper's daughter, probably no more than nineteen or twenty years of age. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail with a simple silver clasp, and lively green eyes flicked between the two customers; Almandar felt that they lingered longer on him, but perhaps it was just because he was a new visitor. Her complexion was smooth, and paler than that of the shopkeeper, with full red lips and a sensuous mouth. Unbidden, and ignoring the religious atmosphere that the shop should have been provoking, the half-elf's eyes wandered down the young woman's body, assessing her figure. She was wearing a dark green dress, the neckline demurely just below her neck, and the sleeves long to her wrists; the counter concealed her skirts, but he rather imagined they would be long, revealing little. 

Yet, despite that fact, the dress could not quite hide the shape of her body. She had a narrow waist, a girdle tied around it bearing the symbol of the hearth goddess, and her arms were equally slender. Where the dress maker had chiefly failed, however, was in disguising the shape of her breasts. They were high and firm, large compared with the width of her waist; only the loosest and baggiest of clothing could possibly have hidden that fact. All in all, Almandar felt, she was wasted on religion, and he would have greatly preferred to see her in something a little more revealing.

He dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. The shopkeeper was laying out a range of bottles, and he and Tarissa were deep in discussion about the prices of various options. So far as he knew, the paladin would have no difficulty acquiring holy water blessed by the priests of Pardror, her favoured deity, and the god of honour and martial virtue, at the temple. But sometimes, a range of alternatives came in handy, and there were always the healing potions to be considered, along with whatever other accoutrements of religion there might be. There were several gods, after all, and he supposed that it was wise to keep all of them on side where possible. But, while healing potions were certainly of interest, he had to admit that only two of the gods could really lay any claim to receive prayers or offerings from him... and, of those, only Sarlene, goddess of love, was likely to be truly pleased.

A thought suddenly struck him, and, seeing the shopkeeper was busy, he turned instead to the assistant. "I wonder if you have some small holy symbols?" he asked her, "a sort of pendant, perhaps, not one of the large ones. Just as decoration?"

"Of course," she replied, "we have a range of religious jewellery."

"How about one for the goddess Sarlene?" She was an accepted member of the pantheon, after all, treated politely by the other temples, even if they sometimes kept themselves at arms length. Love was an important and positive part of the world, an essential force in the universe, something the other gods had no wish to deny. It was, he suspected, mainly the priests of some of the more ordered temples who were a little wary of its physical implications, and even they praised concepts such as romance and marriage.

The girl's eyes widened slightly, but her mouth twitched slightly into a smile. At least he had not offended her. "Yes, we do," she said, "I can fetch some from the storeroom, if you like." She half-turned, then paused, as if mulling something over, then turned back. "In fact, it might be easier if you came with me, and you can pick something." He sensed a slight blush on her cheeks, and wondered what it meant. Perhaps she was just a little embarrassed by being reminded of that particular deity... or perhaps it was something more.

"Why not?" he said to her, glancing back towards Lady Tarissa. She had evidently overheard some of the conversation, and nodded her agreement, before turning back to the array of bottles in front of her. He rather thought he saw an amused and indulgent smile on her face as she did so. Quite why, he could not be sure – it was not as if much could happen in the short time they were likely to be gone, let alone in a shop of this sort.

"I'm Lyrette, by the way," said the assistant as she showed him through the back of the shop, "and you are?"

"Almandar. I'm a wizard."

"That explains why I have not seen you before. You spend more time over in the University Quarter, I expect?"

"Yes, I suppose I do," he admitted. Certainly, he had been there just yesterday, visiting the guild and its library of spell books. "Is this the family business, then?"

"No, Derivon is just a friend of my father's, but I have been working here for nearly two years. I still live with my family, but they are away at the moment, so I have their house to myself."

He nodded, not sure what to say to that. Walking just behind her, he noted the pleasant curve of her hips. As he had expected, her skirt was long, the hemline just above her ankles, and her soft leather boots hid even the skin of those. Even so, the shape of her body was enticing, and he had to forcibly return his thoughts to the purchase. Lyrette reached a reinforced door at the back of the workshop, and unlocked it, revealing a narrow storage space beyond.

The room was stone, like the rest of the building, lined with wooden shelves on one side that reached up to the ceiling. The shelves were stacked with boxes and miscellaneous items, and jutted out far enough to leave little space between them and the far wall.

"Let me think..." she said, "They are on one of the upper shelves, I think." She pulled up a ladder that moved on runners along the shelves, and raised a leg onto one of the rungs. As she did so, the skirt lifted up, and she – apparently absent-mindedly – hitched it up further to free up her movement. It slid back above her raised knee, revealing that her boots were calf length, but also showing off a patch of bare skin on her knee and lower thigh. Her legs were slender, and well formed, much like the rest of her body, the skin pale, save for a small mole he could now see on her inner thigh. Almandar swallowed, but this time he did not pull his eyes away.

"See anything you like?" she asked, and now he was almost sure she was teasing, since she had yet to bring down any items of jewellery.

"Maybe," he said, noncommittally. Perhaps Lyrette did not have the religious commitment that her parents apparently thought... this might be interesting.

"I don't know much about Sarlene," she said, apparently still searching through the boxes, "what do you do in your worship services?"

He resisted the urge to reply that it was not what she might think. "It's not so different from the other deities really," he said, "we give thanks for the goddess's bounty, make sacrifices of beautiful items. They pass round rose water for purification, that kind of thing." Of course, the social meetings that sometimes followed the services could be a different matter, he thought silently, his eyes still drinking in the shape of her legs and body.

"You believe in love for the entire world, don't you? A bit odd for an adventurer... or are you not with Lady Tarissa?"

"The goddess teaches that love is the bond that holds the universe together, yes. And Lady Tarissa is a colleague of mine, but she's not a worshipper. It does not go well with being a paladin, I gather. Paladins love the power of Good, and have a love for their communities, but they channel it in different directions than the followers of Sarlene." He did not answer her other question; the truth was that it was part of his identity, not contradicting his adventuring career, but not directly helping it either. He did not have the pacifist inclinations necessary to join the priesthood of the goddess.

"And what directions are those?" she asked, as she picked a box up off one of the higher shelves, and returned to the floor, her skirt falling down around her ankles again as she did so.

Almandar did not immediately reply, thinking of how to frame his answer. Was she flirting with him, or were the questions actually innocent? If, as seemed likely, it really was the former, how blunt could he afford his answer to be? Fortunately, there were many aspects to the goddess. "We believe in romantic love before all else. We promote marriage, of course, so long as it is for love, not for money or social advancement. But we do not seek to restrict love between people, and there can be many ways of expressing that."

She held out the box, opening it to show a number of small pendants, amulets and bracelets, all decorated with the goddess's symbol. Most of them were clearly intended for women, to be worn as items of jewellery, but he soon selected a small silver piece on a fine chain. As he held it up, he added one final comment, just in case she had the wrong idea. "Mutual consent is at the heart of everything we do, of course. Without that, it is not love."

She placed the box onto a free space on one of the lower shelves. "Of course," she said, with a slight smile. She stepped past him, heading for the door. In the cramped space, her hips brushed against his body, and then she stopped, turning to face him. Her breasts pushed against his chest; even in the narrow storeroom, he suspected that they did so more than was strictly necessary. Certainly, the move had not been accidental.

"You must tell me more," she said, her face inches from his, the ruby lips inviting. "But not now; your friend is waiting. Perhaps you could come round tonight." She gave him her address, and Almandar readily agreed. This had been a surprising, and most pleasant, turn of events...

──◊──

When she opened the door to his knock, she was still dressed in the same clothes as at the shop. This time, he made no pretence of not feasting his eyes on her figure. There was no doubt she was pretty, and, even in the lamplight from within the house, he could see she was flushed, a red blush rising to her cheeks. She almost looked nervous, and he wondered if she had done anything similar before. Perhaps not; she had said that her parents were away, so maybe she rarely had an opportunity like this. It was unlikely to arise frequently where she worked, and she was a young woman. Probably not a virgin, as forward as she had eventually been, but not very experienced in such matters, either. After all, she was still dressed demurely.

"Come in," she whispered, glancing about to make sure that nobody else could see them. He quickly stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him, leaning back against it, her eyes now running over his own body. "Sarlene believes in free love, does she not?"

Almandar smiled, "I think you are well aware of that. Many prefer to make a commitment, but, so far that has not been my way. So, Lyrette..." he said, making no secret that he was watching the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the dress, "what particular aspects of theology did you wish to discuss?"

"Some of your... religious acts are quite physical, so I hear," she said, her voice becoming husky, "In the interests of experiencing more of the pantheon, I think I should really try some of them out. Elani the Hearth Goddess is very important to me, but all the gods are related, and one should worship the others from time to time, don't you think?"

"True," he admitted, "and Sarlene is Elani's daughter, after all. As for physical acts of devotion, those are not part of the religious services as such. But they are still an act of worship, and I feel in a mood for worship tonight. How about you?" 

He moved toward her, and she stepped straight into his arms. "Yes, worship is good," she breathed, "intense, physical, worship." He held her close, and kissed her red lips, feeling her tongue slide past his own. Her lips were full and sensuous, and her kiss passionate, if not fully practiced. Definitely not a virgin, he decided, but probably with relatively little experience. He was determined that that would no longer be true by the time the night was out.

She pulled back, breathing heavily. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and his arms were already wrapped around her slender waist, while her own encircled his neck. She was almost panting, her green eyes wide with anticipation. "The bedroom is upstairs," she managed, the words tumbling over each other. He nodded, then swept his arm down to lift her up under the knees, holding her to his chest as he headed towards the stairs and moved to the upper floor.

They kissed again when they reached the landing, he still carrying her in his arms. She nodded towards one of the doors, and he manoeuvred it open with an elbow. "Just a moment," she said, suddenly, "I think Elani should wait outside." He frowned, uncertain as to what she meant, but she answered his question by reaching down with one hand to unbuckle her girdle, the one bearing the holy symbol of her deity. He helped her pull it free, and then dropped it, as carefully as he could with his arms full, on a small table beside the door.

"I hope she doesn't mind listening," he said, making Lyrette blush again, and then give a small giggle. He stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him, and at last lowering her back to the floor.

She immediately reached for his shirt, pulling it free of his breeches, and sliding one hand up beneath it to stroke his stomach. He pulled her forward for another lingering kiss as her hand slowly pushed its way up, feeling the hair on his chest. They embraced, Lyrette's arm now round his back as he held her narrow waist, pushing her hips towards his, pressing his rapidly growing erection against her body. She pulled back slightly, then used both hands to pull his shirt up, hastily unbuttoning his tunic. He helped her, throwing the clothes down in a heap on the carpet. She smiled, her eyes wandering over his naked torso, and then running her small hands over it again, feeling the shape and firmness of it. If there was one advantage to being an adventurer, he reflected, it was that it kept his body in trim more than most other wizards managed.

Still Lyrette made no move towards the bed, pressing her body against his for another kiss. She was still fully clothed, the fabric soft and velvety against his skin. That dress was now an obstacle, hiding almost all of her body from his view. He kissed her neck, still holding her by the waist, and nibbled under her ear. He moved his hands upward from the small of her back, finding the ties that held the dress together at the back. There were several of them, tightly laced, but he was used to this sort of thing, undoing them one by one, feeling the lighter cotton of her shift with his fingers beneath the green dress. He moved his kisses to her chin, and then back again to those luscious red lips, losing himself in the moment as he pulled apart the final ties.

He did not want to damage the dress, which seemed to be made from a valuable fabric, so he pulled away from her again, holding her at arms length for one last look at her while fully clothed. Her hair was slightly disarrayed now, a few loose strands falling in front of her eyes, despite the clasp holding her pony-tail together. She was breathing heavily, her mouth part open, her eyes locked with his, as if unsure what to do next, but eager for it, nonetheless. Gently, he reached up to her shoulders, pulling the dress forward over them, allowing her to pull her arms free from the tight sleeves, then sliding it down her flanks to rest above her hips.

Beneath, she wore a plain white shift, cut slightly lower, but still showing no trace of her cleavage. The sleeves were short, little more than shoulder length, and he ran a finger along one arm, feeling her bare skin against his. She wore a silver pendant about her neck, nestling against the upper curve of her breasts. He recognised it as a simplified version of the symbol of Elani, and, after the business with the girdle, decided not to mention it to her. The hearth goddess had children; she could hardly be offended by the method of their production.

She rested her arms against his chest, as he slid his hands along her waist once again. He moved up, the cotton of the shift soft against his palms, and the warmth of her body apparent through it. He reached her breasts, cupping them through the fabric. He could feel her nipples hardening under his touch, and looked up to see her blushing once again. He pulled her to him once more, and they embraced passionately, she kissing his face, and he moving one hand through her hair – her pony-tail becoming more ragged as he did so – and the other along her back. There seemed little fat on her body, save for those breasts now crushed against his chest once more. A slim, enticing, young woman.

He pulled her outer dress down over her hips, letting it fall naturally towards the floor. She stepped out of it, moving at last in the direction of the bed. Almandar kicked off his shoes, and cupped her buttocks through the shift. Breaking apart again, but this time leaning forehead to forehead, he gazed down her body, as her own eyes strayed towards his stomach and then lower, to the bulge in his breeches.

The shift was shorter than the long dress had been, but because of her calf-length boots, only her knees were exposed. "Let me see what the goddess has to offer," he said, lifting up her shift, and raising it over her hips. She had a pair of rather prudish and un-sexy loose cotton drawers underneath, reaching to mid-thigh – back at the shop, she had obviously hitched up her skirts about as far as they would go. Well, there were only so many undergarments she could be wearing.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 06



He lifted his head away from hers, and she raised her arms, allowing him to pull the shift over her head, catching the pony-tail for a second before throwing the clothing down beside her dress. She was now dressed only in the drawers and her boots, and, he had to admit, the sight was worth the unwrapping.

Her young body was as narrow and slim as it had felt, her ribs clearly visible at the sides of her chest. Her skin was pale and pink, evidently seeing the sun only rarely, fresh and soft to the touch. The slenderness of her waist accentuated her firm, upturned breasts, so pert and well-rounded. Her nipples were a pale pink, eagerly protruding. He ran his hands over each breast, feeling their freshness, and then squeezing her right nipple between two of his fingers. The pendant hung in her cleavage now, and he did nothing to remind her of its presence.

He bent down, kissing the smooth top of one breast, and then the other. He moved to lick her inviting nipples, but before he could do so, she bent down herself, kissing the base of his breastbone. He stood there, not moving, enjoying the feel of her breasts stroking his stomach, but she began to move lower, unhooking the draw-string of his breeches. Almost hastily, she pulled them down, so that his cock sprang free.

They remained there for a moment, he wondering what she would do next. "I suppose this is the goddess's gift to me?" she asked, her voice soft, and slightly teasing. She looked up towards him, and he nodded a wordless agreement. "Then I should worship at the altar," replied Lynette. Putting a gentle hand on each hip, she turned him around, until his back was towards the bed, urging him towards it.

Kicking his breeches free from his ankles, he obliged, lying naked on his back before her. Her eyes were fixed on his erection, as she took a few breaths to steady herself. Then she kneeled down in front of the bed, leaned her head forward, and gave him a tender kiss at the base of his cock. He looked towards her, only able to see her face from this angle, the narrow cheekbones, dark hair, wide green eyes, and sensuous red lips. At that moment, the fact that he could not see the rest of her did not matter one tiny amount.

She parted her lips, and ran her tongue the length of his cock, tasting his balls and then moving up towards the head. He let out a deep breath, and raised himself up on his elbows, watching her face. She seemed uncertain, yet needed no urging as to what to do next. She kissed his cock, reaching up with a hand to cup his balls, massaging them with her soft fingers. Then she pulled back his foreskin, exposing the glistening head, and kissed it with her moistened lips.

Leaning further forward, Lyrette opened her mouth, plunging his cock in bit by bit. A moan escaped his lips, and she glanced up towards him, tickling his balls with her hand. She slid his erection in and out, running her tongue over the shaft, lubricating it as she continued to tease him with her fingers. She was slow at first, but began to build up speed, occasionally pausing to almost release him, then pushing it back in again. Her pony tail bobbed against her back, loose strands of hair from her fringe falling onto his stomach and hips. Her free hand reached up to caress his flank, feeling the hardness of his stomach. Her green eyes fixed on his, her expression uncertain and a little nervous, as if unsure whether she was doing it right.

But there was no such doubt in the half-elf's mind. Her lips and mouth were sweet, soft, driving him mad; Almandar knew he could not take much more of this, and wondered whether she wanted him to. The feel of it was intoxicating, along with the powerful suspicion that she had never done this particular thing before. His own breath was coming hard and fast now, as he tried to prevent himself from climaxing too soon. Or did she want to taste it? He couldn't tell.

She made one last gulp, pushing his cock as far into her mouth as it would go, then releasing it, her saliva now glistening along its length. She licked one finger, and smiled at him, her teeth white. She stood up, and his gaze moved first to her breasts, and then to those long drawers that still hid much from view. She had obviously had the same thought, for, in one motion, she pulled them down, and threw herself beside him on the bed.

Her dark bush was sparse, and he could see a few drops of moisture between her legs. Pleasuring him had deeply turned her on, it seemed. So much the better, he thought, lifting his hand to her chin and kissing her once again, their tongues entwining, the taste of his cock still on her mouth. He squeezed her breasts, enjoying the youthful firmness of them. This time she let him kiss her there, sucking her left nipple into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue, then opening his mouth to press in as much of her breast into it as he could. She moaned and writhed beneath him as he moved to the other breast, then slid his hand down between her legs.

Her pussy was warm, inviting, and soft to his touch. He released her breasts, and delivered a small kiss next to the religious pendant, daring her to respond. She gasped, as if in sudden realisation, but then simply took his head in her hands, and kissed him passionately. She was ready; ready for the final act of devotion. 

He lifted himself up off the bed, watching her roll onto her back, her gaze slightly querying. He realised that she still had her boots on, soft brown leather covering most of her calves. It didn't matter. He pulled her legs apart, and slid her to the edge of the bed. He crouched, and ran a finger along her pussy, pulling the soft lips apart, viewing the pink moistness within. She gasped, her body shivering, and he grabbed hold of her thighs, raising up her buttocks. Her legs straddled his chest, her booted feet over his shoulders, her open cunt before him.

With a sudden movement, he thrust inside, making her cry out with pleasure. Again and again he thrust, holding her thighs tightly to his body. She moaned and gasped, her hips pumping in response to his thrusts, her breasts bouncing back and forward with the force of their exertions. He continued, thrusting harder, beginning to moan himself now as Lyrette's cries filled the room. Her eyes were open, stating into his, her chest heaving as he kept up the motion, the pendant lying to one side now, stuck in the sweat of their passion.

With one final thrust he came hard into her cunt, calling out her name as his hot seed poured into her. Her whole body convulsed as her pussy contracted, the waves of her orgasm piling over her; Sarlene's greatest gift to humanity.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 07



"These refer to a great threat to the city," said Calleslyn, placing the old parchments on the table. 

They had met together in the dining hall of the villa, at the elf's urging. Almandar gathered that she had something important to tell them, something she had found recently in some old documents. But to him, it seemed too soon to head out on another expedition; they had barely returned from the last one. Some adventurers spent their whole lives exploring old ruins, but that was no way to live a life. What was the point in gaining so much treasure if you never had the time to spend and enjoy it? Of course, there were some people who were wholly dedicated to fighting evil, never resting from the battle, and that was admirable, but he was no holy warriors.

Nonetheless, he was sure that Calleslyn would not call them together without good reason, and he was willing to listen to what she had to say. The elf was intelligent, a loyal friend, and not someone who leapt into reckless action. If she thought something was important, it probably was. And a threat to the city, he had to concede, would certainly be something important.

Calleslyn was also beautiful, it was true, and had she been anyone else he would have done his best to bed her a long time ago. But there were unspoken rules that he felt it wise to obey; he had never slept with another member of the party, and never intended to. That would create too many complications, and even risks, given their dangerous occupation. There were many more women in the world, and, besides, he had come to think of the party almost as his own family.

"They are an account of an adventuring party, hundreds of years ago," Calleslyn explained, "but, unfortunately, they are incomplete. There are some maps, but no indication of exactly where the places shown in them might be, beyond the fact that are underground, somewhere beneath this city."

Almandar nodded, "the present city is built on the ruins of one much older, true. But not much of that remains, and nothing at all above ground. Surely, though, given how long Haredil has been here, anything underneath it would have been fully explored long ago."

"Maybe so," replied Calleslyn, "but what if something moved in at a later date? The old ruins, such as they are, must have been sealed off -- we would not know much about them. Of course, there is not likely to be much in the way of treasure, but that does not necessarily mean there is nothing down there. And, certainly, these old adventurers did find something. It is not really clear what it is, except that it seems to attract monsters and such like to it, and that they believed, if it grew powerful enough, it would rise up and take over the city. I would think something infernal is the most likely, but with the documents being so incomplete, that is only a supposition."

"But it didn't take over the city," pointed out Vardala, "or we wouldn't be here. So what's the problem?"

"No, it didn't, because they stopped it. But, so far as I can tell, they did not kill it, merely sealed it in something -- wards of some kind to prevent its escape. Which, from their perspective, was more than enough. But wards do not last forever, and their party magician seemed to think that they would weaken after a few centuries. Which brings us to today."

Tarissa certainly perked up at that, leaning forward in her seat. "You think the threat could be active again now -- or soon?" Then she paused, frowning slightly, "why do we not already know about this? If I sealed a demon into a crypt below the city, and knew it would escape, even in five hundred years time, I would make sure that I left a clearer warning for future generations than some diary hidden somewhere."

Calleslyn sighed, "I agree, and I am afraid that, once again, the incompleteness of the documents makes it difficult to say why they did not do that. Clearly, they took heavy casualties -- only two of them survived, including the author of this journal. I get the impression, though, that they may have been driven out of town, unable to leave any sort of clear warning, except for this."

"Very well," said Tarissa, suddenly business like, "let us assume we believe this story. The obvious course of action would be to warn the authorities. Hopefully, they would hire us to deal with the threat, but we would have far more support that way than if we do this alone. And, so far as I can see, there is no obvious reason we should deal with this alone. It is hardly your typical delve. If they ignore us, then we may have to think of another approach."

"We can't do that," said Calleslyn, shaking her head, "this thing, whatever it was, had the ability to influence people throughout the city. There are passages in here where the adventurers are placed at great risk even while above ground, because the being's minions knew about them and took action. It is obvious that, at that time, these minions were even inside the city government. Now, it may not be the case that this has happened this time around, or that it has spread very far, if it has. But we cannot know that for sure, and I think we should keep this as quiet as we can until we know more. I think we need to investigate this, and sooner, rather than later, but the smaller the number of people who know, the better."

Tarissa leaned back in her chair again, deep in thought. Almandar decided it was best to let her think. She was the leader of the party, at least informally, and he respected her decisions. At last the paladin spoke. "We could investigate, as you say. Let us begin by trying to find out how to enter whatever is beneath the city. We can do that without people learning our true purpose, perhaps. Does anyone have any suggestions as to where we might start?"

"As it happens," said Dolrim, speaking up for the first time, "I do..."

──◊──

It turned out that Vardala would not be needed for the first part of the information gathering. So, having a free evening ahead of her, and her thoughts having turned to the caves and hot springs beneath the city, she decided to take a bath. Let Dolrim and the others plan out their course of action; she would take some time off to relax.

She stepped into the room, shutting the latch for her privacy. As soon as she did so, the memories of that night not so long ago came flooding back. Horvan was somewhere else in the villa at the moment, and that night all she had been able to do was spy on him. It was not as if there was any real chance of obtaining physical intimacy with him; their respective races were as much a barrier as ever, and nothing had changed between then. Indeed, she hoped he would never learn what she had done; in many ways it was a betrayal, and not one that she could even begin to explain to anyone, least of all the man himself.

But, if nothing had really changed from Horvan's perspective, it was different for her. She had often imagined him in the past, of what might happen if only he were a gnome like her. Those had been pleasant fantasies, but fantasies were all they were, and all they would ever be. She had not heard of magic that could do that, and, even were it real, it was difficult to see why Horvan would willingly undergo the transformation. He probably liked being a human, after all.

But now, since that night, she only dreamt of him more. It was ridiculous, really. So she had seen him naked? Was it really so different to how she had imagined it, that now her thoughts should be alive with desire? Yet that was what had happened. The part she tried to ignore, she thought, as she pulled off her boots, and dipped a toe into the warm waters of the bath, was, as it had always been, the incompatibility in size. Apart from that, humans and gnomes looked much the same. It was, after all, why she desired him so. But, if Horvan looked somewhat gnome-like, he was of gigantic stature from her perspective. With, as she now knew, a fully proportional penis.

She could imagine him standing there, in front of her, as he had stood before the bath that night, undoing his trews, and his hard cock springing free towards her face. She shook her head, driving the image from her mind. It only served to remind her of the gulf between them, and it would not do to dwell on that. 

There should have been a mirror in the bathing room, she reflected, as she pulled her tunic over her head and placed it on the side table. But there was not, and she had to imagine herself as he would see her. She ran her hands down her sides. She was slim enough, with a flat belly and womanly hips. Surely then, she did not look too child-like to him? She cupped her breasts, feeling the shape of them. Certainly nothing child-like there, although she could not say that she was truly big-busted. Of course, she had no idea what Horvan preferred in his women; if he had a girlfriend, she knew nothing about it. She hoped he did not, although that wish was both selfish, and ultimately futile; she just did not want to imagine him with someone else.

She tweaked a rosy nipple, but then pulled her hand away. Perhaps this was not the time and place. She had put the latch on the door, but the others were nor far away, discussing things about the catacombs beneath the city, no doubt. She should have her bath, and be done with it, and perhaps retire to her bed afterwards. She removed her remaining clothes in a business-like fashion, arranged them neatly, picked up a towel, and went to stand by the edge of the bath.

Of course, the stone bath was large, intended for humans, not gnomes or dwarves. It was lined with marble, with pipes below that connected to the hot springs, keeping the water warm, although, fortunately, it never reached scalding temperatures -- there was some enchantment on it to prevent that, she thought. A ledge at one side would allow her to sit, rather than having to use the place as a small swimming pool, but she could hardly lie flat on the bottom.

The water rippled, allowing a distorted reflection of her body. Not as a good as a mirror, she thought again. Either way, all it did was bring thoughts of Horvan to her mind once more. She looked down at herself. She had good thighs, she thought, shapely rather than too fat or too skinny. Her bush was narrow, dark curling hairs against the pale skin of her hips. She was a woman, a grown woman. But even if he could see her naked, was that how he would think of her, or as some strange doll-like figure?

She slipped into the water, lowering herself onto the ledge, savouring the warmth and wetness of it against her skin, luxuriating in the feel. She leant her head back against the stone rim, the water level rising to just below her shoulders. She reached for the perfumed soap lying on the towel, splashed herself with the water, and began to lather. At first, she managed to ignore thoughts of Horvan, lying in the same pool, even using the same soap, but as she moved lower to lather her breasts, her nipples involuntarily hardened, imagining what his hands would feel like caressing her.

Damn, this was getting her nowhere. She might as well give in to the thoughts, relaxing her tension in the only way possible. She wanted release, and could not rid her mind of the distraction until she had achieved it. Damn Horvan, why did a human man have to be so good-looking?

She put the soap back on the towel, and slipped her hands between her legs. She sighed, a slight breath past her lips. This felt good; this was what she needed. Beneath the water, she slid a finger into her pussy, moving it up to rub against her clit. She closed her eyes, imagining Horvan before her, gnome-sized. What would he do, if he were a gnome, and in the bath with her? He would have to stand upright on the bottom of course. And then, yes, he would kiss her and rub her breasts. She moved her free hand to feel one, slipping her nipple between her first two fingers.

Then he would raise her up, hips to hips, her legs wrapped around those firm thighs, and penetrate her. She drove her finger in further at the thought, sliding it in and out in a slow rhythm. She licked her lips, imagining the taste of his mouth, what his chest would feel like against hers, pretending the warmth of the bath was the warmth of his body. She kept her eyes closed, not wishing to ruin the image with a glimpse of the empty room, and continued to probe her cunt. He would be soft and slow, his usual considerate and calm self, driving her ecstasy ever onwards.

As a gnome in her fantasies, he could do this to her, but as a human, never. Unbidden, an image leapt to her mind. Horvan, in his real size now, bending her over, holding her up to his hips, taking her from behind, her heels drumming on his knees. The thought was sudden, shocking, and she briefly wondered what part of her mind it came from. Part of her, she knew now, wanted him as a human, even wanted him rough, overcome with lust, fucking her hard.

She plunged a second finger into her cunt, her breath coming harder now, and twisted a nipple with her free hand, enjoying the slight pain as she did so. Yes, she wanted him! She tried to bring back the image of him gnome-sized, but the thought of his huge erect cock overwhelmed her, although she had never seen him in such a state. How large was it, she wondered briefly? Six, seven inches? And, good goddess, what about the girth?

She wished she had brought something with her... something with a handle, perhaps... something, anything, she could test her tolerance with. But she had not, and if she had, it would hardly be the same as the feel of a good warm, living, cock slamming into her. She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry out -- the others were only a room or two away. Her body arched against the stonework, slipping slightly on the ledge, her hips moving reflexively in counterpoint to her thrusting fingers.

She didn't care whether Horvan was human or gnome now, she just wanted his cock inside her. She briefly considered climbing out of the bath, finding a drier, less slippery surface to lean on, but she was too far gone for that to be an option now. The water sloshed against her shoulders, and she bit down harder on her lip. Her clit was on fire... any... moment... NOW...

She convulsed, letting out a small involuntary whimper as the white heat washed over her. As she did so, her buttocks, already in an unstable position on the shelf, slipped free, ducking her under the water as her legs collapsed beneath her. A moment later, she pushed her head to the surface, gripping the ledge with her left hand. She remained like that for a moment, panting, her eyes wide in a post-orgasmic glow. At last, she flipped the wet hair out of her face, pushing it back, then splashing herself with the water again.

Vardala let out a long sigh of sheer bliss. That had been good.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 08



Zarenis woke up as the sun began to dip in the sky, casting its orange light through the narrow window in her garret apartment. She had slept through much of the day, which was not unusual. She preferred the night over the day, when harsh sunlight could make things all too visible. At night, she could see better than humans, or even elves, could, allowing her to see without being seen. 

That much was practical, especially given her chosen stock in trade, but there was also, she thought, beauty in the night. Haredil's skies were often clear, an advantage of its arid environment, allowing the stars and moons to shine brightly amidst the velvet blackness. And darkness was so much more beautiful than harsh light. The way things shrunk into the shadows made them somehow cleaner, purer, than they were when their reality was exposed by sunlight.

Her diabolic heritage might also have been relevant, of course.

She slipped out of the bed, pushing the thin sheets back into place, and quickly dressed. She did not have a wide range of clothes, just enough spares to ensure that some would always be clean, and her tastes were simple – and practical – enough. Perhaps if, one day, her job should take her to some high class party in disguise, she might have to buy an expensive dress, but the thought held no attraction for her.

So she pulled on tight leather trews and a form-hugging jerkin over a sleeveless cotton shirt. The clothes showed off her figure, making her appear more shapely and attractive than she herself realised. In her own mind, her hell-spawned deformities were all that really mattered. After pulling on calf-length boots, she paused to look in the mirror, fluffing up her sleep-mussed hair to conceal her horns as well as she could. With them hidden, she looked as human as she ever would, with an oval, pale face and shoulder length brown hair with just a hint of auburn. Her eyes were the give-away, though, their unnatural dark reddish hue visible to anyone who got close to her.

She tried not to let that happen.

Satisfied with her appearance, she strapped on her belt, and threw on the hooded black cloak that was her best protection against being seen too clearly, and left the room, setting the poison dart trap that she always left on the lock, just in case. There was only a narrow staircase beyond, leading down past other apartments to street level. It was a poor area of town, for she had difficulty living anywhere more salubrious. One day, perhaps, the money she had earned would allow her somewhere better, but it would have to be private, and she knew she could never afford the sort of discretion that Lady Amloth needed to live as a drow merchant in a human city. It was often the way with tieflings.

By the time she left the building, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, and the shadows deep in the streets. She had learned what she could about the adventurers that Amloth wanted her to steal from. Enough to know that facing them head-on was no sensible proposition at all, even had that been her preference. It was hardly surprising; adventurers were amongst the most deadly of opponents. Assuming they survived their first few expeditions, they would have already faced more horrors than most people would encounter in a lifetime, and lived to tell the tale. Not to mention whatever helpful magical loot they had managed to obtain.

No, direct combat was not an option. But she had known that already; she had simply needed it confirmed. The next question was the security of their home, how easy it would be to sneak and out undetected. It was unfortunate that they did not simply live out of an inn, as so many did, but they were too clever and successful for that. So, tonight, she would learn what she could of their villa.

She kept to the shadows as much as she could, which became easier in the gathering gloom. Most people in the neighbourhood knew enough not to remark upon her hooded cloak, and, around here, she was hardly the only person who wished to avoid the limelight anyway. You did not, as a rule, make much comment on passers-by in this part of the city. Even so, she slipped into the back alleys as soon as she could, walking briskly down passages familiar to her since childhood.

She saw them well in advance, of course. In fact, she had probably seen them before they had sighted her. But she had given them little thought, just two newcomers to the city, lost in the backstreets. And clearly they were newcomers, from their style of dress, and still with the dust of travel on their clothing. They were gaunt, somewhat ragged, clearly having fallen on hard times, as so many had around here. Perhaps they were looking for a cheap flophouse, or even a sheltered step to spend the night on.

One suddenly stepped out in front of her, blocking her way. Her eyes flicked up with annoyance, for he was a good six inches taller than she. She noted his lank hair and the stubble on his chin, her nostrils assailed by an odour of sweat and grime mixed with a clear hint of some rotgut booze. He held a knife in one hand, pointing towards her.

"Your money, now," he demanded, the smell of the alcohol fresh on his breath.

"I think not," she said calmly, her hand already moving surreptitiously beneath her cloak.

He held her gaze, either too drunk or too stupid to interpret the look in her eyes, or notice their unnatural colour. Or perhaps it was just too dark. His friend was already circling behind her, cutting off her escape route. Too bad for them.

"Oh, you will," he said, "and maybe something else, too, eh?" He leered, his grin showing broken and stained teeth. His knife hand still held towards her, he reached out to try and grab her breast with the other.

Her response was lightning swift, grabbing his knife hand in her left, and twisting it hard. Her own right hand shot out from beneath the cloak, plunging the knife up beneath his sternum, driving it in to the hilt.

He gasped, but did not scream, just emitting a blast of foul breath. He staggered backwards, tottering, his eyes wide with astonishment, and gazed down at the rapidly growing stain on his shirt front. She had already yanked the knife free, and whirled to face the other attacker. He had done nothing, apparently as frozen and shocked as his companion. He looked at the knife, still dripping with blood, and then towards Zarenis, his face a mask of incomprehension. The idiot deserved to die, she thought.

But instead, he turned and fled, running into the night as fast as his legs could carry him. She did not bother pursuing him; he would not have any friends here, and there was little point in wasting her energy. Behind her, there was a thud as the first man collapsed to the floor. She turned to look, and saw him gasping like a fish out of water, trying to stem the flow of blood as he sprawled on the earthen alleyway floor.

He was dying, that much was clear. But not quickly enough. She knelt down in front of him, watching for a second or two as he tried to scrabble away and staunch his wound at the same time. He looked up at her, pleading, but she simply flicked her dagger out again, cutting deep across his throat. His head lolled to one side as his eyes glazed over. She wiped her blade on his clothing, and re-sheathed it, then stepping carefully to avoid putting her feet into the pool of blood, she walked over his corpse, and on down the alley. After all, she had business to attend to.

──◊──

The villa was a typical, two-story affair, with two long wings stretching either side of a walled-off courtyard. Like so many buildings in this part of the city, the roof was flat topped, although two small copper domes stood at the corners where the wings joined the main building. She had to be careful, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself in this rather more well-to-do part of the city. Leaving a dead body here would tend to attract rather more directed attention than she wanted to deal with, after all.

Nonetheless, she was soon able to confirm that the windows on the ground floor had strong iron trellises across them that prevented any ingress to anything more than two or three inches across. They had shutters too, which would doubtless be closed later in the evening. The walls were sheer, which would make climbing up to an upper window, or onto the roof, impossible without a grapple... still, a grapple was something to consider.

Of more use, however, would be some intelligence on how the group spent their days and nights. How likely was it that the house would be left empty, for example? Best of all would be some idea of where they kept their treasure when they were not using it. There had to be a vault somewhere, and it would obviously be preferable if she did not have to search the whole villa to find it. Of course, she thought ruefully, any chance they would give away information on that was slim indeed.

Lamplight spilled out of the courtyard and from the upper story of the villa. Many people went to sleep as soon as it got dark, and the twilight was already deepening past the point for any human to read unaided. Or do much else without a light source, for that matter. But the adventurers were still active. On her second pass by the gates to the walled compound, she stepped as close as she dared without it being obvious, and heard the sound of conversation from within. So, at least some of them were in the courtyard now, not the building. And that gave her an option.

She looked about at the neighbouring buildings. Like the villa itself, most were two stories high – which meant that they must overlook the courtyard. The streets were emptying, but even so, Zarenis was careful as she slipped into the back alley behind what appeared to be a regular house. The house was dark, so, either nobody was home, or they had already retired for bed, either of which would suit her purposes.

Glancing about to make sure she was alone, she stepped up onto a ground floor window ledge, grabbing the lintel above it. Moving quietly, yet confidently, she pulled herself up the wall. Fortunately, it was ornate enough for that not to be a great difficulty for anyone with experience, unlike the smooth walls of the villa itself. 

At the first floor, just as she reached for the edge of the flat roof, she froze as she heard sounds from within. The place might not be as empty as she had thought.

"Pookie-wumpkins," said a woman's voice in an obviously fake little-girl sort of way, "I don't know if I should be wetting you up here. What if you might see things?"

The way she was speaking gave Zarenis the impression that she might be talking to a cat, or some other pet, and the ridiculous name supported that theory. But, instead, a man's voice replied, "Oh, but I promise I won't look at anything you don't want me to."

"As wong as you don't do anything naughty... it would be too embawasing!"

Zarenis let out her breath as the two stopped talking, and went into what was presumably a bedroom. They did not appear to be going to the roof, which was all that mattered. She briefly considered choosing another building, but it was a little late for that. With the couple safely out of earshot, she hauled herself up onto the top of the building. 

The roof, like so many others, was flat, with a low wall around it, and a trapdoor leading down below. She was confident that the inhabitants had gone to the opposite corner of the house, and hopefully now, they were going to sleep, leaving her undisturbed. With almost catlike stealth she moved across the roof, and lay down on the side facing the villa, peering over the wall, which was only eight inches or so in height. She was in darkness, and the villa was illuminated; it was unlikely they could see her from here, even if they happened to look exactly in her direction, which they had no reason to do.

She could hear giggling from down below, breaking off every now and then for the irritating woman to make some inane comment or other. She hoped they would shut up soon – or, at least, that the woman would, because she seemed to be the one doing most of the talking – since, then, she might even have a chance to hear conversation drifting up from the villa across the street. But she had to listen carefully, and for that she needed at least some quiet.

The adventurers were clearly holding some sort of outdoor dinner party. They had a large table set up in the courtyard, with chairs spread around it, and numerous lanterns hung around the walls. They had obviously finished eating, and even as she watched, a young manservant was clearing away the plates. He might be a problem; he was likely to be at the villa even when they were away. Of course, he would not be so difficult to deal with if she had to fight him, but that would be messy, and she would rather avoid it if she could. After all, she did not like leaving a trail of bodies behind her, even if it was sometimes necessary.

There were more people in the courtyard than she knew of in the group, which suggested they had guests. Three of the adventurers she identified immediately. Dolrim would be the dwarf, and Vardala the gnomish woman. The handsome one with the dark hair and short beard was surely Almandar, since he was the only man besides Dolrim not be wearing a uniform. The others, however, were less easy to pin down. 

She was looking, she knew, for an elven magician and a human paladin, both women. As luck would have it, though, the remaining six people around the table included four women, two elven and two human, while the other two guests were men. The men she could have ruled out anyway, since both were dressed in the uniforms of the Church of Pardror, the god of honour, one a knight, and the other a cleric. They had to be friends of Lady Tarissa, the paladin and leader of the group, and she knew they did not live here, so they were not an immediate concern.

Both of the human women were light haired, and wearing elegant dresses. One had to be Lady Tarissa, but, for the moment, there was no telling which was which. One elf hd long blonde hair, the other wore it cut into a bob, but she did not have an accurate enough description of Calleslyn for that to help. Nor did their clothing help, since either could have been a magician... did Calleslyn go in for traditional elven garb or a simple white dresses in the human style? There was no way of knowing.

"Oooh, Pookie-wumpkins!" cried the woman from down below, in obviously feigned shock. "You can see my boobies! Whatever shaw we do?"

Zarenis clenched her fist, willing the ridiculous woman to just shut up and get it over with. Aside from the sheer drivel that she was talking, her voice alone was annoying and penetrating, a perpetual high-pitched squeal. Whoever 'Pookie-wumpkins' was, the man had a poor taste in women.

She tried to focus on the group across the street again, but with the noise from the house below her, it was impossible to hear anything that they were saying. The manservant had stepped into the corner of the courtyard, outside the circle, as if waiting for any further instructions, but the others were drinking wine and chatting among themselves. It was a clear night, with a cloudless sky... surely she could hear them were it not for the interruptions from downstairs.

"Oooh, you mustn't touch me there – that would be vewy naughty!"

The man, who had been largely silent up to this point, broke in with his own interjection. "Snuffle-buns – suck my cock!" Thank goodness, thought Zarenis, as this action at last silenced the woman. Perhaps the man had got as bored with her prattling as she had, and had thought of an effective way of shutting her up.

With the sounds from below at least temporarily quietened, it was, as she had suspected, possible to hear snatches of the conversation from the group. It soon became clear that the guests were not adventurers themselves, but that three of them were associated with the temple of Pardror. Since that included the elven woman in the white dress, the other elf had to be Calleslyn. It was also obvious that Almandar was flirting with the short-haired elf, although Zarenis sensed from their body language that things had not got far between them. Still, if he had a weakness for women, that might be something she could use.

With the adventurers currently describing their latest exploits, it soon also became clear which of the human women was Tarissa. There was no real clue as to the identity of the other, who did not seem to be talking much, and, at times, seemed a little uncomfortable. More importantly, though, Zarenis hoped that she could gain some clue about their treasure from the tale of how they had found it. Clearly, there was some sort of deep underground tomb involved, out in the wild lands to the north. The perfect place, she supposed, to find some sort of black magic item that would fit Lady Amloth's description. If she listened a little longer, then...

"Did my Pookie-wumpkins wike that? I'm suwe he did! But I feew a wittwe damp between my wegs, can my Pookie-wumpkins think of anything to do to make me feew better?" 

Zarenis ground her teeth, and resisted the temptation to bang her head against the wall. Or, better yet, to go downstairs and kill the simpering idiot. If it weren't for the fact that a murder would draw too much attention, she was not sure she would have had the strength to avoid doing so. The next-door neighbours might even thank her for it.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," said the man's voice, followed by a long drawn-out squeal of delight from the woman. If she had been prattling before, she was even worse now. Her high-pitched nasal voice, which sounded like it ought to have broken glass, was alternately ululating and squealing like some sort of tortured animal, in between occasional exhortations to her lover and the sound of vigorously slapping flesh. Zarenis wondered, from the sounds, if he was spanking her too, although she would have thought that strangulation would have been a better option.

The tiefling held her head in her hands, and glanced across at the other nearby buildings. It would be difficult to get there, but it might be worth it. Although, being further away from the villa, it might not even help very much. How long were these two idiots going to keep at it?

At last, just as she was beginning to formulate ways of killing them that might not cause unwelcome attention, the man let out a loud groan, and the pair lapsed into blissful silence. Zarenis removed her hands from her ears, and looked over the balcony again. As luck would have it, the guests appeared to be leaving. Whatever information she might have gleaned was gone forever now. She wanted to punch the roof in frustration, but that would have made a sound, alerting the now silent couple below.

There was, she suspected, nothing further to be learned. So, as quickly and quietly as she could, she snuck back to the far wall to climb down again. The sooner she was out of here the better.

As she lowered herself down, she heard the penetrating voice one last time. "Oooh, shaw we do that again...?"



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 09



The dwarves had been in Haredil long enough to have carved out their own quarter of the city. Despite having lived in the city all his life, it was an area that Almandar had rarely been to; unlike the elves, dwarves only rarely performed magic, and the close-knit and prudish nature of their culture gave him little other reason to visit. In fact, Lady Tarissa was probably more familiar with the district than he was, because of their quality armourers. And there was Dolrim, of course.

Looking around him at the blocky buildings with their small windows, he almost wondered why he had volunteered to come. But, if they were to obtain plans of the ruins beneath the city, his knowledge of Haredil's ancient history might help, along with Dolrim's natural feel for architecture and stonework. Nonetheless, he could not help but feel that the dwarves were a dour people, far from the fun-loving and carefree nature of the elves, or even, to an extent, the gnomes. It was the nature of their culture; they were master-craftsmen, spending all their time in dedicated work to improve their art, leaving no time for gaiety.

Lady Tarissa was leading the way as they walked through the dwarven streets, laid out in a square grid, as regular and monotonous as the buildings around them. As a paladin, she probably approved of the dwarves' dedication, and even Almandar had to admit that they were an honourable and courageous people -- Dolrim had saved his own life more than once. The previous night, Tarissa had invited round some friends of hers from the Temple of Pardror for a pleasant evening of food and conversation out in the courtyard. They had not discussed the apparent threat to the city, but the Temple were potential allies if ever they needed them. Calleslyn had brought a friend too, by the name of Messandra, but he knew enough about women to tell that she was not attracted to him.

Of more immediate interest, however, at least from Almandar's point of view, the young elven squire from the Temple had been very pretty, even attired in the plain white of her order. It was a pity that, as a woman taking her first steps on the path to paladin-hood, she had resisted his attempts to flirt with her. At least she had not looked offended, and the hope of one day ending up between the sheets with her was not, he thought, entirely forlorn.

Not that there was any chance of that here, he reflected. Even were dwarven women not so prudish, they were hardly his image of an ideal bed partner.

Their destination, when they arrived, was, he had to admit, rather different than the bland buildings around it. It was higher, for one thing, with doors of conveniently human height. Ornate buttresses flanked its walls, with arched windows of stained glass depicting images of castles and towers, anvils and hammers. A coat-of-arms stood above the main entrance, carved into stone with exquisite care. When the dwarves wanted to show off their skill, they most certainly could.

For this was the Masons' Guild of Haredil, a profession dominated by dwarves, although also with a few gnomes and humans. Here, they hoped to find the answers they sought, with the assistance of some of Dolrim's contacts.

The dwarven warrior, Almandar knew, was not native to the city, having come from the mountains to the south. He had come here in search of fortune, and, as part of the band of adventurers, had, by and large, found it. But even so, he had made some links with the locals, despite their different clan ancestries -- apparently an important aspect of dwarven culture, so far as he understood it.

The three of them walked up the steps and through the open doors into the lobby. The building had clearly been constructed with humans in mind, but it showed an unmistakable dwarven ambience. The floor of the lobby was polished marble, lined by columns rising up to an ornate cavern-like roof. Stone carvings lined the walls, showing the various stages of construction of a great building, and the banisters of the stairway to the upper story were plated with shining metal.

A dwarf wearing some sort of grey livery approached the group, and spoke briefly with Dolrim, before disappearing into the building. The trio waited politely, looking around at the masons' art on display, until the liveried dwarf returned with someone else and took up his station beside the door again.

The newcomer was another dwarf, obviously a fairly young man, with thick brown hair and a relatively short beard. He was dressed in solid earthen tones, with the heavy boots favoured by his race and a few gold and silver rings on his fingers. Evidently, he was a prosperous craftsman, although probably too young to have his own business as yet.

"Dolrim!" he said, formally shaking the warrior's hand, "it is good to see you again. You must introduce me to your companions."

"Olthen, this are my companions; Lady Tarissa, and Almandar, a magician. Tarissa, Almandar, this is Olthen, a journeyman mason of the Clan of Olain." The half-elf could not help but notice the formality of the phrasing, although it was not overly long and flowery. There might be protocol here, but at least they were not drowning in it. "We have a business matter to discuss, some information you may have that might help us."

"Of course," replied the younger dwarf, "my father and I were just conducting a business deal of our own, but it is nearly complete, and you are welcome to join us. Then we can talk about your own matter." He smiled, clearly quite a friendly and open sort for his race, and led the way towards the door he had emerged from.

Beyond the door was a corridor with several rooms off it, apparently quiet meeting rooms for masons and their clients. They entered one of the rooms, which, like the rest of the building, had bare stone walls carved with friezes, rather than tapestries or wooden panelling. There were several chairs, some suitable for humans, and others for dwarves, and a long table with a few parchments on it. A stained glass window with a picture of bridge allowed plentiful light into the room.

At one side of the table, facing away from the window, was an older dwarf, his hair greying, with a long braided beard and a thick silver armband and bejewelled belt buckle indicating his high status. Skipping over another dwarf, Almandar's eyes were immediately drawn to the third person in the room, evidently the mason's client.

She looked to be about thirty years of age, a human woman in a long dress of dark blue and green. She was, he guessed, of slightly above average human height, which made her tower over the dwarves in the room. She had long sandy-blonde hair, tied back in a pony-tail that reached half way down her back, and a slender face with red lips and blue eyes. Her skin was pale and soft-looking, with a few scattered pale freckles on her cheekbones. She was bending over the table as he arrived, collecting some of the parchments, although the high cut of her dress afforded him a view of no more than the outline of her breasts and the curve of her hips. She looked up as they arrived, her glance apparently no more than simple curiosity.

"Greetings," said the older dwarf, standing stiffly, "I am Tharn ak Olain, master mason and architect. This," he indicated the remaining dwarf, "is my daughter Ostrid, and this is the merchant Relayna, with whom we have business."

Dolrim introduced his companions a second time, and then Tarissa stood forward, shaking Tharn's hand briefly, and maintaining her own formal pose. "We are adventurers, master mason, who recover the lost treasures of hidden catacombs. We request your assistance on a matter of architectural knowledge, and bow to your expertise."

Almandar thought it was all a little overblown, but Tharn seemed impressed, the correct formalities having apparently been observed. "Please join us," he said, indicating the chairs on the far side of the table.

At the mention of adventurers, Relayna's eyes seemed to widen a little, and she looked the group over, as if curious, her eyes resting on Dolrim, and then on the half-elf himself. He fancied that they stayed there a little longer than was necessary, and she seemed a little flushed. Perhaps there was something to be gained by this visit, beyond a little information, after all...

"There is..." Relayna started, pausing slightly as if uncertain what to say, "just something I need to clear up, but I won't interrupt. You don't mind if I stay for a moment?" She looked from Tharn to Tarissa, but it was Almandar who responded first.

"Not at all," he said, "we will not be long." Tarissa cast him a puzzled glance, until it suddenly dawned on her what his reason must be. Her face twitched a little but she said nothing, looking across at the master mason instead. When he also gave his assent, the human merchant pulled a chair away from the table, and moved it to the far wall, behind the dwarves, where she could see the adventurers, but not appear to be directly part of the discussion.

They all sat down, three of them on each side of the table. Relayna was sitting close to the window, somewhat in shadow, but the half-elf's eyes flicked to her easily over the heads of the dwarves. Fortunately, their attention seemed to be largely on Tarissa, for he suspected they would not approve of any flirting. Indeed, he was unsure how dwarven courtship worked, although he suspected it took rather a long time. 

"We are interested in the past history of the city and its ancient architecture," began Tarissa, "in particular, the ruins below ground. We were hoping that you might have information on them... as historical curiosities, or to avoid building cellars into them, perhaps?"

"We do have some knowledge, of course," agreed Tharn, "but this is not information we normally share with outsiders. This is guild information, partly, but also a clan matter... this kind of knowledge is hard won, and not readily given over to our rivals."

Almandar thought he was being a little evasive. Did they perhaps have some idea of the threat that the subterranean ruins held, or at least an inkling that there might be something bad down there, something they did not anyone disturbing? It was possible, at least, but Tarissa was the negotiator of the group. She and Dolrim together should be able to get what they needed out of the dwarven masons, if anyone could. And so, he found his mind wandering a little, to the obvious subject of the human merchant.

Relayna certainly looked a little flushed. She actually did not appear to be paying too much attention to the conversation, but at first appeared to be deep in thought. She looked over the adventurers again, and the magician was quite confident that she looked aroused now, her eyes widening involuntarily, her hands clasped together, as if to avoid giving away her interest. To Almandar, though, it was quite obvious.

Her eyes rested on his for a moment, and he caught her gaze, before deliberately sweeping them down to admire as much of her body as was visible behind the table. She was slender, with full high breasts and a long neck. It was difficult to tell at this distance, but he thought he saw a few beads of perspiration on her forehead, behind her short fringe of hair. Her eyes were wide and her eyebrows raised, and he felt sure she was evaluating him as much as he was her.

Then she looked to the side, towards Dolrim, perhaps to see if the other two had noticed her interest, but it seemed they had not, for she soon glanced back towards Almandar, her expression now shrewd. He felt confident that she was planning a way for them to be together... he only had to find a way to give her the opportunity, without the dwarves being affronted by what was going on in front of their noses.

Holding his gaze, she parted her lips and ran her tongue around them, giving him a distinct 'come hither' look. Now he was confident that he had not misread any of the signs -- not, he felt sure, that there ever had been much chance of that, for he could read women well. He smiled at her, hoping that she understood his acquiescence, and turned his attention back to the conversation. It could, after all, be important.

"Under the circumstances..." Tharn was saying, "there are some details we could give you, but not here. Tomorrow night, but Olthen and I must leave for a site before then. Ostrid would have to handle it for you. But you must understand, this is dwarven information, we can give it only to Dolrim. We trust your judgement, my friend," he added, turning to the warrior, "but it must be your decision how to share this. In giving it to you, we are not breaking any bonds, but it must be to you, and you alone. I trust you understand?"

Before he could answer, Almandar was surprised when Relayna suddenly stood up. "I have realised I must go," she said, "I am most sorry for the interruption, but in any event, I should not intrude further. If I could have a quick word with Ostrid before I leave, though?"

Tharn looked slightly irritated, but he motioned to his daughter, and she got up and walked over to the far corner, where she whispered with Relayna for a while, beyond the half-elf's earshot. He had not paid much attention to the dwarven woman until now, for she had not spoken once during the conversation with Tarissa, or, indeed, since he had entered the room.

She looked young, although quite what that meant for a dwarf he was uncertain, and wore a blue-grey dress with a skirt hem that almost trailed on the floor. Her chunky necklace of silver and gold, and the bangle around her left wrist, were both clearly the product of skilled dwarven craftsmanship. She was blond, with her hair in braids, and the pale skin so typical of her race. Had it not been for her stocky build, and thickset limbs, he supposed she might be considered quite attractive, and perhaps dwarven men did think her so. 

It occurred to him that Dolrim was going to be alone in a house with her tonight, her family away. Had it been him, and had she been human or elven, he was confident of how that night would have ended. As it was, he could not imagine anything happening at all. Dwarves, he suspected, missed even golden opportunities like that one -- which was probably why Tharn did not seem worried by the prospect himself.

He was more concerned that Relayna was about to leave without giving him any means of contacting her again, but then he noticed that whatever she was saying to Ostrid was making the dwarf blush, and glance over to her family -- who were fortunately looking the other way at the time, back in conversation with Dolrim. It probably did not take much to make a dwarf blush, and when the merchant handed Ostrid a scrap of parchment, and glanced towards Almandar himself, he was confident of what she had said. Even the dwarven woman, it seemed, was able to interpret the purpose behind the note, and was embarrassed by the very thought of it. In her culture, they just did not do things like that.

Soon, Relayna was gone, closing the door behind her and heading back into the guildhall. Ostrid headed back to the table, the note clutched in a hand behind her back, where the others could not see it, her eyes downcast, and looking even more reserved than before.

Whatever Dolrim had said had apparently met with the older dwarf's approval, for they were shaking hands, and the conversation was turning to more social matters. The warrior obviously knew the family, and now that business was over, wanted to talk about it. With nothing else to distract him now, Almandar was forced to listen to what seemed to him dreadfully tedious accounts of dwarven clans and their affairs, but he supposed the warrior had little enough chance for conversation with his own kind, and did not begrudge him the opportunity for it.

Eventually, they all got up, the dwarves now seeming friendlier and less formal than they had earlier on. Perhaps they would make useful allies, after all. As they left, Astrid hurriedly pressed the scrap of parchment into his hand, glancing about to make sure she had not been seen. After he had left, he unfolded the note and read it.

It was the address of a house in the human part of the city, with tomorrow's date.

──◊──

Dolrim reached the master mason's house some time after sunset. Navigating the ordered streets of the dwarven quarter was so much easier than the winding alleys of the rest of Haredil, reminding him somewhat of the great subterranean city of his homeland. It had not surprised him that Tharn had agreed to hand over the plans only to a fellow dwarf; there were many things that should not be shared with outsiders. But, if there was a threat here, he would have to deal with it, no matter the cost.

He knew that the trip would be quick one. He only had to pick up the documents they had prepared, and then leave. Almandar, by contrast, had gone out with a quiet smile on his face, and he would not be back before dawn. The whole human and elven preoccupation with such things seemed rather unseemly to him, and it was good to be among people who knew that you should not talk about such matters. 

Ostrid, fortunately, would understand that. Almandar probably already had dirty thoughts about what might happen at the mason's house that evening, but, if so, he could hardly be more wrong. Ostrid was, admittedly, quite attractive, but she was a little young for him, and anyway, there would have been a great many arrangements to be made if he had intended to woo her. Dwarves, unlike humans or elves, simply did not act like that, and it was a sign of trust that Tharn and Olthen had not even bothered to worry about such things. Just because two people of the opposite sex were in the same building together did not necessarily mean that they would try to... well, procreate.

The house had the typical appearance of most of the others nearby, but Dolrim's practiced eye could discern the higher quality of the stonework, as befitted a dwarf of Tharn's status and profession. It was also slightly larger, with a sloping roof of slate, a sign of the family's wealth from its trade. He knocked on the door, and prepared to announce his name and purpose when Ostrid opened the door.

Only, it wasn't Ostrid; it was Relayna.

Dolrim was puzzled, and immediately on the alert. Shouldn't she be with Almandar right now? Or had he misinterpreted what the half-elf was doing tonight? It seemed unlikely, knowing him, but, of course, there was always the possibility that he had met someone else entirely. 

Relayna was obviously a trusted friend of the Olain clan, and Tharn in particular, and, indeed, he had even heard her name before. She was a merchant who often worked with dwarves, helping to sell their wares onto the human market, especially beyond Haredil. So, as far as he knew, she could be trusted. Yet her presence here was strange, to say the least, and he had noticed that she had spent some time sizing up the adventurers when they had arrived. Almandar might have thought she was looking only at him, with his sometimes one-track mind, but Dolrim had found himself under her gaze as well. What did she really want?

"Dolrim," she said, "do come in. We were just finishing a meal -- I do love your cuisine -- but all the documents are ready for you downstairs. Or so I'm told -- apparently, I'm not allowed to see them!"

It seemed plausible, but somehow her words did not quite ring true. She was hiding something, but what? He was only carrying a dagger, since it did not do to wander the streets of the city in full armour and weapons, but it was a large one, and he was proficient with its use. He surreptitiously moved his hand towards it, ready to grab it if need be, but nonetheless stepped into the house. They were surrounded by fellow dwarves here, this should be a safe part of the city... but something odd was going on, something he did not quite understand. And, as a warrior, there was only one way to prepare for that.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 09



Inside, the house was laid out in typical dwarven style. The ground floor was slightly sunken below street level, a single room taking up most of the space, with a kitchen behind, and stone spiral staircases running up to the upper story. Relayna, however, immediately went to the stairs leading down, as if expecting him to follow. Of course, dwarven houses, even in human cities, had substantial basements, but why not just hand over the documents here? And where was Ostrid?

He followed her down the steps, and immediately noticed an odd smell. It was spicy, tangy, a little like incense, but nothing he could identify. His hand was on his dagger now, alert for danger. It was not the smell of orcs, or anything so dangerous -- in fact, it even seemed quite pleasant. But it was out of place here, and that was what worried him.

"Through here," said the merchant, and he stepped into a room, his hand still on the dagger. It was darkened, with only a small brazier for illumination, but his eyes were naturally adapted to dim light, and soon made out the details.

It was a bedroom, in the typical basement style of many dwarves, where they could sleep surrounded by solid rock. More importantly, Ostrid wasn't here. He turned, only to find that Relayna had closed the door, and was now leaning against the inside of it, blocking the only way out. With one hand, she lit a lamp standing on a bedside table, and yellow light spilled across the room. 

The smell was stronger now, making him feel strange. Its scent tingled his nostrils, and made him feel hot, almost sweaty, as if he had eaten a spicy meal. It clouded his thoughts, but it did not make him feel weak or ill. In fact, he felt quite capable, energetic. "What... is... going... on?" he said through gritted teeth, half-drawing the dagger. She was unarmed, and there was no one else in the room. It would not be a difficult fight, if it came to it, and, from all that he knew, she was not even a magician. It seemed unlikely she was trying to attack or imprison him, so what, exactly, was her plan?

"There's no need for the knife," said Relayna, still leaning against the door, "you're not in any danger. I will admit to being a little dishonest... but it is your friend Almandar who is going to be disappointed, not you. Right now, he should be collecting the documents from Ostrid -- which, I am afraid, was not quite what I led him to expect he would be doing. I would have given you the documents myself, but she really did insist on hanging on to them. Even if... well, she is not giving them to who she said she would."

Dolrim frowned, trying to ignore the smell that he now realised had to be coming from the small brazier. "That does not answer my question -- what are you doing? What do you want me for?"

"Ah, yes," she said, blushing slightly -- unless the incense was affecting her, too, "that is the question." She swallowed slightly, and reached one hand behind her back. Dolrim stiffened slightly, but he had seen her back as he followed her down the stairs; there was nothing hidden there, unless it was particularly small. A needle, perhaps, but surely not much more?

"I have worked with dwarves for a long time," she said, still failing to get to the point -- an annoying human trait. "And I have developed a real fondness for your people. I'm not lying when I say I like your cuisine, by the way. But there's something dwarven I've nearly really had the opportunity to try." 

She was fiddling with something behind her back, but whatever it was, he could not see. The strange thing was that she did not seem aggressive. Nervous, perhaps, but even more than that, excited. Her tone of voice was almost friendly, not menacing; Dolrim really could not make out her behaviour at all.

"Dwarven men are strong, powerful, with those muscular arms and bodies," she went on, her voice strangely husky all of a sudden. What did that have to do with... and then his thought stopped right there, as he realised what she was doing behind her back.

She was undoing the laces at the back of her dress.

She slid one arm out of it, and then the other, pulling it down over her hips, to pool at her feet. Underneath, she was wearing a long white shift, almost sleeveless, with a deep décolletage. "Now do you understand what you are here for?" she asked, "and, of course, why I needed the deception? Without it, I could never really have had the opportunity."

He could have made a dash for the door, then, but he would have had to wrestle her out of the way. And, since she was wearing clothing that was no longer at all decent, to touch her at all might give her the wrong impression. Besides, all he had to do was refuse. It really was that simple... wasn't it?

"But... you're human," he said, appalled at her brazen approach. "We don't... certainly not with... if you know my people, you must know this! It's just..." he spluttered, unable to think of what else to say.

"You don't find me at all attractive?" she said teasingly, kicking off her shoes, and moving forward from the door, the thin shift clinging to her curves, and then leaning forward slightly to show off her cleavage.

"Don't be... I mean you're..." he tried to protest, to explain that she was the wrong shape, the wrong height, that her jaw was too rounded, her waist too slender, and her limbs too long. But, traitorously, he began to feel a stirring in his loins, looking at her. The curves of her body were different, yet somehow pleasing. He had never felt like this about a human woman before, could not imagine why he would. He was sweating now, and his dagger slipped from his weakened grasp, sliding back into its sheath. What was happening to him?

He had not moved from the spot where he stood, and she continued to advance towards him. He could run around her now, yet for some reason he did not feel he could move. It was not a literal paralysis, but his mind was in turmoil, unable to think properly. 

She reached him, standing just a foot in front of him. His eye level was a little above her navel, the elongated slender abdomen of a human woman. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, clenching and unclenching his hands, trying to reach a decision about how to act. She knelt down, her face now more or less level with his, her blue eyes wide with excitement, her lips slightly parted. He avoided looking down, towards that low cut shift, and cursed the feeling in his groin that made him want to do just that.

"I don't think you're being entirely truthful," she said, "not that I have been the paragon of honesty today, I admit. But now, let's see..." She reached forward, to the tie at the top of his padded sleeveless leather tunic, deftly undoing it, and then pushing it back, over his arms, until it fell onto the stone flooring behind him.

He clenched his hands again, wanting to push her off, yet not wanting to at the same time. He knew this was not right, and that he could stop her at any time, yet he seemed unable to do so. She was pulling his shirt up from his trews now, lifting it up, over his chest, and still he was not resisting, although he knew he should have been. She pulled it over his head, and threw it away, and he took an involuntary step backwards, as if the sudden movement had cleared his head for a moment.

He blinked, as a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. The smell from the incense was... yes, surely that had to be it, he realised suddenly! "An aphrodisiac?" he said, sharply, nodding towards the brazier.

"Ah, yes... you see, I thought you might need a little encouragement. A loosening of those famed dwarven inhibitions. But it can't make you do what you don't want to. If you were truly repulsed by me, you would feel hot, that is all." 

Her eyes travelled down his body, now bare from the waist up. "Muscular indeed," she said, her voice husky again, "you look manly, Dolrim." She reached out, almost gingerly, and stroked his chest, running her fingers through the hair, and across the firm muscles of his pectorals. He felt his erection grow, now almost straining against the firm material of his trews. He had to resist, had to... He closed his eyes, driving the picture of her scantily clad body from his mind. Surely, if he did not respond, then she would leave?

There was a rustle of cloth, but she did not reach for him again, and he kept his eyes firmly closed. "Don't you want to see?" she said, and despite himself, he looked.

She had removed her shift, kneeling before him now wearing nothing more than a pair of silky undergarments far briefer than anything any dwarven woman would wear. Her waist was slender, a smooth and hairless expanse, more hour-glass shaped than that of a dwarf. Her breasts hung loose now, the pink nipples fully engorged. His eyes focused on a smattering of pale freckles on her shoulders and collarbone, then he forced his gaze upwards and away, towards her face.

"I think you like it, don't you? And that can't just be the perfume. It doesn't work like that." She cupped her breasts, running her hands over them, rubbing the swollen nipples, while his traitorous eyes took in every movement. His erection felt huge now, uncontrollable. Surely this had to be over soon?

"I'm not..." he began, trying to explain, to make her see sense. "You're human, and I'm a dwarf. I just couldn't!"

"Hmm..." she said, "it doesn't look like that to me." Suddenly, she reached down and grabbed his crotch, cupping his swelling erection through the soft leather, squeezing his balls slightly as she did so. He grunted involuntarily, unable to prevent himself. His cock felt like it might burst. "Thought not," she said, simply.

Words were beyond him now, he could not think of anything to say. There was no way he could deny that his body was responding as it would do to any dwarven woman, no matter his personal shame. Perhaps, he thought, she had lied about the power of the aphrodisiac perfume -- perhaps it did inspire thoughts that no normal person would otherwise have. Perhaps it even worked differently on his own race than it did on humans.

Deep down, though, he knew that was not true. 

He remained motionless, still standing stiffly, as she undid his belt, dropping it, and the dagger, to the floor. Her fingers reached for the drawstring on his trews, and finally he moved, grabbing her wrist. "No..." he managed, almost a croak.

"I don't think you mean that," she said, "and I've come too far to give in now." She raised her left hand, slowly, moving it towards where he held the other. He had plenty of time to grab that, too, yet this time remained still, his eyes watching her hand as if in fascination, but doing nothing to stop her.

With a little fumbling, she untied the drawstring, and her right hand slipped free from his sweaty and rapidly weakening grip. She grabbed onto either side of his trews, and with a single motion, yanked both them and his underwear down around his knees. His cock sprang up, free at last, rising from the thick mass of pubic hair.

She said nothing at first, her eyes fixed on the prize. He shuddered, as guilt and shame rose up inside him, but unable to control the powerful lust that he felt. She reached out, and he grunted through clenched teeth as she took his cock in one hand, sliding along it from his balls to the tip, running her thumb over his foreskin. "Fully human-sized," she breathed, "I had wondered."

She released him, and stood up, bringing his eyes level with the base of her chest again. This time he looked up, in spite of himself, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, just above his head height. With another swift motion, she pulled down her last remaining item of clothing, and then turned away from him, walking towards the bed.

She climbed onto it, resting forward on hands and knees, her breasts hanging down and her buttocks raised in the air. The dwarven bed was too short for her, of course, and even in that position, her feet reached over the low board at the base. Her rear was towards him, and she parted her long legs, revealing her pink, swollen vulva. She was almost hairless down there, and he could see her moisture in the lamplight. She was breathing heavily, her breasts moving up and down as she did so.

"The door isn't locked," she told him, although it had never occurred to him that it might be. "You can leave now, and nobody will ever know. Or you can fulfil my wildest dream. It is," she went on, with a hint of regret, "your choice now."

He looked at the door, and at the clothes gathered about him. It would be so easy to pull his trews back up and leave. But he knew, in that moment, that he did not want to. He gave a short, wordless shout, and reached down to pull his boots off, taking the last of his clothes with them. Naked, he ran across the room, and leaped onto the back of the bed.

How dare she treat him like this? He was going to show her! He stood up on the mattress and looked down at her back, at the pony tail draped partly across it and then hanging down to one side. She turned her head towards him, looking back, first at his own face, as if sizing up his emotions, and then at his bulging cock, now rising just above her buttocks. "Yes..." she said, the word almost catching in her throat.

He grabbed her waist with both hands, feeling the soft human skin, and hoisted her up level with his hips. Her knees were lifted free of the bed as he did so, and she took the opportunity to move her feet onto it, pressing her toes against the wooden board for support. "You do not mock a dwarven warrior," he told her firmly, "or you will feel his spear." He looked down at her damp pussy, his throbbing cock barely an inch away, and then pulled her suddenly towards him, thrusting his hips forward in the same motion, plunging himself deep inside her cunt.

She yelped, a loud cry of sheer pleasure. His own excitement was intense, the feeling of her soft yielding cunt around his cock even better than he had imagined. He pulled out, then thrust into her again and again, gripping her hips hard, digging his fingers into her round buttocks. Raylana let out a long groan of her own, her eyes wide with passion, sweat beading on her brow.

At first his grunts were wordless, almost aggressive in their tenor, but then he found his voice again. "You... will... feel... what... it means..." he gasped, ramming his swollen cock home over and over into her tight warmth, "to be with... a dwarf... and no... human... will... satisfy you... again."

He wasn't even sure if she could hear him, her moans of pleasure were now so loud and prolonged. He continued to slam into her, muscular arms and buttocks working in unison to impale her. Her breasts shook, her whole body jerking with the force of his action. Her legs were quaking, but still holding up, pressing hard against the bed, as his cock rammed in and out of her moist pussy.

He felt himself near release, and increased the pace of his pumping still further, drawing yet more groans of ecstasy from Relayna's open mouth. At last, he shouted an old dwarven war-cry, and with one final thrust, felt himself cum, spurting his hot dwarven semen into her weak human pussy. Her cunt convulsed, gripping him as she thrashed in the throws of her own sudden orgasm, until at last they both collapsed in an exhausted, sweaty heap.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 10



"I am sorry," said Ostrid, "but the only thing here for you are the plans your party requested. Raylana is not here; I am afraid that she has misled you into believing that you were..." she blushed slightly, looking down at the ground, "...here for some other purpose. That is not the case."

Almandar had, of course, been surprised, on opening the door to Raylana's home to discover the dwarven woman there, rather than the merchant. Her presence alone made it unlikely that anything interesting would occur, and now she had confirmed that Raylana was not here at all, and was not going to be.

"So what has happened?" he asked, still unsure of how events were unfolding.

"You should come in," she said, instead of replying, and still having some difficulty looking him in the face. This was clearly something she felt uncomfortable discussing, but at least she looked embarrassed, rather than deceitful. "The plans you requested are in here," she added.

"I thought you were giving them to Dolrim. Didn't your family insist on it?"

She nodded, her shoulders slumped, but said nothing further until they had reached the main room of the house. It was a wide open space, with a balcony above, with a divan, and numerous cushions and tables. Ostrid headed for a dresser on one side, where a carved wooden box was sitting. She picked it up gingerly, holding it close to her chest.

"You mustn't tell them," she said, now looking up at him with imploring eyes, "I promised them I would give this only to Dolrim. This is dwarven knowledge; while he may choose to tell you of it -- and, from what you have said, I hope he does -- it must be his decision, not mine. It has a cunningly devised lock on it... Raylana would know how to undo it, since she has experience of dwarven craftsmanship, but I am hoping that you do not."

Almandar thought it was entirely possible that Vardala could have found a way in, but he did not mention it. It was unlikely that would be needed, after all.

"But even so, I must ask you not to try. You must give this straight to Dolrim tomorrow morning. I am already breaking my promise in simply giving it to you... if it became known, I do not know what would happen."

She seemed genuinely worried, so the half-elf nodded his agreement. "Of course, I promise -- I will not even try to open it. But you haven't explained what is going on. Why are you not simply giving this to Dolrim? Why are you here at all?"

"Raylana..." she started, blushing again, "she wanted to..." she looked away from him, apparently unable to frame the words, "she wanted to get to know Dolrim better. In... private. So she deceived you. We had to find some way to get the box to one of you, and she thought that you... that you might be persuaded to come here, where I could hand you it."

The concept was sufficiently strange that it took Almandar a little time to digest it. If Raylana really wanted to be intimate with Dolrim, he could not see that she was very likely to be successful. Perhaps there was more to it, but interrogating the poor dwarf was unlikely to be very productive, and, in any event, he had to resign himself to a quiet night.

"I see... well, I won't ask you any more. It is not our business." And she, it was clear, did not want to talk of such things, if she knew much about them at all. "What will you do now?"

"Wait here alone... until the morning, I suppose." She sighed suddenly, a despairing sound. "I should not have done this!" She shook her head, and covered her face with one hand, clutching the box with the other. "I should not have allowed her! What have I done?"

Almandar was unsure what to do. Had she been a human woman, he would have comforted her, patted her on the shoulder, or given her a hug. But that would never do for a dwarf, as private as they were. But still, her race's natural tendency for taciturnity had temporarily deserted her, and he felt he had to say or do something. He might not truly understand the source of her despair, but he could at least emphasise with it. The woman did not deserve to suffer because of this.

"I could keep you company for a little while," he said, "just to talk, if that's what you want."

"That would be kind," she said, wiping what might have been a trace of a tear from one eye. "I believe there is some wine, somewhere."

He found the bottle and a couple of goblets -- apparently of dwarven manufacture -- and laid them down on one of the low tables. Ostrid took the divan, while he sat opposite her on some scatter cushions. That brought their eye levels closer together, but at first, the dwarven woman simply sat there, her hands in her lap, unsure of what to do. Almandar poured them both some drink, and took a sip himself.

"Thank you," she said, simply, reaching across to her own goblet. She gulped it down rather quickly, obviously still somewhat uncomfortable. He had to distract her from her worries, and turned to a topic of conversation he hoped would take her mind off Raylana's supposed antics.

"Your family has been a while?" he asked, "the Olain clan, was it? I confess that I don't really know much about dwarven clans and families."

At last, Ostrid smiled, a look akin to relief crossing her features. She was almost pretty when she did that, he reflected, or at least as much as a dwarf could be. "Clans are extended families," she said, "large groups held together by a common ancestor. We have rituals that bind us into a similar unit, although I can't talk too much about those."

He nodded, encouragingly, and she continued. "The Olain are a city clan; we have been in Haredil for generations. Our ancestors came here from the mountains, and masonry has always been one of our skills. But, of course, each clan includes several different professions," she took another drink of the wine, "so my own family being masons, that is a sign of status. I am very proud of my father's skill."

"So you want to be a mason?"

She actually smiled at that, briefly, showing a flash of white teeth. "That's a man's job! Like mining or blacksmithing. True, women do sometimes do such things, but no, I prefer jewellery. I would be a silversmith, I think, if I had the chance." Before he could ask her more about that, she changed the subject. "What about you?"

"Ah, well," he said, leaning back, "I don't know if there is much to tell. I'm first generation; my father was the elven side of the family." Half-elves, of course, could breed true, so many elsewhere were second generation or more, but they were not numerous in Haredil, for some reason. But then, half-elves in general were not common, and they did not have the binding ties to racial communities that pureblooded races had. "He left my mother when I was young, I am afraid. He left the city, in fact, so I never saw him after that." He did not add that his father had, in the manner so typical of his flighty elven kindred, fallen for someone else, and left to be with them. That would remind her of her own reason for being here, and he did not want that. It was probably even more important to omit the fact that this father had left, not for another woman, but for a man.

They continued talking, chatting about this and that, and Almandar found a second bottle of wine, mentally noting that he would have to repay Raylana for it -- although, under the circumstances, her own behaviour had hardly been exemplary.

As the warmth settled into his stomach, he found himself looking more at Ostrid. His earlier opinion, he decided, has been wrong; her face was broad, like those of her kin, yet, despite that, she actually was pretty. She had large blue eyes, and long blond hair with a slight hint of red in it, falling down her back in a long, carefully knotted, braid. Her clothing was demure, of course, a shapeless grey dress that reached down to her ankles, with a low collar about her neck, and sleeves tight to the wrists. Heavy, leather boots with chunky soles projected from beneath the skirt, and would have looked incongruous on a human. 

The dress disguised her figure, as was doubtless its intent, but she was clearly not a slim woman -- although, what dwarf ever was? Her shoulders were broad, almost like a dwarven man's, giving her a somewhat beefy shape. She might almost have looked masculine, as a result, but her face was too pretty for that, and her breasts, so far as he could make out beneath the shapeless clothing, were surprisingly large.

He wondered if the wine were having an effect on her, too. She had drunk enough of it, although dwarves had quite a tolerance for alcohol, so that might be less significant than it appeared. Certainly, she seemed more relaxed, smiling more often, her earlier depression and worry quite forgotten.

"But I don't know," she said at one point, "how much chance I will have to practice silverwork. If my father finds a suitable suitor, there might not be time for a good career, unless I have already managed to establish my name by then. I might become a home-maker, instead. I am not sure what that would be like."

She looked a little dejected at that, and he was worried that the wine might actually be making her maudlin. "Do you mind?" he said, taking the initiative and getting up from the cushions to sit beside her. She made no move, making Almandar feel a little more emboldened. "You look tense," he told her, "allow me..."

He reached out slowly, putting a hand on each of Ostrid's shoulders. She flinched at first, but did not leap up, or even say anything, so he gently began to massage the muscles of her shoulders and upper back. Her muscles were indeed tense, and bulkier than those of most human women, too. He could not say what was going through her mind, but his own was turning back towards the thoughts he had had earlier in the evening, when he still expected Raylana. Although how he could broach the subject, he was unsure. He had, after all, never kissed a dwarven woman before, or even thought about doing so. And there was a good chance that she would find the very thought revolting.

"I like silversmithing because of the detail," she said, out of the blue. "It has such intricacy and beauty. You can spend hours going over the same piece, until it is just right. It requires such a deft, gentle touch. Mmm... that's good," she added, edging imperceptibly closer to him, and lifting her heavy braid out of the way so that he could more easily reach the base of her neck.

"So you like to take your time on things?" he asked, "slow, but precise... hitting just the right spot?"

"Dwarven men aren't always like that," said Ostrid, as if avoiding the direct question, "they hammer away at their foundries, all heat and power. But the quality is so much better if you get everything just right... the detail in a finely wrought piece of silver filigree can be almost... sensuous, don't you agree?"

When he did not, at first, reply, she half-turned towards him, her blue eyes curious. Her lips were broad, pale like her skin, and slightly parted. He leaned down towards her, as she craned her neck up, and kissed her very lightly, scarcely touching her. She froze in place, for a moment, and then turned away.

"I... I don't know what I was doing," she said, blushing deeply, "I am sorry... I did not mean to..." she trailed off, unable to find the words.

"It was all me," said Alamandar, apologetically, mentally adding that the wine might also have been relevant, "I did not mean to offend you." He took his hands off her shoulders, so that they were no longer touching. "If you didn't like it, I can..."

"No," she said, cutting him off, "it was... it was pleasant. I just didn't... I mean, I... we couldn't..." 

He reached for her then, cupping her chin gently in one hand, and turning her round towards him again. Her blush was fading now, her eyes wider. "You don't need any words," he told her, "just this..." and he reached down to kiss her again, longer this time, feeling her soft lips against his own. This time she made no move away, and when he reached an arm round her, feeling the thick woollen clothing against her back, it seemed that she pressed closer against him.

They parted, and Ostrid took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She seemed about to say something, but stopped before she did so, instead simply looking into his eyes. 

"We have the whole night, you said," he reminded her, "and I am sure this house has a bedroom?"

The bedroom was well-decorated, when they found it, with a large bed with sheets that looked soft and inviting. Almandar removed his outer tunic, placing it on a side dresser next to a decorative dwarven carving. He looked round, to see Ostrid pulling her boots off, and then stopping, looking down at the floor. After a moment's silence, she looked up to him, "I don't know," she said, "should we be doing this?"

He sat down beside her, reaching for her shoulders again. "It's up to you," he said, gently massaging her, "although I won't pretend that, by now, I wouldn't be disappointed."

She hesitated, then reached a hand up to his chin, pulling him down for another kiss. It was surprising how soft her skin was, he thought, glad that she had not decided to become a blacksmith. And that the rumour about dwarven women having beards was completely unfounded.

As they parted, she reached out for his belly, running the cotton of his shirt between thumb and forefinger. He did nothing, wanting her to take the next step, and she did, plucking up the courage to pull his shirt free, and lift it up to his chest so that he could pull it off and lay it beside the bed. Her fingers ran over his chest, up from his stomach to his nipples, slowly taking the feel of his body. Her touch was light, yet stimulating, her hands caressing him as they might an alabaster statue.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead on his chest; he could feel her warm breath on his skin, as she continued to stroke him, silently. One hand around her shoulder, he moved the other down to her leg, lifting up the low hem of the skirt, reaching inside. Her calves were stocky and rounded, yet there seemed hardly a trace of fat on her body. Slowly, he slid his hand up further, encountering a thick woollen garment reaching to just above her knee. Her thighs, even through the wool, seemed broad and powerful.

As he stroked her thigh, she broke off her own ministrations, and still leaning against him, began to gingerly undo the ties on his trews. He leaned back, away from her, giving her more purchase, and she stopped for a second, before returning to slowly peel off his clothing. He was dressed only in his drawers now, the white cotton clearly tented up by the rising erection beneath. Ostrid looked at it wordlessly, running a hand down his thigh, tickling the hair there. His erection throbbed with desire, a tiny drop of pre-cum darkening the fabric at the tip.

She leaned back then, and pulled at her dress, lifting it up over her head, and shaking her hair free, before dropping it beside the bed, and looking up at him questioningly, her breath hard, and her face already flushed. 

Beneath the dress she was wearing curious undergarments, made of a tight woollen weave. Her lower body, as he had already discovered, had drawers that reached almost to her knees, but she was also wearing an upper garment, quite unlike the shift that human and elven women typically wore. It was a sort of vest, he supposed, with short sleeves reaching only just below her elbows, and hugging her body tightly; it was tucked into the band of her drawers, showing off no more flesh than her arms and calves. If there was one thing to be said for it, he supposed, it was that the tightness of it lifted her large breasts, accentuating their curve.

He reached forward, holding one shoulder as he smiled reassuringly -- she still looked nervous -- then running his hand down the short length of her arm. She had light hair there, soft and downy, the blond colour almost invisible against her skin. They kissed again, briefly, as she ran a hand down his flank.

As she did so, he moved his own hands towards her, eager to see what lay beneath the concealing undergarments. He pulled the vest free from the band of her drawers, lifting it up with both hands to expose her midriff. She was not slender, of course, for no dwarves were, and her abdomen was wide and short. Yet it was also trim, as free from fat as the rest of her body, and she shivered slightly as he ran a hand along its smooth skin, running a finger round her navel.

Slowly, her hands moved lower, until they reached the drawstring of his remaining undergarments, inches away from the tenting bulge. Ostrid took a deep breath, and pulled them down, gazing at his exposed erection. She gave a little gasp as she watched it for a moment, before running her fingers through his pubic hair. Gently, she traced the tip of one finger along his balls, and then up the shaft, finally resting on the tip.

Almandar closed his eyes, savouring the feeling, letting her take her time. She cupped his balls in the palm of her hand, then slid it up over his cock, squeezing him slightly when she reached the tip. He wanted her badly, but knew that he had to contain himself a little longer; she wanted to take this at her own, languorous, pace, and he was going to let her.

He opened his eyes again, to see her gazing up at him, breasts rising and falling beneath the covering wool, blue eyes wide with anticipation and perhaps a little wonder. He reached down to her flanks again, hooking his thumbs into the base of her vest. Sensing his need, she raised her arms, allowing him to pull it up and off. She shook her head, and the heavy braid fell over one shoulder, now trailing by her side, the silver filigreed clasp at the top resting against the bare skin of her shoulder.

She was, he had to admit, even better looking now than he had thought before. If all dwarven women were like this, he had been missing a great opportunity. Her breasts were large and rounded, yet not at all pendulous, as pert and enticing as those of a much younger human woman. Her nipples had perhaps the largest aureoles he had ever seen, pale brown in colour against the near white of her breasts.

He realised that he had been motionless, just looking at her, taking in the view, and that she was beginning to redden slightly. He smiled at her, and reached out to caress her breasts. The skin was smooth, the flesh almost surprisingly firm. He cupped them, feeling their weight in his hands, then slid his fingers up to her nipples.

Ostrid gasped as he touched them, savouring the hot hardness between finger and thumb. She let out a slight whimper as he ran a finger round one large aureole, squirming slightly beneath his touch. He realised that her nipples must be exquisitely sensitive, and focussed on them a little more, making her cry out with delight as he gently flicked one. 

Then she pressed herself into him, kissing him passionately, and pushing him back onto the bed. Her breasts lay against his chest, her braid against his arm. His cock slid against the soft wool covering her lower thigh, a delightful feeling that made him gasp aloud in pleasure. He moved his hands down her back, as her own hands explored his naked body, then he slid one down the back of her pants, moulding and squeezing her tight buttocks.

She pulled away from him then, gasping, her face flushed and a little sweaty. They both gazed over each other's bodies as they drew breath, he noticing the damp patch now visible on the wool beneath her legs. Then she rolled over on her back, giving him another splendid view of her breasts as she did so.

"I think you should be on top," he told her, sensing her purpose, as one hand moved towards the hem of her drawers -- with the difference in height, it was going to be awkward otherwise. Suddenly, though, he wondered if he had said the right thing, as she raised her other hand to her mouth, literally gasping as if in shock, her drawers just half way down over one hip. "Sorry..." he said, confused, "did I say something wrong?" Was there some strange dwarven custom he was unaware of? That they even had customs for such things seemed surprising.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 10



"No," she managed, after a while, managing to regain her composure, "it's just... I cannot imagine any dwarven man allowing such a thing. It's... you've..." she seemed to struggle to speak for a moment. "It's my wildest fantasy," she managed eventually.

Almandar thought that, if her wildest sexual fantasy was, indeed, simply being on top, that this said a lot about dwarven sexual repression. But he kept his thoughts to himself. "Then that's an especially good reason, don't you think?" he said instead.

She nodded numbly, and rolled over onto her side, facing him again. He slowly ran his hand down her bare side, savouring the taughtness of her body, and over her exposed hip, pulling slightly at the fabric as he did so. She helped him, then, pulling it down and wiggling free, before kicking it loose onto the floor. Her hips were wide, as he had already seen, and her blonde bush was thick and remarkably hairy.

They kissed again, as they both ran their hands down each other's bellies. Her hand rested a moment in his pubic hair, before running up the length of his cock again, moving up and down along his shaft. Almandar's hand plunged into her thick bush, feeling the inside of her firm thighs, and then pushing up between them. Ostrid's pussy was moist, the damp hairs sticking slightly to his fingers as he ran them along her lips. As he teased one finger inside she left out a mewling cry, and her hand convulsively gripped his cock, tightening and making him grunt.

His finger slipped in an out, lubricated by her juices, feeling the contrast between her rough pussy hairs and the slick wetness of her cunt. Ostrid's hand pumped his cock, slowly and leisurely, as she pressed herself into the side of his body, digging her nose into his shoulder, and squeezing her magnificent breasts against him.

"I want you," she said suddenly, levering herself up on one elbow, and releasing his cock. He nodded wordlessly in agreement, longing to discover what she truly felt like. As she began to move, however, he put out a restraining hand for a second, and pulled her back towards him. He kissed her shoulder and the nape of her neck, her body now lying almost directly on top of his. Then he moved lower, lifting her up slightly so that his tongue could run over the smooth expanse of her breast, and kiss one of her huge nipples. She cried out as his lips ran round her areoles, and he sucked the long nipple, rolling it beneath his tongue. Her hips ground into him instinctively, her buttocks pushing against his abdomen, leaving a spot of moisture behind.

He released her, and she scrambled back, leaning between his knees, her chest heaving, and the saliva still glistening on one side. She rubbed his cock again, pressing it against her hairy bush, rubbing it briefly against an inner thigh. Then Ostrid raised herself up on her knees, gazing down at him, as she held his cock firmly just below her waiting, moist pussy. Slowly, an inch at a time, she lowered herself onto him, letting out a long sigh of pleasure as she did so.

Her cunt was tight, but not unusually so; his cock seemed to fit it snugly, and he imagined that dwarven men must not be so different from humans in that regard. Ostrid remained straddling him, her chest moving, and her eyes closed, her mouth part open and her head tilted slightly back. It was if she was savouring the moment for all it was worth, drawing it out yet further.

Then she began to move again, sliding up and down over his erection, gasping and panting at first, then biting her lip and letting out soft whimpers of pure pleasure. He could not fault her, for if she was feeling half the sensations he was, she had every right to moan. Her movements were slow, precise, yet stimulating him as he had rarely been stimulated before. He gazed at her body, admiring its different curves, at the way her breasts bounced only slightly, at the braid now sliding in the sweat of her flanks.

He reached for her, feeling her hips as they ground into him, meeting the responsive thrusts of his own body. With his left hand, he reached for her braid, moving it round, as she watched with slight puzzlement. Then he brushed her nearest nipple with the bristly hair, rubbing it against her. She cried out, loudly, pressing her hips hard down onto his cock. He had known her nipples were especially sensitive, and this merely proved the point.

She continued to move against him, her motion slightly faster now, her pants more urgent. Almandar felt the pressure building inside him, knew that it would not be much longer now. He held her hips, drinking in every twitch of passion on her face, every motion of her breasts. He was very close...

And then, without warning, she climbed off him, leaning back on her arms, and gasping for breath. Sweat beaded her whole body, as it did his, and his throbbing erection still stood proud, slick with her juices. She leant forward again, smiling, and ran a finger along his cock, wiping away the moisture from its swollen head. Her touch was almost painful, and he so badly wanted to be back inside her again, to finish what they had started, But this had to be for her, since he had more or less promised as much.

It turned out that the wait was only brief. Soon she was pushing his hard erection into her soft and welcoming cunt once again, both of them gasping with pleasure. She leaned forward slightly, her breasts hanging down, pressing her hands against his lower chest, feeling his skin. He gripped her breasts, squeezing the nipples and making her cry out again.

Her hips were grinding into him harder now, but yet she was still not hurried, the motions still slow, not the grunting thrusts of hard, but brief, sex. "Yes... yes..." she was crying out, "oh, yes..."

He encouraged her, his own buttocks almost rising off the bed to thrust deeper into her. Ostrid's eyes were wide, staring at him, her thighs gripping him, her breasts sliding over his welcoming hands, her outsize nipples hard against his slick fingers. "Oh... yes... I'm going to..." she cried.

"Don't stop," he murmured, almost entreating. 

But this time she didn't, and with a long, wordless shout of unadulterated bliss, she came, her cunt convulsing repeatedly around his cock as he spurted into her with his own groan of pleasure. Her whole body shook, and she gripped him tightly in her arms, burying her face into his chest.

The evening had, surprisingly, been ever better than he had expected...



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 11



It had come as no surprise to Calleslyn when Almandar had returned to the villa in the morning, and looking as if he had not had much sleep the night before. She had not met Raylana, but the inference about what had happened was a fairly easy one to make. It had been rather more surprising, however, to realise that Dolrim had also returned home at around the same time. It seemed unlikely, from what she knew of dwarves, that anything of a similar nature had happened to him - and, indeed, if it had, she would have expected him to appear rather more cheerful than he actually did.

But, instead, he had shut himself away in his room at the villa, brooding on his own. Presumably he was looking over the secret dwarven documents that he had acquired, wanting to look over them before he shared them with the rest of the party. When Almandar had returned, a couple of hours later, he had briefly tried to talk to the dwarf, even going into his room, but he had obviously been sent out again almost immediately, apparently without much of a word of explanation.

Still, it was not long after that that Dolrim had finally emerged, looking somewhat sheepish, and bringing the documents with him. Much of the writing was in dwarvish, so although the maps were reasonably clear, actually fitting them to the above ground street plan was probably going to take a while. So they left him to examine the maps further with Vardala, and Calleslyn had suggested that, in the meantime, she and Almandar try to find out what they could at the Wizards' College

Almandar had, in fact, slept much of the morning, which suggested a certain degree of vigour on Raylana's part, but now they were both here heading across the lobby towards the College library. The Wizards' College was, in effect, a guild, although, unlike most others in the city, apprentices were often taught on the premises, rather than in private businesses elsewhere. Almandar himself had learned magic here, many years ago, although Calleslyn had only joined after her own education was complete.

It was a magnificent building, with a high golden dome and slender towers. Magic infused the place, and those without the talent were barred entry, even as guests. Wizards' magic required considerable study to perfect and master, so the existence of the College was vital to all of the gifted community in Haredil, and a place that they all visited on a fairly frequent basis.

It also meant, of course, that the College was fairly indiscriminate about its membership; it included no small amount of really quite tedious people. One of whom was approaching right now.

"Ah, the adventurers," said Valmor, his rich voice booming across the cavernous lobby. He was a middle-aged wizard, dark hair just starting to go grey, and already carrying a good amount of surplus weight on his tall frame. "I had heard you were back... and in one piece, too. What a relief that must be to you. I would have greeted you earlier, but my life is such a social whirl, you know."

"Yes, we are quite intact," said Almandar, drily, "thank you for asking. But we wouldn't wish to keep you from your busy schedule. Another time, perhaps?"

"What? Oh, of course. Well, I do have a meeting with the Master of the College, and an invitation to the palace later in the week, which I really must prepare for. How much simpler it must be not to know anyone of consequence, eh?" 

"We manage."

"Ha! I am sure you to do. Well, pleased to meet you. Do call in some time – after checking with my secretary, of course." And with that, the pompous fool headed off, doubtless to find someone else to harangue. They both sighed silently with relief, and made their way to the library.

The College Library occupied a large part of the building, and was, perhaps, the largest collection of documents in the city. The only exception might have been that of the Temple of Knowledge, but since only the priesthood ever had access to that, it was difficult to know for sure. The official guardian of the library was a small mousy woman by the name of Naritti, who popped up from behind her desk as they came through the stone archway into the room.

"Good afternoon, good afternoon," she said, with her usual, somewhat nervous smile, reflexively smoothing down her robes. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Her eyes darted from one to the other, as she clasped her hands together earnestly.

"We are looking for documents on the magical history of the city," explained Calleslyn, "personalities and events of the past."

"Oh, yes, of course," said Naritti, "our records are extensive, as you know. Allow me to show you what we have... I am sure you will find it most enlightening. The Wizard's College is one of the oldest institutions in the city, you know. It's history is really very interesting." Evidently pleased to be able to help them with something, she led them through the towering shelves laden with books and scrolls. "I... uh... you have been away recently?" She seemed to be trying to make conversation, as if someone had told her this was how you were sociable, but was not something she had much experience at. Truly, Calleslyn could not recall seeing her anywhere other than the library, usually with her nose in some ancient tome; she imagined that the woman did not get out much. "I suppose you will be in the city for a while longer, though? I mean, since you are interested in its history?"

"Yes, I think we will be. And I am sure the library will prove a very useful resource."

"Oh, good!" said Naritti, genuinely beaming for the first time. The elven woman reflected that she actually looked quite pretty at that moment, but it soon passed; she really needed to get out more. "Well, here we are," continued the librarian, seemingly somewhat relieved to be able to talk about her demesne again, rather than the complicated mess that was actual human life, "these scrolls and parchments should have everything that you need. There is a reading desk just behind that stack there. But if you do need any help, just ask! You know where to find me."

They thanked her, at which she bobbed a little curtsey, fluttered her hands for a moment, and then vanished back into the stacks, back towards her desk, and whatever she had been reading as they came in.

"Not your type, Almandar?" whispered Calleslyn, noting that the half-elf had never even attempted to flirt with the librarian.

"Naritti?" Almandar smiled at the idea, "no, not really." Then his face turned reflective for a moment, "although, I confess, I am less certain than I used to be of what my 'type' is. Events can be surprising... but," he added, in a more business like tone, "that is not what we are here for."

"Very true," agreed Calleslyn, wondering what he was referring to, but realising that he did not want to discuss it further here. She looked about, seeing that they were in a narrow space between two high stacks, all piled high with written material. Many of the shelves were well above head height, suggesting that the designers had simply taken levitation for granted... although not, presumably, skirts.

They began to search through the shelves within arm's reach, an activity that took no small amount of time, considering how heavily they were stacked. The books were easy enough to check, but the scrolls had to be opened to see what they contained, and it was quite a while before they had enough relevant material to carry to the reading desks.

As they did so, Calleslyn saw another wizard, heading past them, further into the library. She was an attractive woman, with tanned skin and shoulder length black hair, but it was the dress that really grabbed her attention. True, there was nothing surprising about female wizards wearing revealing clothing; it seemed to be a popular fashion statement in Haredil these days. But, nonetheless, on this woman the clothing seemed eye-catching indeed. It was an all-white dress, with a skirt reaching to just above the ankles, yet slit up one side to half-way up her hips; a slit so wide at the base that it could not possibly cover much of her bare right leg. From her present angle, she could see little of the front of the dress, although it obviously went over her shoulders as no more than a pair of narrow straps. At the rear, however, it was cut to below her mid back, showing off an expanse of bare skin and the inner shape of her shoulder blades. The dress was sleeveless, yet her arms were not bare, for she wore golden bracelets on her upper arms, and lacy sleeve-like garments that reached from her hands to her elbows. A narrow girdle circled her waist, and Calleslyn's eyes paused for a moment, watching the sway of her hips and buttocks beneath the white fabric.

The woman turned a corner, and was gone. She and Almandar looked at each other, realising that they had both been watching the same thing, smiling at their obviously shared thoughts. "You spent the whole morning asleep," teased Calleslyn, "it's a bit soon after for that, isn't it?"

"Not for looking," he replied, with a slight grin.

They found the reading tables easily enough, and laid the documents they had found out on them. This was likely to be a long afternoon, Calleslyn reflected, as she pulled up a chair, and opened the first scroll for a more detailed look at its contents.

An hour later, they seemed to be little further along. Clearly, there was a lot of history to go through, and much of it might have been relevant to their search, but it was difficult to tell which. As Naritti had pointed out, the College was one of the oldest institutions in the city, and the wizards who lived there had catalogued a lot of events in that time. Much of it focussed around their own concerns, typically trying to make themselves sound as impressive as possible – Valmor was obviously not unusual in that regard. 

But there were also references to events where magical beings had apparently escaped into the city, some of them potentially dangerous. There was relatively little about the old ruins underneath, although even here, there were a few references, some of which they might well find useful. Calleslyn reflected that, long though this might be taking, it was likely not to be a complete waste of time.

She stood up, straightening her back after too long sitting down, "I'll see what else I can find," she said, gathering up the documents she had already finished, "I'll be back in a moment." Almandar nodded, and she went back to the history stacks.

They had finished many of the lower shelves, so, after returning what she already had, Calleslyn craned to look at some of the ones above head height. Her eye almost immediately caught the spine of one book, embossed with a pattern that looked a little like a spring, although the blue dye was now somewhat faded. It might have information on the sources of water beneath the city – although there were a dozen other possibilities. It was a little high, so she stretched up onto her toes, and reached an arm out above her head.

"Allow me," said a woman's voice, with pleasantly rich tones. No sooner had she spoken, than the book began to wriggle, pulling itself free from its neighbours, and then floating down through the air, to hover near Calleslyn's hand.

"Thank you," she said, taking hold of the book, a little embarrassed that she had not thought of doing the same thing. But then, it had not quite been out of reach, and she could probably have managed the conventional way. She turned to look at her benefactor, recognising the woman that she and Almandar had admired earlier.

From up close, she was, if anything, even prettier. Her skin was lightly tanned, and, so far as she could see, quite flawless in complexion, contrasting with and accentuated by the pure white of her dress. Her eyes were dark, framed by soft eyelashes, her lips full, and her nose pleasantly rounded. The dress, she could now see, was almost as deeply cut down the front as it was at the back, a wide triangular décolletage reaching to the upper curve of her breasts, and a narrow slit running down to below the base of her breastbone. The tight fabric hugged her figure, the space at the front showing off the bare skin of the inner curve of her breasts. Below, the front of her belt was decorated with silver ornaments and a wide buckle, but Calleslyn immediately raised her head to look once more at the woman's face, not wishing to seem too forward. Hopefully, as a human, she had not realised that she might have this sort of effect on another woman.

"I think it's the apprentices," said the woman, "sometimes they just put the best things out of reach for a joke. But then, they leave everything in a mess, without even trying. My name is Shamira, by the way," she added, holding out a hand.

"I'm Calleslyn. Pleased to meet you." Shamira's hand was warm and soft, the skin of a wizard, not a manual worker. The human seemed to hold it there for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, her thumb sliding over the elven woman's fingers for just a second before releasing it. "I wouldn't know about the apprentices," she said, "I trained among elves, a long way away. We do things a little differently."

"So I have been told," replied Shamira, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly as if at a private joke. Calleslyn wondered if she did know about the sexual habits of elves after all; it was not exactly a secret, but, in this city, it did not seem common knowledge. "There was an elven instructor here once, when I was an apprentice. She taught me a lot."

"My colleague studied here," said Calleslyn, nodding in the direction of the reading desks, invisible behind one of the high stacks of shelves. "But that was a long time ago. He's a half-elf..."

"...Older than he looks," Shamira finished for her, and they both grinned suddenly, for no reason. The elf decided she liked this human woman, with her smooth voice and smooth skin, and her easy smile, her perfect teeth white like her dress. "I can tell you one thing about apprentices here, though," she went on, "although I don't know if your friend was the same when he was here: it is a wonder they get any magical education at all, they spend so much time drinking, playing pranks, and thinking about the opposite sex."

"That definitely sounds like Almandar," agreed Calleslyn, "at least part of it. I don't think he has even changed that much! So, what about you?"

"You mean, what do I do for a living, or was I the same as the other apprentices back then?" As if ignoring the first possibility altogether, she went on, "well, I can't claim to be innocent. But the elven instructor I mentioned opened my eyes to some very interesting possibilities. So I can't, with all honesty, say that my time was necessarily filled with thinking about the opposite sex, if you get my meaning."

Calleslyn sensed the woman's eyes on her for the first time. Her gaze was definitely travelling over the elf's body, taking in the shape of her hips and waist, then moving slowly up, to finish looking into her eyes. "And," said Shamira, "I often wish I could return to those days – experience them again, as it were."

Messandra immediately popped into her mind at that point. Of course, they were not officially 'together' – they lived apart, and, in any event, human society did not really acknowledge such a thing. But the friendship they had shared for some time had taken on a new, and richer, dimension. Messandra was improving in bed, too, learning exactly what turned her partner on, overcoming a lifetime's inhibition against same-sex relationships.

For elves, brief dalliances with other partners were nothing unusual. Indeed, she reflected, Almandar seemed to have inherited that aspect of his personality from his father. But to her, too, there was nothing unusual about it. It was only trying to have long relationships with two people at once that was frowned upon, and, for that matter, rather difficult to maintain. The affection she felt for Messandra was real, but, in elven culture, that did not mean she could not experience somebody else, too – whether male or female.

She felt fine about that, but she wondered if Messandra would feel the same. She was a human, brought up with human mores and customs. She had broken free of one already, but that did not mean she was ready for the full range of elven traditions. Humans had a much shorter life, for one thing, and they tended to think of things differently. Almandar never seemed to have a problem, but then, he had no steady partners, either, which, perhaps, made all the difference.

As she reflected, Shamira absently curled her hair with one finger, then released it, trailing the finger down over the base of her neck to the cleavage visible through her low-cut dress. Calleslyn found her eyes following the motion, watching as it strayed further down, resting between the smooth skin of Shamira's breasts, pointing downwards as if in invitation to explore further. She looked back at the woman's face, seeing the tip of a pink tongue running along her lips.

"I'll see what I can do," she found herself saying, huskily, "when should we meet?"

──◊──

As soon as they were in the room, Calleslyn took Shamira's face in her hands and planted a full kiss on her lips. The magician was already turning her on, and she could not wait to explore more of her body; it had been hard enough to keep her hands from wandering as they had walked down the corridor. As they kissed, she felt her partner's hands wandering down her back, squeezing a buttock as she leaned back against the door to push it shut.

"Just a moment," gasped Shamira, pulling free of Calleslyn's kisses for a second. She took her hand away from the elf's hips and pushed it against the door, making a complicated gesture. There was a brief glow of light around the door frame as the locking spell took effect, ensuring they would not be interrupted.

They were in the apprentices' quarters, in a small bedroom that was currently unoccupied, waiting for a new student to arrive at the College. Calleslyn guessed that the room brought back more memories for her partner, of her first experience making love to another woman. That felt slightly odd, as if she was usurping someone else's place, but when the woman was as attractive and willing as Shamira, she was willing to overlook that.

They were soon kissing again, bodies pressed up against each other, fingers running through each other's hair, tongues entwined. Shamira manoeuvred the elf back towards the small bed, gently pushing her onto it. There was little else in the room, beyond a desk, some empty bookshelves and a tiny, unlit fireplace. A small window high in one corner provided light; they could both have created more magically, but there was no need.

As Calleslyn leaned back on the bed, feeling the mattress creak beneath her, Shamira broke free of the kiss, watching her face, lips slightly parted, as she ran her hands down the elf's smooth flanks, feeling her hips and the shape of her legs beneath her dress. She reached the hem of the skirt, and pushed it up, over Calleslyn's knees, then knelt down on the carpeted floor to kiss the back of one slender calf.

Calleslyn closed her eyes as Shamira continued the action, caressing one side of her leg with a hand, and kissing the inside as she did so. She sighed slightly as the woman reached the sensitive skin at the back of her knees, then continued on up her thigh. Opening her eyes to watch again, she saw Shamira's head disappear beneath the folds of her skirt, her kisses moving up the inside of her thigh, closer and closer to her groin.

"The silk stains easily," she said suddenly, as her partner began to nibble at the edge of her panties. Shamira obligingly stopped, pulling her head free from the skirt, and sitting up on the bed beside her.





Sarlene's Touch Ch. 11



"You smell good," she said, pressing her nose against the base of Calleslyn's neck, the warm breath disturbing the short hairs there. The elf made no further move of her own, waiting to see what happened next. Shamira encircled her waist with one arm, taking hold of the elf's hand in her own as she did so. She kissed the base of Calleslyn's jaw, then moved up, her tongue deftly flicking the outside of her ear, sliding over the pointed tip, then kissing it, butterfly-soft. "Mmm.... good memories," she sighed. 

The elf murmured something in response, some platitude that meant little, entwining her fingers in those of her partner. She leaned forward as Shamira reached round her to undo the bindings at the back of her dress, sliding her arms out of their long sleeves. The human woman paused as she did so, running a hand over Calleslyn's upper arm, then down her flank, beneath the dress, pressing the sheer silk against her skin, her fingers warm and gentle.

Calleslyn wriggled out of the rest of the skirt, releasing her other hand, and turning round to kiss her partner on the lips again. The kiss lingered for a long time as Shamira's hands wandered down her body, eagerly exploring; caressing her hips, stroking her thighs, then reaching up to squeeze a breast through the thin fabric, feeling the elven woman's taut nipples.

When the kiss at last finished, Calleslyn leaned back to get a better look at her lover. She looked as beautiful as before, more so now, with her dark eyes wide with passion. The elf traced a finger along the base of her neck, feeling the soft skin, sliding down her front towards the ample cleavage so openly on display. She wriggled the finger between the human's breasts, teasing her slightly, sliding a hand through the narrow gap in the dress to feel the underside, the swell of soft skin comfortable against her palm and probing fingertips.

They kissed again, briefly, as Calleslyn hooked the straps of Shamira's dress over her shoulders, allowing the woman to pull her arms free, and sliding the white fabric downwards to ruck around her waist.

Shamira's naked breasts were as flawless as they had promised to be, tanned as the rest of her body was – clearly a natural skin tone, not the result of sunshine. Her nipples were dark brown, pert and tempting. She explored them fully with both hands, feeling the shape and firmness of them before bending down for a kiss, making Shamira cry out with pleasure as she licked the hard nipples with her tongue, teasing and caressing one before moving onto the other.

As she did so, her partner was already pulling at her shift, lifting it over her back, and she was obliged to break off her ministrations so that it could be lifted over her head, shaking her long blonde hair free. "Lovely," said Shamira, taking in the view of the elf's body, clad now only in her short panties. She bent down, lower than Calleslyn expected, kissing her navel, moving a thumb over the top of her panties, sliding down to the inner angle of her hips.

She moved up, pressing her lips against the elf's right nipple, sucking on it slightly while moving a hand to caress the other. Calleslyn sighed, moving her head to one side to watch the other woman suckle, and moving a hand to cup and stroke one of her partner's hanging breasts. The moment was exquisite, tender and loving, one that she wanted to drag on and on.

They kissed again, breasts pressing against each other, Calleslyn reached down to pull her partner's skirt over her hips, gripping her thighs as it slid past them to the floor, to land next to the shoes that they had both already kicked off. Shamira's own hands reached for her panties, and she rose slightly from the bed to facilitate their removal, leaning back to rest on her hands and buttocks.

"Oh my," said Shamira, her gaze wandering over every inch of the elf's body, lingering now between her legs. Her hand followed it down, over Calleslyn's slender belly, the mound of her sex, feeling the tuft of blonde hair there, then around the inner part of her thighs, to softly stroke her pussy lips. Calleslyn pulled her legs wider apart, giving her partner a better view... and a better purchase.

She gasped involuntarily as the woman's finger slipped inside, moving slickly against the swollen folds. It moved deeper, probing her flesh, seeking out the motions that brought the best responses, finding her clit. Her hips moved back in response, allowing Shamira's finger to thrust in time with her movements, and she began to gasp and whimper as the pleasure mounted. The human woman was undeniably good.

She raised an arm to grab Shamira's back, digging into her shoulder, gripping it tightly as the ministrations continued. They fell back onto the mattress, face to face, and Shamira pulled free, raising the finger to press it against her lips, licking it for a second before passing it over to the elf, encouraging her to lap up her own juices.

"You taste good, too," said Shamira, "don't you think?"

Calleslyn simply smiled in response, bending down to kiss the woman's lovely breasts once more, before slowing sliding further down, lowering her legs off the bed as she reached Shamira's white cotton panties, pulling them down, leaving the human wearing nothing but the lacy sleeves on her lower arms. Her bush was dark, but not too thick, and her pussy was moist and inviting. She kissed the swollen folds with her lips first, making the woman squirm, until she raised her legs over the elf's shoulders to give her better access.

He tongue followed, probing deep into Shamira's wetness, savouring the taste. The human woman cried something about the goddess as the licking continued, letting out soft mewling noises between hard pants. Calleslyn looked up to watch her breasts heaving, and then sucked eagerly on her clit, drawing out the longest moan yet.

"Please... please..." cried out Shamira, "I want you... I need to pleasure you... to make you..."

The thought was never completed, for Calleslyn, sensing the woman's need, climbed up onto the bed again to lie beside her. They kissed once more, Shamira now tasting herself on the elf's lips, their hands wandering over each other's bodies, stroking and kneading breasts, flanks, buttocks and thighs, flicking between legs to the hot dampness within. Shamira's skin was smooth, soft and inviting beneath her fingertips, hard nipples pressing against her body. Calleslyn could think of nothing but possessing her, of making this beautiful woman climax in her arms.

They chose to push their fingers inside each other at the same instant; Calleslyn would have smiled at the synchrony had she not been so deep in a passionate kiss at that moment. They quickly found a mutual rhythm, fingers moving in unison, hips grinding together, breasts sliding over each other in their increasingly slick sweat.

Shamira was the first to stop the kissing, panting too hard now to hold her breath for long, then crying out with full-throated moans. Her hand moved faster as she did so, more vigorously, until Callesyln's cries of passion mingled with her own. Her clit was on fire, and so surely was that of her partner, the shared pleasure overwhelming, driving everything else from her mind.

She felt Shamira's cunt contract just seconds before her own, the human woman crying out in the throws of her orgasm as she pressed her face against the crook of Calleslyn's neck, blond hair intermingled with dark. Waves of pleasure flooded her body as it responded in kind. Their legs entwined as the sheets ruffled against the elf's squirming body. At last she drew breath, and they were holding each other tightly, sharing in the post-orgasmic glow.

She would have to return soon... but perhaps not just yet.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 12



Author's Note: This particular episode includes (virtually) no sex. Instead, it serves only to move the plot along. Hopefully, you've been following the story so far, but if not, and you're looking for erotica, you'll probably want to skip this one and wait for Ch. 13.

*

The Emir's palace stood near the centre of the city, its three golden domes as distinctive as the minarets of the grander temples. From here, the rulers of Haredil administered the city, and claimed fealty from the more sparsely settled lands around. The palace fronted onto a great plaza, close to the market that was the city's lifeblood. No visitor could fail to be impressed, the Emir and his government making a clear statement about the wealth and power of their domain.

Lady Tarissa had been here many times before, but this time she had to admit that she felt a little trepidation. From what Almandar and Calleslyn had discovered at the Wizards' College, the threat mentioned in the ancient documents was very real. The College made no direct mention of events, which doubtless explained why this aspect of history was so unknown, but it corroborated much that the old parchments said. They referred, in part, to a time when demonic influence in the city had been strong, and then faded away suddenly for no apparent reason, dismissed as little more than the natural waxing and waning of the infernal powers.

And perhaps it was so; with no direct evidence to back up the tale of the old adventurers, it was difficult to know for sure. But Tarissa doubted that now, and was inclined to accept them as genuine. At the very least, it was now imperative to begin their exploration of the ancient tunnels beneath the city. If by some chance, it was all a fable, that would soon become clear -- but there was just too much coming together now for her to believe that was at all likely.

Which brought her to her current doubts. Supposedly, the infernal force in the depths -- whatever it was, exactly -- would begin to influence the leaders of the city in attempt to re-assert its hold. Some of those would be the people behind the scenes, who could achieve their aims with a quiet nod here and there, but some would no doubt be the visible leaders. That was, after all, why the adventurers who penned the original documents had supposedly had to flee the city without leaving a clearer warning. 

So who here, could she trust? Had guild leaders been influenced, or temple priests? What about the noble families, the bureaucratic and military leaders, or the Emir himself? Yet here she was, answering an invitation to a reception at the palace, precisely where these people would also be.

She was glad to see, as she climbed the low steps to the great colonnaded front of the building, some of the few people she knew she could trust. Not only were Sir Larinor and Father Humboldt her friends, they were also followers of Pardror, the god of chivalry, just as she was. Pardror's powers, gifted to his paladins and clerics, made it much easier for them to detect and resist infernal magics. If a demonic being of some kind wanted to take over the city, it would be far easier to stay away from the priests of Pardror, avoiding the risk of early detection. In the long run, no doubt, it would want to marginalise them, or even deal with them overtly, but they would be enemies not pawns.

Sir Larinor was about her own age, a paladin as she was, although local, not from the southern islands. She had known him a long time, almost since her arrival in the city, and he had been a long and constant friend, although her days spent adventuring meant that she saw him less than she would like. He was dressed now, as she was, in expensive clothing, not in the armour of his office, but the rich velvet of his doublet could not disguise the breadth of his shoulders, or the trim muscularity of his body. He was handsome, too, with finely chiselled features and straight dark hair, and brown eyes that betrayed a steely determination to fight for justice and honour.

Many women, she felt sure, had fallen under his charms, but his vows as a paladin would have left them disappointed. The code of their order did not impose celibacy as such, but neither did it encourage licentiousness. Carnal desires were to be fulfilled through marriage, or, at the very least, long-term commitments and strict monogamy. Were it not for their shared ideals of romantic love, she suspected that the churches of Pardror and Sarlene would constantly be at loggerheads; as it was, relationships were little more than polite cordiality.

Of course, she was a paladin herself, and had taken the same vows, maintaining her virginity as she did so. As she greeted Larinor and the others, and they stepped into the main foyer of the palace, she felt almost a twinge of regret at that. She was not like Almandar or Calleslyn, whose numerous brief liaisons seemed to follow the morals of their elvish kin -- more so, it seemed to her, with Almandar, despite his half-human heritage. Vardala she did not know about; perhaps she was just more discrete, although it seemed unlikely that the rogue would be too concerned with conventional morality.

But for her, the paladins' code was of vital importance, defining her role, not just in the party, but in the world at large. Paladins fought injustice and the forces of evil. In return, they made sacrifices for the greater good. But that small voice of regret still said that she would like to know Larinor better, as more than just a friend. She was, after all, a woman, with a woman's desires, no matter the outer mask she showed to the world. Who could not fail to be attracted to man so handsome and so honourable, she thought? But she would not be who she was if she could not suppress those thoughts and turn her mind to higher things. Honour was, after all, often about making personal sacrifices...

Father Hemboldt, the young cleric, she knew less well, as he had only been ordained a couple of years before. But if he was a close friend of Larinor's, he had to be a brave and upstanding member of the church, something he had never given her cause to doubt. At this formal occasion, he wore the robes of his rank, the sword and helm emblem of Pardror prominent above his heart.

The final member of the trio she had first met when she invited the other two down to the villa a few nights ago. Ansreal was Larinor's latest squire, a young elven woman yet to take her vows as a full paladin. It was fairly unusual for elves to take such a path, but it was by no means unknown, for their kind had important traditions of chivalry, if not necessarily of constancy. She hoped the young woman had the strength for the path ahead, but trusted to the others to guide her properly.

"Tarissa!" said Larinor, smiling, "I am glad to see you could make it. You said when we last met that there was some matter coming up that might return you to the adventurers' path soon?"

"Yes, that is still true," she conceded, as they walked together into the palace, Father Hemboldt showing their invitation to the guards, "but I am afraid that I cannot talk further about it here. Although I can tell you that we may need your assistance in time. I wish I did not have to be so discrete, but this is really not the place."

He nodded, although clearly he did not quite understand. It seemed, however, that he at least trusted her judgement, and that would have to be enough for now.

Inside, there were a number of guests milling in the hall, as musicians played in the background, and servants bustled about with food and drinks. Such receptions were common place, for the Emir wanted to show off his influence to the other nobles and senior officials of the city as often as possible. This one was in honour of some dignitary or other from the Jalibian Confederation to the north, but it seemed that almost any excuse would do.

Indeed, there were certainly a number of Jalibians among the guests, easily distinguished from the locals, and even those guests from the neighbouring cities, by their ebony skin and tightly curled hair. Like everyone else here, they wore their best finery, and she suspected their business here was mainly trade, for the Jalibians were wealthy, and the extent of the wild lands between their home and Haredil meant that they had few things to quarrel over.

"Ah, a priest of Pardror! It is good to see that such people are honoured here," said a nearby voice. Tarissa turned to see a Jalabian man, white teeth smiling, and beckoning Father Hemboldt over.

"We work hard here for the cause of honour and chivalry," agreed the priest, as they headed over to join the knot of people already chatting with the visitor. "It is a battle that needs fighting the world over."

The two paladins and their squire joined the group, and there were soon introductions all round. The Jalabian man with an interest in Pardror was a merchant named Tolamb, middle-aged and a little portly. He was accompanied by a man who could only be a bodyguard, over six feet tall, and with bulging muscles on his bare arms. There were two locals with them; a balding merchant who Tarissa knew only vaguely, and a young woman named Quintillia, who she knew to be a member of one of the noble houses. 

There was a third local, too, a younger man that she did not recognise, but it was unclear whether he was truly in the group or not, for he hung back from the others, lounging against a trestle table, and knocking back a flagon of wine. He already looked slightly drunk, and it was still early in the evening. Tarissa looked at him disapprovingly, but he did not seem to notice, his gaze instead being focussed on the curve of Quintillia's ass.

"So you are paladins?" asked Tolamb, "I have not been to Haredil before, and I know your customs are different to ours. I have heard of paladins... they are much like our own Leopard Warriors, I believe?"

"From what I understand," said Hemboldt, "that is correct. Paladins are holy warriors, able to bring the light of Pardror into people's lives, and I gather that your Leopard Warriors are different only in a few of their customs."

"I had heard that there were few female knights in Haredil, but I see this is not so," said Tolamb, bowing slightly to Tarissa. "Or is it that you are a visitor here yourself?"

"I was born further south," admitted Tarissa. She knew that her blonde hair and blue eyes were not those of Haredil native, although the truth was that city was a cosmopolitan one, with a very mixed population. "But Haredil is a free city, and there are many female warriors. I have lived here for many years, and it is perhaps not as unusual as you have been led to believe."

At that, the tipsy young man seemed to perk up, perhaps not having noticed before that there was another woman with the group. He looked in her direction, making little attempt to hide the fact that he was mentally undressing her. She glared back at him, but it seemed that he did not much like what he saw, and turned his attention back to Quintillia. The young noble was raven-haired and slender, and perhaps that was more to his taste.

Tolomb, fortunately, did not seem to have noticed her glare, or, if he did, was too polite to mention it. He continued smoothly with his conversation, "women may become warriors in my home, too, although it is not so common as with men. If one hears the call, it should not be ignored."

"But it is," broke in Quintillia, speaking for the first time, "a little unseemly for a woman to fight is it not?" Her aristocratic tones were unmistakable, and her expression haughty. She was evidently a person who spent a lot of time looking down on those of lower station than herself. "Fighting and aggression are surely the purview of men? Not, of course," she added hurriedly, "that it is quite the same with paladins... their vows put them a cut above the common warrior. But for regular soldiers? It seems inappropriate to me."

"In my homeland..." began Tolomb, but before he could finish, the drunken young man rudely butted in.

"Oh, they don't have Pardror in Jalabia, too?" he said, a tone of evident disgust in his voice. "He is so terribly boring. All 'you can't do this', and 'you can't do that'... one wonders how they ever manage to breed. If one has soldiers, one hardly needs paladins! Let them stay out in the wilds, if they must, with the rangers. At least then, they won't bother anyone."

Everyone turned to look at him, and it actually seemed that Tolomb was the angriest of the group, more offended for his guests than they were for themselves. But, surprisingly, it was Quintillia who spoke first, staring down her nose at the young man.

"I am hardly surprised that you have so little understanding of the importance of honour," she said, "And I rather think the wine is going to your head, Astelan. I really can't say what has got into you lately, but if the worship of Pardror so offends you, perhaps you should find somewhere else to drink?"

"I'm fine where I am," he said, his eyes fixed firmly on her breasts, and not glancing up at all her face.

"No, I do not think so" said the bodyguard, stepping forward as he did so. His accent was thick, much stronger than Tolomb's, but he managed to fill the monosyllabic sentence with a degree of menace.

"Or what?" said Astelan with derision. "I have every right to be where I wish."

The bodyguard took another step forward, and Larinor started to say something to try and defuse the situation. But, at that moment, another man stepped over and grabbed Astelan's arm, whispering something in his ear. The young man glared at him, and looked about to protest, but the newcomer looked insistent, and pulled him away from the table.

"I am sorry for that," said the man, "I will ensure he does not trouble you again." Tarissa recognised him as a wizard by the name of Valmor, someone high up in the College. Perhaps Almandar and Calleslyn knew him. Either way, he was soon gone, and they were able to return to more polite conversation.

──◊──

"Have you seen Quintillia anywhere?"

The questioner was a noble from the same house as the young woman. An uncle or some such, Tarissa thought. She confessed that she had not seen the aristocrat for some time, although they had been talking earlier.

"It is most vexatious," continued the nobleman, "I just cannot find her anywhere..."

Tarissa sighed. "I could look to see if she is powdering her nose," she offered. The man did seem to be quite flustered, although she did not see how there could be a real problem, not here in the palace. From what she knew of Quintillia, she was quite independently minded, but not the sort to do anything untoward or foolish.

Making her excuses to the menfolk, she headed to the back corridors, and soon satisfied herself that the missing noblewoman was not there. She was just about to head back and tell the relative as much, when she heard a crash from down a side corridor. Nobody seemed to be there, including guards designed to keep people out -- as there naturally were in many of the more private areas -- and she frowned, suddenly suspicious.

She took a few steps down the corridor, but there was nothing to see save doors leading off, and the occasional vase or other decoration. "Is anybody there?" she called out.

This time there was no mistaking the sound. In response to her call, there was a muffled scream from behind one of the doors. Someone was clearly in distress. Tarissa instinctively reached for her sword, before remembering that she was, of course, not carrying any weapons. Silently cursing, she reached for the door, and tried to open it.

It would not budge, but the way it moved suggested to her that it was not locked, but rather that some magic spell had been used to seal it. She had encountered such things on her adventuring career, and the subtle way that they fixed the door to the frame was quite distinct from the action of a simple lock.

There appeared to be some sounds of struggle from within, but no further words. Resigning herself to the need, Tarissa took a few steps back and shoulder-charged the door. On the second attempt, it gave, crashing open to reveal a small drawing room beyond, and the presence of both Quntillia and the drunken young man from earlier, Astelan. A chair lay on its side, evidently the source of the sound she had heard earlier.

Astelan was holding the noblewoman up against one wall, one hand over her mouth, and the other holding a flailing arm. His trews were around his ankles, and Quintillia's dress was torn open across the top, exposing a naked breast. Her carefully coiffured hair was mussed, and it was very clear from her terrified expression and the tears starting to form in her eyes that she was anything but a willing participant in the act. Fortunately, her skirts were still in place, so Astelan had obviously not got far.

He turned to look at Tarissa as she entered the room, his face leering, and his hard-on jutting out from beneath his shirt. "Come to join us?" he said, "a bit meaty for me, but you've got nice tits, and I reckon I could still do you after I've fucked this little bitch."

The paladin took a couple of steps across the room and smashed him in the face with her fist.

Astelan dropped like a stone, falling hard against the floor, his cock rapidly softening. Quintillia back off, sobbing, and trying to cover her modesty with the shreds of her dress. Shaking his head to clear it, Astelan tried to rise to a sitting position, and glared angrily at the paladin, blood starting to drip from his lip.

"How dare you..." he began, and that instant Tarissa sensed it. There was a demonic presence here, something her paladin's powers could detect. Somehow, Astelan was possessed. Perhaps she had not sensed it earlier because the presence was not so strong and active then, since she doubted it could be something that had only just happened. As she stood there, her fists ready in case he tried anything else, her thoughts went back to what Almandar and Calleslyn had discovered.

A rise of demonic possessions in the city. Was it starting now?

There was a hubbub behind her. Her smashing the door open had evidently alerted other guests, and now they were beginning to flock down the little corridor, curious and alarmed. As they gathered in the doorway and took in the tableau, there were gasps of horror. Given Quintillia's state there could be little doubt about what had happened, and it seemed that nobody believed the gabbled excuses that Astelan was beginning to offer even now.

The influence of Quintillia's family would see to it that this was one less possessed man on the streets. Likely, the demon would soon leave, unable to fulfil its desires from within a prison cell. But how many more were there out there?

As palace guards entered the room to grab a protesting Astelan, Tarissa saw Valmor out in the corridor, behind the others. He looked disappointed, but not, she would have said, shocked...



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 13



The rosy dawn light outside could barely penetrate the thick curtain that Zarenis had placed over the window to her one-room garret apartment. For her, whenever possible, the day was a time for sleeping. She pulled the thin sheets around her body, resting her head on the pillow and closing her eyes to shut out the view of the little room.

One day, perhaps, she could live somewhere better, but for now this dismal little hole would have to suffice. She spent as little time here as she could, using it only for sleeping and washing. And for now, after a long night of activity, sleep was all she required.

It came quickly, enfolding her in its peaceful arms. And soon, Zarenis began to dream...

The city was spread out below her, stars twinkling in a night sky above. She seemed to be flying, a cool breeze ruffling her hair as the city slowly moved by beneath. She was fully dressed, she realised, not in the sleeveless nightdress that she had worn to bed.

There was something odd about that, wasn't there? Before her train of thought could follow that idea, she noticed something else strange: the city was not quite right. Some of the buildings were different, with less stories or newer roofs. In fact, newer seemed to be the right word... this was the city as it might have been years ago. Quite when, she had no idea, but supposed that it must have been before she was born.

How strange... and yet, now, she seemed to be flying towards one building in particular, in a moderately well-to-do part of town, but nothing out of the ordinary. She moved her arms, trying to bank like a bird might, but it made no difference. The house was coming closer, and she was gliding downwards, towards the empty streets. 

A solid wall rushed towards her, and she tried again to move out of the way, but there was nothing to gain purchase on... She closed her eyes, tensing up for the impact, but all that happened was that the breeze suddenly stopped. She opened her eyes again, and now she was inside what appeared to be a cellar, her feet slowly dipping towards the floor. She felt the cool stone beneath her toes... hadn't she been wearing boots a moment before? She wasn't now.

Looking around, she saw that the cellar was a large one, and it was not unoccupied. Against one wall stood a set of shelves filled with scrolls and bottles. There was a table too, with a large candelabrum on it, the candles lighting the room, although her own demon-tainted night vision let her see more of it than most humans would. One area of the floor was covered with a large, circular mattress, strewn with pillows and soft sheets. It was large enough for three or four people, she thought.

But it was to the woman that her eyes were immediately drawn. She was blonde and pale-skinned, no more than thirty years of age. She wore a white dress, barely more than a shift really, sleeveless, and cut down in a low V at the front, showing off an ample cleavage. The hem reached to about mid-thigh, gathered up by a thin black cord around her waist. She was wearing nothing else save a gold-and-green pendant about her neck, and she was kneeling on the floor, looking towards the centre of the room. She appeared to have no idea that Zarenis was there, and the tiefling got the distinct impression that, even if she moved, the woman would not see or hear her.

The floor in front of the woman was bare, and painted with a large circle, decorated with runes. Five cups stood around it at regular intervals, each filled with some dark liquid. Zarenis had not seen a summoning circle before, but she knew what one was. The woman, she realised, was chanting, and tendrils of smoke were beginning to form at the heart of the circle.

Zarenis reached for her knife, only to realise that it was not there. Her cloak had gone too, although otherwise, she was fully dressed. She felt a stab of fear... something was very wrong here. The dream seemed too vivid, too strange, and unlike any other she had had recently.

Wait... how did she know that? It was rarely that she could think so clearly while dreaming, or realise that this was, in fact, a dream. It was as if she was watching something, a spectator, but not a participant. No, this did not feel like a regular dream at all, and, for that, she had no explanation.

Her eyes remained fixed on the smoke now rising in ever greater quantities from the circle. Somehow, it vanished before it reached the ceiling, so that the room itself was not full of it. But, within the circle, it was becoming denser, and thicker. Until at last, a figure stepped out of the cloud, which rapidly dwindled to nothing behind it.

The thing was undoubtedly a demon. It was generally human in form, more so than many that she had heard of. It's skin was a dark, almost lustrous red, and it had a long, black tail, and bat-like wings that sprouted from its shoulders. It's lower legs, she saw, were scaly, ending in grasping claws like those of a bird. 

The demon's face was cruel and bearded, with long black hair draped about its shoulders, and great curved horns like those of a ram. It had bright yellow eyes, with dark slits for pupils, like those of a cat, but they seemed no more able to see her than those of the woman who had summoned it. The monster wore little, only a loin cloth with a short apron hanging from a belt made of iron pieces, and two dark leather straps running in an X across its chest and back. They looked like something that might hold weapons or tools, but at the moment they were empty.

The demon looked about itself, but soon seemed to lose interest in the room, its yellow eyes focussing on the woman kneeling before it.

"Why have you summoned me?" it growled, its voice a gravelly baritone. Wisps of steam seemed to puff from its mouth as it spoke, and it flexed its clawed hands, as if in anticipation of violence.

Disarmed and largely helpless, Zarenis tried to move towards the door she could see on the far side of the basement room, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to budge so much as an inch.

"Who should I kill, or lay waste?" continued the demon, "on whom shall I visit doom? Or shall you ask me questions to further your own power? Command me, witch, and I shall do your bidding." It did not, Zarenis thought, seem happy about the prospect; doubtless it hated to be in a human's thrall.

"I care for none of that," replied the woman, "at least not now. I have summoned you for a different purpose."

"Then name it!" snapped the beast, it's eyes glaring.

"You must remain here and obey me until the dawn?" The creature nodded. "Good. Then use that time to fuck me, to make me come over and over. I want you to give me the best and longest fuck of my life."

The demon's expression changed as she spoke. It no longer looked angry, but eager, grinning wide to show sharp and pointed teeth. It let out a wordless rumbling sound from deep in its throat, and stepped forward across the circle towards the kneeling witch. 

"That, I can oblige," it said, as the woman reached for its belt, undoing the straps that held its meagre clothing.

The few pieces of leather fell to the floor, until the demon was standing entirely naked, its stiff penis thrust towards the woman's face. It's balls, Zarenis saw, were large and hairy, and its cock a full eight or nine inches in length. That penis was ridged, with ribbed protrusions running along its length, lacking any foreskin, with a dark purple head already swollen and engorged, and slightly more pointed than that of a human.

The woman wrapped her hand around it, stroking it up and down, apparently savouring the feel of the ridges. Then she opened her mouth and swallowed it, sucking it as far in as she could. One hand reached up to cup the creature's balls, fondling and scratching them with her nails. The demon threw its head back, letting out a long sigh that made more tendrils of steam rise into the basement air.

Zarenis found she could not even turn away now, and her eyes would not close. There was nothing she could do but watch the debauched act unfolding before her. The whole thing made no sense. Had her recent visit to Lady Amloth, and subsequently to the house with the noisy woman having sex both somehow affected her subconscious thoughts? She did not believe so -- her instincts told her that something else was going on here, and she was frustrated that she did not know what it was.

For now, though, all she could do was watch.

The mystery woman released the demon's cock, and stood up; the creature was a good six or so inches taller than she. It looked her over, evidently liking what it saw, and then grabbed a handful of her flimsy dress, ripping it from her body with a single, sudden movement, and casting it carelessly aside.

The witch turned away, and lay down on her back on the large mattress, her legs spread wide. "Lick me!" she said, "I command it."

The demon, it seemed, needed no command, for it strode across the room -- evidently no longer constrained by the circle, and knelt down beside its mistress. It opened its mouth, flicking out a long forked tongue, and used it to lick the woman from her collar bone, over her chin and up to her nose.

As it did so, Zarenis felt a tingling in her own face, and a sudden feeling of warmth there. It was slight, nothing as to what the woman had to be feeling, but it made her feel uncomfortable nonetheless. The dream, it seemed, was getting stranger.

The demon turned its attentions lower, using its long tongue to slobber over the woman's chest and breasts, flicking the forked tip against her nipples, and making her cry out in pleasure. The feeling on Zarenis' body moved lower, too, and she found herself wriggling to try and avoid it. All to no avail, and her bare feet remained firmly fixed to the floor.

The demon's tongue traced its way across the witch's belly, little puffs of steam rising as it did so. They could not, Zarenis supposed, be as scalding hot as they looked, although they must surely have been warmer than any human breath. At last the demon reached its prize, at first flicking the stranger's pussy lips as it had her nipples, making her squirm and gyrate her hips.

The woman, whoever she was, was clearly deeply turned on, her face flushed, alternately biting her lower lip and panting, occasionally making a muted whimper. "Lick me, lick me..." she said, and the creature obliged.

The witch writhed against the sheets as the demon probed its long, slippery tongue into every crevice of her cunt and ass. She was gasping and moaning out loud now, as one hand reached towards the monster's head, feeling its heavy horns. Warmth spread between Zarenis' own hips, and the tingling became sexual in a way that she knew it should not.

[Elsewhere, in the waking world, Zarenis tossed and turned in her bed, rucking the sheets, sweat starting to bed her brow.]

The witch cried out as her first orgasm hit her, her hips bucking against the demon's head. The sexual burst that hit Zarenis was less intense, well short of climax, but enough to make her feel moist between the legs. She cursed it silently, suspecting that it could not yet be over.

The demon released its mistress, and sat back on its haunches. "Your tongue is pretty good," said the witch, "but what about your cock?"

The demon grinned, and lifted the woman up by her hips, so that she was resting on her arms and shoulders, her legs against its chest. "Fuck me," she commanded, "fuck me now."

With a hard thrust, the demon was inside, and both partners shouted in sudden pleasure. The demon began pumping vigorously, its buttocks pumping and its black tail slapping rhythmically against the mattress. The woman wrapped her legs around its back, forcing the engorged and ribbed cock further into her cunt, crying out again and again. She grabbed one of her nipples, tweaking it, and the demon took the hint, using its own clawed hands to massage her breasts as it continued to fuck her.

The tingling feeling was spreading now, and Zarenis could do nothing to stop it. It was not overwhelming, not doing to her anything like what the feel of hard demonic cock was evidently doing to the mystery woman, but there was no way to ignore it. Despite her heritage, she had no kink towards demons, and some outside force surely had to be responsible. But what, and how?

[In the waking world, Zarenis was squirming under the sheets, kicking them as they rubbed against her nightdress, and slight whimpers of distress passed her lips. But there was no one nearby to hear them.]

Zarenis realised with shock that, in the dream, her leather garments had now gone the way of her boots and cloak. She was dressed now in her nightdress, a short-sleeved shift that came to just above her knees. The hot air of the room, warmed by passion and the heat of an infernal being, was now brushing against her bare calves and arms.

The witch cried out in her second climax of the night, but the demon had not finished, and continued pumping, its thrusts becoming quicker now, its breath harsher. Zarenis could see its eyes beginning to glow, shining with a yellow internal light, as the glee spread across its face.

"Pull out!" commanded the woman suddenly.

With an angry snarl, the demon did so, unable to resist its mistress's command on what must have been the first occasion it had wished to do so. The woman, still resting on its hips, reached up to squeeze the head of its cock, rubbing and teasing it.

The demon roared as it came, its eyes flaring brightly before fading to their usual colour. The stream of sperm shot out and sprayed across it's partner's breasts, once, and then a second time. Even after that, drops of white fluid still dribbled from the tip, splashing onto her belly; it had surely produced more than any human man, and sprayed it further, too.

Zarenis was at least glad that it was over, and that the feeling was already fading from her body. She masturbated sometimes, of course, and was no stranger to sexual feelings. But this had come from outside... not a rape, perhaps, but an unwelcome intrusion all the same.

Meanwhile, the demon was glaring down at the woman, drops and streams of its semen still adorning her flushed and sweating body.

"You think I'm ignorant?" the woman asked it. "A demonic fuck is far more likely to end in pregnancy than one with a human partner. And I do not intend to bring a tiefling into this world."

So the woman had more sense than her own great-grandmother, Zarenis thought wryly. But the dream, unfortunately, showed no sign of ending.

The woman slid back from the demon's embrace, and reached across to grab its cock, which was barely less erect than before. "Of course, I can still do... this," she said, sucking him once again, and licking the last drops of semen from the tip. "Mmm... slightly tangy. Why don't you have a taste?" she added, releasing him, and presenting her sperm-spattered breasts to his waiting tongue.

When they had finished, she rolled over onto her front, pushing her hips into the air, and spreading her pussy lips. "I'm ready again, and I'm sure you are," she told it.

The woman moaned as the demon penetrated her again, and rubbed her breasts against the silk sheets. Zarenis still had no idea who she was, nor why she was seeing this scene. There had to be some point to it, surely, but so far there was no hint as to what it might be.

The demon slid its hand down the witch's back, lightly scratching her with its long nails. It moved the hand slowly up to her head, pressing her mouth into a pillow, while still allowing her to breath. Muffled cries of pleasure came from the pillow as the demon gently squeezed her neck, all the while slowly sliding its ribbed cock in and out of her pussy.

[Zarenis had all but kicked the sheets of her bed now, her head shaking from side to side in her sleep, her nightdress sticking to her sweaty body.]

The demon's eyes began to glow, but the woman, from her position, could not see them. It didn't matter, because the demon growled, "I am nearly there..." blowing out another wisp of steam from its mouth.

The woman's eyes widened, and she struggled, trying to shout something. But her mouth was still pressed firmly into the pillow, and nothing came out but muffled sounds. The demon grinned wider than ever before as its thrusts became ever more energetic.

"Here it comes..." the creature growled, before letting out a shout of triumph and releasing the witch's head as it came into her cunt. 

Perhaps the temporary panic had heightened her excitement, for the witch evidently climaxed at the same time as her infernal partner. The demon continued to hold onto her, apparently shooting load after load into her, as both their bodies shook with the force of their passion.

At last, the demon pulled out. The woman's hips were mired with its sticky semen as she turned over to face its wickedly grinning visage.

"You bastard..." she managed, just before it came for one last time, shooting straight into her face.

The demon laughed, a deep bass rumble. "You thought you could cheat me?" it said. "You shall deliver a tiefling, and be the mother to a line of them. And one shall perform a great deed some day, to further the powers of Hell."

The realisation hit Zarenis with full force. Now she knew what this was about... if not why she had been shown this, or how. But she knew who the woman was, the thought left her cold."Perhaps I should go now," said the demon.

The woman wiped away the drops from her cheeks, and absent-mindedly sucked the sticky finger. Her anger seemed already to have faded. "No," she said, a half-grin twisting her lips, "you are here until dawn, and what is done is done. I might as well get my money's worth while I have the time. You have only made me come three times... I am sure you can do more."

Mercifully, the scene faded then. The room changed to one much smaller. In it was a cot, holding a baby. A horned and tailed baby, with tiny bat-wings.

Another room, and a young tiefling man was chained to a bed, wearing nothing but ragged trews. It did not take much to recognise him as the baby grown up. He did not look happy.

The same room again, and the tiefling man was forcing himself on a woman, taking her urgently from behind. It was impossible to tell how willing the woman was, from the brief glimpse. At least, she did not appear to be crying.

Another room, and another baby, this one less demonic than its sire, though its eyes were blood-red, and its horns still visible. From beneath the floor came the sound of a giant heartbeat. There was something there, she realised... something beneath the city. Something waiting, very patiently indeed.

And then someone she recognised, someone she had known she would see. It was the second baby grown up; her own father, as she remembered him, banging his fist on a table and shouting angrily about something or other. Somewhere in the corner, a five-year old girl sat with her arms around her knees, looking glumly down at the floor. A little girl with garnet eyes and tiny horns.

And then she awoke, sitting bolt upright in her bed. It wanted her to do something, she knew, and it had reminded her of her heritage for that reason. But what it wanted, or even what it was, she still did not know.

She had a feeling she would find out soon enough. 



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 14



Vardala had been in something of quandary since it became clear that the adventurers would be exploring the passages beneath the city. The magical eye that she had found on their last expedition could prove tremendously useful now. It would give her a perfect opportunity to scout ahead, and see exactly what was down there without actually visiting herself. The problem was, of course, that nobody knew she had it.

She regretted now, more than ever, not having simply shown it to the others, and hoped to gain it as part of the group treasure. She had, in a way, betrayed her companions. And for what? To secretly catch a glimpse of Horvan's naked body without him realising. Might she have somehow achieved that, even if they had known she had the eye? It was not, in retrospect, as if they would have thought she would use it for that sort of thing.

It had seemed a good idea at the time, but once she had really thought it through and realised her mistake, it was too late to go back on it. And here she was, with a magic item that could really help her companions, and no way of admitting to them that that was the case. She still did not know how she would resolve that in the long run, but at least for now she had a plan that might achieve something.

She had decided to go to one of the hidden entrances herself, without the knowledge of the others, and use the eye to find out what she could. She had selected the entrance closest to the gnomish quarter of the city; not only would it give her an excuse to be there, but if she learned something useful, she might be able to pass it off as local knowledge suddenly remembered. It had to be worth a try, if nothing else.

So here she was, standing in an alleyway at the back of a tavern, looking about for the entrance shown on the maps that Dolrim had acquired. Even at this time of the evening, it was easy enough to spot, when you knew what you were looking for. At the side of the alley was a wooden manhole cover, a metal grill next to it, peering down into the dark. Slight wisps of steam wafted up from the grill, signs of the hot springs beneath the city. Doubtless the manhole was there because of the connection between the city's genuine sewage system and the deeper passages beneath; she would have to send the eye through the former to get to where she really wanted.

The grill was there as a drain, of course. It did not rain often in Haredil, but when it did it, it came sudden and heavy. She glanced up at the sky, which was more overcast than usual today. In fact, it looked as if one of the rare rain-bursts was on its way now - fortunately, she should be in and out before that happened.

She activated the eye, magically floating it down through the grill. As she did so, she heard a burst of laughter from the tavern... it had no rear windows, but the sound made her aware that someone might emerge from the back at any time. She moved up the alley, finding a tree that afforded her some concealment from anyone passing down the alley. It was perhaps fortunate she was on the edge of the gnomish quarter, for such trees were unlikely to be found in the human parts of the city, save along expensive boulevards. Gnomes, on the other hand, liked a touch of nature almost as much as did the elves.

Glancing around to confirm the safety of her position, she conjured up the disc of light through which she could see the eye's vision. There was, in truth, not much to see. It had floated down into a wide chamber, stone arches reaching up above to the grill, through which the only light poured. There was a small stone platform at the base, with deep grooves running down to a pool of water at one side, from which the steam was rising. Two passages led off into the darkness, but she had to admit that there was no sign of anyone having been here recently.

Suddenly, she saw another glimmer of light, from down one of the passages. It was orange, flickering like the light of a torch. There was somebody else here, and close by at that! Sewer workers, perhaps, for who else could it be? Perhaps the demon had servants, and she reflected that this was exactly the sort of thing she had been scouting to discover. She had to move the eye down that passage, or she might as well not have come.

Realising that this would take longer than she had at first realised, she glanced about again, but the alley was still empty. Good. She coaxed the eye down the passage, keeping close to the low ceiling, and heading towards the light. So far as she could tell, the passage itself was a storm drain, and not interesting in itself... but what lay beyond?

She had to turn another corner to find out, and her eyes widened in surprise at what she saw. It was a small chamber, partly natural from the looks of it, and, in the middle of it, somebody had placed a small lantern. The smoke it gave off was minimal, and probably mingled enough with the natural steam from elsewhere in the underground warren that it would not easily be noticed when it escaped to the surface. But what was so odd was that the place looked lived in, with rolls of bedding against the walls. These were no mere visitors, but short-term residents, at the very least.

Because, yes, there were people here, all of them human, and none of them, fortunately, glancing upwards as the eye floated slowly into their refuge. She kept it still, not wanting to risk detection, although the lantern cast only a little light. From that vantage point, she did her best to examine the three people in the little chamber.

One was an old woman, sitting cross-legged in front of the lantern, grey sack-cloth shrouding her skinny frame, and long tangled hair half-hiding her face. She looked like a beggar, although why even a beggar would prefer to be down here than up above was something of a mystery.

The other two were younger, a man and a woman. The man wore black clothes, and had a thin face with dark hair and a short beard. He looked, she thought, too clean to live down here all the time, and his clothes were too good to be those of a beggar. The younger woman too, did not look as if she really belonged, sitting hunched up in a corner, knees pulled up beneath her chin. Her hair was long and brown, the uncut fringe flopping down over one side of her face. Like the others, she was thin, and of small stature, although still, of course, large compared with a gnome. Her clothes too, were cheap, but clean and in good repair.

They were talking to each other, while the man and the younger woman occasionally glanced down the corridor that she had floated the eye down. Their hands fluttered as they did so, and their faces seemed full of nervous energy, as if they were agitated by something. Of course, she could not hear a word they were saying, so the conversation did not help her solve the mystery.

As she tried to make sense of things, she heard a rumble of thunder, and looked up, cursing silently, as heavy drops of rain began to fall, as if out of nowhere. Within seconds, the rain was pouring down, and even the tree was providing little shelter against the driving sheets of water. She had to pull the eye out now and run for cover, if she did not want to be completely soaked. Even that might take longer than she would like.

But just as she resolved to do so, she saw something that made her freeze, watching just a little longer. The man crouched down, onto all fours, and his body began to ripple, changing and morphing as she stared in amazement. His clothes seemed to be retreating into his flesh, somehow incorporated into the transformation as fur began to sprout along his body, and his face began to elongate.

He was shrinking too, and a tail sprouted from his buttocks. She had seen a werewolf once, out in the wilds, and she had no doubt this was something similar. But it was already clear that this man was no werewolf, for the rapidly developing features were not lupine, but rather those of a large sewer rat. Wererats! She had heard of them before, yet never encountered one -- but here they were beneath her own city!

That the others showed no surprise at the sudden change to rat form surely indicated that they were of the same stock. It somehow made sense for the older woman, although her younger companion looked too pretty to have the blood of rats in her veins. Pretty in a waif-like kind of way, admittedly, but still somewhat incongruous.

The man, now looking exactly like a slightly over-sized rat, scampered off through a small crack in the walls that she had not noticed before. Vardala realised that she had to leave now, before she was seen, and ideally before she was soaked to the skin by the downpour out here in the surface world.

Just as she moved the eye back the way it had come, another distraction reared its head -- the sound of running footsteps. She flicked her hand to make the vision from the eye vanish, and looked up to see who was coming. The eye would still float, but without the visual guidance, it would be difficult to move it back down the passage... she had learned much, but her luck was obviously not in today.

The owner of the footsteps almost threw himself into the tree beside her, glancing up at the sky above, and the raindrops that fell through the leafy branches. She reflected briefly that he did not seem much happier than she was. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given her location, her new companion was a gnome, just as she was. He was about her own height, dressed in a blue jerkin with a high collar, now darkened from the soaking he had received, and earthen-coloured trews. He had light brown hair and sideburns, and looked to be in his thirties, reasonably young for one of their race.

"Damn," he muttered, looking sideways at her, his arms wrapped around his chest, "I don't think this is going to stop any time soon, do you?"

"Err... no," she said, still trying to control the eye and get it back to the grating, which was surely now pouring with water. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, apparently noticing her distraction.

"Yes... yes, I'm fine." She could do without this now, but did not want to look too suspicious. Unfortunately, it was difficult to hold a conversation and move the eye at the same time. "I... I'm just trying to get my bearings."

"There's a tavern just over there," the gnomish man offered, "but I'm afraid it's not a very good one. Or... look, are you sure you're all right?"

"Really, yes!" she replied, and saw the eye zip up from beneath the grating at the end of the street. She turned, placing her body between the man and the tiny ball now flying towards her. Her desperation and odd behaviour had clearly not gone unnoticed.

"Look, if you need help, I can..." he paused, looking into her eyes before suddenly coming to a decision. "You know, I just live round the corner. We could make a run for it."

"You go," she said, "thanks for the offer, but you don't know me. It really wouldn't be... perhaps I'll see you round, though." She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile.

"Well... uh, fair enough, then. Perhaps I will... see you, that is." And with that, the man turned, gave a final glance in her direction, and ran out again into the pouring rain.

Vardala looked after him, pocketing the eye as she did so. He was right about the rain not stopping, and the tavern had not looked very inviting. She swore, watched the man's retreating back, and then dashed out after him. "Wait for me!"

──◊──

The gnome's name, she learned, was Fentik. He lived in a small, comfortable house that was, just as he had promised, barely more than a street away. The sight of the kitchen took her back to her own childhood, and the comforts of a gnomish home. It was cosy, with a ceiling that would have been too low for a human, and bunches of herbs hanging besides cauldrons and flagons above a large stone fireplace. Even the dark wooden table with its comfortable chairs reminded her of a safe life she had long ago left behind.

Fentik had excused himself, and left her in front of the fire to dry off. She had removed her boots, and was savouring the feel of the thick fireside rug between her bare toes. The fire blazed away, a roaring fire just lit, shedding its warmth on her sodden clothing. Flicking a strand of wet hair out of her eyes, she pulled her top off -- she was still wearing a loose shirt underneath -- and placed it on a clothes rack beside the fire.

She looked around the room again, noting the single place setting on the table. So Fentik lived alone, with no wife or girlfriend. Well, he was a young man, perhaps there would be time for that later in his life.

Her tight leather trousers were soaking, too, so she turned back to the fire, unbuckling her belt, and half pulling them over her hips before remembering where she was. She could hardly undress here, in Fentik's kitchen! What would he think, when he came back, to find herself standing by his fireplace clad only in her underwear?

She felt a warmth in the pit of her stomach at the thought, one that had nothing to do with the blazing fire in front of her. Yes, what would he think, and would she mind? She had been concentrated on Horvan for so long, that she had not looked at anyone else. Yet Horvan was unattainable, so she could hardly claim she was saving herself for him.

How long had it been since she last had sex? At night, she could stroke herself to blessed relief, but that was hardly the same as being with a real man. Perhaps she needed to get Horvan out of her mind, focus on someone who really could give her what she needed. And Fentik was a good-looking, handsome gnome. The way his wet clothes had stuck to his body showed that he was well proportioned, without a trace of fat, and his eyes were kindly, his fresh face open and friendly.

She gave a sharp intake of breath as she decided that she had to try this. Her nipples hardened at the thought, dimpling her thin under-shirt, and she felt a flush of warmth between her legs. Hurriedly, she pulled her trews down, and laid them close to the tunic.

Before she could do anything else, the door to the kitchen opened, and she looked up to see Fentik standing there, a large towel in his hand. "I brought you..." he began, and then broke off at the site of her standing there, dressed only in a thin sleeveless shirt and short panties. He swallowed, blushing slightly as he did so, and looked down at his feet -- yet not before she had seen his eyes widen with unbidden desire. "Perhaps I should just put this down, and... uh..."

He had changed his own clothes in the time he had gone, putting on a green shirt, leather waistcoat and tight tan-coloured trews. His hair was still a little wet, but otherwise he looked dry and well groomed. He had even combed his hair a little. Perhaps he had intended to come on to her a bit, although he seemed taken back to discover her already in her underwear.

"It's your house," she reminded him, "I wouldn't want to drive you out of your own kitchen. I just need to get my clothes dry."

He nodded mutely, and put the towel down at arm's length on the table, not taking a step towards her, and obviously unsure of how to act.

"I don't know about you," she said mischievously, turning her back to him in order to face the fire once more, "but that rain soaked me right through." He said nothing, and, from the sound of it, had not even moved a muscle. She smiled to herself, and added, "I hope you don't mind if I dry this, too." So saying, she pulled her shirt off, lifting it over her head to give him a good view of her bare back. Folding one arm across her breasts, she laid it beside the tunic. It wasn't really wet, but that didn't matter.

She turned back to him, the arm still in place. He was not looking at his feet any more, but his blush had only deepened. Glancing down, she could see the bulge in his trews that told her he was very definitely interested, no matter that he was trying to act otherwise.

"Why don't you come join me?" she asked, "get yourself really warm."

"I wouldn't wish to... I don't want you to think that I... it wasn't my..." He remained rooted to the spot, his words tripping over themselves. So he had thought about it, but didn't want to admit that fact; it was rather touching in a way.

Seeing that he seemed unable to decide what to do -- as if that should have been in any doubt -- she dropped the shielding arm to her side, and stepped towards him across the bare floorboards. Grabbing onto his nearest arm, she almost had to drag him forward towards the rug and the fireplace. His eyes locked onto her bare breasts, and then up to her face before he suddenly reached a decision.

Fentik took her head in his hands, and pressed his lips to hers, a long passionate kiss, their tongues twining. She pushed herself up against him, as she felt his hands fold around her back, running over the bare skin. Her cunt ached as she thought about what it would feel like to have him inside her. She slipped one hand down the inside of his trews, finding his rock hard erection, wrapping her fingers around it.

He pulled back, just for a second, almost tearing off his waistcoat and fumbling with his shirt to pull it off. She took the opportunity to remove her own panties, throwing them carelessly to one side, leaving herself naked before him.

He was still struggling with his shirt, pulling it over his head. Impatiently, she reached for the drawstring of his trews, pulling it open. Their mutual lust was animal, intense, overwhelming their senses.

She pulled him towards her again for another passionate kiss, his shirt at last free, and his trews sliding down to his knees. She used one hand to explore his back, and ran the other up over his flat belly to tickle the short hairs on his chest. It had been too long since she had felt the firm body of a young man beneath her fingertips. She savoured the smooth skin and taut muscles, teasing one of his nipples with her thumb.

His kisses travelled down her neck now, and she threw her head back to give him better access. Fentik's hands reached for her breasts, cupping them, sliding over her hard pink nipples. She murmured something encouraging, and he dipped lower, running his lips and tongue over first one side, and then the other.

"Yes... yes..." he gasped, between kissing her breasts, his hands moving down to her hips.

He seemed happy to stay there, but she wanted more. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and pressed him down, so that he dropped to his knees in front of her. With an animal moan of frustration, she pushed her hips towards his face, and moved her legs slightly apart.

He gasped out loud, swallowed audibly, and turned to look up at her, as if uncertain of what to do next. Apparently, she would have to tell him. "Lick me... lick me, Fentik."

The sound of his name seemed to galvanise him into action, and he planted a kiss on her hot lips, hesitantly flicking out his tongue to taste them. It soon became obvious that he had not done this to a woman before, so she whispered a few more words of encouragement. It did not take much, and soon she felt his tongue darting into her pussy, seeking out her clit. He moved one hand, first to grip the inside of her thigh, and then to pull her pussy slightly apart so that his tongue could get a better purchase. She moaned involuntarily as it brushed her clit, pleasure surging through her body. "Right there!" she gasped, just in case he needed further guidance, "don't stop!"

She ground her hips into Fentik's face as he continued to suck her. His free hand grasped her buttocks, helping to push her in. Her knees were going weak and she was glad for the support, especially when his other hand extended a finger to push deeper still.

Vardala closed her eyes, running a hand through his sandy hair as he brought waves of pleasure rushing through her body. She cried out wordlessly as her orgasm broke, pulling away from him at last, to fall beside him onto the rug.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 14



She lay there for a moment, catching her breath, rubbing away a drip of sweat running down into her cleavage. Fentik, she realised, was removing the last of his own clothes, unbuckling his boots with a little difficulty. Just for the moment, she did not have the energy to help.

He was breathing heavily, his face flushed, and she realised that he still needed his own release. She reached out to feel his cock again, running her fingers along its length, rubbing his balls and teasing the swollen head, feeling the dampness of his pre-cum. He mumbled something as she did so, but she could not hear what it was.

She had thought that the first orgasm had robbed her of her energy, but knew now that that wasn't the case. She wanted him inside her, and wanted it now. This was a firm, hard, gnomish cock in her hand, around three-and-a-half inches in length, not the unmanageable proportions of her dream lover, but something perfectly suited to her diminutive, three foot frame. 

She sat up and kissed Fentik again, as his hands fondled her breasts, then moved herself forward to sit in his lap, his straining cock pressed against her loins. He gasped as she lifted herself up a little, then plunged herself down, guiding him between her legs.

Goddess, it felt good to have a real warm cock there instead of her own nimble fingers! She had never truly forgotten what it was like, but the sensation was always better than the memory. Fentik's hips were grinding into hers, and she moved in response, letting them find a rhythm together. Her hard nipples pressed against his firm chest, sliding in the sweat of their mutual passion.

It felt so good, but she wanted more. Was it really the case that only thoughts of Horvan could satisfy her now? She refused to countenance that, determined to ring a second orgasm from this so very much more real lover. She leaned back, supporting herself with her arms on the rug, pulling her body down to a sharper angle, in the hope he could drive deeper, using the whole of her body to add to the force of Fentik's continued thrusts.

Her lover was gasping, breaths coming in sharp bursts, sweat beading his brow, his eyes wide with passion. He cupped one of her breasts again, gripping the nipple firmly between forefinger and thumb. He was obviously overwhelmed by her sheer passion, as if all of his fantasies had come true at once. She did not think he could last much longer.

She pulled free, giving him a chance to catch his breath, watching his pulsing cock smeared with her juices. She rolled over on her side, bracing her arms against the nearest table leg, and lifting a leg over one of his shoulders. He gazed down at her open pussy, as she silently begged him to take her again.

And take her he did, gripping onto her thigh, spreading her as wide as he could, driving his cock deeper into her than ever before. She shouted as she felt it slide home, filling her, pressing hard against her most intimate areas.

They had not spoken for a while, but now she began to cry out his name again, urging him on to still greater heights. "Yes, Fentik... I want you... Goddess, yes... harder... faster... give me everything... yes!"

Her lover's eyes were nearly popping out of their sockets, his face was red with exertion, almost unable to keep up with her desires. But somehow, he managed it, his hips and balls slapping into her as he thrust again and again, his rhythm quickening. With a final groan, he came inside her, the hot fluid flooding her cunt. She yelled, pressing her face down into the thick pile of the carpet as her second orgasm washed over her, her cunt contracting and squeezing out every last drop.

Fentik pulled out of her, collapsing onto his back, his chest heaving. She looked over at him, lying there, not quite able to believe what had just happened to him. She released the table leg, and moved up to lie beside him, resting a hand on his chest, and laying one of her thighs against his. 

But she did not want to meet his eyes, because she knew something he did not. In those last few moments, as they had both reached the heights of climax, it was not his face she had seen in her mind's eye, but Horvan's. It seemed she would not be rid of him so easily...



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 15



Almandar had been surprised to receive the letter from Ansreal, the would-be paladin that Lady Tarissa had introduced him to a while ago. In it, she had asked him to meet her at the Silver Crown inn, but not to tell the others. It was a public place, and the woman was a devotee of Pardror, god of chivalry, so there seemed no reason to suspect an ulterior motive. But if so, why the need for secrecy? He had decided to go, of course, but he could not help but wonder what it was all about.

He did not know the Silver Crown very well, although he was aware of its location within the city. It was an expensive inn, catering to wealthy merchants and the like, which he supposed suggested that Ansreal herself might be well-connected. In front of the building was an open courtyard, dotted with tables and chairs around an ornate fountain, and it was there that he found her.

She raised her arm as she saw him arrive, and he waved in acknowledgement as he stepped over to the table, noting that she was alone. She wore the same plain white dress that she had when they previously met, the hemline reaching to her ankles, and the neck open only to her collarbone. It was, he gathered, some sort of uniform, a simple and unadorned costume symbolising the purity and dedication of aspirant paladins.

Unusually for a follower of Pardror, Ansreal was, of course, an elf. Her blonde hair was cut short in a bob, exposing her pointed ears and long neck but, he suspected, chosen more for practicality than looks. Glancing her over, with a slight touch of guilt, he could not help but think that some more colourful or revealing clothes might suit her better. For she was quite attractive, certainly compared with most humans. She was a little on the skinny side, perhaps, but her lips were full, her nose dainty, and her cheekbones high. He could not see her hips clearly from this angle, but the swell of her breasts beneath the white fabric was promising... or would be, were it not for her chosen calling.

"I am glad you could come," she said, as he sat down, "would you like some white wine?" Her elven accent was not so clear as Calleslyn's, suggesting, perhaps, a longer familiarity with the Common tongue.

Almandar agreed, but then insisted on paying. It was after all, likely that he was better off than a squire of Pardror, whose funds must surely be limited until they became full paladins. 

"I confess," he said, once the drinks arrived, "that I don't quite know why I am here. Not that it isn't pleasant." He indicated the courtyard, which had only a few other people at this time of the morning, but which was already sunny and pleasingly warm. There was no sign of the rains of a few days ago, which had vanished as quickly as they normally did in Haredil.

Ansreal looked down at her hands for a moment, as if uncertain of what to say, but soon she raised them to him again. "You are an experienced adventurer," she said, "and before too long I will be initiated as a full paladin, undergoing my knighthood ceremonies. It is, as you know, an unusual path for one of my kindred. It is not that I have doubts, for I know the importance of what I am about to do... this world needs protection, and I truly believe that Pardror can provide that. But I do feel that advice would be useful. Of what it is truly like to do what we do... and I think that advice should come not just from my fellow paladins, but from an outsider with similar experience."

Almandar nodded, although it still did not fully make sense to him. It was a reasonable enough request, to be sure, but it could as easily have been asked of Calleslyn, who shared Ansreal's background, or of the both of them together. Although he could understand that she might not find the perspective of Dolrim or Vardala so relevant; neither would have much in common with an elven paladin.

"Of course," he said, taking a sip of his wine, "although I do not know how much I will be able to help. But I will tell you what I can."

"You spend a lot of time out in the wilderness, exploring ancient ruins," she began, "like that forgotten tomb you visited recently. The one with the undead... that must be a difficult life, very dangerous. You must have to rely on each other implicitly."

"Absolutely," he agreed, "there can be no room for doubt. And there is not, because we are all in the same situation. We have saved each other's lives many times over, we almost act together instinctively now. I confess that many adventurers are unsuccessful, but once you have completed a few missions, things become second nature. You know all of your companion's abilities, and how they will react in combat. I am sure you will find the same when you have served with other paladins for a while."

She nodded, "yes, I have no doubt about that. The Church of Pardror is always supportive. But it must still be frightening at times?"

"Certainly. You would not be mortal if you did not feel fear. The important thing is not to let it overwhelm you."

They continued talking in that vein for a little while, about the hardships of life in the wilds, about camping and the sharing of duties, about what it felt like to face terrible monsters. At one point, as he described a wight in what might have been a little too much detail, she shuddered slightly, and, without thinking, he reached his hand across the table to rest it on her own. As soon as he did so, he realised that it might be inappropriate, considering her vocation, but she did not flinch, or even respond. Instead, her slender hand lay there in his as they continued to talk.

He sensed that she was skirting around some more important subject, not truly getting to the real purpose of her meeting. She seemed genuinely curious, but there was something she was not asking. He studied her wide blue eyes, but there seemed no deception in them, perhaps only a little shyness. Feeling the warmth of her hand beneath his own, he wondered if she was interested in him. She had not seemed so when they last met, despite his attempts at flirting, and even now she was giving off mixed signals. Perhaps she did not truly know what she felt herself; the code of a paladin would surely conflict with the easy-going inclinations of most elves.

"What about you and Calleslyn?" she asked suddenly, just as he was about to try and probe deeper into her purpose.

"What about us?" he asked, a little puzzled.

"Well, she is... she is an attractive woman, and you are a young man. You have already said that you spend a lot of time together in the wilds, relying heavily on each other, with no friends beyond your own companions for miles. Doesn't that lead to mixed feelings? I mean, have you and she...?" she left the question dangling.

"No, we haven't," he said, honestly, sensing that this was at last close to her real question. And it might well be one that he could now see she would not want to discuss with her fellows. "And I doubt we ever will. When we first met, it might have been a different story, but we were determined to be professional, and I am glad that we were. Yes, I admit that Calleslyn is attractive; of course she is. But we have fought alongside each other for sufficiently long now that she is more like family than anything else."

"I think of her as I would of a sister. I cannot say it would be the same for everyone, but for me, that comradeship overcomes everything else. I suspect you will find the same for the paladins you work with. Once you have truly faced peril with them, fought side-by-side, you will realise that there are more important things to your relationship than physical attraction. Some adventurers marry each other, so I have heard, with love forged in the heat of battle, but your Church would not frown on that."

"Look... you have served as Sir Larinor's squire for some time. Yet I sensed nothing between the two of you when we last met. He is a handsome man, I would think, but how do you think of him?"

"You are right," admitted Ansreal, yet she did not look much more comfortable than before. "He has been like an elder brother. The training and instruction I have had, the way we work together... yes, you're right, I don't think of him in that way. You think I will be the same with other paladins?"

"I barely know you, so I cannot judge. But I see no reason why it should not be so. The fact that you are concerned about it shows that you can hold your desires in check. And you knew this when joined the Church, when you chose to become a paladin. There are sacrifices required in your vocation that I do not have to make in mine, but I believe you have the strength for them." 

He smiled, in a way that he hoped was reassuring. The young elf looked down at the table, instead of meeting his eyes. "You do not look convinced?" he asked.

"Larinor is not..." she blushed slightly, then looked up, watching him intently, pausing for a little while before continuing. "I had a dream a couple of nights ago. About Father Hemboldt."

That, Almandar recalled, was the name of the young cleric who was a friend of Larinor's. It had not occurred to him at the time that the man was particularly handsome, but perhaps the clerical robes had clouded his judgement, and he had hardly been looking much at the male visitors, in any case. He tried to think of something to say, but Ansreal continued before he could frame a response.

"We were fording a river, and we both fell in. We got out onto the bank, which proved easier than it had seemed earlier in the dream. We took of all our wet clothes, and then..." she blushed again, "I should not think of a cleric in this way!" Almandar again tried to think of a reply, but Ansreal continued talking, leaning forward and lowering her voice to almost a whisper. "We were naked, and I was on top of him, and we pleasured each other there on the grass, in the open." She shook her head, "that is why I am worried, because I know those thoughts are wrong for one of my calling. But I could not talk about it with Sir Larinor, let alone Hemboldt himself."

Almandar glanced around, suddenly acutely aware that they were sitting on a table in the sunshine, and that, while the place was hardly bustling as yet, neither were they entirely alone. Anyone could walk past at any moment, and here was Ansreal, an aspirant paladin of Pardror, talking frankly about her sexual fantasies. "I think..." he began, but again she interrupted, seemingly lost in her recollections.

"It was not the first time," she went on, "on another, I dreamt that we..."

Almandar leaned back and put his hand up, "I really think we should discuss this somewhere more private, don't you?"

The elven woman's eyes widened, and she too, leaned back, at last withdrawing her hand from beneath his. She nodded, pulling her chair back from the table rather swiftly, or so he thought. She stood up, glancing about as if nervous, although, fortunately, there was not much to see. She had been talking quietly after all, and he did not think that anyone had yet overheard.

"I have a room here at the inn. We could discuss it there. Put my mind at rest."

"That might well be wiser," he agreed, joining her as they headed to the door.

──◊──

The room was quite luxurious by the standards of an inn, reflecting the Silver Crown's high prices. There was a table, with a pitcher of wine standing on it, a rich red carpet and a wide bed close to the window. The shutters were partially drawn, but the window was north facing, and there was still enough daylight streaming through to illuminate the place. 

After she had taken a few steps inside, Ansreal stopped in her tracks, looking at the light from the window, and facing away from Almandar. He closed the door, and moved towards one of the chairs by the table, thinking to sit down.

Before he could even reach it, Ansreal suddenly spoke, still with her back to him. "I just can't do this!"

"Do what?" Her response was immediate. She turned round to face him, stepped forward, took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his lips. He was not sure what to make of it, especially given the conversation just minutes before. "I don't..." he began, before she silenced him with another kiss, sliding her tongue over his, and pressing her body against him.

He could actually feel her nipples hardening through the fabric of her dress as she wrapped her arms around him, still kissing. His own body was responding involuntarily, his cock stiffening as she ground her hips into him, but, for the moment at least, he tried to keep his hands by his side.

"I thought this was about being a paladin," he said at last, when she broke away from the kiss, and took a step back.

"I needed to know," she began, unfastening the cord around her waist, and kicking her shoes off, "how much I could resist. A handsome man, obviously interested in me," she was lifting her skirts up, revealing slender legs, and pulling the dress over her head, "alone together, knowing there was a private bedroom nearby." 

She was dressed in her shift now, dropping the dress impatiently to one side. Her nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric, tenting it as she stepped forward for another kiss, her hands fumbling with his shirt and caressing the bare skin beneath. Her passion was evident, and this time his own resistance crumbled, and he responded in kind, gripping her buttocks with one hand and her back with the other.

"I had to know how easy it would be," she confessed, "to suppress my sexual desires."

"So how is that working out for you?" he asked, running his lips over the angle of her chin and down to the side of her long neck as she ran her left hand through his hair.

"I guess we'll have to see..." she replied, dipping her other hand into the front of his trews, finding the tip of his erection.

"And Hemboldt?" he asked, as her hand slid along the shaft, and he began to help her with the fastening.

"Those are just fantasies, not reality. You are reality... so very real, right now."

He stepped back, pulling his trews down and reaching for his shoes. Ansreal took the opportunity to move towards the bed, pulling her shift over her head as she did so, and throwing it carelessly away. He followed her, removing his remaining clothes as he did so, and climbed onto the bed beside her.

She was, as he had seen before, slightly skinny, her waist remarkably narrow and her ribs clearly visible. Her breasts were small but pert, with large pink nipples projecting out like little mounds. They kissed again, hands sliding over each other's bodies, one of her legs twisting around his, pressing his erection against the cotton of the panties that were the only thing she was still wearing.

"I'm not a paladin yet," she said, as he began to kiss her chin and neck, moving down to the collarbone, and filling a hand with one of her breasts. "I can still do this... but it has been so long. I haven't even touched myself recently, even when I wanted to."

He murmured something sympathetic. It seemed she wanted to talk, but there were more important things on his mind now than keeping up his end of the conversation. She was obviously more than willing, and that was all that mattered. His kisses wandered lower, until he reached her breasts, kneading them with both hands, examining her swollen nipples. They really were quite large; not wide, but prominent and protruding, the pink aureole almost conical. 

"I think perhaps I need to remind myself of what I will be giving up... ooh, yes," she added as he squeezed one erect nipple between thumb and forefinger. "A last night of love to hold in my memory. What do you think?"

Instead of answering, he kissed one of her breasts, running his tongue over it, savouring the taste of her, feeling the shape of her taut nipple between his lips. She squirmed beneath him, her back arching slightly, pressing the breast further into his mouth. "I think that's agreement," she said, "...the other side, please."

He obliged, then moved back on the bed – it's large size was certainly helpful, and the mattress was soft and comfortable – to run his tongue down her flat belly, over her navel and towards her hips. She reached down to run her fingers through his hair again as he reached the top of her panties, and began to slide them out of the way.

She was still talking, keeping up a one-sided conversation. He wondered if a vow of silence would have been even more difficult for her than a vow of chastity, but he wasn't complaining. 

"Do you suppose Lady Tarissa is still a virgin? It's not compulsory, but I think Sir Larimor might be." She was naked now, revealing a narrow tuft of blond hair on her mound, and a moist waiting pussy, as he gently moved her slender thighs apart. He didn't answer her speculation; he knew little of Tarissa's early life, so he could not say what she might have done before her own initiation.

"Strictly speaking, it's not that we have to be chaste," she pushed his head lower, towards her groin. "it's more that... oh, goddess, that's what I've been waiting for!"

He had kissed her damp and swollen pussy lips, feeling her hips shift slightly as she moved her legs further apart to ease his access. He ran his tongue along their length, tasting her juices, then probed inside, licking at the pink folds.

"Yes..." she moaned, "that's it... does this count as praying to the goddess, I wonder? I'm supposed to follow Pardror, not Sarlene, but they are both allies. A little more... oh, that's good..."

His tongue continued to explore her cunt, lapping at her, running over her clit, making her gasp and thrust her hips forward. "I must remember that this is what I mustn't do..." she broke off to let out a mewling cry of pleasure as he sucked again, and gently slid a finger in beside his tongue, "...mustn't do once I am a full paladin. Oh, goddess! Just a little... yes... ahhh..."

She kicked a leg over his shoulder, running the heel down his back, as he parted her pussy lips a little further, finger sliding in her dampness, flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue. That left her panting, bereft of speech for at least a moment, as she held his head with one hand and rubbed her own breast with the other.

"Don't... don't make me cum just yet..." she whimpered, "lay beside me."

He left her dripping cunt and moved up to do as she asked. She moved onto her side, back towards him, and he bent to kiss the back of her neck, below the bobbed hair. Lazily, he slid a hand up her flank, running over her ribs and then cupping a breast again, softly fondling the large nipple, savouring the feel of it beneath his fingers.

"Mmm... that's nice," she said, reaching her free hand out to caress his own hip, and resting her smooth buttocks against his erection. "I've never made love to a half-elf before, but you're good. If this is my last time for a while, it will have been very much worth it." He kissed a shoulder blade, nudged his cock against her body and tweaked her nipple. "I'll just have to remember not to deliberately tempt myself again."

Her hand slid down from his hip, stroking his shaft with her small fingers. "But I really, really, do need this." She raised her leg slightly, guiding him into her, gasping in pleasure as he slid his way inside.

She moved in time with his slow thrusts, pressing her buttocks into his groin, her back against his chest. He squeezed her breast, tweaking the prominent nipple again. He kissed the side of her neck, and she reached up with her free arm, gripping his shoulder, the little fingers kneading his flesh. She was gasping, moaning, writhing her body against his, her words now limited to simple exhortations, the thread of her previous conversation now finally exhausted and overwhelmed by her mounting pleasure.

"Oh, yes!" she cried, any religious inhibitions clearly forgotten, "oh fuck, yes! Fuck me, fuck me... oh, goddess, yes! Make me cum... oh, fuck, YES!"




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 15



He pressed deeper into her, and her cries became louder, so that he began to worry about them being overheard, but if she had such reservations, they clearly did not bother her. He slipped out at one point, and she reached out for his cock, squeezing it, sliding her fingers in the slick moisture before plunging it back inside again.

She was at last speechless, but far from silent, her increasingly loud moans taking on an almost desperate, pleading, quality as his thrusts became more rapid. She was pressing her body into his as hard as she could, gripping his shoulder almost painfully. His free hand twisted her nipple, feeling its swollen hardness against his fingers.

With a long, shuddering, full-throated cry, the young elf climaxed, her yell easily drowning out his own groan as he simultaneously found release, cumming into her throbbing cunt. They lay there for a while, sweaty bodies still pressed together, catching their breath, and watching the shining sunbeam falling through the half-closed window shutters onto the carpet.

After that, Ansreal did not say anything more for quite some time.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 16



"I heard you were looking for Lady Tarissa?" asked Callelsyn, "I am afraid she is not in at the moment."

Horvan had told her of the arrival of the visitor at the villa, and was now standing a discrete distance away as she invited Ansreal inside. She had met the young elf not so long ago, of course, for a meal in the courtyard with Tarissa's other paladin friends. She herself had invited Messandra, but that had made her human lover uncomfortable. The cleric and paladin would most likely not have approved of their relationship, and Messandra has not wanted to give them any reason to suspect it, which had made things awkward. At least Ansreal would have understood... although, as a paladin in training herself, who knew what her actual attitude was?

And now here she was, stepping into the foyer of the villa, holding what appeared to be a sealed letter. She looked a little uncertain, glancing around as if looking for someone. "Is... uh..." she began, "I mean... are you on your own?"

"Apart from Horvan, here, yes," replied Calleslyn, "I don't think Tarissa will be back until this evening." It almost seemed that Ansreal was trying to avoid someone, but who that might be Calleslyn had no idea. There hadn't been any disagreements with anyone, so why should there be a problem? The elf decided that, for the time being at least, it was not an important question,

"You have a letter for Tarissa?" she prompted.

"Yes, Sir Larimor sent me. He and Father Hemboldt are busy this afternoon at the temple, so they asked me to deliver this." She held the letter out. "I was told that, if she was not here, I could give it to any one of you. I understand it is about the incident at the palace recently. Lady Tarissa told you about that?"

Calleslyn nodded. "If you are free for a while, why not come in and discuss it?" She turned to Horvan, "could you perhaps bring some wine to the lounge?" The young man nodded, and soon she was leading Ansreal through and sitting her down as she opened the letter.

She had indeed heard of the events at the palace. While Tarissa had been there someone had attempted to rape a noblewoman in one of the back rooms. The paladin had saved her, and apprehended the assailant, but worse than that, she had sensed a demonic influence over the man. It was exactly what they had feared ever since discovering the old journal at Messandra's shop. Something infernal was casting its net over the city, corrupting those it needed to achieve its long-term aims – whatever those were.

The letter explained that Larimor and Hemboldt had interrogated the would-be rapist, a young scion of the nobility named Astelan. Whatever was influencing him had left, doubtless feeling that he would no longer be any use now that he was imprisoned. He would likely be exiled, his own noble house protecting him from more serious measures, while the house he had tried to dishonour wanted him gone for good. 

The worrying thing was that Astelan did not seem to know how or when the demon had tried to take him over. Nobody in authority was willing to listen to his pleas that his actions had not been his own. Perhaps some of them were also corrupted, but it could equally well be, Hemboldt thought, that their conclusions were quite justified. Astelan had not been truly possessed, he had just heard a voice in his head that tempted him to do things.

The cleric was of the opinion that the young man could have chosen to ignore the being's blandishments and resist its urgings. That he had clearly not done so showed a weakness of character that made him at least partly responsible for what he had done. Calleslyn did not know Hemboldt that well, but the tone of the letter certainly made it seem that he had little sympathy for the youth.

"It is good that you are helping us on this," she told the young squire, "we wanted to limit the knowledge of what we were doing at first, and I suppose we still do. Who knows where this has spread? But your assistance is much appreciated, since I do not suppose any of us would have had the chance to talk to this Astelan after his arrest. But people from the temple can do this where we cannot."

"Are you planning to do something soon?" Ansreal asked, leaning forward slightly in her chair. Calleslyn noted her eager expression; this was a woman who wanted adventure and, no doubt, wanted to help defeat evil such as this. It made sense, given her calling, but she would have to be disappointed.

"We do, yes. I will leave it to Tarissa to say more, and I am sure she will... but, at the end of the day, this is something we must do on our own. These people will be watching your temple, of that you can be sure. They will already be worried at how much you might have found out from Astelan. Tarissa is a member of your temple, I know, but she is one person... once a number of you become involved, then any advantage of surprise we may still have will be gone. For the same reason that you can gain access to interview prisoners, you are also too high profile to be in on this directly."

"I am sorry," she added, "and, of course, things may yet change. No doubt we will need you again at some point. But not just yet. Adventurers can do things that you cannot."

"I suppose that is true," Ansreal conceded, "and it is more common among our people than becoming a paladin. But still not very usual... how did you become an adventurer? You are not from Haredil originally? If you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all. I am from Myaira, near the western coast," she smiled, "they were beautiful forests, a wonderful place to live."

"Oh, Myaira!" said Ansreal, in recognition, "I travelled through there on my way here, a few years ago. I am from Larelond, just to the north. Not quite as grand as Myaira, more of a frontier land, do you know it?"

After that, it somehow seemed natural to slip into Elvish, rather than the Common Tongue of the humans. Calleslyn realised how long it had been since she had a proper conversation in her native language. She had spoken Common for so long that her thoughts were almost always in that language now, and just speaking Elvish brought her memories back to her youth.

"I have heard of Larelond, yes. I have never been there, I am afraid. I imagine it must be very wild and open. Even the countryside around here is not like it was back home. But I knew I had to leave... I needed something more. At first, it was a desire to see more of the world, and to learn some of the human magic, which is why I came here. Then I met Tarissa, and the adventuring band was her idea. It just seemed to flow naturally, I never planned it as a long term career... and, by human standards, I do not suppose it will be. Some day, I shall return to the dales of Myaira, but not for a while. I have things to keep me here, for some years to come, I hope."

They talked more on the lands they had called home, of the green valleys and wooded hillsides, the clear rivers and blue skies. The wilds around Haredil had their own stark beauty, but not the verdant life of the western lands, close by the great sea. Even the towns blended in with the surrounding countryside, quiet and slow places where things took decades or centuries to change, if they ever did at all. Not at all like the bustle of humans, with their short and hurried lives.

"Living among humans is different," she said at one point, "but they are a vibrant people, and I have grown to love them. Their culture is different than ours, but it has its good points as well as its limitations. The diversity, even in this one city, can be invigorating."

"There are things I have found hard," admitted Ansreal, "restrictions that the paladins have that would seem strange to my parents or childhood friends. They stand for justice and for defending the weak, and that is why I have joined them, and I have no difficulty with most of their codes. But I have had to try and adapt to their ideas of love."

"Just recently, I spent a pleasant afternoon with..." she seemed about to say something, but visibly stopped herself before continuing, "well, let us just say that it was with a man. It is the sort of thing they would say I should avoid, yet it did not feel wrong. But I prayed afterwards, and I think I have come to an accommodation. Such things should not distract me from my path, and I should not allow myself to be seduced by those my order opposes... but I think I can do that. Perhaps I cannot resist desire itself, but I can ensure it does not lead me astray."

"Does that make sense? But it is not the sort of thing I can discuss with the clerics. Our order is not strictly speaking a celibate one, but at times it feels as if it might as well be. And the clerics are celibate, of course, so they would understand least of all. If I were to tell them some of my thoughts, they would be shocked."

"Human clerics," said Calleslyn ruefully, "yes, they can be different. Except those of Sarlene, I suppose. But otherwise, you might find that some humans are more open than you expect; they just tend to keep quiet about it."

"They must understand beauty, as we do," replied Ansreal, "The beauty of nature, of sunsets and damp woodlands, of flowers and birds. But when it comes to the beauty of a man or a woman, they must appreciate it... yet they see it as different, in some way. If I talked of the feel of a man's body, they would feel embarrassed, angry even, yet is it no different to the appreciation of our other senses."

"And if it were a woman, I spoke of... I just don't think they could understand. I hope you do not mind me saying that you are a beautiful woman, Calleslyn. But if I told someone like Father Hemboldt of the shape of your thighs, the curve of your breast, the colour of your eyes... I can't imagine what he would say. Really, I can't."

She was leaning closer as she spoke, and Calleslyn could sense the suppressed desire in her voice, could see her eyes wandering over her as they enumerated her features. The elven adventurer was not quite sure where she stood, although it was true that she, too, found the other woman attractive. 

"It is odd," she agreed, "that they do not understand that any person may feel affection for any other, regardless of their gender. But I suppose that the path of Pardror is partly about giving things up for the greater good."

"And I will have to do so," said the squire. "I will do so. With men, perhaps I can reach an understanding. But once I am a full paladin, I am resolved to forget women. That shall be my burden. Yet I hope that my deity will permit me one last night before I am fully initiated into the order. Or..." she reached out a hand, and gently touched Calleslyn's knee, running a finger along the fabric of her dress, "... one last afternoon? For the memory of past times in Larelond, and in Myaira, too?"

They leaned closer together, until Calleslyn could feel the warm breath of the elven woman on her face. The flowing cadence of elven speech seemed entrancing, bringing her memories back to earlier days, on the sun-dappled grass of her home. How could she resist? Horvan would not interrupt them, and the others would be gone for some hours to come. And Ansreal seemed full of desire, how could she deny her one last experience of something she would soon forego? There would be few enough opportunities for her after this one and before her initiation.

Their lips touched, the kiss lingering, her partner's hand running through the softness of her long hair. No, for today, she would not deny Ansreal anything.

──◊──

They kissed again, briefly, as they entered the room and closed the door behind them. Then Ansreal turned away, undoing the ties on her plain white dress. Calleslyn stepped up behind her, embracing her, pressing their bodies together, and planting another kiss on her long neck. The squire murmured something as Calleslyn moved her lips up the angle of her jaw, brushing her earlobe and tickling it with the tip of her tongue. 

She moved her hands up, feeling Ansreal's pert young breasts through the cotton. She could feel the younger woman's nipples hardening, bulging even through the material. The squire's breath quickened, but Calleslyn took a step back, releasing her, and turning her attention to removing her own dress.

She stripped down to her shift, laying the dress on the trunk by her side-table, and looked over to the bed. Ansreal was already naked, save for a brief pair of cotton panties. Calleslyn stood there, watching her for a second, feasting her eyes on the younger elf's body. Her legs and arms were slender but well formed, the curve of her slightly open thighs delightful. She was a thin woman, with a narrow waist and hips, and that long, graceful neck that she had already kissed. Her breasts were not large, yet they were still prominent against her narrow frame, the nipples large, protruding like ripe berries.

She walked slowly across to the bed, feeling the young woman's eyes on her, tracing the curves beneath her own shift. "You really are pretty," Ansreal said, "human women are missing out on so much."

"What makes you think that they are?" asked Calleslyn, sitting down on the bed, and running a hand along the outside of Ansreal's nearer thigh.

The squire's eyes widened, and not at the touch. "You mean you've..." Calleslyn gave a half-smile, raising her eyebrows, but not directly answering the question. "You have! I didn't know that they..." the light seemed to dawn on her then. "Messandra? Is that why... you and she...?"

Calleslyn leant forward, touching a hand to Ansreal's pouting lips, silencing the younger woman. "We don't need to speak of anyone else," she whispered, "not for now." She received a silent nod in response, and, moving slowly, leaned further forward to take the woman's head in her hand, pulling them gently together for another taste of those oh-so-kissable lips.

Their tongues entwined, and Ansreal's hand tenderly reached out to move across her flank. Their breasts were pressed together, separated only by the fabric of Calleslyn's shift, and she could feel her partner's swollen nipples prodding into her eager flesh. She pulled back slowly from the kiss, keeping her gaze locked on her partner's wide blue eyes, her lips still half-parted.

She trailed a finger down Ansreal's chin, making her lift it for a moment before running it down her neck, over the delicate curve of her windpipe, then lower and to the side, over her shoulders. Her partner shivered in anticipation as the finger moved slowly over the outer curve of her breasts, feeling the smooth skin there. She traced a circle, spiralling in a little closer with each movement, until she reached the sensitive skin of the squire's nipple.

"You have the most beautiful green eyes," said Ansreal, still watching her face as Calleslyn felt the smooth nub beneath her finger, so large and prominent. "And graceful fingers, too."

"Mmm hmm?" was Calleslyn's only reply as she released the tender nipple and moved the trailing finger inwards, running down between her partner's breasts and then across the concave expanse of her belly. She paused for a moment at the navel, circling and brushing it, before moving ever downwards, feeling Ansreal's body now trembling with anticipation.

Lazily, she traced it to one side, shifting her position to watch her own movements now, instead of her partner's face. She hooked one side of Ansreal's panties, pulling them down slightly over one hip, feeling the curve of it.

"Yes..." breathed the squire, "show me what else that finger can do."

Calleslyn smiled, but then moved her hand along the surface of the cotton, over the curve of her hip, down and round to where the back of her thighs met her rounded buttocks. Slowly, she moved it down over Ansreal's outer thigh, to her slender calves, admiring the shape of the young elf's legs. She reached the ankle, and ran it down the side of her feet, ending only at the tip of her toes.

"I..." began the squire, but Calleslyn made a shushing motion, and received silence in response. Ansreal's eyes were following her every movement, but she had hardly moved from her position.

Calleslyn gently raised her partner's leg, and planted a kiss just above the inner side of her ankle. Ansreal drew a long breath in response, but managed to stop herself speaking, The older elf planted a second kiss a little higher up, running her fingers across the smooth skin. Although the would-be paladin was slim, she could feel that there were muscles beneath that soft pink expanse, the result of long combat training and exercise. Yet not enough to spoil her figure, she thought as she moved her kisses further up, along the calf, around her knee, and to the soft flesh of the inner thigh.

Ansreal mewled, biting her lip to keep from speaking as the soft kisses moved ever higher up her leg. She had pulled her other thigh well apart now, baring the white material of her panties, a damp stain clearly forming on her mound. Calleslyn could smell her sex now, the fragrance unmistakable. She pulled the plain cotton to one side, kissing the inner angle of her partner's hip, then at last using both hands to pull it down, exposing the young elf's moist sex.

She had just a narrow tuft of blond hair there, otherwise smooth, but not shaved as she had heard human women did in some cultures. She blew gently onto the damp lips, drawing a passionate shudder from the other woman. She looked up, seeing Ansreal still watching her, her left hand rubbing a breast, teasing her own nipple. 

The squire gasped again as she at last planted a kiss directly upon those waiting pussy lips. Gently, she slid her tongue inside, lapping at the taste. It was too much for Ansreal, who bucked her hips, and uttered a heartfelt prayer of thanks to Sarlene. Calleslyn slid her tongue back and forth, along the length of the folds, now and then darting it between as the young elf's breath came harder and little cries escaped from her mouth.

A finger followed, sliding into the pink wetness, allowing her tongue to dive deeper and obviously engendering its own happy responses in the trainee paladin. As she reached the clit, Ansreal arched her back, whimpering as she almost came at the sensation.

But instead of urging her on to bring her to the very peak of climax, Ansreal moaned, "I want to see you – I want to see your body."

The older elf leaned back, ceasing her ministrations, and flicking back a stray blond lock that had fallen loose. "Of course," she said, reaching down to the hem of her shift. She raised it slowly, as Ansreal's eyes greedily drunk in every new inch of exposed flesh. At last, she pulled it over her head, and the younger elf reached out to touch her.

"What lovely breasts you have," said Ansreal, "not like mine."

Callesyn said nothing, simply dropping the shift by the side of the bed, and bending over to take one of her partner's nipples in her mouth. It was rounded, remarkably prominent, sweet beneath her lips, and slick beneath the wandering attentions of her tongue. "Nothing wrong there," she said, moving her attention to the other side. 

They kissed on the lips again, breasts sliding against each other, nipples touching, as the older elf slid her panties down and kicked them free. Calleslyn was on top, her partner's hands fondling her buttocks and gripping her back. She felt Ansreal move beneath her, raining kisses down her neck.

The younger elf was not so slow as she had been, eager and excited to explore Calleslyn's naked body. The adventurer raised herself up on her elbows, breasts hanging down as Ansreal reached them, passionately kissing each one in turn. "So perfect..." the squire commented, before moving down to her belly, forcing Calleslyn to raise herself up onto her knees, and move a little forward so that there was still room on the bed. The musical sound of her partner's voice, still in the enchanting tones of Elvish, was enough alone to almost drive her to distraction. 




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 16



Ansreal's tongue darted into her navel, teasing her for a few long seconds before she moved those rounded lips lower. Calleslyn moved herself further upright, pressing against the wall with one hand as the young elf reached her sex. She felt her partner's tongue dip inside, almost desperate in its passion, and let out a small groan of her own. 

Ansreal seemed no expert, and she wondered if the other elf preferred men to women – which was sometimes the way, even among her kind – or had just had little practice over the last few years. But it didn't matter, for she was certainly good enough, and was soon responding to her partner's cries, finding what she liked.

Calleslyn closed her eyes, savouring the sensation as the younger woman explored every cranny of her sex. Her clit was on fire, the passion mounting, and she found herself rocking her hips back and forth. If the squire really did prefer men, she was not showing it now, and the adventurer felt her juices flowing, a white fire rising within her loins.

She reached a sudden climax, crying out and gasping with delighted pleasure, an old Elvish blessing on her lips as the release washed over her. She lifted her legs from beneath her lover's arms, and flopped onto her back. Ansreal moved up to lie beside her, sliding her hand over her belly to caress the mound of her breasts once more.

"Try those enchanting fingers again," the squire whispered into her ear, and Calleslyn rolled over onto her side to face her.

They kissed slowly as she moved a hand over the would-be paladin's hips and down between her legs. She stroked them slowly at first, dipping in to the slick dampness. "As fresh as the touch of spring rain," said Ansreal, an Elvish saying. Calleslyn slid her finger deeper, across her partner's clit, soon sending a second to join it.

Ansreal's hips ground into her hand, and she rolled over onto her back, squirming against the sheets. The older elf did not pause in her action, keeping her hand moving in and out even as she bent down to kiss a nipple.

"Yes! Fuck me!" The cry was the more surprising for its crudity, expressed in the Common Tongue, the contrast hard against her earlier speech. 

Calleslyn moved her hand faster, sensing her partner's urgency. Her fingertip rubbed against the other elf's clit with increasing energy as Ansreal gasps became more and more desperate, her cries now wordless, yet so clearly begging.

At last, the young elf thrashed against the bed, literally screaming with passion and arching her back in the air as her cunt muscles contracted around Calleslyn's fingertips. She withdrew her hand as the other woman calmed down, watching her chest heave as she sought to regain her breath. 

She kissed her once more on each breast, and then again, longer, on her lips, before cradling her head into the crook of Ansreal's shoulder. If the squire could do this no more once she was a true paladin, at least, it seemed, she would have good memories to tide her by.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 17



The little alley was always quiet, and was even more so at this hour of the early morning, after the last of the prostitutes and drug peddlers had departed. Above, the sky was a clear dark blue, already lightening on the eastern horizon. The lesser moon was just visible above the rooftops, a small, baleful, yellowish half-disc, insignificant in the pre-dawn twilight. 

Only creatures of the night were active at such a time, but Zarenis was hardly the only such person in the city. Another was the woman she had come here to meet, Nyvara. Even so, the tiefling hoped that she had not arrived too late, for Nyvara was human, and even she had to sleep at some time.

There was only one other person in the alley, a skinny and sallow-looking woman sitting hunched on a doorstep, lank and unwashed hair framing her thin face. The stranger did not acknowledge Zarenis' presence, looking away with disinterest. It was always unwise to pay too much visible attention to passers-by in this part of the city, for few people here wanted attention.

Zarenis, with barely more than a glance at the anonymous wretch, stepped into a narrow space that ran part way between two unremarkable buildings. There were steps here, leading down to a low cellar door. She knocked, three times, and after a short wait a panel slid open and a pair of yellowish eyes stared out at her. There was a deep grunt of recognition, then the panel closed and, after the sound of some bolts being undone, the door creaked open.

She stepped quickly inside, allowing the occupant to quickly close the door again. This was only a waiting room, she knew, a small chamber with only one window -- and that permanently shuttered so it never let in any light. Beyond, a heavy black cloth covered the archway that led further down to the cellar proper. The room was lit only by a lamp, casting deep shadows, but she knew that her companion's night vision was almost as good as her own.

"She is busy," said Rolgor, in his deep gravely voice. "Visitor should finish soon. You may wait."

Rolgor was a half-orc, six and half feet tall, powerful muscles filling out clothing that looked a little small for his massive frame. His skin was greyish-green, his hair short and dark with long sideburns that would have grown into a full beard had he been human. His face was flat, with a strong jaw, brow-ridges, and lower canines that just jutted out over his lip as blunt tusks. Zarenis had no idea what orcs would make of him, but by human standards, he looked brutish and ugly.

She supposed that she should feel some sort of affinity to Nyvara's bodyguard. Like her, he was a half-breed, an outcast in human society, forced to live in the seedier parts of Haredil because of the revulsion that normal folk felt for their kind. That was why there were so few half-orcs in the city, although they were still more common than tieflings. Half-elves could be accepted in either society, but not so those who visibly carried a taint of a hostile race.

Yet the truth was, she felt no bond to the man. In almost all respects, they were too different. What success she had earned was through her wits and skill, rising through one of the few professions open to her with ruthlessness and cunning. Rolgor had instead chosen to use his fists, battering his way through life. He had no great ambition, so far as she knew, and was making a living the only way he knew how, but it meant that they had little in common beyond the unfortunate facts of their birth.

Not to mention, of course, that Zarenis rarely felt an affinity for anyone if she could help it. It was so much easier that way, without the complications of friendship and the inevitable betrayals. She was on her own, and always had been, and there was little point pretending otherwise.

She sat down in one of the chairs pushed up against the wall and waited. Rolgor stood opposite her, not sitting or even leaning against the wall, but simply standing there, brawny arms crossed, yellow eyes flicking between her and the curtain. She said nothing; Rolgor was not a great conversationalist, and Nyvara would not see her until she was ready.

She could not hear the conversation beyond the curtain, so the time dragged on in near silence and semi-darkness.

──◊──

"It has been agreed," said Valmor, "that Astelan will be sent into exile." The magician was sitting in the parlour of a woman that would have been familiar to Zarenis: Lady Amloth, the drow merchant that had hired her services.

"And the fools from the Church of Pardror had no luck interrogating him? You are sure?"

"From everything I hear -- and I hear a lot, now that we have a member in the guard. Because the Presence had already left him, he remembers nothing worthwhile. Even if they did sense the Presence within him when they arrested him, which I grant you is possible, they would have no reason to suppose it has spread elsewhere. And, so far as the authorities are concerned, he is simply using possession as an excuse to evade the full force of the law."

"He was careless," replied the merchant, "we do not want more such indiscretions, not at this early stage."

Valmor smoothed down the robes over his ample paunch, and took another sip of coffee. He might as well have been discussing the state of the cloth market or the schedule of guild meetings for all his outward demeanour showed. "We will have him killed, of course," he said, putting the coffee cup back down, "once he is a reasonable distance from the city. Make it look like bandits; it should be simple enough. But the Presence affects people in different ways, and we cannot always predict them in advance, especially as it grows. We cannot keep an eye on everyone, after all."

"No, doubtless this young man already had some attraction for his intended victim, and lacked the maturity to pick his time properly or to satisfy his desires with someone of lesser influence. We do not, I believe, have an issue with such blunders yet, but the time will come when there are so many of us that the secret will be revealed. Of course, if the Presence is powerful enough by then, it will not matter."

"That reminds me," said Amloth, with a slight smile, white teeth contrasting against the jet black of her lips, "I have been remiss as a host. This is an early hour for you, and I should be thanking you with more than just coffee." She clicked her fingers, and beckoned to the servant girl standing discretely to one side, gesturing towards Valmor.

The drow watched as the young woman stepped forward, and knelt on the rich carpet in front of the magician. Her dark hair was shoulder length, her brown eyes large and waif-like, her body slender and, as Amloth already knew, soft-skinned and supple. Although she had not been in service to her current mistress for long, it had already been long enough to know the sorts of thing that were required of her without further instruction.

Valmor eased forward in his chair as the servant lifted his robes, untying the cords of the garments that lay beneath. His cock stiffened as she ran her hands along it, rapidly reaching its fully engorged state. He looked down at her face briefly, apparently noting her good looks as she slipped his erection into her mouth.

He sighed contentedly as she went to work. "You are a most gracious host, my lady," he said, closing his eyes.

"To return to business," said Amloth, "my arrangements for the next step are already well under way."

Valmor opened his eyes again, looking towards the drow rather than to the young woman with his cock sliding in and out of her mouth. "Ah yes," he said, "my associate has made contact with Myrek, as you requested. They are, I believe, working out some details together."

"That is good," said Amloth, casually slipping a hand beneath the fabric of her dress to fondle one of her breasts as she watched the servant pleasuring her co-conspirator. Valmor's eyes widened, watching her intently -- it was clear which of the two women he was more interested in. But she, it seemed, was using that to lead him on, withholding herself as a promise of future reward.

"But I refer also to the matter of the censer. I have hired someone to obtain it for me, and I do believe we will have it in our hands soon."

"Well, that," agreed Valmor, "will greatly strengthen our position. With that in our possession... excuse me," he reached down, gripping the servant's head, making her move more quickly, his gaze all the while on Amloth. "...with that in our possession, inconveniences like Astelan will matter little. May I ask who you have hired?"

"Nobody you know," replied the drow, her free hand now stroking the inside of her thigh, knowing the effect it was having on the human. "She is very skilled, so I am told. But the important thing is that she is a tiefling."

"Half-demon?" said Valmor with surprise, "when she touches that thing, it will be interesting indeed!"

"That," said her ladyship with a smile, "is precisely the idea."

The wizard groaned as he came into the servant's mouth, gripping her hair almost painfully, holding her in position and forcing her to swallow every last drop. "And she has no idea?" he said, as he finally released the woman.

"None at all."

──◊──

Zarenis heard steps on the stairway, and then the curtain twitched, and a man stepped out. She had never seen him before, but Haredil was a large city, so there was no surprise there. Yet there seemed something strange about him, something not quite right that jarred with her senses.

He was a thin man, short and wiry, dressed entirely in black, three sheathed daggers at his belt. He had dark hair, cur short with a neatly trimmed beard, and hard eyes that she somehow doubted would be capable of pity. But none of these things seemed particularly odd, especially here. What was it about him that seemed wrong?

He glanced in her direction, and she averted her gaze, not wanting to seem too interested in the stranger. His lip curled in a slight sneer, and she wondered if he had seen the garnet colour of her eyes, deducing that she was not fully human. Although, in the dim light here, if that was genuinely true, his own eyesight could not be that of a true human, either...

Whoever and whatever he was, and whatever sense of hers it was that made him feel wrong, none of it was her concern. He had simply been here to see Nyvara, as she was, and the sorceress had many unsavoury customers. It was, after all, her stock in trade. She had not seen the man before, and would not likely do so again any time soon. Or so she believed.

After letting the stranger out onto the street and re-bolting the door, Rolgor pulled a cord close to the curtain. It was attached, Zarenis knew, to a bell in the main cellar, alerting Nyvara that another visitor was here. She waited for a while, with Rolgor still watching her, apparently waiting for some signal that his employer was available. When nothing happened after a few moments, the half-orc finally spoke.

"You go in now," he said, simply.

She stood, and pushed aside the curtain, descending the narrow flight of stone steps beyond. At the end was a second curtain, helping to muffle any sounds of conversation and prevent those in the waiting room from eavesdropping. Lifting that aside, she stepped into what might, for lack of a better word, be described as Nyvara's shop.

It was a cellar room, windowless with a vaulted stone ceiling. Tapestries decorated with arcane symbols covered one wall, likely hiding a doorway that led into private rooms beyond. Unlike the waiting room, this place had a number of lanterns in various baroque designs, flooding the room with a yellow light, although still casting dark shadows. Across the middle of the room was long, low bench, filled with magical paraphernalia, with an upholstered stool in front of it, and a larger, more imposing chair behind.

Nyvara sat in the chair, every inch the dark sorceress. Zarenis knew that she cultivated the look deliberately, knowing the importance that appearance had to some customers. She wore a long-sleeved, figure-hugging black dress with a low-cut décolletage, and a wide belt with a silver buckle shaped like a circumscribed pentagram. Her natural looks only enhanced the effect, for she had long, flowing hair, jet black in colour, contrasting against skin almost deathly pale in colour. She was slender and curvaceous, and Zarenis imagined that the eyes of many men would be drawn well below her face.

"Zarenis," said the sorceress, her voice silky, grey eyes coolly assessing her visitor, "what brings you here today?"

"I need to go somewhere that I might not be welcome," replied the tiefling, getting straight to the point. "Getting to the place I can manage, but there may be a slight obstacle in my way once I arrive. You see, the place I need to go is used by magicians, and it is likely that they will have made arrangements to prevent unwanted visitors."

"Magical servants, or warding spells?"

"Just the spells, I would expect, but there might be a number, and I do not know what kind."

"Hmm." Nyvara leaned back in her chair, tapping the table with a slender hand, fingernails clicking against the wood. Zarenis saw that she wore a signet ring in the shape of a skull. "But you can locate the spells?"

She nodded, "yes."

"So you simply need some means of bypassing them. Knowing your line of work, I would imagine that brute force is not an option?" Zarenis simply shook her head. "So... a means of dispelling magic, then. That I can provide. But I will need to know a little more."

"I will tell you what I can." The less Nyvara needed to know, the better, but would still need the woman's help,

"How many magicians? How powerful?"

"Two, and I would say... moderately skilled. Not beginners, but not masters of the guild, either. But they have wide experience, perhaps access to items that could be unusual, not commonly available."

"Adventurers," said Nyvara with a half-smile on her pale lips, "I know the type. Dangerous opponents, if they identify you."

"I intend that they will not even see me."

"Quite." The sorceress put a hand to her chin, one long finger outstretched as she thought for a while. "Yes," she said eventually, "I believe I have something that can help you. But it will not be cheap."

"Neither are my fees."

"No, I would have thought not." The sorceress stood, and stepped over to a wooden box standing on a nearby pedestal, long skirts swishing against her legs. She made a complicated gesture over the box and then opened it, using some sort of puzzle-lock, her fingers moving too swiftly for Zarenis to see from her angle.

The sorceress lifted something from the box, and closed it again before returning to her seat and placing it on the table. It was a smaller box, about ten inches long, which slid open at her touch. Inside lay a wand of lacquered wood, dull grey in colour, with swirling patterns in a darker grey decorating its surface.

"I believe this will meet your needs," she said, "allow me to explain..."

──◊──

The servant girl squatted on all fours as Valmor lifted up her skirt, and pulled down her undergarments. The planning was over for the moment, and he intended to enjoy himself a little more before leaving. His hands fondled the woman's pale buttocks and pulled her legs apart to give him a better view.

Lady Amloth looked on with slight amusement. The magician was in his forties, and noticeably overweight, unlikely to be someone that her servant would have chosen for herself. But, in her service, that sort of choice was not an option.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked, half-slipping a strap off one shoulder, revealing something of the upper curve of one jet black breast.

The magician licked his lips, his eyes now fixed on the drow, waiting for her to reveal more. She cast her own eyes downwards, looking from him to the woman positioned in front of him. "Oh," said Valmor, giving the woman's buttocks another squeeze, as if he had temporarily forgotten her, "yes, most suitable."

"By all means, tuck in," replied the merchant.

Valmor rubbed his cock, pulling his trews down with the other hand, then lifting his robes to expose more of his hairy belly. Once he was ready, he shuffled forward on his knees and pushed his growing erection into the servant's ass. The dark-haired woman let out a loud yelp of surprise, apparently having expected a different route of entry.

"Keep silent, wench!" growled the magician, slapping her angrily.

"I don't believe she has been taken that way before," commented Amloth, slipping a hand into her own panties. "But then, she has not been in my service for very long," she added, by way of an apology.

"Then it will be a new experience for her," said Valmor, this time thrusting himself inside much harder, his fat belly slapping against her violated buttocks. The woman cried out again, despite herself, earning herself another cuff.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door to the room, and it opened to reveal one of Amloth's manservants. He took no notice of the magician forcing himself on his colleague, nor of the fact that his mistress was fondling herself beneath her skirts; apparently there was nothing unusual about such things.

"Myrek and Mistress Yelvann to see you, my lady," he announced, "shall I send them in?"

"Not now!" snapped Valmor, "wait until we've..."

"Of course," Amloth interrupted him, "we were just waiting for them." The servant bowed, having paid no attention to Valmor at all. "Don't let us stop you," she told the magician, although she was already readjusting her own dress, her hands no longer wandering.

Valmor spluttered something, withdrawing from the servant. "No, no, never mind," he muttered, pulling his clothes back together. 

Shortly after, the manservant led the two visitors into the room, discretely shutting the door behind them. Valmor looked at the new arrivals with visible annoyance, turning to slight disgust as he viewed the woman. 

In truth, she was nothing much to look at, gaunt and sallow-skinned, with a dull yellowish dress and lank, unwashed hair. She was obviously enough to put him off any thoughts of sex, and many men would have agreed. She glanced down at the female servant, whose dress was still hiked up around her naked hips, and raised an eyebrow as she looked towards Valmor.

"Yes, well, never mind that! You had better have a good reason for being here, Yelvann."

"I brought Myrek, as you both asked," replied the gaunt woman, "we just had to stop off on the way here for a small purchase. All part of the plan."

The other visitor stepped forward. He was a wiry man with close-cropped hair and black clothes. Three daggers were tucked into his belt. "I have what I need," he said, simply, "and, soon, I will bring you what you need."

"Your sister?" asked Amloth.

Myrek nodded. "I will have to choose the right time. My warren has few compunctions, but we are supposed to support blood kin, so they must not find out yet. Not until the Presence is strong enough to sweep them away or subvert them."

"I understand," said the drow, "of course, that is why she will make such a good sacrificial victim. Betrayal by one's own family can be so poignant." Her voice was slightly mocking.

"And what, exactly, will happen to her?"

"You mean after you've watched my associates and I take turns fucking her until she's half-dead?"

"Yes," said Myrek, slightly impatiently, "I mean after that."

"Ah, now that," said Lady Amloth, "is where it gets really interesting..."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 18



Almandar pushed open the door to the shop, taking a step down into the cool interior. The windows were small and high up, letting light into the room but not too much heat. It would not do for the stock to spoil, after all.

Remkar was an alchemist, a man who made his living selling magical potions to those who could afford them. Naturally enough, the adventurers had, over the years, been regular customers, although his clientele also included the local military and aristocracy. Tonight, they would be planning the full details of their intended explorations beneath the city, which made this one of the last opportunities to buy some healing potions, among other supplies.

The contents of the sales room looked impressive, although Almandar was aware that they were largely for show; most of the genuinely good material was kept somewhere out back, behind locked and magically protected doors. To anyone less aware of those realities, however, this room certainly looked the part. The shelves and cabinets were stacked with bottles of all shapes and sizes, some empty, but others full of brightly coloured liquids, some of which swirled or bubbled, seemingly of their own accord. Alchemical apparatus adorned the benches on either side, stills and retorts, crucibles and braziers, and strange items of glassware whose function Almandar could only begin to guess at.

As he entered, Remkar was already in conversation with another customer. The alchemist had greying hair and a neatly trimmed, pointed beard, wearing smooth robes of white and tan. He glanced up as the magician entered the room, his dark eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Almandar," he said, "so good to see you. I will be with you in a moment."

The half-elf nodded, waiting discretely near the back of the room as the alchemist talked with his other customer. Now she, he thought to himself, was a more worthwhile sight than any of the glassware or coloured liquids in the room.

The woman was obviously Jalibian, not a native of the city. The Jalibians were a human nation to the north, beyond the wild lands, and they occasionally traded with Haredil. Even so, they were not as common a sight here as dwarves or gnomes, or even elves. It was one of the few times he had had the opportunity to really admire one of their women, and, in her case, at least, it was worth the trouble to do so.

Her clothing was predominantly white, with coloured patterns in brown and gold around the hems. The upper garment was short sleeved, and reached down to her mid-back. And, from this vantage point, it was only her back that was in view -- but that was enough to show the pleasant curves of her body through the tight clothing.

Below that upper garment, her back was bare, a slender curved waist with smooth mahogany skin free from any trace of blemishes. His eyes wandered lower, to the swell of her hips beneath the tight, knee-length skirt. Her ass was particularly impressive, flaring out from the narrow waist without being fat. As she shifted her position unconsciously, he watched her buttocks moving beneath the tight fabric, wondering what they would feel like in his hands.

His reverie was broken when Remkar turned to speak to him. If the old man had noticed how the magician had been admiring his other customer, he gave no sign of it. "Now, Almandar, what can I do for you?"

With that, the half-elf was all business. Adventuring was a serious matter, and it was important to have the right tools for the job. There was no time for distractions, even ones as shapely as the Jalibian woman now standing next to him. He mainly required healing potions, which were always in great demand among any adventuring party, but there were others that could also be of use, which Remkar might possibly have in stock. He discussed his requirements, and then the old man disappeared into the back of the shop.

"Almandar..." said the woman, "I think I have heard that name before. Is it a common one?"

If her exotic appearance had not already betrayed her foreign origins, her accent clearly did so. It was strange, distinctive, clearly different from that of the local humans, or of the elves or dwarves for that matter. 

"Not really," he said, turning to face her, "but I don't think we've met before."

She frowned slightly, as if trying to recall something. "To do with your paladins, I think... ah, Lady Tarissa? You know her, yes?"

"Yes, she is a colleague of mine," admitted Almandar, "how do you know her?"

"My father does. He is a merchant, and that is why we visit your city. Lady Tarissa was at a feast at the palace where a man was taken away. He attacked a woman, and Lady Tarissa saved her, but I was not there. My father told me about it, and he mentioned the adventurers, which means you, yes? He said the city is lucky to have such people to protect it."

Now that he could see her face to face, Almandar could more fully appreciate her looks. She was definitely an attractive woman, exotic and alluring. Her hair was cropped short, far more so than any other human woman he had seen, tight and springy, close to her skull. Her eyes were wide and dark, her face rounded with a small nose and full lips that begged to be kissed. Even so, it took a small effort of will to force his eyes to remain on that face and not obviously wander down to her shapely figure.

"Well, thank you," he said, "although I am not a paladin, and it is perhaps they who deserve more of the praise. But I do work with one, and I suppose you could say we have common cause. We do what we can, at least."

"Ashabi," she said, holding out a hand in greeting, "I am pleased to meet you, Almandar."

"And I you," he said politely, shaking her hand. She smiled as he did so, a flash of perfect white teeth against her dark skin.

At that moment, Remkar returned, carrying a tray bearing their respective purchases. It was not clear what Ashabi had bought, and he did not enquire, although the bottles looked different from his own. They discussed the price, and Almandar handed over the gold coins, glad to find that he had no trouble affording the cost. The alchemist packaged Ashabi's potions first, but she did not immediately leave when he had finished, hovering by the door as the adventurer placed his purchases safely away in a padded satchel.

As he himself turned towards the door, he fancied that he caught Ashabi's eyes flicking upwards, a slightly guilty look on her face. Had he caught her checking him out? Perhaps he had a chance... but before he could speak, she made a suggestion of her own.

"Have you eaten? If you have time, we could go to an inn. Tell me about your adventures."

"That sounds a splendid idea," he said, smiling, "my afternoon is free, so I'll be happy to join you."

The inns in the neighbourhood, not far from the Wizards' College, were among the better in the city, and it was not long before they found a comfortable one and ordered a light lunch. They talked, initially, about Haredil, and about the wild lands beyond where Almandar had undertaken many of his adventuring exploits. The region, Ashabi said, was much drier than the humid lands of Jalibia, and the vegetation less luxuriant than the green lands of her home.

As they talked, Almandar had an opportunity to admire her properly. Ashabi's taut and slender midriff was bare, although partially hidden by the table, but he could appreciate the burnished brown of her lower arms and the graceful sweep of her neck, adorned with a couple of silver necklaces tight to her throat. Lower down, her short tunic clung to the curve of her breasts, showing them to be firm and well moulded, the fabric tucked tight underneath to raise them up and emphasise their pert shape. A slit in the front of the tunic dipped over the top of her sternum, but it was not low enough to show off her cleavage.

Instead he focussed on her face, admiring those rounded lips and wide eyes. She wore golden earrings, larger than those common in Haredil, and they helped to frame her face, as a fringe might do for a woman with longer hair. He guessed that she was not much more than twenty years old, and that dark skin looked soft, flawless, and inviting.

"There are elves near Jalibia," she said at one point, "but they are very different from the ones here. They are a savage people, although there are exceptions. They do not have your pale skin, or the same... style, perhaps? They seem a different people from yours, as I am from the people of Haredil."

"I am not an elf," he said, surprised that she had not realised earlier. But then, if she was new to the area, perhaps she had seen few of his kind before. "Or at least, not pureblood. My father was an elf, but my mother was pure human, so my heritage is on both sides. And I was raised in the city, so I suppose, if anything, I have more of an affinity for my human side."

"You are half human?" she said, her eyes widening, and seemingly examining his face anew, looking for the signs of his mixed ancestry. "I did not... forgive me, I did not realise. I hope I have not offended. The elves where I live do not often meet with humans. As I said, they are a savage people."

"No offence taken," he said, waving the apology aside, "although the term 'half-human' is only common in the western forests, I think. I suppose it's not very descriptive here... I mean, we have half-orcs as well, so it's best to distinguish the two."

She shuddered slightly, "half-orcs are different." She was silent for a moment, evidently thinking of something. "I have not seen many half-elves," she said eventually, "in fact, you may be the first. Are they uncommon, or have I seen them without knowing?"

Ashabi leant forward as she spoke, resting her elbow on the table, and placing her chin on her hand. Almandar could not help noticing that the position emphasised her breasts, shifting slightly beneath the tight cloth as she moved, their swell just over the table. She caught him glancing down at them; a slight smile tweaking the corner of her mouth, an eyebrow raised a fraction. It seemed she did not mind, which was encouraging.

"No, we are not especially common," he said, "at least, not in Haredil. But then, elves are not so numerous here as dwarves and gnomes -- both of whom have their own quarters of the city, as you probably know."

"But they do not marry with humans."

"No. Of course, marriage in the human sense is not really common among elves, either, but they have... liaisons, you could say. It happens from time to time, although such mixed couples are not often blessed with children. So there are few of us here -- there are more out to the west, though, I think."

"Human and elven... liaisons?" she seemed to be testing the word, evidently one unfamiliar to her. He recalled that Common would not be her native tongue, although she had evidently learned it well. Her accent aside, she had hardly slipped in speaking it, and he had almost forgotten it would not be as familiar to her as it was to himself. "These liaisons are not a bad thing? Nobody minds here? Our elves are different, remember."

"Oh, no," he said, "not common, as I say, but not at all frowned upon." As he spoke, he felt her leg brush against his under the table. Her skirt was short, just knee-length, and her calves below that were bare, for she wore only simple sandals, laced around her ankles. He was wearing trews, of course, but he could feel the shape of her leg as she moved it along the inside of his own, her toes brushing the back of one of his calves.

"They can be most rewarding, I am told," he continued, "for which I imagine I am living proof. A meeting of different cultures, if you will." He held her gaze, her pupils dilating as he felt a stirring in his own loins. "I would think there is much to be said for cultural interchange, even between two different human cultures."

"Or human and half-elven..." she said, leaving the statement hanging. 

She lowered her hand, resting it on his. Her fingers were slender, warm, the skin soft against his. For a moment, neither of them said anything, watching each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Then they both spoke at once.

"We should..."

"We could..."

"Sorry, you were going to say?"

"You first."

"No, you first."

"I was thinking we could..."

"Different cultures?"

"Should meet, yes."

"They should, I agree."

──◊──

As soon as the door to the room was closed, she was in his arms, pressing her lips to his. Her kiss was as sensuous as he had hoped it would be, long and lingering, full lips sliding over his, tongues entwining. Ashabi's body was pressed tight against him, as his hands roamed over her body, sliding down from the tight cotton fabric of her tunic to the bare skin of her back. 

She was smooth and warm beneath his fingers, her breath hot against his face as she continued to shower him with kisses, one hand behind his head, the other wandering over his own back, fingers kneading him through the fabric of his clothes. His hands moved down to her buttocks, caressing the curve of them, squeezing them through the skirt.

He took a couple of steps towards the bed, but stopped as she raised a leg, curling it against his, rucking up the skirt to expose an expanse of mahogany thigh that his nearest hand eagerly sought, pushing the material up further as his other hand continued to fondle her rounded buttocks.

Her kisses moved downward, as she ran her lip over his chin, feeling the stubble of his beard, and forcing him to move his head back as she reached his throat. Her hands were busy, too, lifting up his shirt and sliding inside, long fingers running across his back, feeling every contour of his ribs and spine.

They remained locked in that position for a little while, savouring each other's bodies, but it was Ashabi who was the first to pull back, panting slightly as she unwound her leg from his, the skirt falling back down to her knees. Her hands had not finished their ministrations, however, running over his flanks and onto his stomach before she began to push up his shirt, already free from his trews.

He helped her discard his upper garments, casually dropping them on the floor as he moved her forward towards the bed and took her in his arms. Her hands explored his flesh again as they kissed, one moving across his chest as the other reached his hips, dipping inside the waistband of his trews.

His erection was already straining to be free, as he grabbed her ass and pressed his hips against hers, crushing their bodies together. He felt the tie of her skirt beneath his questing fingertips, undoing it so that it slid down her sheer legs onto the floor of the bedroom. With one hand he felt the skin of her thighs and the cotton of her remarkably skimpy panties, while the other moved up to her face.

She wrapped her arms around him then, as he moved his kisses over her cheek to the lobe of her ear, brushing against the gold earring there. His left hand moved over her short hair, savouring the exotic, almost woolly, texture beneath his fingertips. Ashabi's breathing was long and shallow, her chest rising and falling against his. He could feel her erect nipples through the tight fabric, pressing against his bare chest.

She pulled away briefly, sitting down on the bed before him, legs spread, and arms welcoming. Her panties were only slight little things of plain white cotton, a damp patch clearly spreading between her thighs. He moved towards her, reaching for her upper garment as her own nimble hands sought the ties on his trews.

They were falling backward onto the bed as his trews and underclothes slid free. Almandar kicked them off along with his shoes, all the while pulling Ashabi's tunic up and over her head. They were lying next to each other on the bed, kissing and embracing, lost in their mutual passion. Her full lips brushed his earlobe, feeling the pointed tip as her tongue darted out to lick it. 

He moved his attentions downwards, kissing her chin, her throat, and down over her chest. She gave a small pant of frustration as his movements meant that her hands, previously feeling his buttocks, were forced to range higher on his back, away from their evident goal. But then, as he reached her breasts, the pant changed to a murmured moan of pleasure.

Ashabi's breasts were indeed, magnificent, as promising now as they had been when imprisoned behind tight cotton clothing. They were firm and succulent, the skin inviting beneath his fingers, the nipples large and almost black in colour. She moaned again as he kissed them, her body squirming against his. His hand moved down to her stomach, finger probing her navel as her own hands riffled his hair and traced circles on his upper back.

He raised his head from her breasts to kiss her mouth once again, then her nose, then the top of her head, as she took her turn in moving downwards. It seemed she wanted to explore every inch of his body with her fingers and lips, moving down over his broad chest, and sucking briefly on his nipples before turning to his stomach, and down towards his groin.

Ashabi's hands caressed his erection, cupping his balls and running along the shaft. Her eyes were fixed on the prize, as one finger traced his foreskin. She glanced up at him, a slight quizzical smile on her face -- he wondered if the men of her people were circumcised, and if this was a new sight for her. Slowly, she peeled it back, revealing the swollen head, drops of pre-cum adorning the tip. She pressed those gorgeous lips to it, flicking it with her tongue and making him groan in anticipation.

She grinned, a flash of perfect ivory, but then released him, shifting up the bed to lie level with him once more. His hands moved across her belly, feeling the taut smoothness of her narrow waist. He moved to grip a perfect buttock, while the other hand dipped into her skimpy panties, running down over the narrow tuft of black hair.

She was damp between the legs, juices warm and sticky against his probing fingers. She broke away from a kiss to let out a moan of pure passion -- the loudest yet -- as he moved a finger inside, pressing gently against her pussy lips.

She moved suddenly to pull her panties down, giving him a better purchase as his finger continued to tease her. She moaned, pressing against him, squeezing her breasts against his chest as he continued to slide in and out, the motion easy in the slickness of her juices, brushing against her clit over and over.

At last, with a grunt of frustration, she rolled over onto her back, legs parted, and gripped his hard cock, pulling it up next to his probing hand. He was happy to oblige, sliding the finger out and moving his hand onto her hip as he manoeuvred himself on top of her. Ashabi let out a long, full-throated groan as he slowly pushed his cock into her welcoming pussy, feeling her hips grind against his in response.

She was tight, the muscles of her cunt pressing against his member as he continued to thrust into her. Her breasts squeezed against his chest, the nipples hard against his skin. Her body was writhing, legs entwining with his, hands trying to reach every part of his back and buttocks at once. They kissed briefly, mouths moving over each other, tasting the sweat of their mutual passion.

With a sudden twist, Ashabi forced him over onto his back, his cock sliding free of its pleasurable imprisonment. She raised herself up, one hand pressed against the wall by the bed, and he took the opportunity to savour the full appearance of her naked body. It was, as he had known, flawless, the smooth mahogany skin now burnished with sweat, rounded breasts heaving, hips flaring either side of that mound of pleasure, short pussy hairs pointing down like an arrow.

With her free hand, Ashabi guided him inside her again, her moan of pleasure long and throaty as she plunged him deep within the welcoming folds. She was moving rhythmically, twisting her body slightly as she did so, an almost circular motion on his cock, which already felt near to bursting. He watched her breasts bouncing as the speed of her motion increased, and found himself groaning in response to her cries.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 18



His hands moved over her body, pale skin pressing and sliding over her smooth black, the contrast somehow deeply erotic. He moved one hand up to her breast, cupping it, and then rolling the dark nipple between finger and thumb, tweaking and squeezing it until the sound of her moans grew louder. The other hand gripped her round buttocks, reinforcing their rhythm as they continued to grind into him.

She was moving faster now, eyes closed as she cried out with rising passion. His balls were slapping into her buttocks, his pale shaft thumping in and out of her tight dark cunt, juices mingling as they approached their mutual climax.

Ashabi's eyes snapped open, locking onto his as she came with a loud groaning cry. Her body spasmed against his, grinding down hard onto his hips as he finally shot his load deep into her.

For a moment, she remained in position, panting, sweat coating her perfect body, chest heaving as she struggled to regain her breath, hand pressed tightly against the wall as if it was all that was keeping her upright. The she sighed and flopped down beside him, his softening penis slowly withdrawing from her hot pussy. 

Meetings between different cultures could, indeed, be rewarding...



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 19



Messandra glanced around as she allowed Calleslyn into her home, and swiftly closed the door behind them. The human woman was still shy about their relationship, nervous about what her neighbours would think, although Calleslyn suspected that none of them even guessed anything was occurring. Thankfully, her partner's shyness was not at all apparent when they were alone together. But human cultural mores were what they were, and she supposed that they had to be respected here, in a human city.

"What do you think?" asked Messandra, raising her arms and giving a twirl to show off her new dress.

It was sky blue in colour, clinging tightly to her curves, sleeveless and almost backless, held up only by straps around the back of her neck. Calleslyn's eyes were first drawn to the long flowing skirts, swishing around as Messandra moved, and deeply slit up the right side to expose half of one shapely leg. Unbidden, a vision of those thighs tangled in her own leapt to her mind. The truth was that she had been looking forward to this evening all day, fantasising about what they would do together in bed, aching for her lover's touch.

"It looks lovely," she said, honestly, "you make me feel plain."

"You could never be plain," replied Messandra, "trust me. But I am glad you like it. Oh, and you are exactly on time – dinner is just about ready." They kissed, gentle and affectionate, even though Calleslyn's body was already demanding much more than that. She would just have to wait.

They had eaten together before, and spent evenings chatting, but always here. In elven society, back home in Myaira, they could have gone out, attended musical performances together, or just walked past the tree-houses along the riverbank, but here in Haredil, such things were not an option. It should not make a difference that both of them were women, but the truth was that it did.

And, right now, all Calleslyn could think of was getting the meal over with and unpeeling that beautiful sky blue dress. She did not think that she had ever arrived here feeling quite so full of desire before; perhaps it was because of what she would be doing over the next few days. Immanent danger inspired passion in some people, although she had not particularly felt this way before. Perhaps Messandra was different?

She sat down at the table, as her partner brought the food in from the kitchen; a simple meal of lamb and salad with a bottle of white wine. Calleslyn resisted the urge to reach out and stroke the woman's thigh as she walked by... she wasn't sure how long she could hold out, but she really ought to finish the meal first.

Even so, as Messandra sat down opposite her, across the small table, she felt the heat rising between her legs. Her partner's new dress was low cut at the front, exposing the curve of her cleavage, and tightly fitted to her waist, emphasising the swell of her full breasts – larger than those of the lithe bodies of most elves, wonderful to explore and tease. She forced her gaze higher, past the pearl pendant nestled at the base of her lover's neck, staring instead into those deep blue eyes.

"Tomorrow is the day, isn't it?" Messandra asked, "that you begin the exploration of the underground passages?"

She nodded, mentally dragging her attention back to the world outside, "at least, we make the final preparations then, so I won't have time to see you after that. But it might not be a long foray. Vardala found us a way in – something she picked up from talking to the local gnomes – but it might be that that doesn't get us all the way to what we're looking for. There could be obstacles of all kinds that we don't know about. At least the advantage of it being here in the city is that we can return at any time to re-equip, or whatever else we need to do."

"But it will be dangerous?" There was no mistaking the worried tone in her voice.

"I can't deny it," she admitted, "but this is what I do. What I have done... well, not forever, but for as long as you have known me. I am sure we will be all right, though. We are experienced, and there is only so much that can be here, directly underneath a large city." She was playing down the risks now, but they would not be doing so tomorrow; overconfidence could get an adventurer killed. And where demons were involved, there could, in fact, be almost anything.

"I know... but I still worry. I admire you for it, though. Your bravery, your knowledge of magic. It's one of the reasons I've always..." she smiled, "well, you know..."

Calleslyn nodded. It had become clear that Messandra had fantasised about her for some time before they finally got together. It was the fault of human society again, and of the fact that elves were not so common a race in Haredil as they were in some other parts of the world. Messandra had never thought that her fantasies had any chance of becoming reality, and so had always stopped herself short of broaching the question. In any elven land, such reticence would be simply incomprehensible.

But now that they were together, Messandra plainly adored her. It wasn't just the sex, amazing though that was, but just being together, an affection that went further than the mere physical. The elf felt a twinge of guilt, lowering her eyes to her plate. Messandra was monogamous, and not, she thought, through the simple absence of any other opportunity. She doubtless expected and believed the same of Calleslyn, yet that was not true.

Twice recently she had made love to other women, and she had thoroughly enjoyed both experiences. It had not been the same as with Messandra, but then every person was different, individual in their personalities and tastes, and that applied as much to their sex lives as to their more obvious choices of fashion or diet. To an elf, this was all part of the rich tapestry of the world, and few people expected anyone to stick exclusively to one partner. In that, she was as much a product of her culture as Messandra was of hers.

She did not think that her human lover would understand that, and she knew that she could not risk mentioning it. In fact, she considered that she might have to take up monogamy, to meet her partner half-way, as it were. It would not be so bad, and if she had to restrict herself to one woman, there was no other that she would rather pick. Even elves, after all, tended to stick with individual partners for long periods of time, even if they thought little of side dalliances.

The feeling that making love with a different partner might be seen as a betrayal was a new one for her, and not one she had quite come to terms with. Hopefully she would do so – one way or the other – before the question reared its head again. 

"But no," Messandra was saying, "I wouldn't ask you not to go. If you didn't, you wouldn't be you."

Calleslyn smiled, raising a hand to casually flip a fringe of hair over her shoulder, exposing her long neck and one pointed earlobe. She knew how Messandra liked to kiss that neck, and how sometimes she would rest her head in its crook as they cuddled up to sleep in post-coital bliss. She leaned back slightly in her chair, and was rewarded as the human woman's gaze visibly wandered across her face and upper body. She regretted not having worn a special dress – she would have to remember that next time.

She had, she remembered, a fine elven dress that she had not worn in years, one that covered little and would doubtless look somewhat exotic to a human observer. It was surprising she had not thought about it before, but she would enjoy seeing Messandra's reaction to it. She took a long sip of her wine as she imagined making love wearing it, the thought so powerfully erotic that she began to get damp between the legs. Yes, that was something she most certainly had to try!

They continued to talk, finishing the meal and then sharing the rest of the wine. Afterwards, Calleslyn would not remember quite what it was they had discussed, although she held up her own end of the conversation adequately enough. Inside though, all she could think about was getting Messandra out of her clothes and into her bed. Her body ached for her partner's touch, and the wetness between her legs was demanding, the passion feeling as if it had already been too long delayed. She had rarely felt like this, but tonight the desire was almost overwhelming. 

The truth was, when they had first discovered each other, that Messandra was inexperienced and unsure of quite what to do. But she had learned quickly enough, and Calleslyn had to admit that she was quite possibly the best lover she had ever had. Oddly though, it was difficult to quite put her finger on why. 

The human woman was passionate, gentle, and beautiful, but there had been others who could fit that description. Calleslyn had even made love to elven men of whom that was true, although, admittedly, she had always preferred other women. There was obviously something else about Messandra that went further than her previous partners, something she could not quite place. Was it the fact that, at times, she seemed almost innocent, that this whole thing was so much a new experience for her? Was it that she could so easily achieve multiple orgasms? Or was it, perhaps, a bonding of true friendship, something she could certainly not have shared with Shamira or Ansreal, to name just her most recent encounters? 

Somehow, she felt that the latter was the most likely explanation. Perhaps it was more than just sex; it was true love, something that, looking back, she could not say she had really felt before. The idea left her more confused than ever, not knowing quite what she did feel, or what it meant. Except that right here, right now, she wanted to make love, wanted to see and feel her partner's naked body, and to gaze into these deep blue eyes as they climaxed together.

"You've been quiet," said Messandra, "thinking about your expedition?"

"No, it's not that..."

"Or thinking about something else?" the human put her wine glass down and stood up. 

Calleslyn's eyes followed every nuance of her movement, and she wondered if she looked as begging as she felt. Messandra smiled, in that lovely, slightly shy way that she had, and the elf found herself longing to kiss those soft lips, those cheeks, that nose. Yet she could barely move from where she was sitting, her knees weak with suppressed desire.

"Here I am," said Messandra, still smiling, "wearing this bright new dress that I bought to look good for you, and all evening, you've just wanted me to take it off. I am right, aren't I?" The elf made a move to protest, thinking that the other woman might be more upset than she appeared, but she was just waved aside. "I know you, Calleslyn, and I know what you are thinking," the words were softly spoken, teasing, not angry, "all evening I could see it in your eyes... even the way you are sitting, your legs pressed together, as if you are trying to hide something. Goddess, I don't think I've seen you so horny before. And you should know that that..." she gave a slight chuckle, watching the elf's face, "...that that really turns me on."

Calleslyn made to move, hands grasping the arms of her chair to raise herself, but Messandra held out a hand, making a 'stop' motion. "Oh no," she said, "I think I'm going to make you wait just a little bit more." She raised her hands behind her head. "But this dress has done its work, I think." She undid the tie at the back, sliding her hands down over her front, so that the straps hung down, one arm holding the material up over her breasts. The other stroked down her side, ruffling the material, running over her hip to the pleats of the long skirt. Slowly, she raised her right leg, placing her foot onto the nearby chair.

The elven woman watched with mounting pleasure, resisting the impulse to throw herself at her lover, instead allowing herself to savour the striptease. Messandra's leg was free of the long slit in the skirt, bare and just inches away from her; she could so easily reach out to stroke it, but she would not. Not yet. The human woman's feet were bare too, and she had evidently removed her shoes under the table while they were drinking, already planning this out.

"It flatters me, don't you think? The dress?"

Calleslyn nodded dumbly. Indeed, no matter how much she had wished to see it gone, it was an attractive garment, and showed off just what it should. No doubt it had been chosen for exactly that reason.

"But you want to see more?" Messandra slowly peeled back the upper part of the dress, exposing one bare breast – as had already been obvious, she wore no shift beneath. The elf's breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixed on that luscious pink nipple, and the curve of that mound, so much larger than her own. Soon, the other side of the dress followed it, and Messandra slid the material down her flanks until it rested above her hips. Calleslyn's eyes followed the movement down, drinking in every inch of that waist, the fresh, concave, skin of that belly she had so often kissed. Her gaze lingered on her partner's dextrous fingers as she moved her right hand along the bare thigh, caressing herself as the elf remained motionless, entranced.

Messandra lowered her leg to the floor, and raised her arms, allowing the dress to slide suddenly off her hips, and fall to the carpet beneath her bare toes. She was dressed now only in her brief panties, a darkened spot of moisture betraying the fact that she was as ready as Calleslyn herself.

"Let's see how lucky you are tonight," said the human, dipping a finger beneath the hem of her panties. She slid her hand inside, dipping it between her legs, still concealed by the white fabric. Calleslyn swallowed, not even daring to blink as she continued to watch. "Hmm... oh, I think you may be quite lucky." She slowly removed her hand, examining the drops of moisture glistening on the tip of her index finger, and then held it out for the magician's inspection. "What do you think?"

Messandra leaned forward slightly, and pressed the damp finger against Calleslyn's slightly parted lips. Needing no encouragement, she sucked the finger, licking it gently with her tongue. As her partner slid it free again, she nodded, not wanting to say anything. Messandra took a step back, out of the dress pooled on the floor, and turned around, casually peeling off her panties as she did so, and walking towards the door that led to the bedroom.

She leaned against the frame for a minute, breasts in profile, the nipples clearly erect and begging for attention. Then she crooked her finger in a 'follow me' gesture and, with a quick grin, stepped inside.

Calleslyn exhaled, realising that she had been holding her breath for the last part of the striptease, and quickly pulled herself up out of the chair. Her knees were weak, and her hands almost shaking with anticipation as she fumbled to remove her own clothing. She could not recall anyone having affected her like this, not since she was a sapling – what would have been her teenage years had elves matured at the same rate as humans.

She almost staggered into the bedroom, still stepping out of her dress, to see Messandra already lying back on the bed, one arm behind her head and her legs slightly apart. She paused for a moment just to drink that view in... but only for a moment, before feverishly pulling off her remaining underclothes and half-falling onto the bed beside her lover.

They kissed, passionately, lips crushed against each other, tongues entwining, fingers running through each other's hair. The kiss seemed to go on and on, Calleslyn pressing herself hard against her lover's body, able at last to give vent to the feelings that had so flooded her during the evening. Eventually, they broke free, pausing to catch their breath, before Messandra pressed her lips against the elf's neck, kissing all along its slender length, from the tip of her earlobe to the top of her shoulder.

She raised her head and tilted it to one side, flipping her hair back to give Messandra the best angle that she could, stroking her hair, feeling her shoulder blades and the top of her spine. There was not a part of her lover's body that did not excite her, and she intended to explore it fully.

She kissed Messandra's earlobe, darting her tongue daintily around its edge and into its folds, feeling the round curve of it, so different to that of an elf. She moved lower, to her partner's own neck, blowing away loose strands of long hair the colour of sun-dappled sand. Then to her shoulder, savouring the shape of it, the flawless soft skin. Her lover murmured happily, holding a hand to Calleslyn's head, gently stroking her hair as she moved lower, across her chest.

Messandra's breasts were larger than those of any elf she had met, if not exceptional by human standards, and she took her time, running her fingers over them, kissing each in turn. The human woman moaned as she took a pink nipple in her mouth, sucking it gently, applying pressure while teasing the tip with her tongue. 

She felt her partner shift beneath her, pressing her thighs to either side of one of the elf's own. Slowly, her hips began to move, rubbing Calleslyn's leg against her sex, while a hand stroked her lower back. Her quiet, yet demanding cries turned louder as the elf, sensing her urgency, moved her own hand down, dipping between the sliding flesh to seek out her partner's pussy, and touch her clit.

She continued to kiss Messandra's breasts as her fingers slowly rubbed the seat of her pleasure. The human woman's body arched beneath her own, her voice now gasping, her fingers digging into the small of Calleslyn's back. She released those wonderful mounds only at the last moment, watching her partner's wide blue eyes as she gasped and heaved, crying out "oh, Calleslyn!" as the orgasm washed over her.

They kissed, briefly, and the elven woman traced her hands over her partner's upper body as she lay there, regaining her breath. She knew it would not take long for Messandra to recover; that was something she had learned very early on in their relationship. When she did, Calleslyn had an aching need of her own that needed to be filled, but for now, she was content to slowly explore the other woman's body, hands running over her belly, hips, and thighs, kissing her skin gently, taking in the smell and taste of sweat and passion.

Messandra placed a finger under Calleslyn's chin, raising it up to look into her eyes. The elven woman moved up beside her, their thighs still entangled in each other, and they kissed each other on the lips languorously, breasts pressed together. Their lips wandered, Messandra kissing her on the nose, chin, and then the throat. Calleslyn rolled over onto her back as her partner's attentions moved lower.

She closed her eyes, focussing totally on the sensations of touch, on the feel of the woman's lips on her skin. She felt Messandra caressing her breasts, teasing the nipples with her fingers, then the hot moisture of her breath as she bent to kiss them. The elf moaned quietly, shifting slightly against the sheets, and running a hand to her groin. She was so hot, shuddering with anticipation, desperately wanting this woman to bring her to the peak.

But Messandra still wanted to take her time, changing position to kiss her stomach, and run her hands over the elf's pale thighs and buttocks. Calleslyn let out a whimper of frustration, dipping her own finger onto her pussy lips, finding them even damper than she had thought. It was like a delightful torture, and felt even more so when her partner lifted her hand out of the way, preventing her from pleasuring herself.

She opened her eyes to watch Messandra gently sucking the juices from her slender fingers. The human woman smiled, still managing to look almost shy, despite what they had already shared this night. 




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 19



"I wonder how much longer you can hold out," she whispered.

"Please!" Calleslyn had not wanted to beg, but the word leapt from her lips, full of frustrated longing. She almost surprised herself with its intensity. "No more," she added, in a more normal tone of voice, "you don't know how badly I need you."

They gazed into each other's eyes for a second, gauging each other's feelings and intentions. For a moment, she thought Messandra would continue the game for just a little while longer, but instead, the other woman stroked her mound, drifting her fingers down to the elf's swollen and damp lips. Calleslyn let out a long sigh of relief, spreading her legs wide as the fingers continued their circling motion.

Messandra bent down, running her tongue the length of Calleslyn's pussy, forcing out more cries of pleasure in the process. The elf could not believe how turned on she was, how much she wanted this to continue for as long as possible. Her partner changed her position, allowing her to more easily bring her tongue to bear. They knew each other's bodies well now, each knowing exactly the kind of things the other liked, so that what her lover's tongue was now doing to her clit was driving the elf desperately close to the edge.

Yet the human woman paused, allowing her to regain her composure a little, drawing out the pleasure. Calleslyn slowly stroked her lover's calves, now close to her head because of their changed positions on the bed. Tilting her head to one side, she could see Messandra's own sex, lips pink and swollen, adorned with moisture. With a sudden grin, she grabbed onto her partner's nearer leg, lifting it over her head so that the human now sat straddled above her.

She ran the fingers of one hand through the sandy hair of her lover's groin, bringing a slight shiver of anticipation in response. Messandra needed no further invitation, lowering herself so that her pussy was pressed against Calleslyn's lips. The elf kissed her vulva, dipping her tongue into the wet folds, running it over the swollen clit.

With a moan of pleasure, Messandra returned to her own task, sucking the elf's clit, using a finger to probe around it and push further in. Calleslyn gripped the buttocks above her, continuing to lick and probe for all she was worth as she felt her own pleasure inexorably rising.

When they had first made love, it had been difficult finding a mutual rhythm. Messandra's own sexual excitement, and the newness of the experience for her, had meant that she had generally climaxed before her partner, only bringing Calleslyn with her in the afterglow. That was no longer the case. While it sometimes took little to bring her lover to orgasm, the elven woman had learned the pacing required for them both to reach that final rush together, and tonight she was putting that expertise to good use. 

Their tongues continued to probe, their slick bodies moving against each other, hard nipples pressed into bellies. It was better even than she had imagined during the day, anticipating how this night would end. Calleslyn had almost lost all control, the pleasure surging through her body as much as she could stand, and she could tell from Messandra's motions that she was in exactly the same position.

They came together, bodies bucking, cunts contracting. Calleslyn literally screamed with release, tears in her eyes as she thrashed on the bed, wave after wave of white fire washing through her. As the room span into view around her again, she planted one more kiss between her lover's legs, and listened to her panting as they lay together. 

All thoughts of the dangers of the next day had left her mind long before.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 20



The temple to Sarlene was by no means the largest in the district; the minarets of the temple of the Sun God cast their shadows over it during the morning. But it was one of the more beautiful, at least if you preferred graceful lines over austere majesty. Green vines ran across the outer walls, twining between the bas-relief carvings. The carvings were not, as in some other parts of the world, openly erotic; they showed scenes of marriage and demure affection, all of which were, of course, well within the goddess's purview.

It was not the common reputation that the temple had, of course. Many assumed that it was a place of debauchery, at least when regular marriage services were not being conducted there. But that view was mistaken, for while Sarlene was, among other things, a goddess of passionate sexuality, such things were not a part of her regular worship services. Impromptu, private, worship services, though... well, that was a different matter.

It was the last free day before the exploratory mission into the subterranean caverns beneath the city. Tomorrow, the adventurers would make their final plans, have a good night's rest, and then, perhaps, finally learn what was really going on under their feet. Dolrim and Vardala were staying at the villa, while Calleslyn paid a visit to her friend Messandra – Almandar wondered how many of the others had worked out the truth of their relationship, but had no intention of talking about it himself. 

Lady Tarissa, who, out of all of them, would have had the most difficulty understanding such things, had instead chosen to spend the evening praying at the temple of Pardror, god of paladins. There was nothing unusual in that, for she always did so before any of the party's expeditions. But it had given Almandar the idea of paying a visit to the temple of his own preferred deity, the goddess of love. 

The truth was, he was not a regular worshipper at the temple itself, although the goddess' free-wheeling nature meant that that was also true of many of her other devotees. But, he reflected, Sarlene had been very good to him since he had returned from the last expedition, and where better to say his thanks than in her own home?

As he stepped through the stone archway into the cool interior, he reflected on some of the goddess' recent gifts. He remembered Helsa's smile, and the feel of her breasts, Lyrette's sensuous lips sliding over the shaft of his cock, and his hands caressing Ashabi's mahogany skin. He thought of the taste of Ansreal's wet pussy, and the expression on Ostrid's face as she had cried out in the throws of her passion. Oh, yes, he had much to be thankful for.

Inside the temple was a long hall, evening sunlight shining down from the windows up above and catching on the rippling water of five fountains. Alcoves led off to the side, and devotional artwork decorated the walls and the altar at the far end. The artwork here was a little more risqué than that on the exterior, but not by much; the people depicted were scantily clad, but not exposing themselves. A huge tapestry image of the goddess herself hung behind the altar, an image of idealised beauty clad in diaphanous rose-coloured robes, smiling and opening her arms in welcome.

There was only one other person visible at the moment, the priestesses evidently about their business elsewhere. Almandar had seen her before, although he was uncertain how regular a worshipper she was. She was a short woman, perhaps a couple of inches over five feet tall, with long sandy hair that fell to her mid-back. She was turned away from him, sitting down by one of the pools, but even so, he could admire the tightness of her lavender-coloured dress, and the shapely curves of one partially exposed leg.

He searched his memory, and recalled that her name was Ravette. They had spoken before, a couple of times, but had never been more intimate than that. This was, he reflected, something of a pity, for she had magnificent breasts, their large size belying her short stature. Nonetheless, she was obviously busy, lost in her own reverie, and now was not the time to interrupt her. Besides, he had business of his own to attend to.

He knelt down beside another of the fountain pools, resting his knees on the soft and coloured cushions that lay around them. In the centre of the pool stood a statue of a naked couple entwined, pressed against each other to hide any indecent details. He looked down into the water, admiring the way the evening light caught its surface, a sunbeam shining down from up above.

Reaching into a small bag he gently removed some flowers that he had bought that afternoon, carefully resting them on the surface of the water, watching them bob about and move with the cycling of the fountain water. He held out his arms above them, mimicking the welcoming gesture of the goddess on the tapestry – not for Sarlene the closed hands of prayer favoured by some other deities.

He chanted the familiar words of the prayer of thanks. They were hundreds of years old, and still spoken in an archaic dialect of Common, yet they had changed enough down the years to remain perfectly understandable. Sarlene was free with her gifts, understanding and openness key parts of her theology. 

As the flowers swirled in the water, curling filigrees of silver mist began to rise from the surface, twining around them. For Almandar, the rest of the world floated away, his senses now focused solely on the pool before him. The sounds of the outside world ceased, and instead he could hear, just at the edge of perception, achingly beautiful music. The tune was elusive, never quite clear enough to recall or reproduce, yet always somehow familiar. 

The mist enclosed the flowers, like miniature vortices in the air, wafting their fragrance to his nostrils. It was sparkling now, a strange internal light, steadily brightening to shield the blossoms themselves from view. A sense of peace and harmony enveloped him, a momentary communion with the all-embracing love of the goddess. Then, with one final burst of light, the mist and the flowers were gone, and he was back in the real world, the blooms transported elsewhere, left with the memory of Sarlene's presence.

As always when he used these magical pools to offer sacrifices to the goddess, he was unsure of how much time had passed. But at some point during the experience, a woman had come over to kneel close to him, a quarter of the way around the fountain's circumference. He did not recognise her.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, her voice quiet, yet rich in timbre, "I saw you sitting here, and became entranced by the flowers... they have joined the goddess?"

He nodded, reflecting that she could not be a regular worshipper. But people, of course, came to the temple all the time, out of curiosity or from a genuine need for the gift of love. She was slender, in a dark green dress, and aged, he thought, in her mid twenties. Her hair and eyes were dark, the latter wide and giving her an air of vulnerability. Her skin looked soft and unblemished, her lips pale and thin, her cheekbones high.

"I am new here..." she said, "to the temple, I mean. But I needed to pray to the goddess... I suppose I shouldn't trouble you with it, but the pool looked so serene, and the flowers, and..." she stumbled over the words, glancing down at the water instead of looking straight at him, "and I think I may need a little guidance. You obviously know the prayers... if you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course," he said, holding out a hand, "I'm Almandar."

"Jiranda," she said, taking the hand and squeezing it in greeting. "And thank you."

"So, let's begin. You hold your hands like this," he demonstrated the gesture, "and keep your eyes on something that shows beauty – the water, the statue, the tapestry, whatever makes you feel most comfortable. The petition itself can be spoken out loud, but it is just as common to say it silently. But there are some prayers that we commonly use. They don't have to be word-perfect; Sarlene is a forgiving goddess. But let me teach you some of them..."

They remained there for a little while, he reciting some of the shorter prayers of petition, she repeating them, stumbling over the words a couple of times at first, but picking them up quickly. She chose to look, he saw, at the statue, with the lovers entwined, but he also noticed a couple of glances in his direction, to which he responded with an encouraging smile. The goddess of love was not jealous, and he knew committed partners who prayed facing each other.

When they had finished, she put her arms down by her sides, and turned to face him directly. "Thank you," she said, simply.

"I hope you find what you asked for," he said. She had chosen to do that part in silence, so he had no idea what it was, and would not enquire. 

"Yes," she said, "I need a change in my life, something to take me away from... well, let me just say from past mistakes. Hopefully this is a beginning in that direction."

"The goddess welcomes people at any time."

"She seems a very free goddess," said Jiranda, "not one to get held up on rules. She doesn't seem to mind what you do."

"So long as you do it in the right frame of mind, and with the right intentions," agreed Almandar, "obviously, she frowns on acts of evil, or intentional ugliness – anything that takes love away from the world."

"You hear, though..." Jiranda paused, as if looking for the right words, "that there are other ways of worshipping her. Apart from the temple."

Almandar knew, of course, exactly what she referred to. And, given her glances earlier, he felt he could be open about the possibilities, if he phrased things right, and got through her uncertainty.

"Private means of worship, you mean," he said, watching her face intently for her reaction, "commune with the goddess through physical expression of affection."

Jiranda nodded, "if you do not mind me asking... how does that work?"

"Any time you make love," said Almandar, "you approach the goddess, whether with intent or not. You can say prayers of thanks – they can even be silent – if you want to show your gratitude for her gift, but otherwise, it is the act of love herself that pleases her, and your knowledge of where it comes from."

"But it is not communion in the way that your flowers in the pool were?"

"It is not a sacrifice, but it is a communion, albeit of a different kind. Worshippers believe that the moment of, shall we say, the peak, is a contact with the eternal power of love, the touch of the goddess. Obviously, as a goddess of love, she prefers two people to reach that point of communion together."

Jiranda nodded, then blushed slightly, opening her mouth as if to speak, before falling silent again.

"If you are free tonight," said Almandar, grasping the opportunity, "I would be willing to show you that form of worship as well. If you wish it."

She reached out and patted his hand, then took a deep breath, nodding decisively. "Yes, I think I would like that. I think it may be just what I need to start afresh. I shall thank the goddess again tonight," she added, with a knowing smile.

"After the communion," he said.

She leaned forward, whispering in his ear, "you mean, after you drive me to orgasm?" He said nothing, feeling no reply was needed to that. But then she leaned back, her expression suddenly changing, "oh – I've just remembered. I had plans... nothing important, I can change them. But I have to go, just for a moment, to let my sister know..." she got to her feet, "I'll be back, just in a few minutes. Don't move! I won't be long... just a couple of moments. Don't go."

"I'll be here," he replied sincerely.

She half ran from the temple, looking a little flustered. Her sister had to be waiting outside, he assumed, wondering how she would explain her absence for the evening, when they had presumably planned some other activity. Probably not with the truth, he thought, or she would not have worried about taking him with her. He got to his feet, and headed for the entrance himself, deciding to wait just inside the archway until she had returned.

"Almandar," said a chirpy voice, "has the goddess been good to you recently?"

He looked around to see Ravette approaching, until she stood next to him. This could be a little awkward, he reflected.

"She has, indeed," he said, "in fact..."

"Well, we wouldn't want to break that lucky streak, would we?" she replied, before he could explain further, "I'm alone tonight, with nothing to do, and you and I have never seemed to be free at the same time." 

She leaned forward, pushing out her chest provocatively. And what a chest it was, he reflected. The fabric of her lavender dress strained to hold her bulging breasts in, her short frame making them appear even larger, her figure a perfect hourglass. Her blue eyes were wide, watching him intently. At any other time, he would have been more than willing to oblige her.

"I really appreciate the offer," he said, reluctantly, "but I am afraid that I have a prior engagement. Luck is not on our side, perhaps. And not for the next few days, either."

"Really?" she looked deflated, pouting in disappointment, "there is something more important?"

"It's not that, it's..." 

At that precise moment, Jiranda returned, looking a little flushed, as if she had been running. She flashed a grin at Almandar, perhaps having half-expected him to have gone, but then noticed Ravette, and took a small step back, looking a little embarrassed.

"Jiranda – Ravette. An acquaintance of mine," he turned back to the shorter woman, "it was nice to meet you again, but I must be going."

"So this is your prior engagement?" said Ravette, perking up again slightly and eyeing Jiranda, as if comparing her charms against her own.

"Yes, so..." Almandar held out an arm to Jiranda, and made as if to move away. Ravette should understand, being a fellow worshipper.

"Well, I'm game if you are," said Ravette brightly.

It took a second or two for Almandar to grasp her meaning, but then the light dawned. "I... uh... I'm not sure that would work..."

Jiranda frowned, looking from one to the other as they spoke, apparently still trying to divine what they were talking about. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

"I thought I might join you," Ravette told her, "if you like."

"Oh..." said Jiranda, suddenly flustered, "I don't think you... you see we were going to... I mean, it wouldn't be..."

"I know," said the other woman, "I didn't mean to intrude."

Jiranda's eyes widened, and her mouth formed an 'O' of surprise as she evidently realised that Ravette had known all along what she and Almandar had been going to do, and what the nature of her offer had been. She stood there in shock for a moment, and Almandar mentally sought for a way to defuse the situation; Ravette had been too forward, and now the promise of the night seemed to be crumbling before his eyes.

But then the taller woman braced herself, taking a long deep breath, and speaking, her voice barely more than a squeak. "All right. Yes."

As soon as she had spoken, she seemed shocked, as if she could hardly believe what she had just said. Ravette grinned, bouncing up on her toes, making her breasts jiggle beneath the tight dress. Almandar looked again at Jiranda, but she nodded firmly, unable to speak for the moment, but her mind apparently made up.

A couple of seconds ago, he had thought the night was already over. Now he realised that it had only just begun, and should very much be a night to remember...

──◊──

"This is my bedroom," said Jiranda, opening the door and gesturing within as if she was showing off her house to a regular visitor. Although she had shown no signs of changing her mind or backing down, she did look a little nervous, uncertain as to what to do. She held the door open, so Almandar stepped inside first, and, when she still didn't move, beckoned to her to follow him.

She did so, hands fluttering first against the door handle, and then fidgeting at her side. She glanced around as Ravette stepped into the room beside her, the smaller woman's movements confident and eager, her face visibly flushed with anticipation. 

Jiranda took a moment to calm herself, and looked straight at Almandar. She took a few deep breaths, steadying her nerves, "I've not done anything like this before," she said, somewhat needlessly, "just so you know."

"Well, actually..." said Ravette, closing the door softly behind her, "neither have I. Not quite like this, anyway. But I have thought about it a lot," she added with a sly grin.

Almandar reached over with one hand, gently pulling Jiranda toward him for a kiss. Her lips were soft, hesitant at first, but soon melting into a long and passionate caress as she pressed her body into his. Her initial hesitancy seemed to be fading as his hands traced out her flanks and her slim, tight, buttocks. She ran her fingers through his hair as they continued to kiss, her other arm wrapped around his back.

Behind him, he could hear Ravette beginning to undress, and the thought made his kisses more passionate, running over Jiranda's cheek, ears, and neck. His hands sought out the fastenings at the back of her dress, untying them with experienced deftness, and slipping underneath the fabric to feel her back through her shift.

He gripped one buttock, pressing her hips into his, his hard erection straining against the material that separated them. He rucked her skirt up, but the hemline normally reached to the middle of her long calves, so he could not reach down far enough to feel her legs. She was murmuring as they continued to kiss, momentarily oblivious to the rest of the world.

That oblivion lasted only until Almandar felt Ravette beginning to pull his shirt free from the back of his trews, lifting up both it and his tunic, to run her hands up and along his back. Her legs pressed against his, and her hands wandered forward, over his belly, brushing against Jiranda's in the process.

With a slight gasp, the taller woman stepped back, out of his embrace, her dress half-falling off one arm to reveal the short-sleeved white shift beneath. Behind him, Ravette pressed herself into his back, her face against his shoulder blades, her large breasts squashed against him as she continued to stroke his stomach, lifting his shirt and tunic up higher as they went.

Jiranda stood watching them both, her eyes wide, and her face flushed. She remained rooted to the spot as Almandar helped her remove his upper garments and one of Ravette's legs rubbed against an outer thigh. The shorter woman moved round then, so that he could see her properly, swishing her long hair. She was still wearing her shift, but it had a low cut front that exposed the upper curve of her bosom, and barely reach to mid-thigh, showing off her shapely legs.

She reached a hand up, pulling his head down into a kiss, and he gripped her flanks through the thin cotton, feeling their tight inward curve. She leaned into him, breasts straining against the fabric that still separated them from his naked torso. Her buttocks were rounded, larger than Jiranda's, yielding pleasantly to the press of his fingers.

He glanced up at the other woman, hoping that she had not finally taken fright. But, instead, she seemed to be gazing at the pair of them in rapture, watching their every move. She even squeezed one of her own small breasts as she did so, her mouth part open, her breathing heavy. However she had expected herself to react, it was clear that she was now finding the sight of two semi-naked people caressing to be one that was deeply arousing.

Catching his glance, she quickly began to undo her girdle, removing her dress and pulling it down over her slender hips. Her shift was even shorter than Ravette's – or so it seemed against her long legs – revealing a beautifully creamy skin that seemed clear of any blemish. He could see her dark nipples through the cotton, poking against the material. She moved back towards the bed, sitting on it with legs slightly apart, and Almandar made to join her.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 20



Ravette followed him, grasping awkwardly at the ties on his trews. Jiranda was lying back on the sheets now, one knee bent so that the shift slid down over her sheer thighs to reveal a flash of her panties beneath. Almandar climbed onto the bed beside her, kissing her on the mouth as the other woman finally managed to undo his trews, sliding them down over his legs.

He and Jiranda kissed again, and he reached down to the hem of her shift, pulling it up. She leaned back and raised her arms to allow him to pull it off and cast it aside. The rest of her body was as flawless as her legs, her stomach flat and narrow, her breasts pert with dark aureoles and narrow nipples. Her skin was soft and supple, feeling wonderful beneath his questing fingers. He bent down to kiss her collar bone, lightly squeezing one breast with his hand as she kissed the top of his head. His lips soon followed his hand, and his tongue flicked against the hard little nipple, gently teasing it, and making her moan in pleasure. 

Her voice was pleasant, he reflected, with a rich timbre that surely made her a good singer. It was a voice he wanted to hear moaning much more before the night was out; just listening to the sound of it was erotic, let alone what he was doing to her body at the time. 

Ravette had joined them, easing herself onto the bed, and pushing them forward to make the best use of the little available space. As he continued to tease Jiranda's breasts and feel her back and upper thighs, the other woman was running her own lips over his earlobe, and then down the back of his neck and along his spine. Jiranda squirmed against him, murmuring some soft encouragement as Ravette moved ever lower towards his buttocks.

Almost reluctantly, Almandar rolled over onto his back, his undershorts tenting under the pressure of his erect cock. Jiranda rolled over him slightly, kissing his lips, chin and throat, and running a hand over his belly. Ravette, meanwhile, had moved lower until her head was level with his shorts.

She pulled them down, as the brunette wrapped one of her long legs around his nearest, her toes rubbing against the tops of his own feet. Almandar groaned as Ravette's fingers ran the length of his cock, feeling the length of it. Jiranda paused in her kisses, and joined him in looking down to where the sandy blonde ministered to his erection, her blue eyes wide as they flicked between her prize and the faces of her two companions.

With deliberate slowness, Ravette stuck out her tongue, and licked the underside of his cock. She planted a small kiss on the engorged tip, then took his balls gently in her hands, sucking on each in turn. The half-elf gasped as she continued to caress his straining erection, and Jiranda moved awkwardly down the bed to kiss his navel and squeeze the inside of his thighs.

The two woman shifted positions, by some silent mutual agreement, and soon it was Jiranda who was wrapping her lips around his cock. She took the head part way into her mouth, tasting his pre-cum while Ravette sucked on one of his balls, gently teasing his scrotum. Then they were both licking him, one on each side, beautiful, yet contrasting, faces pressed together as their eyes sought his. He grunted, his hips jerking involuntarily, and strained to stop himself cumming immediately as the delightful torture continued.

He managed – but only just – and it seemed that they had taken the hint, not wanting things to be over so soon. They both pulled back, Jiranda to lie beside him once again, and Ravette to kneel astride one of his legs. She was still wearing her shift, he noticed, but only for a second more, for soon she had pulled it up and over her head, throwing it across the room so that it landed on a far dresser before falling to the floor.

Fully exposed, he could now admire her breasts properly. They had pale pink aureoles, with long nipples that she was already fingering, as she moved her body to make them bounce, obviously well aware of how much he would want to fondle and kiss them. This was clearly a woman who knew her own assets.

Jiranda, meanwhile, was rubbing her crotch against his hip. He reached around to feel her back, questing lower towards her tight buttocks. She pulled her panties down then, pressing skin to skin and running her fingers across his nipples. He glanced down, at the dark-haired mound grinding against his hip, gripping her buttock more firmly, then turned his gaze back towards Ravette.

Sensing his need, she leaned forward, shuffling up the bed to bring their heads level. Her large breasts hung down, emphasising their already impressive size, and he grasped one, kneading it beneath his fingers as she reached forward to kiss him on the lips. She moved to flop down beside him as he moved his attention to her other breast and continued to kiss her passionately. 

Jiranda pulled his head to the other side, and he kissed her instead, realising that both women were equally eager to be pleased. He wrapped the nearest arm around the brunette, pulling her into his side, then turned back to Ravette. She had moved up the bed slightly, so that her large breasts with their long pink nipples were almost thrust into his face, and she had already pulled off her panties. He moved his other hand to embrace her, holding both women tightly as he feasted his kisses on Ravette's breasts, licking them, sucking her nipples, lightly nipping them with his teeth and making her cry out in pleasure. 

Even as he did so, Jiranda was kissing his neck and shoulder, running her tongue up towards his ear, her legs twining with his, the movements of her groin against his hip growing more urgent. He released both women, and sat up, turning round to sit on his hands and knees, both women beneath him.

They shuffled together on the bed, arms touching as they lay on their backs facing him, making use of the limited space. He looked from one to the other, admiring both of them. Jiranda's small breasts were heaving, the dark nipples fully engorged. Her narrow black bush looked inviting, between those long, silky thighs. Her dark eyes were round, focussed on his own, her breaths long and shallow. He could sense the desire in those eyes, silently begging him to take her first.

Ravette's sandy blonde hair was arrayed about her in a halo, mussed up on the sheets, a few long strands sticking in the sweat covering her swollen breasts. Her curvaceous legs were slightly apart, the golden bush damp with her own desire, her blue eyes focussed, for the moment, not on his, but lower down, to where his cock hung, equidistant between the two. For a second he was paralysed with indecision.

But then Ravette made the decision for him, grabbing his erection, and moving her hips up to meet it. He thrust hard inside her, and she let out a gasp of pleasure, possibly tinged with a little triumph. He positioned himself on top of her, her breasts squeezed against his chest, grinding his hips again and again into her waiting cunt. 

Her cries were loud and passionate, willing him on. She wrapped her shapely legs around him, rounded thighs almost against his heaving buttocks as he continued to pound into her. The size of her breasts made it difficult to kiss her from this angle, their prominence forcing his own chest upwards so that he rested partly on his arms. 

Jiranda half sat up, caressing his back with one hand, and then kissing his earlobe. "Don't forget to save some for me," she whispered, sounding almost plaintive, her voice so quiet that he could barely catch the words over Ravette's increasingly loud cries.

He slowed his pace, grinding into the blonde more slowly, earning a deep groan of pleasure as she adjusted her own motions to his new rhythm. He glanced aside to Jiranda, the woman who he had first intended to make love to this evening. She was watching them both intently, and he guessed, by the way she was fingering herself with one hand and squeezing a small breast with the other that, while she was frustrated for the moment, she was also deeply turned on by the sight.

He reached his nearer hand down towards her, rubbing it over her groin as he continued to thrust into Ravette. She helped him, guiding his motion as he tried to pleasure both women at once, moving fingers and hips with the same pounding rhythm. It was, he had to admit, an awkward position, and he suspected he was not doing as good a job as he might were he able to give her his whole attention, but he did not want her to feel left out.

Underneath his body, the blonde was moving her hips with increasing vigour, rising to meet his thrusts with ever greater urgency. He responded in kind, reluctantly slipping his hand free from Jiranda's pussy in the process. Ravette's blue eyes were wider than ever, her long hair in total disarray. He sensed the brunette moving up beside him, first glancing down to watch his cock heaving into the other woman, then watching her face from over his shoulder. 

Ravette came with a loud cry, and Almandar gasped as he joined her, his seed pouring into her pulsing cunt. They remained together for a while, her hips still straining against his, prolonging the pleasure for as long as possible, as her cries softened to breathy pants.

By the time she released him, he had fully softened, and he collapsed back on the bed beside her, trying to steady his breathing. Jiranda still lay beside him, her desire still unrelieved, but there was nothing he could do for her at the moment; he needed too much time to recover.

Ravette lay on her back, sweat-mired breasts still heaving as she caught her breath. "Whew..." she said at last, in a long exhalation, "that was good!"

The other woman bit her lip, looking slightly pained. "Perhaps," she said softly, "but..." she left the statement hanging.

"Jiranda," said Almandar, trying to sound soothing, "I couldn't forget you. I just need a moment."

"Mmm," was the only response he got at first, but then she began to slowly stroke his chest, running her fingers over the hair. "It certainly looked good," she said, after a while, and then kissed his shoulder. "Just don't be too long."

He leaned over towards her, kissing her tenderly on the lips, and taking one of her hands in his. He gazed down over her naked body, admiring how her shape was so different from Ravette's. His other hand stroked her hair, and they kissed again.

Releasing his hand, Jiranda began to explore his body, brushing her fingertips over it, feeling the shape of his upper arms and legs, his chest and stomach, slowly straying towards his groin, where Almandar began to feel the stirrings of passion once again. Jiranda smiled as she watched his cock stiffening, still only semi-erect, but beginning to rise above the bush of his pubic hair.

With a grin, she sat up in the bed, and moved to sit astride him, legs either side of his hips, pussy hovering just above his growing erection. She slid her hands down her body, dipping between her thighs to rub her clit, fingers coming away damp with moisture. His cock stiffened further as she manoeuvred it again against her inner thigh, the skin so silky smooth and unblemished. She moved gently, rubbing him against her, and slowly lowering herself until the head brushed against her pubic hair, the rough texture contrasting with that of her skin.

She looked down, satisfied that he was fully erect now, and raised herself up slightly, before pushing his cock inch by inch into her tight, waiting pussy. She let out a deep moan as he penetrated her, again letting him admire the musical sound of her voice. Slowly, she began to move herself up and down on his cock, gripping one of her breasts with one hand, and rubbing her groin with the other, sometimes dipping down to feel the shape of him as he thrust up to meet her.

Almandar reached out to her, and she leaned forward slightly so that he could caress, first her flanks, and then the unattended breast. She continued to moan, throwing her head back as she gave vent to her passion. He could feel her tight buttocks pressing down against him as she lowered herself, pushing him as far in as she could, and then moving back up until he was almost free. 

The half-elf closed his eyes, savouring the sounds and feelings that flooded his senses. He could just listen to those moans of pleasure forever, especially if she continued to move like this. 

Then he felt lips against his, and opened his eyes to see Ravette kissing him. He kissed her back, wondering if she was up for a second try herself later on. He soon got his answer, as she leaned across him, pressing one breast into his open hand – the one that was not already fondling Jiranda's smaller mound. Then she moved, swinging one leg across his chest, pushing herself up until her breasts obscured his vision of the other woman, still sliding up and down on his cock.

He kissed them, savouring them, and taking another opportunity to suck on her large nipples, but soon she moved out of the way, shifting up so that it was now her pussy that filled his vision, her luscious thighs planted on either side of his head. She was damp, her pussy lips swollen with renewed desire, the nub of her clit close to his mouth.

He needed no further encouragement, and began to press his mouth against her slit, kissing and licking her as her own gasps joined Jiranda's. He sucked her clit, and Ravette cried out, her wide hips now moving into his face even as more slender ones ground themselves against his lower body. He looked up, over her belly to watch those large protruding breasts bouncing as he continued to pleasure her.

The cries and moans of both women mingled as their pleasure heightened. Neither seemed to mind sharing him, and he was delighted to oblige, moving with increasing vigour as his strength returned. Ravette's cries were becoming shorter, more urgent, loud enough to almost drown out the melody of Jiranda's. He renewed his attentions on her, driving his tongue deeper, tasting traces of his own semen, licking and sucking on her swollen clit.

Watching her breasts bounce, he saw Jiranda's arms reach around the other woman's body, gripping those heaving globes, tweaking the long nipples beneath her fingers. Ravette let out a shout of pleasured surprise, and leaned back into the other woman, giving her a better purchase. 

"Holly goddess! Oh, fuck, yes!" the blonde screamed, her body bucking as she shook with the sudden unexpected force of her second orgasm, her hips grinding into Almandar's face as she did so.

The sound and feel of the other woman climaxing evidently came close to driving Jiranda over the edge, too, for she increased the pace of her thrusts on Almandar's cock, flesh slapping hard against him as those wonderful moans reached a crescendo. They climaxed together, his own groan still muffled by Ravette's body, and she letting out a long, groaning sigh as her spasming cunt drew out the last drops from his cock.

As the three of them cuddled together on the narrow bed afterwards, Almandar reflected that tomorrow was another day. A day when entirely different things might suddenly become clear...



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 21



Zarenis tightened the cords on the leather jerkin she had put on over her regular clothes. If she got into a fight with the adventurers, it would make very little difference, but against anyone else it might at least help a little. And hopefully, she would not be facing the adventurers themselves at all. In and out, as quickly as possible, while they were away from the villa – that was the plan.

She pulled a chest out from under her bed. Made of a plain dark wood, it was exceptionally sturdy, the place to keep her most important possessions. It took a little while to disarm the traps and open the locks she kept on it, but soon she opened it and removed the items she would need for the mission.

First came a pair of boots made from a pure black, felt-like material. She pulled them on, savouring the softness against her skin, wiggling her toes against the fabric for a second. Comfort was not the purpose of the boots, of course... but that didn't stop them from feeling good. She pulled a pair of fingerless gloves on next; they were made of especially supple leather, and their contact made her fingers tingle for a moment as they adapted to her hands, working their magic.

Then there were two rings, looking much like regular jewellery, although they were anything but. Onto her right ring finger went a band of silver clasping a small sapphire, and onto the other hand a plain, but slightly heavier, golden ring. A small ceramic vial went into a pouch at her belt, along with the greyish wand that she had recently bought from Nyvara. Neither was a regular part of her equipment, but both would be needed for the approach she had in mind.

The scabbard holding her shortsword had an additional strap to tie it tight to her thigh, making it harder to draw but also keeping it from bumping about – silence and stealth were more important than anything else, and the sword was really only there as a last resort. Finally, there was the long hooded coat, made of a dark, shimmering material that blended in with the shadows of her small garret room, making her outline indistinct. When she raised the hood later, it would shade her face, magically obscuring the details and making her harder to identify. Although, if everything went well, no one would see her at all.

She stood still for a moment, feeling charged up, ready to go, everything prepared and in place for the break-in at the adventurers' villa. In that respect, she was probably a little like them; with all her magic and equipment in place, she felt powerful, able to take on the world – or at least a little corner of it.

Glancing in the mirror, she riffled her fingers through her thick brown hair, hiding the tiny horns on her forehead from view. She was ready.

──◊──

That sense of kinship with the adventurers was brought home forcefully just a couple of hours later, as she stood in the dawn light, close to the villa. Unexpectedly, the gate to the walled compound at the front of the building opened, and she quickly darted round a corner, pressing herself against a wall to make herself inconspicuous – fortunately, there were few other people around yet to see her – and then peering around carefully to watch.

There they were; all five of them. And, just like Zarenis herself, they were obviously fully tooled up. Lady Tarissa was taking the lead, resplendent in full plate armour, with a white cloak and the emblems of her deity adorning her costume. She was every inch the valorous paladin, out to right the wrongs of the world by force of arms. Dolrim too, was heavily armed and armoured, a war axe slung over his shoulder whose edge gleamed with a shine that surely had to indicate some kind of magical enchantment. The two wizards wore more practical clothing over their robes, and surely Almandar's graven staff was merely the most visible of the magic items they carried. Only the gnome, Vardala, looked close to normal, and even she had leather armour on under her cloak.

They were clearly prepared for something, something that required the full panoply of their adventuring equipment – although not, seemingly, their horses. They were setting out after dawn, whereas she had left just before, but the idea was surely much the same, and it looked that they would be gone a long time. Zarenis had expected to have to wait for some hours before finding a good opportunity to break in, but her luck was obviously with her. Only the manservant, Horvan, should be in, and that gave her the perfect chance.

The adventurers, somewhat to her surprise, headed into the city, rather than out towards the countryside. However, exactly what they were doing, and where, was hardly her concern. All that mattered was that they were not at home.

As soon as they had gone out of sight, and Horvan had closed the gates to the compound, Zarenis made her move, walking quickly to the back of the villa. She pulled her hood up, and glanced around to make sure she was not observed.

As she had noted earlier, all the windows on the ground floor had solid grills over them that would not open, while the wall was sheer enough that there was no way to climb up to an upper window or onto the roof. Getting in over the compound wall and in through the front door could not be done surreptitiously, and the only rear door looked to be close to the kitchens – precisely the area of the villa that Horvan was most likely to be. The adventurers had planned well; there was no easy way in for a regular thief.

Zarenis, of course, was anything but a regular thief.

She pulled the ceramic vial from her pouch, unstoppering it and taking a taking a quick gulp of the liquid inside. It was cool, and almost tasteless, yet remarkably refreshing, like a sudden breeze of cold air on a stuffy day. It immediately sent a surge through her body, making her feel light as a feather. She bent her knees, and jumped.

A split second later, she was on the roof, crouching low and moving swiftly across the flat surface. There was a door here, leading down into the building, set into a small projection just large enough to hold the top of a stairway. This, she suspected, would not be as well watched as those on the ground floor, and made a much better way in.

She pulled out her picks, and went to work on the lock. It was a simpler one than she had expected, and she barely needed the magically enhanced deftness and tactile sensation that the gloves provided her fingers. Mere seconds later, she had the door open, and stepped inside, closing it behind her. She was in the villa – now to find the item she had come to steal.

The narrow stairway led down to a corridor between what had to be the adventurers' bedrooms. It was unlikely that what she needed would be here, but even so, she raised her right hand, spreading her fingers and examining the blue gem on her ring. There was a faint glow, barely flickering as she moved her hand lower, towards the floor. As expected, she had to go down,

She crept along the corridor, her magical boots making her footfalls absolutely silent. She knew that even the floorboards would not creak under her weight unless they were remarkably loose, which seemed unlikely. But even with her cloak, she would be highly visible if anyone should happen to come along, so she still moved slowly and cautiously.

Eventually, she came to a balcony overlooking what had to be the entrance hall. She froze, hearing the sound of footsteps below. Horvan was down there somewhere, doing whatever he did around the house. As long as he did not come upstairs, she should be safe...

She grimaced as she heard the sound of the servant's feet on the stairs. She had just moments before he would reach the balcony and see her. She stepped back into the corridor, and looked about once again, selecting her options. Horvan had to be heading for one of the rooms – perhaps he made the beds there, or was bringing up fresh laundry. There was no way to know which room he was headed for, but surely he would not head up to the roof.

Zarenis ran back down the corridor, something that without the boots, she could not possibly have disguised, and ducked into the stairway leading back to the roof, crouching down as far as she could at the top. Even if he went to the very last room, opposite the stairs, he probably would not see her. Probably.

In the event, he did not go so far, instead heading into one of the rooms further down the corridor. She waited for him to emerge again, heading to one of the other rooms, or back downstairs, but the wait dragged on. The tiefling briefly considered risking it and running back down the corridor in the hope of reaching safety before he came back out. But, no, there was no need for such a gamble.

The time continued to drag, for much longer than she had expected. What was he doing in there? He didn't even, so far as she could hear, appear to be moving about. His quarters were most likely on the ground floor, if the villa was arranged like most others, and, in any event, it was rather early for him to be heading back to bed. Zarenis gritted her teeth, waiting for him to finish with whatever un-guessable task it was.

It seemed like ages later that he finally left, heading straight back downstairs. He had only been interested in one room, and after a moment's reflection on her previous observations of the villa at night, Zarenis decided that it was Vardala's bedroom. Not that it mattered, of course.

Once she reached the balcony again, she stopped and listened, making sure that, this time, Horvan was well away elsewhere in the building. That certainly seemed to be the case, so she made her move, swiftly stepping down the staircase into the hallway. She glanced at her ring, sweeping her hand about. Ahead somewhere, and closer to the doorway on the right than that on the left. 

She glanced through it; empty, with no windows until the far end. It probably led to the servants' area, where Horvan was most likely to be. But what she sought was not likely to be in the kitchens, so the side doors would be a better bet. Nonetheless, she would probably have to be quick.

She raised her hand to each door in turn, watching for any glimmer from the ring. At the third attempt, she saw something, and opened the door as quietly as she could, grateful for the enhanced tactile sensation that the gloves gave her. Beyond it, there was a stone stairway leading down to a cellar. A good place to secure treasure, she reflected.

Closing the door behind her, she moved down the stone steps. Horvan was not here, and she should be safe for a while, if he was busy in the main house. In fact, the cellar was pitch black, and only her demon-gifted vision allowed her to see down here. That, at least, was something she needed no magical items to provide.

The cellar contained stored food and wine, as she would expect, but there was also a door on the far side, and, from the metal bars securing it and the warding glyphs painted on the surface, she did not need the ring to tell her that this was where the treasure was kept. The glyph, of course, would be the biggest problem, but it was something she had anticipated. 

She pulled out the grey wand, its lacquered surface cool beneath her fingertips, and pointed it towards the glyph. She muttered the activating word, almost the first audible sound she had made since entering the villa. A faint silvery glow gleamed at the tip, casting a tiny amount of light into the room. The glyph flickered, and then faded to a paler colour than it had been before. If Nyvara was right, the magic that it contained had been nullified by the wand, along with any other protections on the doorway. Now she just had to get through the locks.

There were three of them, all much more complex than that on the roof entrance. But here she could rely on her natural skill, albeit boosted by the gloves, and needed no trickery to get past them. It took her some time, but she could work patiently, hearing no sound of anyone approaching, and eventually she had them all open.

Beyond the door lay a small underground chamber, with wooden shelves against the walls. Some of the shelves held chests, and others items of all kinds. There were wand boxes and scroll cases, a pair of gauntlets, even a horn of some kind. There was a full suit of mail armour, beautifully decorated, and a selection of swords and other weapons. The sapphire on her ring was glowing bright blue now, flaring when she brought it close to some items, but ignoring others that had to be simple jewellery or chests of coins.

Zarenis allowed a small smile to play across her lips; this was something special. Many of these items would be remarkably valuable, perhaps worth even more than she was being paid to be here. But, she reflected, many were too big to carry out, and those truly worthwhile would be easily identifiable if she tried to sell them, allowing the adventurers the chance to try and track back to find her identity. Under the circumstances, it was all too risky, she thought with regret.

Of course, if she were to keep something, rather than sell it, that would be a different matter. After all, they would already know someone had been here, so she would not be giving anything away by removing an item. It just had to be something she could use.

In the end, she pocketed an amulet that her ring told her was enchanted. She had no idea what it did, but there was a good chance it was something useful – why else would someone make a magical item? 

But it was not, of course, what she had come for. She looked around again, not seeing it at first, but found her eyes irresistibly drawn to a bottom shelf at the back of the room. There it was, a censer made of black metal, a heavy link chain enabling it to be swung from the hand. It was close to spherical in shape, with strange projections from its upper surface and ornately shaped holes. It seemed to be calling out to her, and a sudden urge rose in her to touch it, to pick it up, as if it belonged to her now.

Under any other circumstances, such a strange compulsion would have given her pause for thought. There was something odd about this censer, something that made it seem almost alive, a pull that drew her towards it. Yet she was here precisely to steal this thing, to take it with her, and the compelling drive to do just that did not seem so odd under the circumstances. It was, after all, why she was here.

She reached out, noting the carvings of demonic beings on the surface. They were, in all honesty, just the sort of thing Lady Amloth might like. She touched the censer with her bare fingers.

It felt like an explosion. 

For a split second, she saw a silent burst of flame erupt before her eyes and felt a wave of heat pass through her body. Her vision cleared, to reveal no signs of any damage to the room, but the burning sensation did not stop, overwhelming her and making her drop to the floor.

It felt as if her whole body was on fire, a raging heat that consumed her utterly, leaving her barely able to think of anything else. Yet there was no fire in the room, not even any real light. The fire was inside her, as if she was burning up from within. She clamped her mouth shut, struggling not to let out any sounds, and looked at her hands, almost expecting to see the flame within them, but they looked normal.

She could hear something now, a beating, pulsing sound, coming from all around. Or was the sound actually in her own head, her own heartbeat somehow amplified as the blood rushed through her ears? The incapacitation from the pain seemed to be ebbing now, but it too was pulsing, in time with the sound. No... in time with her own heartbeat. 

The fire was in her blood, she realised. In her demon-tainted blood, as if its infernal nature was seeking to wash away her human side, or at least subjugate it. She tried to climb to her feet, but her head felt heavy, strange, and her legs were weak, so that she only reached her knees before stopping, feeling dizzy. The room seemed brighter, more alive, colours previously hidden even from her enhanced vision springing into life. Was her demonic sight somehow improving?

She tried to shake her head to clear it, but it still felt strange, the movements slow and cumbersome, not quite natural. She remembered seeing something that could help, and looked along the shelf for it – a metal shield, polished bright enough to use as a mirror. She looked into it, and recoiled from the shock, gasping despite herself.

She barely recognised the face that looked back at her from the reflection. Her horns, normally tiny nubs no more than an inch in length, had grown to enormous proportions. They were heavy and curved, like those of a large ram, meeting together in the centre of her forehead to create beetling brow ridges. Beneath those horns, her eyes were a brilliant, fiery red, no pupils or whites visible, positively seeming to glow from within. Even her skin had changed to a dull reddish tinge, and her lips were black and glossy.

She had become, at least in appearance, a demon, or something much like one. A horror that could never live in normal society, doomed to be outcast forever. Her dark heritage, that curse borne through her ancestor's blood from the time of her infernal great-grandfather, had taken possession of her body. This was what had been inside her all along, merely hidden by her almost-human flesh.

Zarenis looked back to the thing that had caused this, the censer. Was its power to reveal somebody's true self? No, it seemed more likely, from the engravings on the surface, that it was something hellish, something that had specifically affected her, because of her heritage. That was why it had done nothing to the adventurers, who were all normal members of their respective races. 

The fire in her veins seemed to be subsiding now, merely a dull ache, although still present. The pulsing in her ears had faded, too, but now she could hear a different, yet similar, sound. Another heartbeat, but this time, coming from beneath the floor. She remembered her vivid dream, of how, seeing her father as a child, she had heard that same heartbeat. One that belonged to something waiting beneath the city. Waiting, she was sure, for her.

And now it had found her.

The censer was calling out to her, begging to be lifted again, to be taken away from this place. Barely knowing what she was doing, Zarenis picked it up, holding it in her hands, examining it as if to see any hint of its purpose. It was no longer trying to transform her, that deed already completed. Instead, it brought visions to her brain, sudden flashes that she knew were glimpses of a possible future. A future of grandeur beyond anything she had ever expected could be hers.

There was the city, much as it was now, but with its existing temples blasted into ruins. In their place stood a great tower, rearing into the sky, a baleful red flame at its summit. In the streets toiled human, dwarven, and gnomish slaves, overseen by dark-robed priests and decadent nobles.

There was the plaza in front of the Emir's palace, thronged with people, genuflecting towards a great altar as the priests chanted out some name she could not hear.

She saw a winged and dog-headed demon, openly stalking the streets in search of vulnerable prey.

And then a chamber that she knew was inside the high tower. Demons and humans alike gathered around a huge pit from which roared a towering pillar of fire. Shapes formed in that fire, some humanoid, others less readily identifiable as anything from this world. 

And there was Zarenis herself, sprawled on a throne, raising a bejewelled golden goblet to her lips as cowering nobles prostrated themselves before her. She had regained some of her former appearance, she saw, her skin having returned to its normal hue, her horns still visible, yet not so large as they were now. Yet her eyes were blood-red, and a spiked tail swished across the cushions behind her. 




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 21



Her clothing was sumptuous, dark leather adorned with black and red silk, her midriff bare, her skirt short over high boots, a decorative bustier emphasising her cleavage. She wore golden earrings, armbands of platinum, and a necklace decorated with sapphires and emeralds.

There was Lady Amloth, leader of a coterie of priests, all kneeling with heads bowed as Zarenis strode in front of them, issuing orders. She raised a hand into the air, forming a fist and creating tendrils of dark smoke from thin air, casually demonstrating some magical power.

She saw a young, naked man, chained to a pillar of stone, eyes filled with awe and wonder as she approached him. He was handsome and muscular, his over-sized cock engorged with desire and glistening with pre-cum as his fascinated eyes watched her undress. He was utterly hers, to play with as she wished.

Reality forced itself back into her perceptions. She was in a treasure room under a villa, and none of this had yet to come to pass. She was still trapped in half-demonic form, not yet able to reform her body to something less distinctive, although she knew now that the change would not be permanent. In order for that future to be hers, she had to escape from this building, taking the censer with her, and use it, not only to allow Amloth to complete her ritual, but to subvert it, using her infernal connections to make the drow her deputy, not her mistress.

It was a lot to take in. She realised that, until that very moment, she had not even known that Amloth wanted the censer for a ritual. Or that everything was being done in the name of an entity imprisoned beneath the city. An entity that she had to set free in order to take her rightful place as Princess and High Pontifex of the demon-city of Haredil. An entity that, from now on, could be the only authority to which she ever need answer. An entity that had planned her very creation and birth.

Zarenis pushed the censer into the bag she had brought to contain it, and ran out of the room and through the cellar. Her head still felt awkward from the weight of the large horns, her movements less certain until she had adjusted to her new form – or learned to suppress it. She needed to get out, to go somewhere where she could not be seen! 

She reached the door at the top of the cellar stairs, running out into the corridor that led back to the hallway. 

"Hey!" came a shout from behind her, and she whirled to see Horvan standing there at the entrance to the servants' quarters. His eyes went wide and he gasped as he saw her, taking in her terrible visage. She felt anger rise within her, demonic rage beginning to possess her, and shouted wordlessly, her voice sounding strangely distorted, with a distinct tenor tone. The emotion overwhelmed her, and she ran towards the manservant, reaching for her sword as she did so, intending to put an end to him.

He raised a hand, but it was empty of any weapon... no, she realised, he wore a ring. A magic ring, surely, yet not like either of her own. There was burst of glittering light and a glowing white shape sped towards her, too fast for her to dodge. It struck her hard, spinning her around, the protective magic from the ring on her left hand narrowly saving her from serious injury.

The strike brought her back to her senses, her head clearing suddenly. She thumped Horvan with the pommel of her sword, knocking him unconscious, but not killing him. He would, she had realised, be more useful alive than dead. Alive, he could tell the adventurers to look for some large-horned demon with shining red eyes, not for anyone who looked at all human. So long as she could go to ground long enough to restore her former appearance, they would be pursuing a phantom that did not really exist. Their attention would focus on someone who could summon demons, not on anyone like her, and by the time they realised their mistake – if they ever did – it would all be too late.

Leaving Horvan where he had fallen, she ran for the rear entrance, and made her escape.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 22



Skirina awoke slowly, her head feeling muggy. She was lying on a hard surface, not her usual pallet, and it took a few moments for her to gather her thoughts. The last thing she remembered was taking a drink from her canteen... she had felt woozy, stumbled a short distance, and then collapsed. Somebody had poisoned her canteen? Yes, that had to be it, and now she had woken up somewhere else.

The shocking realisation brought her fully awake, and she tried to struggle upright. No sooner did she do so than she realised that her hands were bound in front of her, tied together with some thick cord. She had been captured! But how, and by whom?

None of it made any sense. Why would anyone want to imprison her, and how could anyone have possibly drugged her water supply? Nobody else should have had access to it, except possibly the other members of her warren, and they were hardly likely to do such a thing. 

She shook her head, trying to clear it of the last remnants of the drug, and used the wall to haul herself to her feet as best she could. She was in a small chamber, so dark that even her vision, naturally suited to a life underground, could hardly make out any details. There were no windows, and, when she tried it, the only door seemed to be bolted or wedged shut from the outside. She was, she could tell, still underground, somewhere in the maze of passages beneath the city, but not, she thought, a part that she recognised. Perhaps if she had more light?

At least it was only her hands that were bound, so she was free to pace the confines of her cell, trying to find anything she could use. It soon became clear that the room was empty, simple bare stone in every direction -- including the low ceiling. None of her own things were here; in fact, she realised with another jolt, she was barely dressed. While she had been asleep someone had removed her shoes, her dress, and everything that she normally carried. All she wore now was her threadbare shift and panties, leaving her arms and most of her legs bare.

At least there was one thing she could do, to escape the bonds. Something that her mysterious captor had presumably not counted on: she closed her eyes and concentrated on shifting into rat form.

Nothing happened. 

Her eyes snapped open, and she barely managed to stifle a gasp. Concentrating harder now, she tried again, but her body refused to respond, remaining firmly stuck in human shape. She was beginning to panic now. How could this be? She was a wererat, had even been born already carrying the disease of lycanthropy. Her mind was effectively fully human, but her rat shape seemed as natural to her as her human one, changing into it no different from putting on a new set of clothes.

She tried, in desperation, changing into her hybrid form instead, but, of course, that did not work either. She raised her bound hands to her face and bit into them, gnawing with blunt human teeth, trying to cut through them, but all to no avail. She let out a little sob of despair and beat her fists against the stone walls in frustration. This couldn't be happening!

She sank down onto her haunches, huddling into one corner of the room, where she could at least see the doorway. She wanted to cry, but that would not achieve anything, and besides, she was still a wererat, no matter that she had somehow lost her powers of transformation. Wererats didn't cry, not once they grew up, and she would be no exception. Somehow, her warren would find her, and she could escape. These dark subterranean passages were her home, and surely not that of her unknown captor. That meant she still had some sort of advantage.

So she remained sitting in the corner, looking for all the world like some lost waif. She was, like all of her kind, slender and a little on the short side, with something of the look of a street urchin. Her long brown hair fell about her shoulders, the uncut fringe flopping down over her forehead and her wide brown eyes staring out nervously into the gloom. Only the occasional twitch of her lips and cheeks, or a slight fluttering of her fingers gave any indication of her rodent heritage, and they were mild enough that nobody not specifically looking for lycanthropes would likely even have noticed them.

At last, she heard footsteps outside, and pulled herself to her feet, trying to put on an expression that made her look more defiant than she felt. There was some scraping behind the door as whatever was obstructing it was removed, and then it opened, letting in a little meagre light from the passageway beyond.

And, of all people, Myrek stepped into the room. Her brother had come to rescue her! She should have known that the other members of the warren would be out looking for her, that nobody could keep her prisoner down here without her relatives finding her before long.

She almost threw herself at him, rushing towards him in relief. "Thank the ancestors!" she said, "I knew you would find me. I don't know what happened... I was drugged and someone brought me here... I don't know who... quick, we need to get out!"

Myrek held her at arm's length, and it dawned on her that his thin, bearded features showed an expression of amusement, not of relief. They had not always been the closest of siblings, but he was still her brother -- even now, her twitching nose could pick up the familiar tang of his scent, undetectable to a human, yet clearly indicating their relationship, the deep ties that held the warren together.

But Skirina was confused by the way he was acting. "What's happened?" she asked, "I don't understand... we have to get away."

"Who do you think drugged you?" he asked, his eyes hard, his hands firmly gripping her shoulders.

"I don't know, that's what I've been telling you. Please, Myrek..." his hands dug into her flesh, holding her fixed in place. "Ouch! You're hurting me."

He leaned his face in closer to hers, those features almost more familiar than her own. "It was me, you stupid little tart," he said. "Who else could get close enough?"

Skirina's eyes went wide. It couldn't be... he had to be lying. Wererats were not the most moral of beings, with very little respect for those other than themselves, but the bonds of the warren ran deep, were so sacrosanct that breaking them was almost unthinkable.

"No... no... that can't be right..." she whispered, the fear rising in her again. This was her brother, there could be no doubt about it, yet he was acting in a way that went beyond what she could imagine, as if this were all some terrible nightmare, not reality at all. Despite her protests, she somehow knew he was telling the truth, yet still she cast about for some way to explain it, something that didn't involve the betrayal of one of the few trusts that her kind regarded as inviolate.

"You had better learn that it is exactly right," sneered Myrek, now shoving her up against the wall, pinioning her there and grapping onto her chin with one hand, pinching her hard and forcing her to look him in the face. "I drugged you, and, as you have probably already discovered, I subsequently administered a potion that removes all of your lycanthropic powers. It isn't permanent; your true nature will re-assert itself in forty eight hours or so... not that it will matter by then."

"You never were a very good wererat, were you?" he continued, his voice full of disapproval, "never quite as determined as the rest of us. You were weak, and too much prey to soft, human, emotions. And don't think the others will come looking for you. They think you're with me, which means they think you're safe. By the time they find out otherwise, you will be dead, and I will be more powerful than you can imagine."

She tried to speak, but her sounds were distorted, because of her brother's hand holding her jaw in such a tight grip. He grinned slightly, and relaxed his hold, "you wanted to say something?" he asked, regarding her with evident amusement.

"What are you doing? What can possibly be worth this? I am your sister, your warren-mate... I have never let you down. What has gotten into you, Myrek?"

"A fair question," he said, "although the second part is not so easy to answer. But you know what lies beyond the sixteenth passage, what we call the Hungry Swamp? Well, it's going to escape, and I'm going to help it. Oh, I can't do anything from down here, as you know, but the wards are just weakening enough that a ceremony from up above, in the human city... well, that can free the bonds for good. My new friends and I just need a few things first. Most of them are well in hand, but my task has been to find a human sacrifice."

"I should say, perhaps, a sentient sacrifice," he continued, clearly smiling as he looked on her horrified face. Her intended fate was becoming clear, made all the worse by the terrible betrayal that it was her brother who would send her to it. "You're close enough to human to count," he continued, "an element of treachery has to be involved, the breaking of a solemn trust, and I rather think this counts, don't you?"

Try as she might, Skirina felt hot tears beginning to well up in her eyes. This was beyond any horror that she could have imagined, and her façade, that of the fierce and cunning wererat, the monster that haunted the night and subterranean tunnels, was crumbling in the face of evil beyond anything she had envisaged.

"Oh, you're crying," said Myrek, not a trace of pity in his voice, "I always knew you were too weak for the warren. But you haven't even got anything to cry about yet. Let me tell you what is going to happen to you before they conduct the sacrifice. There are thirteen of us; rich merchants, prominent magicians, nobles, and so on. You're going to be stripped naked in front of them, and held down while they take turns raping you, over and over again."

She let out a strangled sob, the tears flowing freely now, but he hadn't finished talking, his face virtually pressed against hers so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. "And guess what? I'll be watching every second of it, staying there, and maybe giving them advice... although I hear they're pretty inventive. And you know, I am going to so enjoy watching the expression on your pretty little face, with all those soft, weak emotions of yours, as some fat, middle-aged magician fucks you brutally up the arse. What do you say to that?"

Skirina bit her brother hard on the nose.

Her teeth were not those of a rat, but even human teeth were painful enough when clamped down really hard. Myrek screamed, as much in surprise as pain, and she shoved him away from her, making him stagger back, with blood now pouring down his face. And then she ran for the door, not stopping to see what he was doing, and out into the passageway beyond. 

Her brother was swearing, shouting at the top of his lungs, but she ran on and on, not even paying much attention to where she was going. She was somewhere in the old passages beneath the city, one of the areas where the wererats rarely ventured, and not as familiar to her as she would have wished. But as long as she could outrun him, she would eventually be back to safety. She could find the warren, and make Myrek pay for his crimes. Then, she knew, they would show him as little mercy as he had shown her. 

Her bare feet slapped on the stone flagging, sometimes almost slipping in grease or detritus that littered the floor. She could hear running feet behind her, as Myrek tried to track her, and she knew that she had to keep going, as far as she could -- perhaps even up to the surface, Yes... there had to be some access to the human city somewhere, making it much harder for him to pursue her, especially if it were daylight up above. All she had to do was find one.

She reached a stone channel full of the hot, steaming water that ran beneath the city, a narrow ledge down each side. She continued running, her breath starting to come hard now, but her muscles driven on by her adrenalin. Myrek would have to stay in human form, relying on his longer legs to try and maintain his speed, so at least there, they should be even. Skirina ran on.

Too late, she realised where she was. She was close to the Hungry Swamp... where else would Myrek have kept her prisoner, but near the place he hoped to liberate the Dark Heart from? And that meant... that meant that the passage ahead was blocked.

In fact, there it was now -- a crazy profusion of grey plant-like growths, sprouting from the canal and filling the passage. Great leaves that never saw a hint of sunlight snapped ferociously, their edges lined with sharp teeth. Bulbous, foul-smelling growths rose like mutant mushrooms, full, she knew, of poisonous and deadly spores. Nobody knew why the Hungry Swamp was there, blocking the sixteenth passage, but they all knew that it was essentially impassable. Especially for what was now essentially an unarmed human woman with her hands still bound together.

She turned round, hoping to be able to dash back to the last intersection, and find a different route. But up ahead, between her and the crossing, she saw Myrek. He slowed down, catching his breath as she caught her own, one of his three steely daggers held in his hand. She noted with satisfaction that his face was bloody, and he looked to be in some pain.

"You're going to pay for that," he snarled, "my dear little sister. The sacrifice doesn't need to be intact, so maybe after they've finished gang raping you, my knife and I can have little fun." He slowly advanced towards her, knife held outwards and his silhouette outlined in yellowish light.

Wait... there was light behind him? Down here?

He seemed to notice the light just seconds after she did, turning round to see what was coming up behind him. There, just turning the corner, was a group of five people. They were not wererats, nor had Skirina seen them anywhere before. There were two humans, an elf, a dwarf, and a gnome, and two of them at least were in full metal armour.

"Help!" she screamed with all the breath left in her lungs. Whoever these strange intruders were, it would surely not take them long to decide that Myrek -- an armed man bearing down on a partly bound and barely dressed young woman -- was the true threat here.

"Drop your weapon!" shouted the armoured human. It was a woman's voice, something that was surely further to her advantage. Now that she could see them more clearly, it was apparent that the elf and the gnome were also women.

"He tried to rape me," she called out, feeling in that instant not a speck of remorse for setting these people on her own brother. Besides, it wasn't that far from the truth.

She needn't have worried, though, as Myrek's first action was to throw his dagger at the approaching group. His shot was unerring, striking the dwarf and drawing blood. A split second later a burst of silvery light illuminated the darkened passage as the elven woman cast a spell, causing something small and indistinct to hurtle back down the passage. It struck Myrek, vanishing with a burst of energy, and almost knocking him from his footing.

The wererat cursed, realising that he was hopelessly outnumbered. His body rippled, clothes vanishing as fur began to sprout in their place. In barely more than a second, he changed from a human-looking man in dark leathers to a crouched over bipedal form with the head and tail of a rat, clothed only in thick brown fur -- only his knives, sword, and their accompanying belts remained free from the transformation.

To Skirina this was nothing; Myrek's hybrid form was as familiar to her as his human one, his new facial features just as recognisable. But nonetheless, she managed a scream, hoping that the darkness would hide the fact that her expression was surely not as surprised and frightened as a regular human's would have been. From the others' perspective, she would be seeing an assailant unexpectedly turn into a monster.

But if he had been relying on his sudden change to unnerve his opponents, Myrek had clearly miscalculated. The two humans moved rapidly down the corridor towards him, while the others provided cover further back. Drawing his shortsword from its scabbard, Myrek backed away from them, heading towards Skirina.

She knew that she had to play the part of the helpless human, and so pressed herself back against the wall, raising her hands in front of her face as if afraid to look at the rat-monster in front of her, but actually peering through her fingers to see what happened. Myrek was, for the moment, ignoring her, and pushed past her, glancing about to try and find a means of escape. Skirina could already have told him that there was none, as well he should have known.

Myrek reached the mutant plants, batting at them with one clawed hand as a leaf over a foot across snapped at his head. A tendril thrashed out, beating at him with razor-sharp thorns, but his broken skin re-healed almost instantly, mundane weapons unable to harm him. Skirina realised he was going to try and escape through the swamp, surely a risky proposition, even for a wererat. Perhaps he thought that the thing beyond it -- what the warren called the Black Heart -- would help to protect him.

But before he could do anything, the human woman was upon him, and he was forced to parry her blows with his sword. The other stranger -- who, now they were up close, Skirina saw was a half-elf, not a human -- cast a spell that filled the tunnel with golden light, eliminating the advantage that Myrek's dark-adapted eyes would otherwise have given him. The wererat flinched at the sudden illumination, but the human woman did not bat an eyelid, using the opportunity to deliver a slashing wound to one of his arms.

Skirina could not help but notice that the wound did not heal. Now that the tunnel was properly lit, it was obvious to her that the blade was not edged with silver, which could only mean that it was magical, and perhaps quite impressive magic at that. The strangers had to be adventurers; something she would have realised much earlier, had she been thinking straight. Although why they were here at all was still a considerable mystery.

Myrek snarled, spittle flying past his long orange teeth, and drying blood already adorning his muzzle, for that had not vanished with his transformation. He stabbed swiftly, sword clanging against the woman's armour, but failing to penetrate the heavy metal. The flurry of sword blows continued, as the half-elf sought to gain a good angle to cast an offensive spell, hampered by the narrowness of the passage.

The human woman and the snarling wererat seemed evenly matched, but Myrek's back was close to the distorted plants that choked the tunnel, and at a crucial moment, a whipping vine snapped across his face, blinding him for a split second. Skirina let out an involuntary gasp as the woman's blade plunged into her brother's body, slashing up into his ribcage, blood spurting as he screamed in agony, a terrible high-pitched wailing.

Myrek fell to one side as the woman yanked her blade free, and toppled into the steaming water channel that occupied the centre of the passage. The hot water splashed across the stonework, drenching their legs, and the wererat flailed about with his one good hand, dropping the sword as he did so. The water around him began to bubble, something moving rapidly below its surface. Weed-like tendrils erupted, grabbing onto him as his blood continued to darken the water.

And then both the thrashing and the high-pitched screaming stopped. The rat-like features softened, reshaping into human form, giving Skirina one last glimpse of her brother's face before it was dragged beneath the swirling waters. His final expression was one of shock and horror, yet still his death had been far cleaner than the one he had planned for her.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 22



Her emotions were confused; everything had seemed to happen so quickly. She had lost her brother, first to some unimaginable evil, and then to a sword blade,.. she didn't know whether to feel elated at her rescue, or saddened at the loss of a sibling, and the fear and revulsion that had driven her to flee was still strong. She shuddered, trying desperately not to cry, and then flung herself into the arms of the half-elf, who happened to be the nearest person to her.

An instant later, she wondered at her reaction. This man was no wererat, no member of her warren. Even if he were, seeking comfort in such a way was hardly the way her people normally behaved. She told herself that she was playing a part, acting the damsel in distress, ensuring that these adventurers would not be suspicious that she, too, was not what she appeared. Yet his firm muscular body felt warm beneath her hands, comforting in a way that even her warren-mates rarely were. When his arms went around her, patting her comfortingly, she could not deny how pleasant it felt.

"When you've quite finished, Almandar," said the dwarf, as the other three members of the party approached, "we do still have tunnels to explore."

"Can't you see the woman's distressed?" asked the half-elf, "anyway, we can't take her with us, or leave her like this."

"Besides," said the woman who had killed Myrek, "look at this," she waved a hand at the Hungry Swamp, "we won't get through this easily."

"Fireball it," suggested the dwarf.

"Too dangerous in an enclosed space," said the elven woman, "especially when you consider we're directly under a city. What if the roof collapsed? I would suggest hacking our way through, but some of those plants look like they might ooze poison or release deadly spores... we have seen that before, if you remember."

"So what do you suggest?"

"I suggest," said the human woman, who it was becoming clear that the others looked to as a kind of leader, "that we pull back for today, and think about another approach. At least we have some idea what is down here now. And take this woman back to the surface. What's your name, my dear?"

"Skirina," she told them, seeing no purpose in making up anything else, and too stressed to be able to come up with anything on the spur of the moment anyway.

"Well, Skirina, we're going to..."

"How do we know she's safe?" interrupted the gnome, speaking for the first time, and bringing the lantern that she was carrying closer. She looked suspicious, eyeing Skirina as if she thought she might recognise her, although the wererat could not recall ever having seen the small woman before. "I mean," continued the gnome, "we don't know why she was down here. Could even be... well, it could even be a fight between whoever lives down here. Where there's one wererat, there could be more. They live in packs or something, right? Like werewolves?"

Skirina did her best to look innocent, pressing her face into Almandar's shirt and clinging to him tightly. "No!" she said, the distress she had already suffered making her voice sound cracked and frightened. "He must have taken me down here. I don't even know where 'here' is!"

"I still say we make sure," insisted the gnome. Skirina shuddered and made a whimpering sound, earning another reassuring pat from Almandar. He at least seemed to have bought her act. Insofar as it was an act, anyway.

"If there was anything demonic in her, I could sense it," explained the woman, "Which I did for the wererat, incidentally. Although I can't say for sure whether that was just his lycanthropic nature or something worse. But... I hope you don't mind Skirina." 

She reached out her hand, touching the bare skin of Skirina's cheek. The wererat flinched in response -- if this woman could detect lyncanthropes, she might just have escaped from one deadly fate only in order to fall into another.

"Nothing," said the woman, taking her hand away. "No evil magic, shapeshifting or otherwise. Is that good enough?"

Skirina realised that the potion that was currently preventing her from transforming had also just saved her life. She was, at least for the next forty eight hours, effectively human, even to the magical detection abilities of this stranger, who was surely a paladin. She barely managed to hide her grin of triumph by burying her face deeper into Almandar's tunic.

"Let's return to the surface, and decide what we do next."

As they began to move away, Almandar released her, giving her shoulder a tight squeeze. "Come with us," he said, "You're safe now."

This time she couldn't hide the look of relief. But that, of course, seemed natural enough.

──◊──

Skirina looked at herself in the mirror. She had, of course, been unable to provide a home address in the city, and had to resort to claiming to be a traveller. Unable to decide what else to do with her, the adventurers had provided her with this room at an inn while they went about their own business. The gnome -- Vardala -- still seemed suspicious, although Skirina could not quite fathom why, but the others seemed convinced enough.

She had been up above ground many times before, of course, although rarely to stay for long. She would have to retreat to her regular home soon, and rejoin the warren, but she could have a little fun first, taking advantage of the belief she was an innocent victim. She deserved it after her scare, and besides, she was a victim, if not quite the sort that they thought she was. She made a mental note to make her getaway before her abilities returned, and Tarissa detected her true nature.

They had gone off to find her some clothing, deciding they could hardly leave her in her shift. Indeed, that alone was a good enough reason not to make her escape just yet. She bounced on the bed, so much softer than her usual pallets in the underground passages. Then she got up and used a bowl of water to wash herself. 

Considering where she lived, it was a battle to remain clean, although at least hot water was in plentiful supply. But here she could really take the time to do it, cleaning herself up so that she looked more like the typical humans of the surface world. Finishing her face, she pulled her shift off, throwing it to one side as she rinsed her legs and upper body.

That was when she caught herself looking in the mirror. She was, she knew, quite pretty for a wererat, their naturally sharp features in her case muted by large brown eyes, high cheekbones, and pale lips. She flipped her long fringe back, and adopted an expression she hoped looked vulnerable, wide eyes looking slightly mournful, lower lip trembling slightly. Properly cleaned up, she had an innocent face, the kind of looks that made men feel protective.

Her body was thin, looking a little undernourished, but not enough to be truly skinny. She was not, of course, particularly tall, which perhaps only increased her appearance of weakness. She ran her hands over her breasts, glad at least that they were full enough that nobody would think she were underage. Still, they were not large, and some men preferred them that way. Her nipples were small and brown, and she took the opportunity to run fluttering fingers over them, enjoying the brief sensation, while reflecting that no men in her experience had ever shown them much attention. Which was a pity.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Almandar's voice asking if he could come in. Skirina glanced over to her shift, but then changed her mind. If he was alone, she could have a game, she realised... one that would surely benefit her when she returned to the warren.

"Come in!" she called, turning to face the door, still dressed only in her panties.

"I brought..." said Almandar, stepping into the room, holding what looked to be a cheap grey dress. Seeing her, his eyes widened, and he turned away, though not, she felt sure, before getting a good look. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise... you should have said. I didn't want you to think that I..."

Before he could finish speaking, she rushed across the room, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you!" she cried, "the dress looks wonderful. I must find a way to repay you."

"No really, it's fine," he said, seeming a little embarrassed. Still, he pushed the door closed, before anyone else could see them, and put the dress down to one side. "You should try it on. I'll turn my back."

She stepped away from him, slightly puzzled by the way he was acting. Men, in her experience, lost little time in taking what they wanted. The few times she had had sex, it had been with one of the males from the warren, who had always shoved her up against the wall, hiked her skirt up and finished the deed quickly and roughly. Were humans -- or half-elves -- so different? Or was she just not his type?

She stepped back out of his arms, looking queryingly at him, practicing that trembling lower lip again. "Aren't I pretty?" she asked in a plaintive voice, simultaneously tweaking her left nipple. 

He was looking at her now, eyes flicking between her face and her rounded breasts, watching her hands as one continued teasing her nipple, and the other ducked down to the cord waistband of her panties.

"No, it's not that," he said, "I just don't want you to think that I... that we did this for a reward. Certainly not like this. You don't have to do anything. You're free now. Safe."

"I don't want to be alone," she said, stepping forwards and embracing him again, "I need companionship right now, and... and a reminder that what that, uh, monster, wanted doesn't have to be bad. Please don't leave me."

She pressed her face into his tunic, and manoeuvred her right hand down towards his crotch. There was a bulge there, definitely. He was taller than any member of the warren, and she wondered if he would be bigger down there, too. There was one way to find out.

"If you're really sure that ..." he gulped as she thrust her hand into his trews, gripping his rapidly hardening erection. It was bigger, she discovered, although hardly out-sized. "Uh, yeah, you seem pretty sure," he said as she ran her dainty fingers along his cock.

She grinned, but perhaps not for the reason he suspected. He was a handsome man, there was no doubt about it, but the sex would only be a means to an end. She knew how it would be; he would climb on top of her, and a few thrusts later he would finish the act. She would respond to his roughness by biting him on the shoulder, which would doubtless annoy and upset him. But by then it would be too late -- he would be infected with lycanthropy, and she would, in due course, be able to introduce a very valuable new addition to the warren. It should certainly make up for the loss of Myrek.

That plan fixed in her head, she released him, and scampered back to the bed, leaping onto it, caressing the softness of the sheets with her hands. Still grinning, she pushed her panties down, and parted her thighs, giving him a good view as he undressed. 

He was, she reflected, better built than any wererat, tall and in good physical shape. She admired his chest and back, broader than those she was used to, and the shape of his thighs as he pulled his trews down. She ran the fingers of one hand down over her belly, stroking the triangle of hair above her mound, making an encouraging, mewling sound as she did so.

Now Almandar was naked, striding towards the bed, his erect cock swaying as he moved. She might actually enjoy this a little, she thought, as he joined her on the bed. She expected him to head straight for her pussy, taking her urgently, but instead he took her head in his hands and kissed her.

Skirina had never really kissed anyone before. Or at least, not like this. His lips lingered, his tongue pressing against hers as she found herself responding eagerly. Her breasts pressed against his heavy chest as the kiss continued, occasionally breaking for air, his hands running through her long hair. Her hands gripped his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in them, the firm muscle of his flesh. His scent was manly, overpowering, not at all what she had expected.

They broke apart from the kiss, and Skirina brushed her hair away from her eyes, letting it fall across the pillow. She waited for the inevitable hard penetration, licking her lips and running her tongue over her teeth in preparation for her planned response. But instead, he kissed her throat, and then moved lower, leaving a series of soft pecks on her skin.

He reached her small breasts, kissing each of them in turn, starting at the outer edge and moving slowly in. She gasped as he approached her nipples, then mewled as he took one into his mouth, rubbing the tip with his tongue. It felt superb, something she had dreamed of, but that none of her previous partners had ever even come close to doing. She had intended simply to let him have his way, but she realised with surprise that she could feel a warm dampness growing between her legs. She was becoming highly aroused, enjoying this as much as he was, if not more.

"Please," she murmured, presenting him with the other breast, her nipples already harder than she thought they had ever been in her life. He obliged, sucking on it, as a hand moved down over her hips. "Oh, that's so good..." she said, surprising herself that such a statement had come unbidden, and was so truthful, besides.

She ran her hands over his shoulders again, looking down over his smooth back to the rising mound of his firm buttocks. She could not bite him from this position, but she didn't care, not so long as he continued in his ministrations.

He released her breasts, leaving her feeling empty. She wanted more! His mouth was moving lower, sliding over her narrow belly, and she raised herself up on her elbows to get a better look. Surely he wasn't going to...?

He nuzzled against the fine hair between her legs, and ran a finger along her pussy lips. They were wet and swollen, and his touch felt like a pleasurable fire. Her eyes, already large, widened further as he moved to kiss her pussy, pushing his tongue gently inside. She actually let out a squeak at that, before remembering to try and steady her voice -- though, fortunately, there were some limits to how you could sound with a human throat. Her hips bucked, and she pressed her head back against the pillow, gasping at the unexpected thrill.

She had never, in her whole life, felt anything so good as his tongue probing her folds, his kiss against her damp lips, his sucking action on the nub of her clit. She groaned, squirming against the sheets, as he grabbed her buttocks to steady himself, probing deeper. She watched his head moving, and gripped one of her breasts in her own hand, twisting the nipple, gritting her teeth to try not to make too much noise. 

She threw a leg over his shoulder, all thought of her original plan forgotten. She just wanted him to continue sucking and licking her until she came. She allowed herself a moan of pure pleasure, squeezing her nipples in each hand as the delightful torture continued. She was desperately, achingly, close to what she knew would be the best orgasm of her life.

But then he stopped, moving up the bed to lie beside her again. They kissed again, she the instigator this time, as she ran her nimble fingers over every inch of his torso. She caressed his back, felt the shape of his pectorals, rubbed his nipples, probed his navel, feeling everywhere, wanting to savour him all. His cock rubbed against her thigh, and she gripped it, sliding down its length, teasing and tickling his scrotum, feeling the hairs brush against her dainty fingertips.

He rolled on top of her, which would have given her the perfect chance had she even remembered an ounce of her original purpose. But she didn't; she just wanted him inside her, wanted to feel if this would be as good as the foreplay.

"Yes... yes... I want you in me..." she murmured, wrapping her legs around his, raising her hips up to give him a better angle.

And he obliged. Not with the hard rapid thrusts of her former lovers, but slowly pushing himself in, inch by inch, eyes taking in every expression on her face. He groaned himself, once he was in, and slowly began moving, hips grinding against hers. She gripped his buttocks with one hand, feeling their motion as they adjusted to her own rhythm. Her other hand held onto his back, fingers digging into the flesh.

She had known he was larger than anyone she had met before, but she had never anticipated just how that would feel, filling every part of her aching pussy as he plunged in and out. She was panting rapidly, aware that he had already lasted longer than any of her previous lovers, and showed no signs of stopping. 

She gripped his legs with her own, holding onto his buttocks as they continued their motion, trying to make them thrust ever deeper. As she found her passion rising ever higher, she mewled, letting out high-pitched gasps of pleasure, becoming ever more rapid as her peak approached.

She let herself go completely, pushing aside any hint of self-restraint, forgetting even who and what she really was. She all but screamed as the orgasm consumed her, arching her back, lifting them both off the bed as her legs thrashed and her fingers dug hard into his back. Almandar groaned loudly as he came too, the fluid flooding into her contracting cunt. And still he didn't stop, continuing to push into her until he had softened too much to carry on. The fire running through her body was overwhelming, better than anything she had ever felt before, and she surrendered fully to its glorious sensation.

Afterwards, as they lay beside each other, arms entwined, she recalled her original intention. But there was no way she could carry that out now, not after that. What a way to earn your freedom!



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 23



"Thank you for inviting me over," said Kaeranna, stepping into the kitchen, "it's been a while."

Fentik nodded; there had been a number of reasons why he had not seen the gnomish woman recently, and many of them were ones he did not want to admit to. Nor was he going to admit to his ulterior motive for inviting her to his house tonight. Instead, he simply said, "I agree, it's been too long, but with one thing and another... well, I hope to make up for it tonight. Just you and me... you don't mind that, do you?"

"No, of course not," she said, smiling, "I think the last time we really met was at Lugdan's, and it seemed that half the gnomes in the city were there. It will be nice to have a bit more quiet..." her eyes widened, as she saw how he had decorated the table, with a white cloth and his best cutlery, not to mention two silver candlesticks, which cast the only the light in the room aside from the roaring fire in the hearth. "All this in honour of me? I'm impressed."

"Thank you," he said, "as you said, it's been a while, and I wanted to make up for that. I hope you like the food as much."

He pulled out a chair, and motioned for her to sit. As she did so, he rested his hand briefly on her shoulder, feeling her warmth through the white cotton of her blouse. He kept it there just a second longer than was strictly necessary, but she did not respond. Was that a good sign, or a bad one? Possibly good, he thought, but he would have to see how the evening played out.

He stepped over to the fireplace to pick up the hot food, placing it carefully on the table. He kept glancing at Kaeranna as he did so, admiring the way the firelight caught her face. They had known each other since they were children, growing up together in the gnomish quarter of Haredil, and Fentik had had a crush on her for as long as he could remember. She liked him, certainly, but they had always seemed to be no more than friends. 

Or so he had thought until recently – now he wondered whether that had just been his natural reticence. He had, after all, never really done anything to indicate he wanted more than just friendship. Looking back, that was as much due to a fear of rejection as for any other reason. He was, if truth were told, still worried about that possibility, but things had changed.

The reason for that change, of course, was Vardala.

"Wine?" he asked, pouring some out for her when she accepted. He sat down opposite her, and removed the lid of the dish to reveal roast chicken and vegetables. He had spent some time on the preparation of the meal, which had, as it turned out, been timed to perfection. If nothing else happened tonight, at least they would eat well.

She complemented him on the dinner as he began to serve it out, watching her every reaction. She was dressed in traditional gnomish garb, with long skirts that reached to her ankles, and a white blouse beneath a brown felt waistcoat embroidered with yellow and green thread. His eyes wandered over the flower patterns around the edges, and the small ivory buttons down the front. It was a good quality waistcoat, surely one of her best, but he tried not to make it obvious that he was also admiring the curve of her body beneath its tight contours.

"So what have you been up to?" he asked, sitting down and beginning to tuck in.

He listened attentively to the answers, the stories of the domestic lives of the local gnomes, their small trials and tribulations. This, he reflected, was what he could never share with Vardala, for they just did not have any connection on that level. She probably had a servant for domestic chores, but they had never even talked about that. Twice now she had come into his house, they had had energetic sex, and then... well, pretty much she just got dressed and left again. 

It was bewildering. The sex was certainly good in its own way – if physically exhausting, for the rogue was a demanding woman. Perhaps that was all she needed, but it was not enough for him, and the next time they met he resolved to tell her so. But she had, in a way, left him with a gift: the newfound confidence to approach the woman he really wanted, that he had always wanted. He just hoped that Kaeranna felt the same about him.

He watched her across the table, admiring her blue eyes, the way her lips moved when she smiled, the coiled braids of her blond hair. How had it taken him so long to build up the courage? Why had it taken another woman, not at all like this one, to make him appreciate his true desires?

"Enough about me," said Kaeranna, breaking his reverie, "how have you been? Met anyone interesting lately?"

"Uh, no..." he said. Unbidden, the memory of Vardala's second visit sprang to his mind. She had just turned up one evening, strolled into his house, leaving him flustered and a little embarrassed. She had said something about going away for a short while – tonight, in fact, which was why he had chosen it for this meeting, knowing he would not be interrupted. It seemed that just a few moments later she was leaning across this very table, trews and panties around her ankles as he took her vigorously from behind.

He glanced down at his food, trying to hide the blush of shame, and not wanting to meet Kaeranna's eyes. He was glad that the table hid the swelling in his trews, but he shifted uncomfortably in his chair all the same. Vardala was not who he wanted to be thinking about tonight.

"Still on your own, hmm?" asked Kaeranna, apparently misinterpreting the cause of his sudden embarrassment. "Well, you know you always have a friend." 

She reached across the table, holding his hand in hers, making his heart leap at the gentle touch. He shot her a grin, perhaps wider than he had intended, but a few seconds later, the hand withdrew.

"Not entirely on my own," he confessed, "I mean, I go down to the tavern in the evening with the lads. And there's the neighbours..."

"I didn't mean you were a hermit, silly!" said Kaeranna, laughing, "just that you live here on your own. I may still live with my family, but there's nobody special in my life at the moment, either, so we're the same like that, if you think about it."

"Both looking for companionship, you mean?"

"Yes," she said, leaning forward on the table, resting her chin on one hand. Her voice lowered, and he saw that her blue eyes were fixed on his, "perhaps we haven't been looking in the right place?"

Instinctively, he leaned forward too, until their faces weee just inches apart. She made no move to back off. "Or looking, but not really seeing?" he asked.

"Something like that."

He raised himself up slightly until he could reach her, and kissed her briefly on the lips. Her eyes never wavered, so he kissed her again, slightly longer this time, feeling her respond, eyelids fluttering shut. Then the moment was gone, and they pulled apart, attention returning to the meal, each lost in their own thoughts.

At last, they finished the last of the food, and it was Kaeranna who broke the uncomfortable silence, "Do you have any more wine?"

"Yes, of course," replied Fentik, jumping to his feet, and pouring her another goblet.

"Thanks – I think I need it," she said, taking a deep draught and then motioning for another refill.

She stood up then, and walked across to the rug in front of the fire, sitting down demurely, folding her long skirts beneath her. Fentik stood still for a moment, remembering how he had first taken Vardala in front of that fire, how it had taken every ounce of his strength to satisfy her. Forcing his mind back to the present, he moved to sit beside the other gnome, wondering how far he could take this tonight, and silently praying that it would be all the way.

Kaeranna snuggled up against him, putting an arm around his back, and taking another sip of the wine. "What were we saying earlier?" she asked, her voice soft.

"This, I think," he replied, putting one arm around her, and raising her chin with the other, melting into a long kiss. She responded in kind, shifting slightly against him to get a better angle as his tongue tasted the wine in her mouth. Her eyes closed, and the kiss seemed to go on for a long time before they finally released each other, each drawing deep breaths. She quickly drained the remainder of her goblet, putting it away carefully at the edge of the carpet.

Kaeranna rested her head on Fentik's shoulder, cuddling up against him, reaching out to hold his free hand. He traced her fine fingers one by one, watching the flickering firelight play across them. 

"This is nice," she said, and he moved slightly to kiss the blonde hair on the top of her head, saying nothing. "My parents will be wondering where I am," she added, not moving from her position.

He felt a stab of disappointment, but trying to keep it from his voice asked, "how long do you think you can stay?"

"Oh, a little while yet," she said, moving to kiss him again. "I don't want this to end," she added, "just you and me. Why haven't we done this before? You know I've always liked you."

"I... I don't know," he admitted, "I didn't know what you'd say, I guess. Uh, you've really always liked me? As more than a friend?"

"Of course – don't tell me you didn't know!" She laughed, and they kissed again, her hand behind his head, as his own traced the shape of her thigh through the long skirts.

"Not for certain. I wish I had. It would have... well, it would have made some differences."

She smiled again, a flash of white teeth behind pale lips, "well, you have me now. All to yourself. For a little while at least."

Fentik composed himself, realising that now was the time to ask, to see how far he could go. "Do you think you could stay until breakfast?" he asked, the words coming out in a rush, "I'd like to make one for you." Oh, how different this was than it had been with Vardala! This time it mattered, and that made all the difference.

"Fentik!" she said in a shocked voice, eyes wide, and pulling away from him a little. 

He cursed himself inwardly, his mind racing through ways to recover. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."

"Yes, you did," she replied, her eyes still wide, but her voice a little gentler again. "On our first date! Our first proper date, anyway, it's not that I don't know you. And..." she paused, casting her eyes to the floor, "it's not that I..." She stopped, and began again, "it's just that it was unexpected, that's all. But... but..." she looked at him, and he tried to read the expression on her face, as she was doubtless trying to read his, "but I really would like to try one of your breakfasts. Really."

He moved round to lift her up, one arm round her shoulders, the other under her legs, holding her close to his chest as he stood and turned to face the door that led to the stairs. Kaeranna pressed herself against him, her arms around his neck.

"Fentik," she said, as they reached the foot of the stairs. Her voice sounded serious, and he stopped, waiting for her to continue speaking. When she did so, her voice faltered slightly, "I'm a virgin."

He kissed her forehead; surprised to find that the thought had not particularly occurred to him. "I'll be gentle," he said. And he would be; this was not Vardala.

──◊──

"Could you light a candle?" asked Kaeranna, "I'd like to see you."

Only the lesser moon was above the horizon at the moment, and it was a crescent, shedding little light into the bedroom. Fentik fumbled in the darkness, soon locating and lighting a candle, then placing it on a table. In the pool of yellow light, he could see the gnomish woman sitting on the bed, her hands clasped together on her knees, twisting the fabric of her long dress. 

She was still fully clothed, although he himself was already stripped to the waist. He pulled his boots off, and, seeing no further movement from her, moved to sit beside her. Kaeranna's eyes wandered over his chest and belly, but still she made no move. Hoping she wasn't having second thoughts, he took one of her hands in his, and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're all right?" he asked, receiving only a silent nod in response. When he kissed her, she took a second or two to respond, but soon she melted into his arms, reticence forgotten for now. Her hands caressed his bare back, and slowly she slid round to the front, running her fingers through the short hair on his chest.

Still leaning across to kiss her, he reached for the buttons on her waistcoat, undoing them one by one. She pulled away from him for a moment, but only to remove the item of clothing, carefully folding it, and placing it on a bedside cabinet. That done, she turned back to face him, her gaze now moving downwards to the hem of his trews, where the bulge was becoming uncomfortable.

She fumbled with his belt, undoing the clasp, and he stood up, helping her to pull his trews down, and then stepping out of them. Her eyes were fixed on the visible tenting of his drawers with what seemed to be trepidation. He reached across and squeezed her shoulder, trying to look reassuring, and she smiled at him in reply. 

Her hands went to her own blouse, pulling the base free of the wide leather belt she was wearing, halting for a moment as she glanced at him to see his reaction. Obviously detecting nothing but his rapt attention, she lifted the garment over her head, pulling her arms free, then folding it neatly on top of the waistcoat. She even pressed it a little, smoothing it down, taking a few extra seconds over the task.

Underneath the blouse she was wearing a typical gnomish halter, a light garment covering her breasts, with a strap behind the neck and done up with three small buttons at the front. Fentik's eyes drank in the curve of her body beneath the cotton, and the smooth skin of her belly beneath. He moved to sit beside her again, taking her by one bare shoulder and kissing her on the lips. Her hands fluttered along his flanks, dipping lower to the curve of his hips at the waistband of his drawers.

As they broke free from the kiss, he leaned backwards as her gaze returned to his only remaining piece of clothing, the tenting now more visible than ever. It was she that made the first move, sliding it down, and letting out a little gasp as his erection sprang free,

She seemed to be frozen, so he reached out, stroking her neck and arm. "It's," she cleared her throat, "it's larger than I thought." 

Fentik tried – and failed – to suppress a grin at the remark, but she didn't seem to notice his reaction, for she was not looking at his face. She reached out to stroke his hips, sliding her fingers across their inner curve, making him catch his breath. She brushed his public hair, before moving her hand round to feel the shape of his balls. He gasped out loud as she traced her fingers along his length, and she flashed a grin in his direction, evidently pleased with his response.

He kissed her again, taking her in his arms, their lips locked together passionately, hands exploring each other's bodies. She was breathing heavily when he finally released her, breasts rising and falling beneath the halter top. He undid the lowest button on the garment, but it was she who raced to undo the others, turning away from him to remove it and place it with her other clothes.

She turned back, her arms across her breasts, blushing. She was about to say something, but seemed unable to find the words, so he pressed a finger to her lips and made a slight hushing sound. Gently, he took her arms, finding no resistance as he moved them to her sides. Her breasts were pert and rounded with large pale aureoles, and she made no move as he began to stroke them. For long had he dreamt of seeing them, touching them? Encouraged by her reactions, he continued his fondling, rubbing his fingers across both nipples as she gasped in response. 

He kissed one of her breasts, running his tongue over the smooth skin, sucking the nipple before turning his attention to the other. Kaeranna threw her head back, letting out a few quiet pants of pleasure, and pressing her body towards him. He released her breast, taking her head in both hands to kiss her again, feeling the shape of her against his chest, the rhythm of her breathing.

He felt her hand on his cock again, stroking it, and he moved back to watch, as she gazed at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. She was still wearing the long skirt, covering her legs, and held up by a wide leather belt. Hungrily, he reached out for it, undoing the buckle, slipping it free, and pulling her skirts down. She reached for them as they slid down her calves, evidently planning to place them on the bedside cabinet.

"Don't worry about that now," he told her, sliding her legs free, and lifting them up onto the bed, so that that she was now half-sitting on it, propped on her arms, naked breasts rising and falling with each breath. 

She had not removed her boots, which were dark in colour, laced up at the sides, reaching to above her ankles. It would take a while to undo them, and he did not feel the need to do so just yet, instead admiring the curve of her legs, now free from the confines of the long skirt. 

He sat still, in rapture, eyes wandering over every feature of her body, illuminated by the flickering candlelight. This was the woman he had admired for years, who had haunted his dreams. For so long he had been enthralled by the beauty of her face, her deep blue eyes and soft blonde hair, her pink lips and cheery smile. Now she was lying in front of him, clad only in lace-up leather boots and a pair of brief panties. How often had he fantasised about this moment, yet never daring to take the initiative to bring it about? 

He wanted to just sit there, drinking in that view. Her belly was smooth, yet not too slender, her thighs and calves deliciously curved, pale skin contrasting against the dark of her boots. Her breasts were magnificent, just the right size, and had felt so delightful beneath his hands and against his lips. He remembered the feel of her nipples hardening beneath his tongue, and his cock felt as if it might burst.

Kaeranna smiled nervously, breaking him out of his reverie. Looking down, he ran a hand over one of her knees, and drifted it over the outer thigh, bending to kiss the pale skin there. Then he teased her legs apart a little, kissing the inner curve just a little higher up. He shifted up on the bed until his head was level with her hips and the brief cotton that still concealed her sex.

He pulled her panties down, revealing her blonde bush, but she suddenly pressed her thighs together, making it difficult for him to continue the task. As gently as he could, he pulled her legs apart again, and at last, she was naked, apart from her boots. He stroked her mound, and then kissed it, feeling the hairs against his lips. Pulling her legs further apart, he gazed at her pussy, illuminated only by the glow of the candle, and ran a finger along its damp length, making her shudder with pleasure.

There was one thing Vardala had taught him, one thing he was determined to try on the beautiful gnomish woman before him. He took one of her rounded thighs in his hand, and moved it so that it lay over his shoulder, as he lowered himself towards her. Hungrily, he kissed her pussy lips, running the tip of his tongue from one end to the other, savouring the taste of her. 

As if puzzled by his actions, Kaeranna let out a little cry of surprise. "What are you?..." she began, followed by a little "Oh" of understanding, and then a much longer one of unrestrained pleasure. The young gnome gasped as he continued licking her, probing deeper into her folds. "That's good," she said, dropping her arms to lay full length on the bed. "Oh yes, keep doing that..." She reached a hand down to tousle his hair, encouraging him. He flicked her clit with his tongue and she let out a wordless moan, her hips reflexively bucking against the bed sheets.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 23



"Oh, don't stop," she said as he released her, and moving himself up over her body. But then she fell silent, her eyes now fixed on his cock, hovering between her legs. "Oh, goddess," she said in a very small voice, flicking her eyes up to gaze into his.

Slowly, he lowered herself onto her, savouring the feeling of her naked body against his. He pushed his cock half way in, watching her face as she gasped aloud. She was everything he wanted, and her murmured "yes" was all he needed to continue to push himself the remainder of the way in. 

She let out a cry of sudden pain, her fingernails digging into his back, her blue eyes wide with surprised shock. But it passed quickly, and he felt her hands drift down to his buttocks as he began slowly moving, groaning loudly at his own mounting pleasure. Soon, her hips were moving back in response, and the room was filled with both their gasps and sighs.

He was inside her, all his fantasies fulfilled. He watched her face, which he knew so well, flushed with arousal, holding an expression of pure bliss. He moved against her slowly, drawing it out, not wanting to peak too soon. Her magnificent body was in arms, clutching him tight, yet not so tight as her moist pussy enfolded his swollen cock, sliding in and out in a natural rhythm that seemed to suit them both well.

"Kaeranna," he moaned, watching her deep blue eyes, as he pushed himself into her, "I love you."

"Yes, darling, I know... don't stop..." her words dissolved into groans as he quickened his pace, feeling her heaving breasts pressing into him, her hips bucking in time to his thrusts, her fingers gripping his buttocks, her booted thighs clamped tight around his legs.

Her face was slick with sweat, the braids in slight disarray against the pillow. From time to time she bit her lower lip, as if trying to quiet herself, until another loud gasp of pleasure defeated her intention. She called his name over and over, and he felt himself desperately close to release, his thrusts quicker than ever.

They both cried out as they came, hers a long-drawn out moan that seemed to go on forever, inspiring him to continue grinding against her long after his balls were empty. He rolled off her, onto his back, and she snuggled against him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

Vardala was entirely forgotten.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 24



Almandar was surprised to find Dolrim apparently standing guard behind the doorway to the villa. The dwarf looked grim -- even more so than usual -- and was still dressed in full armour, his weapons at the ready.

"Where have you been?" his fellow adventurer asked gruffly, "we expected you some time ago."

"Seeing to Skirina's security," he replied, conscious that he had been doing rather more with the young woman than that, "as we agreed. Has something happened?"

The dwarf simply nodded, "you had best see Tarissa. She is in the kitchen.."

The urgency in Dolrim's voice convinced Almandar to head there straight away. It sounded as if something very serious had occurred, perhaps here at the villa, while he had been away enjoying himself. And for what? After they had had sex, Skirina had simply upped and disappeared. There had been, he now realised belatedly, something very strange about her, something that didn't quite fit the image she had been trying to project.

When he had discovered the note that she must have left for him just before she left, it had only confirmed that she had been keeping secrets. But whatever the truth was, he doubted he would see her again.

"Almandar! Thank the gods!" said Tarissa as he entered the kitchen, looking far more pleased to see him than Dolrim had. 

"What has...?" and then he stopped, seeing the unmistakable spatter of fresh blood on the floor nearby. Such things were not supposed to happen here, in their island of safety. He looked at the paladin, a cold chill beginning to strike his heart. What was going on?

"We have been raided," replied Tarissa, simply, "a burglar, and no ordinary one. They struck Horvan before making their escape -- he's all right now, I've healed him. Although he was rather shaken, and he's in his quarters at the moment."

"A burglar, here?" Almandar tried to wrap his head around the concept. Who would be foolish enough to try and steal from successful adventurers? "Wait... what do you mean, 'no ordinary one'?" The way she had said it made it sound as if she meant more than just 'unusually skilled'.

"A demon." She waved a hand to forestall further questions, "that's all we know at the moment. Somebody sent a demon to steal something from us. At least, that seems the most likely explanation, since the infernal powers tend not to be interested in our world in that way. Which means that somebody with demonic connections is planning something... and I really don't think that's a coincidence, do you?"

Almandar was temporarily lost for words; it was all fitting together rather too well. Although he still did not know what it all meant. He pulled the folded scrap of parchment from his pocket, and handed it to Tarissa. "Skirina left me this. And then she ran off into the streets -- I don't think she's coming back."

Tarissa read the note. Skirina had obviously written it in a hurry, and it said, rather cryptically:

13 12 human sacr Dark Heart.

"Human sacrifice?" said Tarissa, "and a coven of thirteen would make sense; demons like their numbers. Twelve left, since we killed the wererat this morning. And is 'Dark Heart' something or someone in the city, or is it the thing that's imprisoned? How does Skirina know any of this? Something she learned from her captor?"

Almandar shrugged. He had been through the same questions in his mind, but had no more idea of the answers than she did.

"Well," said the paladin, "if anything, this just makes our mission more urgent than before. Because I have to tell you that the thief was successful. It used powerful magic to break into our vault, and stole just two things: one of them the censer that we found on the last expedition. Which, as I am sure you remember, I detected at the time was filled with infernal magic."

"We should have destroyed it," she added wistfully, "but I was hoping we could learn something to our advantage. Now some necromancer or demonologist has it, and that cannot be good. I have already sent Calleslyn and Vardala out to see if they can learn anything. Hopefully, whoever it is has left at least some waves in the city, now that we know what we're looking for. I am going to leave Dolrim here, just in case, and I intend to see what else I can learn about this censer. There may be something on it at the Temple of Pardror -- I only wish I had done it earlier."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I have something different in mind for you, and I don't think this note changes that, useful though it is. We have to find a way through those mutated plants in the tunnel, and the sooner we do that, the better. To do that, we will need the advice of an expert, so I would like you to go and see the druids. If anyone knows anything about plants, it should be them."

──◊──

There were no native druids in Haredil. For one thing, druids preferred the countryside to the city, but even in the surrounding lands druidism had never been popular; it simply was not part of the native culture. Druids were, however, far more common out to the west, close to the elven lands and the lush forests of the coast. As a result, a few followers of their nature-based religion sometimes ended up in the city for various reasons, and they had established a small grove on the edge of the holy quarter, near to the temples of the local gods.

Almandar had passed it before, once or twice, but he had never entered. It looked almost like a small area of parkland from outside, a reserve of wattles and palm trees gathered around one of the warm springs. There was certainly nothing to mark it out as special, if you did not already know what it was. A single path led into the interior, winding between the trees so that the area within was not visible from the road.

Almandar did not even know if any druids would be present in the grove. How commonly maintained was it? The trees certainly looked unkempt, and, while he supposed that the druids probably liked them wild, that did not imply they were kept busy tending to the grounds. He pushed his way past a low-hanging branch and found himself in what had to be the centre of the grove.

The ground was open to the sky here, the trees forming a dense thicket all around. There was no visible sign of a spring, although the grass was surely lush enough that there had to be a good supply of water nearby; he doubted that the infrequent, albeit heavy, Haredil rainstorms would be enough to keep it so green. A stone about a foot high stood opposite to the point where he had entered, carved with curling symbols and unfamiliar runes. There was no other path leading out, and nobody visible.

He looked around, but there was no sign of any druids, or, indeed, of any human handiwork other than the carved stone. His eye was caught by motion in the branches of a nearby tree and he looked up to see a genet looking down at him, before darting back into the leaves. So, there was wildlife, but no people, which rather limited his options.

"Greetings, stranger. I am Davnait, how can I help you?"

He whirled about, surprised to see that he was not alone after all. A woman had stepped from... well, he could only assume from behind the trees, since there was nowhere else to have hidden. She must also have moved very quietly, and, glancing down, he could see that her feet were bare, with traces of soil between her toes.

She wore a long white robe, tied at the waist with a simple cord. It was slit deeply at the front, reaching almost to her navel, revealing a creamy white cleavage. Her only other adornments were a sprig of some green plant on a string around her neck, and a wreath of leaves around her head. 

"My name is Almandar," he said, "I have come seeking your advice on an urgent matter. One that concerns a perversion of nature."

She had looked serene until then, but at those words her brow furrowed, and her expression became more intense. He clearly had her attention.

"Sit down," she said, kneeling on the grass, and folding the long hem of her robe beneath her legs, "and we shall discuss this."

She was clearly not a local, he reflected as he joined her. But that was as he had expected, and 'Davnait' was certainly not a local name. Her accent had a strange, lilting quality to it, although she spoke Common well enough that he expected it was her native tongue. Her hair was almost jet black, falling in waves to her mid back, ringlets framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were dark, contrasting with the pale colour of her skin, and her neck long and slender.

He had expected to meet an old, bearded man, some kindly guardian of nature, but this was certainly an improvement.

"My friends and I were exploring an underground passage," he said, not wanting to give too much detail away, "and we encountered a great mass of plants. Not fungi, as one might expect down in the darkness, but plants with leaves and stems, and long creepers too. They looked greyish, at least so far as I could tell in the light available, and they were clearly unnatural, mutated."

"But it wasn't just that... they also moved. When we approached, they reached out, and, well... they were dangerous. Carnivorous, in fact, eating flesh like an animal would," he remembered how they had feasted on the body of the dead wererat. You did not need to be a druid to see that these things were an affront to the natural world. 

"We want to get past them, destroy them if we can, but the magic at our disposal would likely damage the tunnel they were in, which would have unfortunate consequences. We were hoping that your people might be able to provide us with some other means of getting through. Could you help us?"

She was silent for a long while, looking down at her hands, before finally meeting his gaze again. "Yes, we know of such things. I have not seen them myself, but there are stories. They do not belong here, in this world. Even burning them would be difficult, at least with normal fire. There is something we can gift you with, though, that will help fight them off. I will have to talk with my fellow druids, and then there will have to be a ceremony to create it."

"We need it soon," said Almandar, mindful of the fact that whatever force lay beyond the barrier of vegetation seemed to be active in the city, and had already found the adventurers' home. "The sooner the better."

Davnait shook her head, her eyes filled with regret, "these things you describe are powerful. To create even a minor weapon against them would require a ceremony, a communion with the powers of nature that I cannot conduct on my own."

"It does not have to be too powerful," he replied, "my friends and I are resourceful, and skilled in magic of our own. But, unfortunately, speed is very much of the essence here. Even something minor would be helpful, if it is all we can obtain in time."

"I am sorry. Truly, I want to fight these things as much as you. But to enchant an item with the energy of life... that is not something I can do on my own. If you were a follower of one the paths of nature, it would be a different matter. But the gods of Haredil are not our own, and their ways conflict with ours, weakening any ceremony we could conduct, even if I had the time to instruct you in it."

Almandar tried to hide his disappointment, holding his hand briefly over his face. From everything she said, there was nothing much they could do -- not without waiting for time that he suspected they no longer had. "I fear you are right," he said, "I follow the goddess Sarlene, and know nothing of druidic ways. But if I..."

"Sarlene?" said Davnait, suddenly, her eyes widening, "oh, but that is different! Sarlene is your name for... well, for an aspect of one of the paths of nature. She holds the power of fertility, which all living things need to grow and reproduce. It is not the ceremony I had in mind, but with your goddess's help, there is a method I can use."

"Really?" It seemed he had a chance after all, and one that would show the benefits of his unusual choice of deity into the bargain. "What sort of thing would this ceremony produce? And what will it require?"

"Something powerful enough," replied the druid, "and it will require the power of your fertility as a conduit for both of us to reach down our respective paths. So long as you are fertile, and truly believe in the teachings of your goddess, that will be enough. Indeed, you should find the ceremony enjoyable, and one not so far from your own." 

She smiled, and got to her feet. "Come, we should not be here. There are too many distractions in the city."

Almandar frowned as he joined her, brushing some of the dirt from his trews. "There isn't much in the city that's less urban than this... where did you have in mind?"

She said nothing, but just turned her back, and beckoned for him to follow her. She headed for a narrow gap between the trees, just behind the carved stone. It was filled with scrubby undergrowth, with no sign of any kind of path, and would be difficult to walk through. Besides, the grove was not that large, and he knew that all that lay in that direction was another street, although there might be room to hide something even smaller than this clearing between the trees.

Nonetheless, he followed her, noting how the undergrowth seemed to hardly impede her movement at all, yet caught on his own clothing. 

But he had not travelled more than a couple of steps before he felt a sudden pulling sensation, and the world lurched around him, almost causing him to stumble. Suddenly, everything was green.

Well, not everything, he realised. It was just a change in the light. He was not standing where he had been moments before. In fact, this was not even Haredil... this was a lush forest, nothing at all like the parched lands around the city, nor any of its watered parks.

He looked around in wonder, trying to take it all in. He was in another clearing, but much larger than the one he had just left. Tall trees stood all around, trees with broad green leaves and thick vines that hinted at far more regular rainfall than Haredil ever received. The air was also cooler, he realised, and the sun higher in the sky, further from the western horizon than it had been a moment before. 

The place was full of life, and, as he watched, he saw a squirrel scampering through the trees. There were ground squirrels near Haredil, but this kind, he knew, was found only to the west, nearer the coast. There were no genets here, then. He could even smell the richness of the soil, the luxuriance of the forest vegetation. For there was no doubt that this was a true forest, not some small patch of woodland, or a city park.

He recovered his composure enough to look around properly, slowly accepting the fact that he had somehow been transported hundreds of miles to the west, perhaps to somewhere near the elven forests where his father had been born. Taking stock of his surroundings, he noted a ring of stones, three or four feet in height, much larger than the one in the city, but marked with similar carvings. A small, natural, pool stood just outside them, and three separate paths led off between the trees. This was clearly a much more potent druid's grove than the one he had left.

"How...?" he asked, turning his attention back to Davnait again, noting that she was the only human present.

"Nature provides," she said, cryptically, "and there is not time to explain further. We need the power of your fertility, and I know how to harness it."

She stepped towards him, and then knelt on the grass, bowing her head for a moment as she did so.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, curious, and a little hopeful that her earlier words had really meant what they appeared to be hinting at.

"Just stand there," replied the druid, and, as he watched, she reached out for the drawstring on his trews, slowly undoing it.

His cock was already beginning to stiffen as Davnait slid his clothing down to his knees. She reached out for it, cupping his balls and then sliding her hand along his shaft. He watched as she continued to stroke him, her dark eyes alternately glancing up at his face and down to see the results of her ministrations. She had a cute little nose, he reflected, and her long curling hair framed her heart-shaped face beautifully. She had not undressed, but he longed to see more of that body.

The druid pulled back his foreskin, exposing the glistening head, and then kissed it, running her pale lips around it, suckling gently. He felt her part her teeth and tickle his glans with the tip of her tongue. He gasped at the sensation, and then watched as she took him inch by inch into her mouth.

She gripped his buttocks with one hand; kneading them with her fingers as her other hand fondled his balls. Almandar groaned out loud as she reached his full length, her tongue licking the underside of his cock, the tip almost reaching the back of her throat. She pulled back, his shaft now moist with her saliva, then plunged him back in again.

Vigorously, the druid began sucking him, teasing his balls with her fingertips and moving her head back and forth, sliding him and out. He placed a hand behind her head, feeling the luxuriance of her long hair, twining it between his fingers as they found a mutual rhythm, his hips grinding as he continued to fuck her eager mouth.

He continued to gaze upon her pretty face, her brown eyes looking up to his as she slid him half out and used her hand to squeeze the base of his cock. He groaned again as her tongue caressed the underside of his glans, feeling himself close to release. But then she pulled her head back, forcing him to relax his grip on her head.

Davnait got to her feet, running her tongue round her lips with a saucy grin. He reached out for her, but she raised a hand to hold him back. There was, he recalled, supposed to be a ceremony here, and perhaps this was part of it. How exactly they were charging some sort of magical item to fight the carnivorous plants he had no idea, but he wasn't going to complain, or to break the mood by asking about the details.

The druid undid the cord about her waist, letting it fall to the ground, and then shrugging off her robe, allowing it to pool on the grass. She wore no shift underneath, just a pair of brief panties. Her legs were long and pale, with slender calves and rounded thighs -- despite her time outdoors, she did not appear to have tanned much. His eyes wandered up, over her taut belly, to her impressively pert breasts, pale pink nipples jutting out with evident enthusiasm. 

"Lie down," she said, forestalling his desire to touch and kiss her body, to use his own tongue to excite those nipples further.

Obligingly, he did so, struggling out of the remainder of his clothes. The grass felt strange beneath his back, an unfamiliar feeling, and slightly damp, as if it had recently rained. But the soil was soft and fertile, hardly a feather bed, but not uncomfortably hard, either. The sun shone down through the trees as she knelt beside him, and he hoped that this spot was as secluded as it looked.

He reached out for her again, trying to reach her panties to pull them down, but she took his hand in hers and pressed it into the earth beside his head. Leaning over him, she kissed him passionately on the lips, and he responded in kind, feeling her breasts rubbing over his naked chest. She released him, gasping for air after the long kiss, and flashing him a grin that showed startlingly white teeth. Still holding his hand out of the way, she kissed him in the middle of his chest, and then began to move lower.

She moved round to the side, still keeping his hand pressed down into the grass, her arm stretched over him as her face drew level with his cock again. She obviously wanted to finish what she had started. 

She took his cock in her other hand, pressing it briefly against her face and nibbling the base with her lips, before gently sucking one of his balls. His hips moved involuntarily, the grass damp against his buttocks, as the druid took him into her mouth again.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 24



She released his hand then, moving herself into a more comfortable position beside him as she resumed moving her head up and down his erect shaft. He watched her, now able to admire more of her body, seeing how her hanging breasts swayed as she moved. Davnait slipped her hand into her panties, stroking herself beneath the material as she continued to suck him.

Almandar reached out to pull her panties down around her knees, and this time she did nothing to stop him. He slid his hand along her inner thigh, running it up until it met her own. When she still did not resist, he bent around to grab her nearer thigh in both hands, adjusting his position until she was kneeling above him, her knees pressed into his shoulders.

Above him, he could see her hips outlined against the blue sky, a rich tangle of dark hair standing out against her pale skin. Drops of moisture on her pussy caught in the sunlight, and he pulled her down towards his face. 

He kissed her between the legs, then began to use his tongue, sliding it into her as one hand gripped her buttocks and the other reached round to her back, running through her long hair. Her buttocks spasmed as he tasted her, and he heard a muffled moan that made her briefly pause in her attentions to his cock.

But only for a moment; soon she was sliding him back in, moving her hips in time with the motions of her head, her tongue now running along the upper surface of his cock, her hand caressing his balls. He sucked her clit, feeling her body shivering in response as she increased the speed of her movement. 

He continued to drive his tongue further in, savouring her taste, moving it in circular motions as he teased her clit. In reply she took his cock in further than ever before, almost gagging as it pressed against the back of her throat, sucking for all she was worth, deftly massaging his balls. 

She pulled back for a second, then plunged him back in again, holding him there for longer this time, and finally, it was too much. Almandar groaned loudly as he came, his hips pushing against the druid's face. Davnait continued to suck, her tongue wiping him clean until at last she rolled off him, to lie panting on the grass.

Almandar struggled to regain his own breath. She had, he assumed, obtained the 'power of his fertility', but it was still not clear how she intended to make that into any kind of weapon. 

"Now what?" he asked, as Davnait rose to her knees.

"Now we commune with your goddess again. I want you to fuck me."

"Ah... you'll have to wait a little while," he said. After Skirina this morning, and then what had happened just now, even he felt that he deserved a little time to recover.

"No time for that," replied the druid, "allow me..."

She held her hand over his groin and he saw a yellowish green glow envelop it and then stretch down to his body. As it touched, he felt a surge of energy rushing through him, his exhaustion vanishing in but a brief moment. Instantly, his cock sprang up, hard and eager as ever. 

"That's a useful trick," he said, feeling a new surge of sexual excitement building within him. If she wanted to be fucked, he would certainly oblige her.

Davnait was leaning forward on all fours, long hair sprawled across her back, legs planted wide apart, exposing her waiting pussy, her own juices still mingled with those from Almandar's tongue. Eagerly, he rose to his own knees, and positioned himself behind her. He ran his hands over the druid's buttocks, squeezing them lightly, savouring their feel. Then, suddenly, and without warning, he plunged himself into her as hard as he could.

The brunette let out a shout of surprise and pleasure that only urged him on. He moved his hands up along her flanks, admiring their smooth curves as he thrust again and again into her cunt. She was tight, but already well lubricated, her hips pushing back against his. Almandar gasped at the pleasant sensations, finding that the energy invigorating his body was allowing him to take her harder and faster than he had expected.

The forest clearing filled with the sound of slapping flesh, Almandar's grunts and gasps, and Davnait's increasingly loud moans. Her breasts shook with the energy of their coupling, and Almandar's hands were beginning to slide in the slickness of her increasingly sweaty flanks. She turned her head, looking at him over her back, hair in disarray and sticking to her face, strands wandering into her mouth and across her cheek.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" she shouted, "I need you to cum inside me. Reach out for the goddess, bring her gift of pleasure to me!"

Entranced by the foreign lilt in her voice, Almandar slowed his motions, now grinding into her languidly, rotating his hips slightly as he did so, to be rewarded by her longest moan yet. He felt the warm sunlight on his skin, countered by a cool breeze that evaporated his sweat. All around him, life in the forest went on. Amidst the sounds of their own exertions he could hear a bird of some kind cooing softly, perhaps trying to attract its own mate.

From the edge of the forest, a deer watched them curiously, ears twitching. He paid it no heed, and before long it darted back into the woodland, spooked by the sounds of their lovemaking.

Unexpectedly, Davnait pulled free of him, and rolled over onto her buttocks, legs still spread wide, her pink pussy glistening. Almandar reached out for her, and she clambered up into his arms. He pressed his face into her breasts, squeezing and sucking them, running his tongue over her pink nipples as she gripped his back.

The druid lowered herself, legs wrapped around his hips, plunging his cock into her waiting cunt. She moved energetically, her buttocks slapping against his thighs as his shaft pumped in and out. Her breasts heaved against his chest, her hard nipples rubbing his skin, as she threw her head back, long hair plastered across her sweaty body, eyes closed and mouth open.

Her movements became yet more vigorous as they approached their mutual peak. The force of his own orgasm shook Almandar, perhaps enhanced by her earlier spell, and he shouted out loud as he came, frightening a flock of birds into flight. As his fluid flooded her cunt, Davnait jerked her body a few more times, gripping his head as she gazed into his eyes as she reached her own climax,. Her convulsing cunt wrung a second, briefer orgasm from the half-elf, although his cock was too empty by now to provide her with more.

She pressed her forehead against his, as his cock began to soften -- for good this time.

"Yeah..." she murmured, spitting a loose strand of hair from her mouth, "that should be enough... more than enough..."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 25



Yellowish eyes looked out at her from behind the little shutter in the door. "I not know you," said a deep voice accusingly, "why you here?"

Elandra had already composed herself; she knew that the woman she had come to see had a half-orc assistant and bodyguard. She was no aristocrat, but still, half-orcs were not a race that she had had many dealings with before. This one, just from the sound of his gravely voice and crude grammar, seemed to fit the stereotype. Which made it easier to deal with him, in a way, so long as she didn't show fear or disgust at his appearance. After all, his employer surely needed new customers every now and then.

"We are here to see Nyvara," she said, keeping her voice steady, "we want to buy something."

"We?" asked the half-orc, his eyes glancing about. 

He could probably see far better than her in the dark of the night, but from his vantage point behind the door, her body was blocking his view of Tinberly.

"My daughter is here with me," she said, reluctantly taking a half step to the side, so that he could see. Surely they looked harmless enough?

The half-orc grunted, "you wait here. I be back soon."

The little shutter closed, leaving the two of them outside in the darkened alley. Elandra pulled her shawl more tightly around herself, although it was more the lateness of the hour and the unfamiliarity of the streets that was getting to her than any feeling of cold, for, if anything, it was quite a warm night.

"There won't be a problem," she told Tinberly, with slightly more confidence than she felt. The teenager nodded, wide eyes looking up and down the empty alley, arms gripped around her sides.

Before long, the door opened, and the half-orc beckoned them inside. Gratefully, they both stepped within, into a room as dark as the alley itself. Elandra could only make out the outline of the half-orc in the gloom. He was a big man, almost a foot taller than she, with large brawny arms and a powerful build. She couldn't see his face clearly, but even if it was not as fearsome as she expected, he would still look quite threatening.

"You go down," he said, pulling aside a curtain at the far side of the room.

It led to a stairway heading down, she supposed, to a cellar. "Thank you," she said, seeing no reason not to be polite. The half-orc grunted again, sounding pleasantly surprised. Perhaps most strangers didn't bother talking to him at all.

There was another curtain at the end of the stairway, and then she was through into the sorceress's den. She glanced around at the occult symbols on the walls, the hanging lanterns and the range of odd-looking items on the bench in front of her. But her eyes were drawn mainly to the woman who sat behind it, in a high-backed chair.

She certainly looked the part, clothed in a tight black dress with a plunging neckline and a silver pentagram on her belt. Her skin was almost unnaturally pale, contrasting with long, jet black hair and dark eyes that were obviously appraising the pair of them carefully. Elandra was very aware of the fact that the half-orc was just a short distance away, and that Nyvara herself was said to be an accomplished magician.

"Please sit," said the sorceress, her voice silky smooth, "and tell me what it is that you desire."

Once again doing her best to hide her nervousness, Elandra sat on the little stool in front of the bench. She almost immediately regretted it, realising that there was not another chair for Tinberly to sit at, forcing the girl to remain standing. It was too late now, and she should just press on, getting this over with as quickly as possible.

"My husband died three years ago," she began, "and it has been hard for us since. I no longer have any family, except for my daughter. I have little else to call my own," 

Nyvara's eyes moved between the pair of them, her expression at first neutral, but then seeming to be interested as she continued with her story, of how it was difficult to make a living alone in the poorer parts of the city. Yet, Elandra felt, she did not seem at all sympathetic; instead it was if she saw some opportunity for herself here, some way to turn their misfortune to her own advantage. 

The rumours did not say that Nyvara was cruel, but neither had they anything to say about her being compassionate. She sold magical items to those who needed to maintain secrecy, or where such items were not entirely legal, or moral. Such a way of life, Elandra saw, had evidently inured the sorceress to the suffering of others, leaving a mercenary soul concerned only for her own profit. That would surely make things difficult when it came to negotiating a price, but, then again, perhaps any sale would be better for the woman than none at all.

"My daughter turned eighteen a couple of months ago," she went on, "she is barely more than a girl. But my landlord... he has threatened her, to get to me. I can't allow that. You must understand, as a woman, that it is a mother's first obligation to protect her child." 

Nyvara said nothing, although Elandra thought saw the ghost of a smile on those pale lips. It was like being watched by a reptile, the woman was so cold-blooded.

"So," she ploughed on, "I need protection for her. A charm of some kind, something to protect her from harm. You do such things, do you not?"

The sorceress leaned back in her chair, and her lips twitched, a clearer smile this time. "Yes," she said, "the most effective, within your price range, would be something that warned of an impending threat. That I can do."

She reached across the bench, lifting up a box, and placing it between the two of them. Her delicate fingers slid open some sort of complicated catch, and she darted a hand inside, not allowing Elandra to see any of the contents. She removed a coppery medallion, decorated with a symbol resembling an eye, and with some sort of engraving around the rim. It was held on a long green cord, evidently intended to be worn around the neck.

"This," she said, closing the box carefully, "will suit your needs perfectly. Wear it, and you will be warned of any approaching danger, in ample time for you to leave. It warms up, and gives the wearer a distinct prickling sensation that is impossible to miss so long as one wears it close to the skin. It will not protect against an attacker, but it will allow one the time to escape. You must simply move quickly in a direction that causes the sensation from the medallion to become weaker, until it vanishes altogether."

Elandra nodded. She could hardly have expected a magical barrier or something that would throw back hostile magic at an attacker, not for the money she would be able to pay, but this should be enough. Enough to keep Tinberly safe until she could find another solution to their predicament.

"Yes," she said, "I will take it."

Nyvara named the price, and Elandra once again felt the bottom falling out of her world. She was behind with her rent, which was a large part of the problem in the first place, how could the sorceress possibly expect her to pay such a sum?

"That is... I..."

Nyvara named another price, lower than the first, but still beyond her grasp.

"I could manage half that..." Nyvara frowned, black eyebrows drawn together in a way that looked almost menacing. "Uh... perhaps I could pay the rest by instalments?"

"That is my lowest price, and there will be no instalments." The sorceress flipped the medallion up into her hand, visibly moving it further away from Elandra, yet still keeping it visible. "Do you want it or not?"

Elandra looked across to her daughter. The teenager was standing there, silent throughout the conversation, looking embarrassed and a little nervous. She was such a beautiful young girl, and the only thing of value her mother truly had. She needed the protection, yet the price was simply one she could not pay.

"Please..." she said, turning back to the sorceress, resigned now to beg for what she needed, "I can't allow her to come to harm. There must be something I can do, something we can work out. I'll do anything to protect my family."

This time the sorceress was silent, saying nothing for a while, before raising one finger to her lips, and tapping them gently. "Perhaps," she said, "there is something. Payment need not be in cash, after all." She put her hand down, and smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes. "But this is something we will need to discuss alone. Your daughter will be safe in the anteroom."

Elandra swallowed, finding it impossible now to hide her nervousness and unease at how things were developing. But she had no real choice, no other way in which to go. Whatever it was that Nyvara wanted to her to do, she had no doubt it would be unpleasant or illegal. It was also true that she did not want Tinberly to hear the details, whatever they were, so she had little alternative to letting her leave while they discussed things.

She turned back to her daughter, trying to look reassuring. "It's okay, it will just be for a moment. We need to do this."

"But, mother..." Tinberly spoke for the first time, a look of concern on her young face.

"It will be all right. Please, just for a little while."

As they spoke, Nyvara rang a little bell that had been hidden among the clutter on the bench top. Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and the half-orc pushed the lower curtain aside, and stood, waiting for instructions.

It was the first time that Elandra had been able to get a good look at him. He was, as she had already observed, well over six feet tall, with a powerful physique that threatened to burst out of his clothing. His skin was greyish-green in colour, his hair dark and close-cropped. Even had it not been for the hue of his skin and his yellowish eyes, there would have been no mistaking him for a pureblood human. His brows were beetling, heavy ridge-like protuberances, and his face and nose were flattened, with wide cheek bones and a slightly protruding lower jaw. Two blunt tusks jutted out from that jaw, pressed against his greyish upper lips.

She barely managed to suppress her shudder, but manage she did. Which was as well; she did not want to look weak.

"Look after my younger guest in the anteroom for a few minutes will you, Rolgor?" asked Nyvara. "We will not be long. I will ring for you again once our negotiations are concluded."

The half-orc -- Rolgor -- nodded, and beckoned for Tinberly to precede him upstairs. With a last worried glance at her mother, and an obvious show of reluctance, she did so, and soon the curtain swished shut again.

"Now," said Nyvara, still business like, "let us discuss how you can help me. You see, in addition to medallions," she twirled it in her fingers, making it catch the light, "and so forth, I also make potions. Sometimes those have ingredients that can be difficult to acquire. Should you provide me with a certain ingredient, then I could see myself clear to reducing the price to, shall we say, half of my latest offer?"

That Elandra could certainly afford, and she felt a burst of relief, before realising that whatever the ingredient was, there had to be some sort of catch to acquiring it.

"Elandra, " said Nyvara, her voice silky, "you are about forty years old, are you not?" The woman nodded dumbly, before realising that she hadn't given the sorceress her name. "Good, that should be acceptable for the potion that I need."

"It is," she continued, gaze steadily on the increasingly worried woman in front of her, "one of the more common potions that I find requested of me. A love potion -- I am sure you see why there would be a market for such. And one of the ingredients for this particular love potion can only be obtained from the body of a woman."

"You want..." Elandra tried to deduce the other woman's meaning, "you want some of my blood?"

Nyvara's lips twitched again, a merciless smile, "nothing so harmful, I assure you. No, I refer to your sexual juices, freshly gathered."

The shock must have been evident on her face, yet Nyvara showed no reaction. "I have to...?" she managed eventually, "To what? I don't understand."

"I want a sample of your sexual juices, Elandra, obtained during the act of intercourse with a man. You can see why I didn't think your daughter should hear this. I am not, after all, heartless to your difficulties."

She didn't sound like she really meant that last part, but it didn't matter. How was she supposed to do what was being asked of her? "But... but..." she began.

"Let me absolutely blunt," said Nyvara, her voice still calm and level, as if discussing the purchase of a roll of bread, "I want you, now, this evening, in a private room just upstairs, to have sex with Rolgor. He knows how to collect the fluids, so you need do nothing else. Do this for me, and you can have the medallion," she held it out, temptingly close to the other woman, "and your daughter will be safe. She need know nothing about it; we will say you have gone to collect something. And you only need do it once. What do you say?" She twirled the medallion, making it catch the lamp light again.

Elandra shuddered, stifling back a sob, and clutched her hands convulsively in the fabric of her dress. She gazed down at the floor, unable to meet the sorceress's gaze any longer. She had only ever made love to her husband before, and while he had been dead for some years, so that it was not technically a betrayal, how could she do something like this? How could another woman ask it of her? She should never have come here.

And yet, what if this was the only way to protect Tinberly? Her sweet and only child could fall prey to something just as terrible, if she did not do this. Just this once. Elandra shivered again, and dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her shawl, before raising her head to stare Nyvara directly in the face.

"Yes," she said.

"Good," replied the raven-haired sorceress, her smile for the first time looking genuine.

She rang the bell again, and Rolgor returned downstairs, with Tinberly in tow. Nyvara stepped out from behind her bench of paraphernalia, long black skirts swishing, and went up to the half-orc, standing on tip-toe to whisper something into his ear. Rolgor grinned widely, a flash of large teeth, his tusks more visible than ever, and his yellowish eyes wandered over her body, 

Elandra stood, trying to collect herself. "I have to go somewhere, darling," she said, amazed at how steady her voice sounded, "I won't be gone long, so don't worry. I'll be back in no time. I'm doing this for you."

Tinberly nodded, frowning. She could tell that something was amiss, but surely could have no idea what it was. Thank the gods for that, at least.

Rolgor walked across the room, lifting a tapestry on the far side that was decorated with occult and astrological symbols. A narrow corridor stretched beyond, and taking her cue, with one last look at her daughter, Elandra stepped within.

"Stairs on your right," said Rolgor's deep voice behind her, as he dropped the curtain again, plunging the subterranean corridor back into darkness. 

With a little difficulty, she found them, walking up them slowly, partly from nervousness, and partly because she couldn't really see where she was going. She almost stumbled at the top, and Rolgor's hand reached out to steady her, touching her waist through the thick fabric of her dress. He was surprisingly gentle, waiting for her to regain her balance before withdrawing his hand again wordlessly. But still, it felt odd.

"Here," he said again, and stepped in front of her to open a door in the side of whatever new corridor they had entered.

It was barely lighter up here, the windows evidently shuttered, but a moment later, he had found a lantern, and lit it. The darkness would be no refuge, then. 

Rolgor stepped over to a cupboard, fiddling inside for some small package, and she took the opportunity to look around the room. It wasn't much, a bare place with a large bed for his heavy frame, a couple of trunks, a bedside table, and, as she had suspected, a single shuttered window. She twisted the end of the shawl in her hands, uncertain of what to do next. Was he about to force her up against the wall, push her down onto the bed, or what?

"You undress, please, lady," said Rolgor. 

His voice was quiet, despite its deep, guttural, tone, asking, not demanding or brutal, as she had half suspected. It wasn't what she expected of a half-orc, and that was resulting in confused signals. She didn't know quite how to feel. She was nervous, a little horrified about what was about to happen, and, at the same time, somewhat expectant. It had been over three years, after all.

She pulled her shawl off, looking about for somewhere to put it. Rolgor gently took it from her, placing it on the small table. He smiled, with less of a leer than last time, only his tusks really showing. Elandra turned away from him, and began to undo her girdle.

Soon, she stepped out of her dress, clad now only in her underwear. She could not imagine what Rolgor made of her, for presumably he did not have much success with women. Although she was just entering her fifth decade, she supposed that her body was not too bad for her age. She was hardly slender any more, and the sag of gravity had taken its toll in places. She had crow's feet about her eyes, and a few grey hairs starting to come through, but there were many her age who had come through the decades rather more affected.

Still dressed in her shift, she sat down on the bed, lifted her legs up to lie on it, and looked back towards Rolgor. The half-orc had stripped down to the waist, revealing a powerfully muscular chest with sparse dark hair overlying the greyish-green skin. There was barely an ounce of fat on him, she reflected, as he reached for his belt.

Well, she thought, with a sense of false bravado. You know what they say about half-orcs... ugly as sin, but...

Rolgor dropped his pants, and Elandra actually gasped, her eyes widening. 

It wasn't a myth.

──◊──

Nyvara felt most satisfied with the way things were progressing. She had sensed that desperation in the mother, notwithstanding that her divinatory powers had already given her a clue as to how things might progress. Elandra had been willing to do anything to protect her daughter, even if that meant having sex with a half-orc, something that, as bravely as she had tried to hide it, evidently somewhat disturbed her. 

She did need the ingredients for her potion, that was true enough, but she could have accepted a much lower price than the one she originally offered to Elandra. Indeed, the cash price she was now receiving was a much more reasonable one, and she would gain the woman's juices into the bargain. Assuming, of course, that Rolgor managed to get her aroused enough, which was difficult to predict.

But that, so far as Nyvara was concerned, would be merely an added bonus. She hadn't wanted to get Elandra out of the way just to collect the fluids, or to give her bodyguard a reward. No, she had something entirely more satisfying to achieve through the night's events.

"Would you like a drink while we're waiting?" she asked the girl.

"Uh, yes, please. Thank you." Elandra's daughter looked nervous, and only seemed to be agreeing in order to fill the silence. She was sitting on the stool, fidgeting, and fiddling with the dark material of her clothes. "Do you think they'll be long?"

"Possibly," said the sorceress, "but there's nothing to worry about. Your mother is just running a little errand for me, and I'm sure Rolgor can keep her safe from any possible harm."

She stepped past the tapestry, to collect a drink from an alcove in the wall. Her hand flickered towards a potion there, intending to add a drop or two to the water, but she decided against it. If she read things correctly, it would not be necessary, and the evening's events would be all the more delicious without the added coercion. 




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 25



Instead, she moved to the second part of her plan, and, with her back turned to the young girl, cast a spell. It would activate the scrying device in Rolgor's room, allowing whatever sounds were being made in there to drift down to the cellar. The girl's reaction to that should be interesting.

"Here you are," she said, returning and holding out the glass. "You didn't tell me your name."

"Tinberly," said the girl, taking the glass, and sipping the cool water.

A grunting groan came from behind the curtain where she had cast the spell. Tinberly looked up, surprised. "What's that?" she asked, suddenly frightened.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, it's nothing."

Rolgor's voice sounded, its deep tone unmistakable: "Ohhh, yes..."

"That... that sounds like..." Tinberly's eyes were wide, her hands gripping the glass as she stared towards the tapestry.

"Ignore it. It's not important. Why don't we talk about something else?"

Rolgor groaned again, a deep throated sound. "Oh, oh, oh... uhh... you good..."

Tinberly gasped, as the truth of what she was hearing dawned on her. "Oh, my goodness!" she said with a hint of horror in her eyes, her cheeks flushing bright red. "That's him! It's your... and my mother!" The last words came out almost in a squeak, as Tinberly placed the glass hurriedly onto the carpeted floor, and covered her ears with her hands, a look of mortified shock on her face. "Make it stop! I don't want to listen!"

Nyvara waved her hands, casting two spells in rapid succession, although the girl would never be able to tell there was more than one. Silvery and red lights sparkled around her fingertips, and then faded.

"It's gone," she said, leaning forward towards the girl, "you don't have to listen any more."

Tinberly nervously lowered her hands, and looked relieved to discover that the sound had, indeed, faded. As Nyvara knew, of course, since her first spell had been to cancel the scrying. In all honesty, she had no more wish to hear what Rolgor got up to than anyone else would, and the sound had already given her the cover to cast the more important spell.

The teenager still looked shocked, as well she might. "My mother and that... man... are... and she's doing it for me!" She looked almost on the verge of tears, "you've got to tell her she doesn't have to."

"It's a bit late for that, I think. Besides, she won't want to know that you know, will she? It is difficult enough for her already, I imagine. I am sorry about the noise, but the spell I have just cast will prevent any sound from reaching this room. You'll just have to think about something else until they return."

Tinberly nodded glumly. She was a pretty girl, Nyvara reflected, remembering that her mother had said she had only turned eighteen a few months ago. She looked it, with fresh young skin, a sculpted face and slender body, and long dark hair that fell to her mid back. Oh, yes, this would be interesting.

"It's rather hot down here," said the girl after a while. A faint sheen of perspiration showed on her skin, and she ran a dainty hand over her neck, adjusting her long hair.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that," said Nyvara, who had been waiting for just that remark, "it's the effect of the silence spell. It affects the flow of air, you see, so the room warms up. It really will get quite hot in here after a while, I'm afraid." It was a lie, of course, because there was no silence spell. Just a heating spell.

"Oh," said the girl, apparently believing her, and picked up the glass to drink the rest of the water. The sorceress watched the movement of the girl's throat as she drank, the long neck extended, sweat beading the upper margin of her high cut dress.

"If you feel too hot, you can take some clothes off," she suggested, slowly walking over to stand behind the young woman as she sat on the stool, "I won't mind, and the bell will ring before Rolgor comes back, so he won't see you."

"Oh, no... I wouldn't want... I mean, that wouldn't be..." Tinberly stammered, and Nyvara could imagine her face flushing again, although she could not see it from this vantage point.

Daringly, she moved her hand downwards, to rest on the teenager's shoulder. The girl didn't flinch at the touch, but when the sorceress began to peel back the dress to expose one shapely shoulder, she suddenly reached a hand up to grab the material, preventing her from moving it further. Nyvara withdrew her hand, but blew gently on the girl's skin, a cooling breath on the damp flesh, before walking away.

Tinberly still sat on the stool, looking awkward, and the older woman wondered if she might need the potion after all. But the girl had not yet pulled her dress back into place, her shoulder still bare. Perhaps that was a good sign.

"Well, I'm feeling hot," said Nyvara, turning away to face the wall, revealing the back of her dress, cut to reach down to just above her buttocks. "So I hope you don't mind if I wear a little less."

──◊──

Elandra did not have a great range of experience with penises. In her whole life, the only person she had ever made love to was her husband, and she had assumed, for lack of any good evidence to the contrary, that his five inch member was fairly average. But, if that was so, then Rolgor was truly gifted, whether or not that also held true for half-orcs in general.

Right at the moment, Rolgor's swollen, grey-green, nine inch cock was sliding in and out of Elandra's mouth. She had never done this for her husband, whose sexual activity, while undeniably satisfying, had never been particularly adventurous. But when the half-orc had thrust his erection towards her face, pulling back the foreskin to reveal a large, purplish head, a sudden impulse had made her press it to her lips. From there, it had not been long before he pushed his way in.

"Ohhh, yes..." groaned the half-orc, his deep voice thick with passion.

This was not what she had expected at all. He wasn't forcing her to do anything, but, for some reason, here she was, sliding her tongue over the firmness of his cock, licking the underside of his glans and shaft, moving her lips back and forward over his length. Her vision was filled with a view of the half-orc's groin, his pubic hair sparse and bristly, his grey-green balls swaying as his hips rocked back and forth into her mouth.

She realised that this might not be as bad as she had feared just minutes before. He was not taking her savagely, as she had thought he might -- although he was, so far, certainly receiving more pleasure than he was giving. If anything, though, with his cock in her mouth, he seemed vulnerable, and she realised with a thrill that he was, for the time being, in her power. She was in charge, able to pleasure him or not, as the whim took her.

She gripped his muscular buttocks with one hand, pushing him further into her mouth as she reached for his balls with the other, rubbing the bristly hair of his scrotum. She fought hard to suppress her gag reflex as he plunged deep into her, his hips moving with greater urgency.

"Oh, oh, oh... uhh... you good..."

She pulled back, and he did nothing to stop her. She had come close to choking just then, she thought, as she licked a stray stream of saliva from his glistening cock, but it had been worth the feeling of control.

She leaned back on the bed, and looked up at him, towering over her. His yellowish eyes gazed on her with evident desire, and something close to awe. Her eagerness had obviously surprised him as much as it had herself. He reached down, brushing hair away from her face, and cupping her cheek, his rough fingers and large hands gentle against her skin.

"Pretty lady," he said, grinning to show white teeth and tusks against greenish skin. Elandra took another opportunity to take the lead, and hitched her shift up, pulling it over her head and depositing it by the bed. Rolgor let out a grunting sigh as his eyes wandered over her now almost naked body. "Pretty lady," he said again, before adding "I like."

Whatever else he might have been, she reflected, he wasn't a good conversationalist -- but perhaps this wasn't the time. He moved his hand down to cup one of her breasts, running the thumb over her large brown nipple. His grin was infectious, and she found herself smiling too, and pushing her body closer towards him as he continued to massage her breast.

"Do you like them?" she asked, almost unable to believe the words had come out of her mouth to anyone, least of all a half-orc.

He nodded wordlessly, pressing himself against her, she kneeling, and he standing, so that his cock squeezed against the underside of her breasts. Moving herself into a lower position, she placed one breast so that the nipple rubbed against his tip, drawing a sort of strangled grunt from the big man.

He pulled back then, into the shadows cast by the lamp light, although she could see his eyes wider than ever, his tongue licking his lips as he panted with anticipation. Looking down at his throbbing member, she could only agree. The concern and slight revulsion she had felt earlier had entirely been consumed by passion. If anything, perhaps that earlier frisson of fear had aroused her, but she no longer cared what the reason behind her mounting excitement was. She wanted to feel what that giant cock was like inside her.

Rolgor moved round to the base of the bed, and Elandra rolled over onto her back, legs parted. The half-orc reached across to pull her panties down, sliding them over thighs that she had to admit were a little flabby these days. Not that he seemed to mind.

He ran a hand over her naked mound, and down towards her sex. With a feather-light touch, he slid his index finger over her pussy, then lifted it to his nostrils, taking an eager sniff. She remembered briefly what she was here for, although the encounter was already so much more than that.

"That good," he said nodding, "we get plenty to keep sorceress happy." His expression turned quizzical, eyeing her curiously, and when he next spoke his voice was wavering and uncertain. "You like?" he asked, "you like me?"

Her heart hammered in her chest. He was anything but a handsome man, his face brutish, and his orcish heritage immediately apparent. But he had shown her more consideration than she had expected, and the way he asked the question seemed almost endearing, a touching lack of confidence in one so large and powerful.

"Yes, Rolgor," she said, "I like you."

The half-orc grinned wider than ever, pressing his hand back to her sex, forcing the index finger between her swollen pussy lips, easing into the dampness. She gasped, her hips involuntarily pushing back against his hand. She squeezed one of her own breasts, gripping it in her hand, and Rolgor's eyes followed every movement.

"You want this?" he asked, climbing onto the bed, and kneeling between her legs, his large cock pressing against her inner thigh, the head inches from the seat of her pleasure. He seemed eager now, less uncertain, obviously satisfied by both her answer and her actions so far. "Tell me what you want, pretty lady."

Elandra took a deep breath. "Rolgor," she said, her voice firm and decisive, "I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me long and hard with that big cock of yours until I come."

He suddenly gripped her buttocks, lifting her up so that they rested on his massive thighs, her own legs forced out to either side of his hairy chest. She looked up, now resting on her arms and shoulders, towards the heavy features of his face, watching him pant with anticipation, just as he pressed his purplish glans against her pussy. His eyes were fixed on hers as he thrust himself half-way inside, then, gripping her more firmly, pushed himself the rest of the way in.

Rolgor's grunt of undisguised pleasure was drowned by Elandra's own gasping cry. He felt even bigger inside her cunt than he had in her mouth, his girth spreading her damp lips apart, his great length filling her far more than she had ever been filled before. 

Then he began to move, his hips grinding into her, that massive shaft slowly pressing in and out, squeezing against her clit. He was moaning and grunting as he did so, his deep voice contrasting against the higher pitch of her own cries. She had never been this vocal with her husband, but then, she had never been fucked with a nine inch cock before. 

Between her gasps, she looked up at her partner, admiring the way the muscles moved beneath his flesh, at the way her pale thighs gripped either side of his grey-green chest, the way his large hands gripped her hips. She watched as his magnificent cock pressed its way in and out of her cunt, spreading her wide and filling her with sensations she had never felt before, not in this way. But still, he seemed to be holding back.

"Rolgor," she cried out, between gasps of pleasure, "fuck me harder!"

"I not want to hurt you, pretty lady," he replied, his hips continuing their slow rhythmic pounding.

"I said, fuck me harder!" 

There was a hard edge to the demand, and one that clearly registered on the half-orc's face. He leaned over her to press one hand against the wall above her head, and she realised again how tall he was. His hips began pumping faster, his thrusts even deeper and more vigorous than before, and Elandra surrendered to the sensation, reduced to crying out in wordless passion.

Her breasts wobbled from the force of his renewed thrusts, and he reached out his free hand to squeeze one, massaging the nipple. Rolgor himself was letting out a sustained groan, a deep growling rumble, wavering as he continued to pound into her with increasing energy, his mouth half open, saliva running across his lips and blunt tusks.

With a final desperate grunt, he came inside her, as the waves of her orgasm broke. She gripped onto his chest, pulling him down on top of her, crying out as his cock pumped her aching cunt full of hot semen. 

They lay there like that for a little while, wrapped in each others arms, legs entwined. But then the half-orc clambered off her, albeit with evident reluctance. He padded over to the table where had placed the things from the cupboard, and soon she felt a damp swabbing at her pussy, which was still a little sore from his attentions. Ah, yes, she'd actually forgotten about that.

"Are you sure you've got enough?" as he returned to the table, doing something with some bottles while his back was turned to her.

"Yes. I have plenty. Thank you much, pretty lady."

"You're absolutely certain?" she continued, levering herself up on her elbows, and wiping a sweat-drenched strand of hair from her eyes.

"Yes, I am certain."

He certainly wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, she reflected. Instead of asking again, she reached over to him, pushing her hand between his legs.

"That's a pity," she said, stroking his balls, "unless there's any other reason you might want to come back to bed?"

──◊──

Nyvara leaned back against the desk, dressed only in tight black leather boots reaching to mid calf, and a pair of cotton panties. She had worn no shift under her dress, of course, since it had been too low cut for that even to be a possibility. She arched her back slightly, thrusting her prominent, pale, breasts outward, and flicked a stray of black hair away from her sweat-damp forehead. Tinberly was blushing deeply, looking away towards the far wall, her hands gripped tightly in her lap.

"That feels better," said the sorceress, "cooler. Are you sure you won't join me? We're all girls together, and there's no way Rolgor will see. Or your mother, for that matter."

"No... I'm... I'm fine, thank you," replied the girl, but even as she did so a big bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face, dipping towards her eye, making her blink and move a hand to wipe away the salty sting.

"You don't look it," commented Nyvara, "and, besides, you're making me feel a little embarrassed. You wouldn't want to make your hostess feel embarrassed, would you? Especially since you're suffering."

Slowly, Tinberly stood, still studiously looking away from the sorceress, and began to fumble with her girdle, taking it off and laying it over the side of the stool. Her black dress was tight, with narrow sleeves, and it took a little while to remove, and to place beside her on the floor. She sat down again, her hands once again clenched before her, looking down at the floor, and Nyvara noticed that she was actually shaking slightly.

That didn't stop the sorceress admiring the partially clothed young teenager. Her shift was short-sleeved, showing off slender young arms with creamy soft skin, and the thin fabric clung to the slight curves of her body. The hem reached her mid-thigh, and the girl's legs were shapely indeed, the skin flawless, and almost as pale as her own. At the moment, they were pressed tightly together, her booted feet fidgeting.

"There... that's better, isn't it?" Nyvara said reassuringly. There was probably some truth in that, too, although she could still see beads of sweat on the girl's bare skin, and damp patches on the fabric under her armpits.

The girl nodded, silently, glancing up at the sorceress, then looking away suddenly, as if ashamed of what she saw. Nyvara smiled, and stepped away from the desk, slowly lying down on the thick carpet, her legs towards Tinberly.

"Yes, much better", she said, running a finger up her flank until it reached her shoulder. 

She slowly licked the bead of collected sweat off the tip, watching Tinberly's reaction. The girl was watching her now, no longer looking away, her eyes wide, as if trying to decide what the sorceress was doing, uncertain as to what was happening. Nyvara didn't say anything, suspecting that words might break the girl's temporary trance, and instead slid her hand down her body, palm flat, brushing over her prominent breasts and flat belly. She sighed, dipping the fingers under the hem of her panties, easing the material down half an inch to expose some of her hip.

"Mmm..." she murmured, closing her eyes and arching her back slightly. 

Slowly, she pulled her panties down, flicking them away with one booted foot. She kept her legs parted, now running her hand over the dark triangle of hair on her groin, contrasting so deeply with the pallor of her skin. She opened her eyes again, risking a direct look towards Tinberly. The girl's eyes were wider than ever, but she was watching, gazing towards the naked sorceress as if frozen in a basilisk's glare.

"Why don't you join me?" asked Nyvara, her voice sultry, "there's plenty of room on the carpet."

Tinberly shook her head, evidently not risking speech, although her eyes did not leave the woman in front of her. She would have to be more direct. 

Nyvara rose to her feet, and stepped towards the girl, still not making any sudden moves. Tinberly didn't flinch or look away, and soon the sorceress was just inches away from her, standing so that her breasts hovered in front of the youngster's face.

"We don't need men," she said, "not to keep ourselves amused. I am sure you've already found that, in bed alone at night. Haven't you? This is no different."

She bent down, kissing Tinberly's forehead so lightly that she could scarcely feel it. The girl's breaths were coming deeper, she could tell, but she still wouldn't give in to her reaction. 

"Don't disappoint me," she whispered, her hand brushing the thin and slightly damp fabric covering the slight mound of Tinberly's breasts.

The girl gasped, and Nyvara stepped away, lying down on the carpet once more, and patting the space beside her. Tinberly stood, her expression a mixture of confusion and desire, and joined the sorceress. She lay there, motionless, apparently afraid to move a muscle, her delightful little chest rising and falling, her lips slightly parted.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 25



The older woman rolled over onto her side, facing the teenager. She reached down to the hem of Tinberly's shift and slowly lifted it, exposing first her tender young thighs, then her panties and the soft curve of her belly. She made an appreciative sound, and there was no deception in it. The girl was, indeed, beautiful, her skin creamy and enticing, her body fresh and unsullied. She might or might not be a virgin, but she had certainly never done anything like this before, and that made her the very best sort.

She caressed Tinberly's thigh, making the girl shiver, and then reached up to her stomach, running her fingers along it, feeling the smoothness of her skin and the dampness of her sweat. She trailed her finger around the teenager's navel, savouring the shape of it; Tinberly flinched at the first touch, but soon recovered, biting her lower lip, and slowly moving her feet to slip off her boots one at a time. Nyvara noticed that she dug her toes into the pile of the carpet, buttocks moving and crinkling the fabric of her panties as she did so.

The sorceress smiled to herself; the girl was clearly surrendering, allowing her to do whatever she wanted. She moved over, so that she was leaning over the teenager's body, and moved a hand to the rucked hem of her shift, now lying just below the curve of the girl's breasts. She stared into Tinberly's brown eyes, her eyebrows raised questioningly. At first there was no response, but then the girl nodded, almost imperceptibly, still biting her lip. She was glad now that she had not used the potion -- it was always better when they fell under your influence enough to agree to things of their own free will.

She lifted the shift up, exposing Tinberly's breasts, then allowing her to raise her arms to slip the garment off and throw it away to one side. They were small but perfectly shaped, pale nipples pointed with desire, smooth skin glistening slightly with the sheen of sweat. Nyvara cupped one, making the girl squirm against the carpet with a sharp intake of breath. The sorceress bent over, her own large breasts draping against the teenager's flanks, and pressed her lips to a nipple, sucking on it gently as she watched her partner's expression.

Tinberly let out a squeak, a muffled cry of passion caught in her throat, and gasped to steady her breath. Nyvara stroked the eighteen year old's breasts with her fingers, lapping at the sweat with her tongue, flicking each of her nipples in turn. The girl wriggled against the carpet, trying not to cry out, but not quite succeeding, pressing her dainty thighs close together, her fingers massaging the pile, yet not daring to stray close to the source of her delightful torment.

Nyvara moved her tongue lower, sliding over the soft skin of the girl's stomach, dipping her tongue into the navel, savouring the feel of young skin against her lips. Her hands caressed Tinberly's thighs, still pressed tight against each other, feeling the long shape of them as her kisses moved down to her partner's hips. 

She pulled the hem of the panties down, exposing the flare of her hips, dipping her fingers into the back to feel her rounded buttocks. Tinberly bit her lip again, and made a sight plaintive grunt. 

"Come on," whispered Nyvara, hands placed gently on the girl's tightly pressed thighs, "you know how this has to be, don't you? And you want it, I can tell. Let me see you, let me see all of you." Tinberly parted her thighs just by an inch, but it was enough for the older woman to slide her panties off, and down over her calves to pool around her ankles. "There... that's good, isn't it?"

She stroked the girl's mound, fingertips brushing the soft brown hair, feeling the inner angle of her hips. Her pussy looked inviting, vulnerable, so fresh and tempting. Nyvara moved her head in closer, blowing on it, cool air against the moisture of the teenager's skin. Tinberly cried out at that, a quiet sound, but unmistakable in its desire. It was enough for the sorceress; she moved herself into position, lowered her head, and licked the girl's pussy lips, probing between them with her tongue.

"Oh!" cried the girl, full voiced this time, her hips bucking involuntarily. When Nyvara didn't stop, the teenager began to pant, her voice coming in short whimpers, her feet pushing against the carpet. She gripped Nyvara's shoulder with one hand, touching her intentionally for the first time, and cried out "Oh, Goddess!" as the older woman reached her clit.

Tinberly's hips ground into the thick pile beneath her, her back arching upwards as she grabbed her own breast with her other hand. Her pants were louder now, as she dug her fingers into Nyvara's shoulder, her head thrown back, long brown hair in disarray around her.

The sorceress kept up the torment, pressing her tongue between the pink folds, rubbing now and then with her finger, moving in time with the motions of her partner's hips. She could tell the girl was close to release now, and that was her cue to stop, and raise herself up onto her knees.

Tinberly gave out a puzzled sound, her lips forming a silent question. Seeing no response, she moved one of her own hands to her groin, evidently seeking to finish what the older woman had started. Nyvara grabbed first that hand, and then the other one, moving them away from the girl's puffy and aching groin.

"Please..." the girl asked, her voice plaintive, speaking directly to the sorceress for the first time in quite a while.

Nyvara responded by adjusting her position so that she was kneeling over her, one leg on either side of the teenager's body, ample breasts hanging down. "One good turn deserves another," she said, "weren't you taught that? I'll finish in a little while... if you're good."

She shuffled up a little, her breasts now hanging directly in front of Tinberly's face, lowering herself slightly, while still holding the girl's wrists in each hand. She felt tender sweet lips brushing the skin, tentatively at first, and then with more conviction, and closed her eyes, savouring the feeling, taking another scrap of the girl's innocence. Soon the lips had fastened on her nipple, tongue tickling the tip.

Nyvara moaned, grinding her hips against the girl's belly, before moving herself upright. Now holding the teenager's arms above her head, she moved her own pussy closer to that pretty young face. Young lips parted her pussy, tongue probing between her thighs, recoiling for a moment at the unexpected taste, then returning to their task as the sorceress thrust her hips slightly downward.

The girl's motions were inexpert, but that very innocence was all the more enticing to the sorceress. She groaned loudly, releasing the girl's wrists to massage her own breasts, grinding her hips into the teenager's face.

"Oh, Tinberly!" she cried, deliberately using the girl's name. 

Moving quickly, she adjusted her position, turning round to face in the opposite direction. She lay across the girl's body, pulling her legs urgently apart and fastening her lips and tongue on the eighteen year-old's clit.

Seconds later, Tinberly cried out in orgasm, her soft cunt contracting against Nyvara's face, her legs beating against the carpet. Nyvara pressed herself against her partner's face, silently begging for the inexperienced girl to find her clit. She did, sucking eagerly, surrendering fully to pleasuring another woman. Nyvara let out a long, deep moan as she climaxed, curvaceous body rubbing against the younger one beneath her, lost to the overwhelming wash of pleasure.

──◊──

A silver bell rang in the room. "Mother!" cried out Tinberly, grasping in a panic for her clothes.

"No, that's the door," replied Nyvara, calmly, "Rolgor will get it, send them away. He'll use an upstairs window; he won't need to come down here."

The bell rang again, and Nyvara frowned. The girl was getting dressed anyway, but she would have expected Rolgor to be doing something by now. After the third ring, the sorceress got to her feet, and, clad in nothing but her boots, went to the back entrance, heading up towards Rolgor's room. The plan had been for him to give Elandra a harmless sleeping draught when he had finished, ensuring that Nyvara had enough time to seduce and enjoy the daughter, so surely by now there was nothing to keep the half-orc occupied.

Even before she reached the room, however, she could tell that that was not actually the case. Creaking and grunting sounds came from behind the closed door, accompanied by the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh and then, clearly, Elandra's voice.

"Yes, Rolgor, do it like that... don't stop fucking me... oh, yes, squeeze my tits... give it to me hard..."

Tutting at what seemed a rather unexpected turn of events, Nyvara headed back downstairs to grab a black silk nightdress, and quickly strode towards the door, flipping the little hatch open.

She started back, as inhuman blood red eyes stared back at her. The eyes blinked, and suddenly attained a more normal, garnet, hue.

"Zarenis..." asked the sorceress, worried and puzzled by the unexpected appearance, "is that you?"

"It is... well, more or less. Something very strange has happened to me, and because of that... well, let us just say that I have something to offer you that you really won't want to miss out on. In return for some assistance, naturally. Can I come in?"



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 26



Vardala stepped warily into the back room of the inn, closing the door carefully behind her, as she had been instructed. The room was dark, heavy shutters closed across the only window. Outside, the sun would already be dipping towards the horizon, but the intent was not just to keep light out but to stop passers-by from looking in. 

The rogue made out a shape standing next to the unlit fireplace, and could sense its eyes on her. She said nothing, waiting for the figure to make the first move. After a long silence, it did so, reaching forward across a low table to pull back a shutter from some metal object placed there.

A whitish-blue light spilled across the table, shining into her face. She had seen such things before; a metal box with a narrow shutter at one side, and a rod inside enchanted with a long-lasting light spell. It was safer than a regular lantern, and almost never needed refuelling. Because of its shape, the light poured out in only one direction, and the figure standing behind it was more in the shadow than ever, now that her eyes could not adjust to the darkness.

"The prodigal returns," said the figure, his voice calm, with a rich timbre.

She could just about make out that he was wearing a cloak, further obscuring his shape, and, perhaps more significantly, that he was, like her, a gnome. Not that it mattered, for she recognised the voice, knew that this was, indeed, the man she had come to meet.

"I haven't betrayed the Guild," she said, defiantly, trying not to squint too obviously in the light directed at her. "I work outside the city now."

"As an adventurer, yes; I well recall that. Are you not ever tempted to return to your old ways? To rejoin the fold?"

"I don't need to. I have enough."

"Enough to abandon us?" the voice was stern, critical, "It seems it must be so, since this is the first time you have entered Guild premises in... what, over two years now? I am sure you remember the date as well as I. Or was it not important to you?"

"It's not an abandonment, merely a change. I haven't done anything wrong, not by the Guild's laws. I have just taken a different path."

"One that means you no longer need us," the voice was sharply critical, and Vardala began to wonder if she had done the right thing in coming here. Clearly there were deeper wounds over her departure than she had thought. In retrospect, that should perhaps have been more obvious.

"So, you no longer need the family that helped raise you, from your teenage years, at least. The family that taught you the skills you know rely on, whether within our purview or not. The Guild is a lifelong commitment, not just something you pop in and out of at your convenience. Had you forgotten that?"

"I'm not here to offer my services."

"But you need us for something, don't you? Something has brought you back to us again. What I am trying to establish is why you should think we have the slightest interest in helping you."

"Because I have money. Which is, in the end, what the Guild is about acquiring, isn't it?"

"Oh, money?" the voice sneered, and its owner leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, and allowing some of the light to spill onto his cloak, though still leaving his face in shadow, "What makes you think I'd be interested in that, from you?"

"Because I know you, Shadow-knife," she used the assassin's codename, the one she had employed to get access to this private room, to get audience with the man.

"Perhaps I've changed," he said, sounding a little defensive for the first time, and leaning back out of the light. "None of us stays the same forever. The Guild has moved on without you, you know."

"But you haven't, have you?" she said, taking a step forward, emboldened as she saw that she might be getting beneath the other rogue's cool exterior. "That's what this is all about, isn't? These shadows and your attempted intimidation? I can tell you now that it isn't going to work, not with me."

"Everything isn't always about you!" snapped Shadow-knife, banging the table and leaning forward into the light again. This time, she could see more of his face, the sharp nose and neat little goatee, a flash of his teeth as he all but snarled at her.

"But it is this time, isn't it? You're still pissed off. Well, whatever -- you should just get over it. I've had enough of being messed about. All I want is a little information, and I'm willing to pay for it. Are you going to help me, or not?"

"You couldn't pay what I'd want!" 

His voice was raised, sounding dangerous, and Vardala wondered if she'd pushed him too far. He was a skilled killer, after all, and a trusted official of the Guild. But her frustration at the way he was acting, when she so badly needed vengeance for what that inhuman thing had done, overwhelmed her common sense.

"You don't know what I've got to offer!" she snapped back, "so stop being such a bloody child about it."

"You know exactly what it is I want," he growled, and stepped out from behind the table, lunging for her. 

She raised her left hand instinctively to ward him off, her right reaching for her concealed knife. But he was too quick, and took her head in both hands, kissing her passionately on the lips.

Forgetting the knife, she took a step back and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

The sound of the slap seemed to echo across the room; it had been a really good one. Shadow-knife staggered back a pace, almost bumping into the table, reaching out a hand to steady himself.

"Damn -- that really hurt," he said, making no further movement, "shit! Vardala, you pack a mean hand, these days." He gave a bitter little laugh, "I guess you haven't changed so much."

"Well, you deserved it, Skort."

He winced slightly at the use of his real name, but then seemed to relax, all his thunder and bluster gone. "Yeah, I guess," he muttered at last, leaning back against the table, and rubbing his cheek, the hood of his cloak pushed back slightly to reveal his close-cropped black hair. "Where did we go so wrong?"

"You couldn't accept that I had my own life. Looks like you still can't."

"Hey, that's not fair. I had a lot of things to do when I moved up in the Guild. I could have done with some more support, too. It's not like it was one sided."

She shrugged, "perhaps. But I couldn't be there all the time. Like I said, I have my own life now."

Skort adjusted the magical lantern, widening the aperture so that more light spilled into the room, although it still wasn't much.

"You look the same as ever," he commented, "as if it was yesterday. You shouldn't have left me."

"You said it yourself a moment ago -- nobody stays the same forever. We were over, it wasn't working. I thought you'd have learned to live with it by now. It's been two years."

"Yeah, it has," he said, rubbing his face and staring into the darkness of the ceiling, "But it was good while it lasted... I mean, it was, wasn't it?"

"Yeah... yeah, it was."

He sighed deeply, "well... you wanted to ask me something," he said eventually, "You might as well go ahead."

"Somebody stole something from me," said Vardala, "and I want to know who that is." She didn't add that she wanted revenge on that person for hurting Horvan, for nearly killing him. That would just complicate what was already an awkward meeting even further, Especially since she still hadn't quite worked out what she felt for the manservant.

Skort gave a short barking laugh, "I'm hardly going to rat on one of my fellows! Gods, you know the Guild as well as I do, how can you even ask?"

"Because it's not somebody from the Guild."

"A freelancer?" he looked interested, his expression quizzical. "Anyone good enough to steal from a bunch of adventurers probably isn't a freelancer, and even if they were, it pretty much goes without saying that they'd also be good enough for us not to know about them."

"The thing that stole from us wasn't a person, at least not in the normal sense. It was a demon."

"A demon?" his eyebrows shot up, "you mean a tiefling? There's a..."

"No, not a tiefling. I know what a tiefling looks like, and this sure as hell wasn't one of them. We're talking a full-on demon, huge horns, glowing eyes, the lot. Could have been an illusion, but that seems unlikely. But no, so far as we can tell, this was an honest-to-goodness demon, the kind that somebody summons. Know anything about that?"

"Uh, no, why would I? We're not magicians."

She sensed the brief hesitation in his voice, noted the shifting in his eyes as he looked away from her when he spoke. He might be good at lying to others, but not to her. He did know something, and she just had to find out what it was.

"Demonologists need illegal goods to cast their spells. If they don't get them from you, you'd probably know where they would get them. There's a pretty good chance you'd at least have heard rumours. And since you're not magicians, whoever did this is outside the Guild, and, really, you're not breaking any trust by telling who they are. Or who you suspect they are."

"I don't know any demons. Or demon-summoners. I'm sorry, Vardala, I just don't know anything."

She stepped up to him, looking him squarely in the eyes. "You're lying. Why?"

"Uh, no I..." he seemed to sense it wasn't working, and swore under his breath, trying to avoid looking at her. "Hell, Vardala. You don't understand this. This is... this is just not something I can tell you, okay?"

"What's your price?"

"Damn it, I don't have a price! I'm telling you, this is really... just walk away from it, all right?"

He sounded concerned, genuinely worried by something, but Vardala was not going to stop there. She had to do something to strike back for Horvan, no matter what it meant. The demon's attack had made it personal, and she wouldn't forgive it for that. That thought was even more important to her than her concern about the city's fate. For Horvan, she was willing to do whatever it took.

She reached down with a hand and gently cupped Skort through his trews. "You sure there's nothing I can offer you?"

He squirmed as she began to rub him, a bulge definitely beginning to form beneath her fingers. "I... uh... no. I don't want that. And I can't tell you anything." She began to undo the fastenings. "Heck, Vardala, don't be ridiculous. You said it was over."

He'd been eager enough when he'd been the one taking charge, she thought, as she caressed a growing erection that was giving the lie to his denials of interest. "It is," she told him, "but that doesn't mean I can't make an exception tonight."

"Look... there's a Guild connection. That's why I can't say anything."

"But not a formal one," she said, kneeling, "or you'd have mentioned it earlier. Who's got you scared?"

"Nobody! I'm not scared." He seemed affronted by the suggestion. Good.

She eased his swollen cock out of his trews, running her hand along its length, then bending forward to kiss the tip.

"Vardala!" he cried, "this isn't going to work on me." She slipped his cock briefly into her mouth, running her lips around the head, and then pulling it out again. "Uh, well, not in that way. I'm not going to tell you about Mr. Scaggs."

"He's the Rake's number two man, isn't he?" asked Vardala, before pulling him full into her mouth, first tickling his glans with her tongue, then pushing her head forward into his groin, easing his balls out with a free hand and gently rubbing them.

Skort gasped, his hips pushing slightly forward into her face. She raised her eyes to look at him, enjoying the look of pleasurable torment on his face, and then began to suck him more vigorously, sliding him in and out.

"Uhh... yes... all right... Scaggs has some friends. Some very powerful friends... oh, yeah... he's been acting kind of weird, even the Rake senses it. But we... oh, Goddess... we don't have any proof of anything. There's been whispers of magic rituals, demons and bad stuff like that. But nothing we know for sure."

She released him, leaning back onto her haunches, his erection, slick with her saliva, throbbing just inches from her face. "I need names. Who are these friends?"

"I don't know... magicians, I guess."

Vardala undid her tunic, pulling it off, followed by her shirt. Looking up at Skort, she deliberately fondled one of her breasts, then leaned over to suck and nibble at his balls, gripping his cock with her other hand.

"Names," she said, again,

"Vardala, I..."

"Yes you do. You're bad at lying to me, remember?" She ran her tongue up his shaft and swallowed him again, continuing to massage her breast as she did so.

"Uhh... Lady Amloth. She's the ringleader. She's a drow, poses as a merchant, but drow are all demon-worshippers or something, aren't they? Oh, yes... Vardala..."

"Is that all you know?" she asked, pulling him out of her mouth again.

"Yes, that's it! But, I swear, you'd better not stop there -- my balls are aching."

She evaluated his expression. He seemed sincere this time. "Yeah, I believe you. The part about not knowing any more, I mean."

"Dammit, Scaggs can't find out I told you any of this! He's higher in the Guild than I am, and the Rake's hardly going to back me up for spreading rumours about his deputy."

Vardala stood up, and unfastened her own trews, dropping them to the floor with her panties. Skort watched her, wide-eyed, as she stepped over to the table beside him, and leaned across it, spreading her legs apart.

"Then you better persuade me not to tell," she informed him, "I could do with some really good persuasion right now."

Skort gave an almost feral grin, and she wondered briefly if her approach might have been a bad idea. But it had worked, and that was all that had mattered. The truth was, it had made her horny. It wasn't so much that she enjoyed giving oral sex, which she was happy to do, but was never particularly exciting in itself. No, it was...

Actually, what the heck was it? She had certainly had no intention of bedding Skort when she had come here; she had just wanted information from him, and had assumed, at the most, that she might have to pay for it with gold. Yet things had progressed since then, not least because of his refusal to let go of the past, which she hadn't really expected. It had felt good to make him squirm, but now she needed a release, to make up for the tension that Horvan's injury and near-death had instilled in her.

She couldn't fuck Horvan, but she could take out her frustration on her former lover, and clear her mind with some wild sex. Hopefully, he wouldn't take it the wrong way. Yeah, some chance there, she thought ruefully, but it was too late now, for either of them.

Skort had stripped off, the bluish light casting a dark shadow from his glistening erection over his firm, flat belly. His build was muscular for a gnome, with brawny arms and strong thighs, the dark hair on his chest contrasting with pale skin. A familiar tattoo, showing a blade and some writing in gnomish script, decorated his left shoulder. He moved behind her, as she lay face forward on the table, arms gripping the far side. He gripped the inside of her right thigh, pinching it slightly and shifting it aside, then using the fingers of his other hand to spread her pussy lips apart, gazing at her exposed cunt for a while.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, "you don't know how much I've thought about this."

He thrust his cock into her forcefully, partially lifting her hips up off the table, and making her grunt in satisfaction. He began taking her with hard, urgent thrusts, groaning loudly with each new movement, his body pounding into hers. She had to admit that it felt good, just what she needed right now, although she tried to keep her own voice down -- it was unlikely anyone was listening outside, but they were in the backroom of an inn, and if either of them got loud enough, that might not make much difference. 

She looked back at him, still gripping the table with her own hands, watching his bare chest moving, and the shadow cast by his body against the wall. He was taking her forcefully, his cock slamming into her cunt over and over, filling it, his head thrown back and teeth bared. When they'd been together before, he'd never fucked her this hard, and the sensations were overwhelming. He must have noticed her gaze on him, for he looked down at her, seeing the lust burning in her eyes, the need to be satisfied. If only he realised that it wasn't really him she was thinking of.

"You like it rough?" he asked, "you didn't use to."

With a sudden wicked grin, he slapped her across the buttocks. It stung a little, but was nothing against the more pleasurable feelings that his rapidly pounding cock was inducing in her.

"That's for slapping me earlier," he informed her.

"Is that all you've got?"

He slapped her again, much harder this time, reddening her buttock, then gripping it with his fingers as he thrust into her again, pushing her forward on the table, and lifting her feet off the floor. A second, hard slap followed, on the other side this time, enough to hurt. "Fuck you!" he snarled.

She pushed back against the table, forcing him backwards, making him stumble so that his cock slid out of her as she regained her feet, still standing with her back to him. He gave a surprised and frustrated cry, but she grabbed for him, finding his slick and wet erection and pushing it back inside again.

She ground her body against his, feeling his hard muscle against her back, lifting a leg to give him easier access. He wrapped a muscled arm around her waist, almost lifting her off the ground as he continued to fuck her. His free hand gripped one of her breasts, and he pressed his face into the hair at the back of her neck, groaning loudly.

She kicked one of his legs out from under him, making him stumble and swear, releasing his grip on her to steady himself. But she hadn't finished with him yet, and climbed up onto the table, knocking over the magical lantern, so that its light cast crazy rocking shadows against the ceiling.

Skort climbed onto the table after her, his silhouette looming over her as she rolled onto her back. He grabbed for her arms, and they wrestled, each trying to get the upper hand. Skort's face glowered with a mixture of anger and lust; she was playing with him, but wondered how seriously he took the game. Their bodies slid against each other as they grappled, hands wandering, legs entwining, and he was obviously trying to force her down, to show his mastery... well, two could play at that game.

With one hand she yanked on his cock, making him yelp, and his grip suddenly relaxed, giving her the opportunity to flip him over onto his back. Quickly, she straddled him, back towards his face, gripping his legs with one hand as she used the other to guide him back inside her.

She humped him vigorously, thighs and hips working as his balls smacked against her groin and his hard cock pumped in and out of her aching pussy. She let out an exultant whoop, forgetting her earlier resolution to remain quiet, and savoured the feeling as she continued to ride him.

Skort's fingers gripped her back, trying to knead her heaving buttocks, but finding little purchase against sweat-slick flesh moving with such urgency. He groaned, louder than before, calling her name, and she threw her whole body into an arc, head thrown back, one hand squeezing a breast as the speed of her motion increased.

Her partner cried out again, a desperate, almost sobbing sound, as she felt his cock finally release its seed inside of her. With a few more thrusts, she joined him, letting out a passionate shout as her body erupted with pleasurable release and her cunt contracted around his still spasming member,

Skort was panting, his hands by his side now, as she clambered off him, and slid down from the table. She looked at him there for a moment, his chest heaving, struggling to regain his breath. Then she began to gather her clothes.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 26



"What...?" he managed, forcing himself up onto one elbow, "Don't go so soon..."

"I've got what I came for," she said, pulling on her boots, "I don't need any more."

"Now wait a minute!" he shouted, but, still holding her tunic, and tucking her shirt back in, she strode over to the door, and pulled it open.

He was still lying naked on the table, grimacing in helpless frustration, as the door slammed shut in his face.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 27



Calleslyn crossed the lobby of the Wizards' College, looking about for someone she knew well enough to talk to. The villa had been attacked by a demon, obviously sent to steal something, and Lady Tarissa had sent her here to find out what she could. Until now they had been reluctant to tell people what they knew of the infernal threat to the city, but having seen a demon openly, they could now ask questions without raising suspicion among the conspirators – whoever they were. Indeed, it would some strange if they did not.

The lobby, however, was relatively empty, so the elf decided to make her next port of call the library. It occupied a significant part of the building, and, while it was not a good place for socialising as such, there was always likely to be someone there. She stepped through the stone archway and looked around, the numerous stacks of books and scrolls hiding much of her view of the interior.

"Can I help you?" 

She turned round to see the librarian peering up from a collection of scrolls, a slightly nervous smile on her face. Nariti knew a lot about books and scrolls, but rather less about the actual human world, which would not have made her Calleslyn's first choice for uncovering any wizards that might be involved in the dark arts. But at least she was present.

"Yes, perhaps," she said, coming over as the small, mousy woman reflexively smoothed her robes down. "I was wondering about the restricted section of the library."

"Oh," said Nariti, looking a little taken aback, "it's in the basement. And it is, well... it is restricted, you know. You need permission to read those books. They are about demons and things, you know. Not... well, not very nice at all."

"Yes," agreed Calleslyn, trying not to sound as if she was stating the obvious, "and I would need to get permission from you, would I not? As the librarian."

"Well, yes... yes, you would. That would be... or the Master of the College. But otherwise, yes. Um... why do you want to go to the restricted section?"

She decided for the direct approach. "My house has been attacked by a demon."

Nariti's eyes widened, and she physically jerked backwards, clutching out for a quill, as if for security. "Oh, my goodness me!" she managed, voice wavering.

"So, I was wondering... who have you given permission to recently? Has anyone been in the restricted section in the past few weeks?"

"You... you can't imagine that someone from the College...?" asked the librarian, her voice moving up half an octave to a virtual squeak, "I mean... that's... that's... Those books are restricted for a reason. I am very careful, I don't just let people in, you know. We couldn't be having with that sort of thing." She fiddled with her quill, looking almost as if she expected a demon to pop up from behind the stacks. 

"So, nobody then?"

"No, no... nobody has been in there for a while. Well, except Valmor, and he had permission from the Master of the College. Something about defences, I think. But other than that, no... even I haven't been in there recently. There isn't much call for it. The books are perfectly safe."

Valmor – that was interesting. Calleslyn knew the man as a pompous and arrogant fool, but was he the sort to summon demons? At first the idea seemed absurd, since the man operated more by ingratiating himself with the wealthy and influential members of society. But if the thing beneath the city, whatever it was, was seeking to corrupt people, wouldn't they be the sort of people it looked for? And would Valmor be the kind to turn down an offer of true power if it was offered to him? She certainly wouldn't put it past him.

"Well, thank you, Nariti," she said, "I don't think I will need to use the restricted section myself, at least not yet," as a paladin, Lady Tarissa would probably be able to find more useful information on the demon and how to fight it. "But as long as there have been no strangers poking about with infernal tomes, I suppose I may to have to look further afield."

"Oh good," said the librarian, looking distinctly relieved, "that's very good to hear. Glad I could help." And she sat down at her desk again, spreading out the scrolls as Calleslyn turned away to find someone who might know more about sinister gossip than the socially isolated young woman.

"No, no," muttered, Nariti, half to herself, "there's been no strangers doing anything like that since the business with Ornejirhs."

Calleslyn turned round, frowning in puzzlement, "what business?"

The librarian looked up, as if startled by being heard, "um, you know, with the staff."

The elf walked back over to the desk, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Who's Ornejirhs? And what sort of name is that, anyway?"

"Southern. Um, I think. I mean, he looks southern, doesn't he? Oh, right, you don't know. But it was..." suddenly an expression of realisation crossed her face, "oh, of course, that's right, you were out of the city, doing dangerous things in the wilds. Anyway, he destroyed a magic staff, that's all I was saying."

"And this has a connection with demons?"

"Well, it was a demonic staff. Or diabolic, or something. Cursed and evil, anyway. He destroyed it for us, and banished the curse. They say he's a demon hunter, or something. From the south," she added again. "I think. Is it important?"

"My house has been attacked by a demon, and this man hunts demons," Calleslyn pointed out, reflecting that the librarian really didn't seem very savvy outside her narrow area of expertise, "where can I find him?"

──◊──

Ornejirhs turned out to have rented a moderately sized house on the outskirts of the city, almost on the opposite side to the adventurers' villa. The neighbourhood was quiet, suggesting that this might well be a man who valued his privacy, since surely somewhere nearer to the college would have been more convenient. 

Calleslyn wondered again about the wisdom of coming on her own. Ornejirhs was something of a mystery, a stranger with knowledge of demons who had turned up out of nowhere. But, in a way, that counted in his favour. The little they knew of the thing beneath the city implied that it had taken a long time to establish its control, which meant that an outsider should be free from its taint. Of course, there was always the possibility that it had summoned him here specifically, but that didn't fit with the fact that he had clearly destroyed a demonic artefact, rather than stealing it for himself, or at least preserving it for future use.

Everything suggested that the stranger was what he claimed to be; a hunter of demons, which was exactly the sort of person she needed information from. She wouldn't tell him about her fears for the city, but it would be reasonable enough to ask the expert about the demon that had invaded her home. Besides, she wasn't exactly defenceless.

So why did she have a nagging feeling that something was strange about this mysterious arrival? Perhaps it was just the name, which didn't sound as if it belonged to any culture she knew of.

So it was with a slight sense of trepidation that she knocked on the door to the rented house. She could hear someone moving about inside, but all the curtains were drawn, hiding any view of the interior. She knocked again, and this time heard footsteps approaching the door... a door that was soon opened by a woman in a most remarkable costume.

It looked, at first glance, as if it ought to have been armour, but that someone had forgotten some of the pieces. Or, to be more accurate, and forgotten almost all of them. The woman wore tight leather boots to just below her knees, and metal bracers around each wrist, and apart from that... well, technically, it was mail armour, but it didn't look as if it would protect very much. Two triangular pieces of tightly woven steel mail covered each breast, with a narrow armoured strap in between and additional leather straps over each shoulder, and round her back. That last strap was tight enough for the pieces of mail to raise up the woman's ample breasts, providing them with significant support, and emphasising a rather impressive cleavage. 

And that, aside from the bracers and a silver necklace decorated with a carved piece of pale green stone was all she wore above the waist. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare, her long blonde hair falling in rivulets down her back, and her bare waist showed a perfect hourglass figure. Calleslyn's eyes involuntarily wandered lower, to something that, even being charitable, she was hard pressed to describe as a skirt.

It, too, consisted of two triangular pieces of tight mail, albeit more elongated than those of her upper garment. They hung, front and back, from a narrow belt covered with metal segments, and did nothing at all to conceal the woman's hips or thighs. Above this curious garment was a second, heavier, belt, from which hung a narrow sword, of the sort sometimes favoured by the people of the south.

For there was no doubt that the woman was from one of the southern lands. Her skin – most of which was on display – was pale, her hair pure blonde and her eyes dazzlingly blue. Calleslyn decided that the woman couldn't have gone out dressed like this very often, since, aside from the obvious effect on the menfolk of Haredil, with skin that colour, she surely ought to have got sunburned.

"You wanted something?" asked the woman, her distinct accent again betraying her southern origins.

Calleslyn was aware that she had been staring. Not that that was an unreasonable reaction to such a costume, but it was not very polite. She was still trying to work out what the point of it was, unless this was some sort of exotic dancer. The sword rather counted against that theory, but what kind of warrior would want to wear armour that left almost her entire body unprotected, she had no idea – Lady Tarissa was from the south, and she wore full plate.

"I was looking for Ornejirhs. I was told he lives here."

"Yes, he does," the oddly dressed woman eyed the elf with suspicion, "but who are you, and why do you want to speak to him?"

"My name is Calleslyn. I am a magician, from the Wizards' College here. I understand Ornejirhs is an expert on demons, and I wanted his advice."

"It is true that he knows much about fighting evil," admitted the woman, then stood silently for a moment, critically appraising the elven magician. After an uncomfortable pause, she opened the door further, although her expression still did not look much more welcoming. "You had better come inside."

The interior of the house was shadowy, the drawn curtains keeping out the direct sunlight, although they were not heavy enough for the rooms to be truly dark. The strange woman led Calleslyn into the first room on the right of the corridor, which turned out to be fairly spacious, and well decorated.

The room was lit with a reddish light, thanks to the colour of the curtain that covered the window. Most of the furniture looked to have been purchased in Haredil, but there were exotic hangings on the wall whose origins the elf could not place. There was a long, curving sofa, which looked local, but numerous scatter cushions across the floor that did not. This unknown magician and his strange companion, then, had brought at least some more portable items with them, whether from their home, or from some other place that they had visited.

"I am Imrilda," said the woman, "I am Ornejirhs' fighting companion. Please, sit anywhere you like."

"So, is he around?" asked Calleslyn, not entirely sure what to make of the situation.

"No, I am afraid not. He is out on business. But he should be back very shortly, so it would be best for you to wait here. We have wine or water, if you would like to quench your thirst."

"Thank you." The elf sat down on the sofa, her earlier feelings of uneasiness having not at all subsided. Something was not quite right about this set up, but she could not put her finger on it. She at least took consolation from the fact that Imrilda looked equally uncertain, and that she probably did not know how experienced a magician Calleslyn actually was.

The blonde woman left the room and returned shortly after with a bottle of white wine and a couple of glasses. She did not sit herself, standing instead, near to the door.

"So, where are you from?" she asked, breaking the uneasy silence as both women eyed the other.

"South of here."

Well, that was vague. "And Ornejirhs?"

"Yes, he is from the south, too."

"It's not a southern name, though."

"Haredil is a long way north, there is much to the south of here. There are many different peoples there."

"So which people does Ornejirhs belong to?"

Imrilda stiffened slightly, and clearly thought about her answer before replying. "He is from further south than I am. A distant land, not well known to my people, and even less so here."

"How did you meet?"

"He'll be here shortly, you can ask him then." The blonde crossed her arms, and leaned back against the wall, her eyes not straying from her guest. It seemed that she was not in the mood for further conversation. Not that she had been very forthcoming so far, even assuming she was being truthful.

Having little else to do, Calleslyn looked around the room. It looked comfortable enough, and the decorations were not, she suspected, cheap. Ornejirhs, then, had somewhat expensive tastes. There were a few carvings here and there, she noticed, placed on low tables or stands. Some were stone, images of what appeared to be gods or heroes, but others were ivory, and these were either of animals – many of which were unfamiliar to her – or strange abstract designs of curving shapes and intricate swirls. The decorations on the wall hangings were all abstract, too, she noticed, and there seemed something a little odd about them. Whatever culture Ornejirhs called home, it had a different sense of aesthetics than any of those she knew.

Imrilda was a puzzle, as well. She wore that sword, and claimed to be a 'fighting companion' whatever that meant. Yet, at least when she was at home, she wore outlandish and provocative clothing that seemed out of place for a warrior. Considering what she was wearing, it was difficult to avoid noticing that she had a stunning figure, with a narrow waist and flat belly, well moulded thighs, and an ample bosom. 

Her pale skin looked flawless, which was another puzzle. Any fighter had a few scars, but there were none that Calleslyn could see. That could have just been good healing magic, but it occurred to the elf that there was a good chance the armour itself was magic. It made no sense in any other context, but if it somehow projected magical protection over those parts of the body that it didn't cover, that was at least a partial explanation. Although, even so, it was a wonder she didn't wear anything over it – and Imrilda's natural pose suggested that she was used to the clothing, and hadn't been caught half-undressed. 

Not to mention that it was very cold down south, which surely made the choice of clothing even more unwise.

The time dragged on, with Imrilda simply standing there, watching, and Calleslyn feeling increasingly ill at ease. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Is he going to be much longer? Because it has been a while already."

"I do not think it will be much longer."

The elf was not convinced by the warrior-woman's continued evasion. "Perhaps I could leave a message," she said, "I can be back tomorrow."

"Why don't you have another glass of wine? I'll pour one." Imrilda moved over to the bottle, turning away from Calleslyn to pour another glass, giving the elven woman a good view of her shapely buttocks, only half-hidden by the triangle of skirt-like mail. "Here," she said, turning round and holding out the glass."

"No thank you, I must be getting back."

Calleslyn stepped towards the door, and Imrilda immediately put the glass down and moved to stand in her way. Her right hand was hovering just above the hilt of her sword.

"It will not be long. It will be easier to wait than to return tomorrow. It will save you a walk."

Behind her back, Calleslyn flexed her fingers, preparing a sleeping spell that would knock the blonde woman out cold. The magical energy began to curl around her fingers, and she prepared to make the sudden motion that would cast the spell.

"Elves," said Imrilda, "we have stories about them where I am from. Near the pine forests."

The magician paused, uncertain what to make of the sudden change of topic, but wondering if it might give her further information.

"They say that they enchant people away. They cast a glamour of some kind on young men, leading them away into the forests. Many are not seen again, but some, they say, come back changed. Is that true, do you think?"

"I don't know. I'm not that familiar with that part of the world, as you pointed out yourself."

Imrilda nodded, her eyes not leaving Calleslyn's own, but her hand moving away from her sword, fingers spread, as if in a gesture of peace. "But that's not all they say."

"Oh?"

"They say that the young men... it is not always the elven women that enchant them away. They say that sometimes, it's the elven men. Does that seem possible?"

"Perhaps. But I don't know if it's true."

"You see, there is something I've noticed about you, Calleslyn. Something that makes me curious. I wear this armour to protect me."

"It's magical, I assume?"

"Naturally; it would have to be, as I am sure you realise. But that's not the only way it protects me, or I would choose something else. Because it is also distracting. When men look at it, they tend to falter, perhaps make mistakes they would not otherwise; it can be very advantageous at times. Not all the time, of course. It doesn't distract animals, obviously enough, and, of course, it doesn't work on women, either."

Calleslyn said nothing, waiting for Imrilda to make her point.

"Except, Calleslyn..." her voice dropped to a purring tone, soft and slow, yet tinged with a slightly cold menace, "except it has been distracting you, hasn't it? Ever since you first saw me, you have been looking at me as a man would... and, believe me, I know how men look at me. I did wonder at first if you were using some sort of powerful disguising magic, but I don't think that's it. I thought I had to be wary of you, keep you here until Ornejirhs returned, but I don't think you present that kind of danger to me, after all."

"No," she went on, "I don't think you want to hurt me, or Ornejirhs either, for that matter. I don't think that that is what you want to do to me at all. Because you know what I think, Calleslyn? I think those stories about the elves are true. And the way you've been looking at me, it's not just the elven men, is it?"

She took a half step forward, leaning towards the elven woman, so that their faces were inches apart. "I think I know what you want to do to me, Calleslyn. What you'd really, really, like to do to me."

They stood like that, silently facing each other, with the elf trying not to give any hint of an answer on her face. Behind her back, she moved her fingers again, ready to throw the spell.

"No answer? Well, we'll just have to see whether I am right, won't we?"

So saying, she leaned a little further forward, took the surprised elf's face in her hands and kissed her on the lips. Calleslyn pulled back, unsure of how to react, but Imrilda simply pushed more forcefully forwards, kissing her again, and pressing her body up against the elf's own. This time Calleslyn held the kiss, wanting to see how Imrilda would react, but if she was faking anything, she was good at it, because moments later they were locked together in a passionate kiss, tongues entwining, the human woman's hand running through her long hair.





Sarlene's Touch Ch. 27



Calleslyn flicked her fingers, negating the prepared spell, and instead reached out to caress her partner's bare flank. The skin was smooth and soft, warm beneath her touch as she slid her hand round to feel the bumps along Imrilda's spine. The other woman certainly didn't seem to be so cold and distant now!

They broke apart, breathing heavily, and Imrilda gently, but forcefully pressed down on the elf's shoulders, pushing her down to lie among the scatter cushions. Calleslyn lay back, watching the other woman kneel over her, legs either side of her own. She still didn't know what to make of the turn of events, although it was difficult to drag her attention from the human's magnificent cleavage, now rising and falling most enticingly beneath the skimpy mail protection.

"You're not still trying to keep me here, are you?" she asked.

"Not for that reason," replied Imrilda, breathily. "If I were, would I do this?" she unbuckled the wide belt that held her sword, and threw both it and the weapon away to one side, out of easy reach. "You think only elven women have those sorts of desires?"

"I'm realising that it's more common among human women than I thought," admitted the magician.

"Perhaps this will demonstrate my sincerity," said Imrilda, reaching behind her back to undo the ties of her upper garment. She tossed it away, exposing her large, well rounded breasts. 

Calleslyn slid her hands up the other woman's flanks, running over her ribs and then moving to fondle her breasts. Imrilda's nipples were pink and rosy, swelling as the elf's fingertips brushed over them. Whatever else she might be hiding, Calleslyn doubted the human woman could fake that reaction.

Imrilda leaned forward, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, poised over the magician, long blond hair cascading over her shoulders and large breasts hanging down. She bent down for another brief kiss, then pulled back to reach down and undo her skirt-like garment, throwing that beside another cushion. Underneath, she wore panties consisting of no more than a single piece of soft brown material held over her bare hips by a narrow thong.

The elf squeezed one of Imrilda's breasts, tweaking the nipple slightly beneath her fingers and drawing a pleasured grunt from her partner. At last, the human woman rolled over onto her back, hooking a leg around one of Calleslyn's to pull the elf over on top of her. 

The magician lost no time in moving straight to those large breasts again, running her hands over every inch of them, kissing Imrilda's heaving cleavage, then fastening her mouth onto a long pink nipple, licking and sucking it, teasing it with the edge of her teeth. The warrior woman let out a soft moan, grinding her hips in a circular motion against the carpet beneath their entwined bodies.

"Mmm... you are good," said Imrilda contentedly as Calleslyn briefly licked the inner sides of both her breasts before moving the attentions of her tongue to the other side. 

One of the human woman's hands wandered up to feel the curve of Calleslyn's slight breasts through the fabric of her dress, doubtless discovering that the elf's nipples were already hard with desire. But the magician pulled away from her, kneeling upright to take a good look at the almost naked woman laid out before her. She ran a hand over Imrilda's belly, teasing her finger into the navel, then moving down over her rounded hips.

She raised the woman's legs up one by one – Imrilda was no longer using them to hold her down – and slowly pulled off each long boot. The human woman wriggled her toes, and she kissed her ankles, sliding her tongue over the inside of her shin, then blowing gently against the backs of her knees. The warrior's legs were spread apart, the skimpy panties now her only remaining item of clothing. Calleslyn slid a hand down one shapely thigh to reach for the thong.

Before she knew it, Imrilda had twisted her legs around, and thrown her onto her back, once again leaning over her.

"Your turn to show," said the blonde warrior, "let me see what you have to offer."

She hiked Calleslyn's skirts up around her hips, running her hands over the exposed thighs then up into the back of her panties to feel her buttocks. 

"You keep in good shape," she observed, "let me see the rest."

With some difficulty, for Imrilda was still holding her legs pinioned between her own, Calleslyn began to wriggle out of her dress. The other woman was soon helping her, divesting her of both the outer garment and the shift underneath. She cupped one of the elf's small breasts, rubbing the nipple with her thumb. 

"I think my theory about elven women is looking pretty good at the moment, don't you?" she asked, bending down to kiss the magician before she could reply.

It was a long, passionate kiss, Calleslyn running her hands through the woman's hair and down her back as their breasts pressed together. The human's legs released their grip, as her hips began moving slightly against Calleslyn's own, and she took the opportunity to roll her partner over onto her back, into another pile of the scatter cushions.

She moved back onto her knees as Imrilda's hands wandered over her body, their soft touch enticing. The hands wandered lower, easing her panties down around her thighs. Imrilda stroked her exposed mound, riffling the soft hair there, and making appreciative sounds.

Calleslyn reached down, caressing her partner's thighs and hips for a moment, before pulling down her panties. Imrilda's blonde bush was thick, and the way her legs were already parted, holding the elf in position meant that her sex was fully exposed. Calleslyn ran a finger along it, finding it damp with anticipation. The warrior shivered at the touch, letting out a long gasp as the elf continued to rub her swollen and obviously eager lips.

Calleslyn eased a finger inside, rubbing gently as she did so, making the other woman squirm with desire. Imrilda's legs trembled as she let out a sobbing moan, and with a twist, Calleslyn was free of them, taking the opportunity to fully remove both her own panties and those of her partner. Imrilda sat up, and they embraced, kissing, hands exploring each other's bodies. 

The human woman's kisses moved down her neck, over her collarbone, as Calleslyn arched her head backwards. Imrilda pressed her lips against each of the elf's nipples in turn, licking each with the tip of her tongue. Then she took Calleslyn's body in her hands, easing her slowly backwards and away. At first, the magician was unsure what the other woman wanted, but soon her legs were being adjusted, and they sat, half leaning away from each other, legs placed so that their pussies touched.

Imrilda began to rub herself up and down, their exposed and sensitive lips sliding against one another in a rhythmic motion. The warrior woman was flushed, eyes closed, and repeatedly gasping out loud, as her hips continued their delightful gyration against Calleslyn's own. The elf reached out to caress her partner's full breasts, admiring the way that they moved as Imrilda's cries became more urgent.

She pressed against the other woman, gently forcing her down onto her back, and breaking the embrace. Imrilda moaned in frustration until Calleslyn placed her hand back over the damp pussy, its juices now slightly mingled with her own. She slid a finger in, and then a second as Imrilda arched her back, thrusting her hips up into the air.

Calleslyn grabbed one of the cushions with her free hand, placing it beneath the warrior's buttocks to make her more comfortable. Imrilda was bucking against her slender hand, urging her to thrust more quickly, and Calleslyn obliged, drawing the loudest cries yet from the human woman. She continued the motion, pumping harder, rubbing her thumb against the other woman's clit, and admiring the increasingly rapid rise and fall of Imrilda's ample breasts.

Leaning over, without easing her ministrations on the woman's slick cunt, she once again took a long pink nipple in her mouth, kissing it and pressing her face into the softness of the mound. Imrilda came suddenly, crying out, and then panting heavily as she regained her breath, and slid away from the elf's still teasing fingers.

"I thought you would be good," she said, "but..." and then she trailed off as Callesyn manoeuvred herself over her face, dying for her own release, knowing that her own pussy was more than ready.

She felt Imrilda's probing finger on her clit, and sighed with relief as the warrior began to move it in gently circling motions. Soon the finger was moving deeper in, repeating her own urgent actions of just moments before. She lowered herself, until she felt the woman's tongue and lips begin to lick at her clit as the finger continued its rhythmic probing.

She was close, she knew, moving her hips back and forth in time, unable to prevent passionate moans from escaping her own lips. Imrilda's heavy breasts ground against her belly, nipples pressing into her flesh, as the finger reached its deepest yet and she felt a gentle suction on her clit that finally brought her over the edge.

She collapsed, rolling over to lie on the cushions as she regained her breath. After a moment, she rose onto one elbow, flipping a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. The warrior was still lying there, breasts rising and falling gently now, legs slightly apart, and with a deeply contented expression on her face.

Calleslyn got to her feet and walked over to the forgotten wine glass, thinking to quench her thirst. But as she raised it to her lips, she noticed an unmistakable tang to the bouquet that had not been there before. The wine was drugged, something that a mere human nose might have difficulty detecting. Imrilda obviously did not know elves quite as well as she had thought.

The warrior must have noticed her reaction, and hesitation with the wine glass, because, with a sudden curse, she rolled across the floor reaching for her discarded sword belt to draw the weapon.

Before she could even finish pulling it from the scabbard, Calleslyn's hand moved with a blur, and she muttered an incantation, flinging a burst of silvery blue light towards the woman. Imrilda's eyes closed, and she collapsed, the sword hilt falling from her numb fingers as a heavy sleep overtook her.

Calleslyn swore under her breath, and reached for her clothes, scattered among the cushions on the floor. As she finished pulling the shift over her head, there was a sudden bang behind her and she whirled to see a man standing in the suddenly open doorway.

He was dressed in long robes, decorated with abstract symbols, tall and with long hair so blonde it was almost white. She tried to cast another spell, but her hands were still caught in her clothing, and an instant later it was he who cast a spell, a flash of light filling her vision.

And then everything went black as Calleslyn slumped to the floor unconscious.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 28



Two figures crept their way along a narrow tunnel beneath the city. The larger one held a small lantern, casting long shadows on the walls, and illuminating patches of glistening moisture where the warm air condensed against cold stone. The tunnel turned sharply downwards, uneven steps plunging into the darkness beneath. With a grunt, the larger figure extinguished the lantern.

"'Er ladyship don't like no lights," sad a gruff, masculine voice, "'sept the ones already down there. So watch yer step."

"Easy enough for her ladyship to say," commented a woman's voice, "drow don't need light."

"We do it 'er way, and that's that. Or you ain't coming. I only brung yer 'cause she asked. You ain't one of us, I can leave yer behind and say yer's too scared."

"I didn't say I needed light, did I? You're the one going to have difficulty on those stairs, not me."

The man grunted again, put out. "Yeah, whatever. You comin' or what?"

In any event, they had not gone far before a faint splash of light began to illuminate the stairway, coming from somewhere ahead. The pair eased their way downward, the thickset man moving slowly, feeling his way along the wall, hobnail boots scuffing on the flagging. Behind him, the woman moved with greater sureness, her light footfalls almost silent. As the light improved, the man looked behind him, saw her obvious lack of concern, and even slight impatience at his slow progress, and swore something about 'damned witches' under his breath.

Soon, they stepped out into a round chamber, lit with a small number of torches set in sconces against the walls. Rubble choked some of the floor, but there was a more or less open space in the middle, and various other narrow archways leading off into the gloom, in addition to the one they had entered through. A group of robed figures stood in the middle of the room, evidently awaiting their arrival.

"You took your time, Scaggs," said the tallest. A deep, sonorous voice, the sort used to giving orders, or perhaps to public speaking.

"'Ad to bring 'er, didn't I?" said the man, pulling his own hood up over his head, and moving to join the others, who were already forming themselves into a rough circle.

"Yes, quite why is she here?" said another voice, this time one she recognised – Valmor, the wizard.

"And who exactly is this wretch, for that matter?" said a woman with a sharp, supercilious voice. "I do hope it isn't the sacrifice – we were promised better."

"She is here because I asked Scaggs to bring her." That was Lady Amloth, easily identifiable by the way her robes, unlike everyone else's, hugged her figure, and by the silver chain she wore across her chest. "Her name is Yelvann," continued the drow, "and she is going to help us."

"Myrek has the captive, though, I assume?"

"No, I am afraid not. That is why I have called this meeting." 

Amloth seemed a little uncertain as she spoke. Was she losing her grip on the situation, Yelvann wondered? Her eyes cast around at the others in the chamber. Some were difficult to make out in the shadow, now that the presence of light forced her to rely on normal vision alone. The others she didn't know, except for Valmor, Amloth, and Scaggs. There were, she could see, twelve of them – a coven of thirteen, if you counted the missing Myrek.

"No? Why not?" There was a general murmur of agreement from the other robed figures.

"Because he is dead."

That silenced them, at least for a moment. Then the clamour began and Amloth had to raise her hand to demand silence. 

"The Presence has informed me of his demise. We must assume that the sacrifice escaped from him, perhaps turned the tables on him. She is a wererat, after all, so hardly defenceless. Myrek evidently made a mistake, and now he has paid for it with his life. I trust that nobody else here will be so foolish!"

"Do we know exactly what happened?" it was a woman's voice, one who had not spoken until now.

"The Presence does not see through our eyes. It merely sensed his demise, and the rest is supposition. But consider, a wererat is hardly going to go to the authorities, so what have we to fear? Even if she did learn of our plans, which I doubt."

"I've heard nothing," confirmed a man. A clipped, military way of speaking... Yelvann assumed he was a guardsman. It made sense that this coven of conspirators would have people in as many different positions of authority as they could.

"Precisely. But it does mean that we need a new sacrifice. Does anybody have any suggestions? Family, for preference."

"It should also be," said Valmor, insistently, "a young and attractive woman. Don't forget what we're planning to do to her before the sacrifice."

"What you are planning to do, Valmor," said the woman with the supercilious voice, "you know, some of us would rather prefer a man."

"We've been through this – over half of us are men, so we get the choice!"

"If it must be family," said the man who had spoken first, the one with the powerful voice, "you are married, are you not, Valmor?"

"Yes, to my sister!" broke in another voice, to a ripple of amusement.

"Well, double the value, then. That is the sort of betrayal we need."

Valmor spluttered, "have you seen my wife? Short, fat, and dull as a wet flannel! Which I am sure her brother can vouch for!"

"True," conceded the brother, "he has a point there."

"I married her for her wealthy connections, as you well know. I certainly haven't had sex with the bloody woman for years, and I'm not about to start now. Leren probably doesn't even remember what sex is."

──◊──

Valmor's wife, Leren, was, as he had rather ungraciously described, a rather short, plump woman with a figure that was more apple-shaped than hourglass. She had mousy hair and the sort of round chubby face that, though not yet lined with age, few men would really notice. At the moment that her husband and brother were disparaging her, however, she happened to be squatting on all fours on her marital bed, stark naked, as her man-servant gave her a vigorous, doggy-style fucking.

Stuath had been quite a discovery. He was relatively new to their employ, one of the servants that she and her husband insisted on having around the place, although Valmor was rarely there during the day, and increasingly, away at night as well. Which suited Leren perfectly well, for she had as little interest in him as he had in her. The marriage had been one of convenience, the rich merchant's daughter who could help the snobbish magician enter the social circles of the city's elite. She had not had much say in the matter, and soon found her husband not at all to her taste.

By the time Stuath arrived, she had had to endure several years of reluctant celibacy. A good-looking young man, single and not much more than half her age, she had wrestled with her conscience before trying to seduce him. She still remembered that first encounter vividly.

They had been alone in the house, Valmor off goodness knew where, and the cook and maid on a long shopping errand at the market. She had told him to head up to her room, and that she needed some assistance with her wardrobe, and he had rather reluctantly agreed. The plan had been to flirt with him, getting him used to the idea, giving her to build on over the coming weeks, but it hadn't quite worked out like that.

He had been laying out her dresses on the bed, looking rather bashful and quiet, eyes rarely straying upwards. Leren leaned in next to him, closer than was proper.

"That one is a little frayed, do you see? It will need some repair."

"I am not sure I see," he said, taking a half step away from her, and still not looking in her direction.

"Just there," she said, reaching out and pointing at an imaginary flaw on the cuff. As she did so, she moved her arm so as to deliberately rub against his crotch. To her shock, she discovered that he was already nursing the beginnings of an erection.

"Uh, yes, of course, madam," he said, moving out of her way, but not before she could see the flush of red rising to his cheeks. Fortunately, he was looking the wrong way to see her own smile of satisfaction. This was a more promising start than she had expected.

"I need a dress for the dinner at the guildhall next week," she informed him, "do you have any recommendations?"

"I... really, it would not be my place to... it's not something..." the words were falling over each other, as he struggled to avoid her eyes, "I mean, I don't think that would be appropriate for me, madam."

"Oh, nonsense, I decide what is appropriate. Tell you what, I shall try one of them on, and you can tell me what you think."

He looked nervous, gripping his hands together, but managed an "if you wish, madam. I shall wait outside."

"Don't be ridiculous, just wait there."

"But..."

"That's an order." She turned away from him, and began to undo her dress, pulling it over her head, and standing there in her shift. She felt as nervous as he looked about what she was doing, and resolved that this would be enough for today. Get him used to the fact that she would sometimes strip down to her underwear in front of him, and she would surely have the opportunity to press things further on future occasions. After all, that partial erection of his was surely just due to nerves, and he would need careful coaxing to really see her as a sexual partner.

She turned round, to see him blushing and holding his hands over his groin, trying to look like it was a casual gesture, but really not succeeding. His eyes flicked over her, no longer avoiding her, despite his attempt to pretend otherwise. This was already going better than she had thought it would!

Slowly and deliberately, she bent over to undo one of her shoes. Her shift was loose enough that that gave him a full view of her plump cleavage, and when she glanced up, she could see his eyes fixed on it, before suddenly looking away, as if all the while he had been fascinated by a spot on the wall.

She removed the other shoe, and sat down on the bed. She had been going to put on one of the dresses now lying beside her, and then leave it at that, but his reactions so far suggested that she might be about to miss a golden opportunity if she did. How far could she take it tonight, she wondered, her own heart hammering in her chest?

"Come over here," she said.

"Uh... yes, madam," he replied, trying to shuffle across while still holding his hands across his groin. The reason was obvious to her; the bulge in his trews unmistakable. "What... um, what do you want me to do?" he licked his lips, obviously still unsure of how to react to her.

"You've been hiding something from me, Stuath," she informed him, letting a stern note creep into her voice.

"I'm sorry madam... I don't understand."

She reached out, swatted his hands aside, and yanked his trews down around his hips. The bulge in his cotton pants was even more evident now, and he feebly grappled with her hands as she gripped the drawstring to pull them aside. His cock sprang free, large and very obviously firm in front of her.

"Madam!" he gasped, at last thinking to stagger backwards, but now impeded by the trews sliding down around his thighs, "I'm so sorry... I..." He struggled with his clothes, trying to pull them back up, but fumbling too much in his embarrassment.

"I don't see anything to be sorry about. Nothing at all."

"I... I mean, I..." the nature of her reaction finally seemed to dawn on him. "What do you mean?" His hands fell to his sides, his trews and pants sliding the rest of the way to his ankles, his cock standing proud, his eyes at last daring to look at her properly.

"I think I've been fairly clear. I've seen what I needed to see... and it looks like you want to see something, too." She hitched the hem of her shift up around her hips, watching his reaction. Her thighs were chubby and pale, and she worried for a second that his evident ardour might at last begin to fail. But, far from it – instead he fixed his gaze on her exposed skin and began to slowly stroke his cock.

She pulled the shift over her head, letting her plump breasts swing free, and was rewarded by seeing Stuath's eyes almost pop out of his head. He released his cock, fumbling suddenly with his clothing, pulling off his shirt, and stepping out of his remaining clothes, as she lay back on the bed, bare back pressed against the elaborate dresses arranged there.

"Oh, yes!" gasped Stuath, now naked, climbing onto the bed as she pulled off her panties and threw them away.

Stuath gazed at her, eyes seemingly drinking in every rounded curve of her body as he leaned over her. She spread her chubby thighs as far apart as she could, letting him see everything, rubbing her hot pussy enticingly. He looked down at her, throbbing erection just inches from her moist slit... and, with a sobbing cry, ejaculated prematurely.

He stepped away from her, anguish suddenly written across his face. "Oh, madam... I'm so sorry... I can't... please forgive me!" His eyes, starting to brim with tears, followed the trail of warm semen as it slid down her fat little thighs and onto the fabric of one of the expensive dresses.

He had almost run away at that point, but the time it took him to gather his clothes had given her the chance to dissuade him. Although unable to perform in other ways, he had given her a thorough lashing of cunnilingus in an effort to apologise, and Leren had achieved what was undoubtedly the best orgasm of her life up until that point.

But that, of course, had just been the first time.

──◊──

"In any event," said Amloth, "an estranged wife is hardly a terrible betrayal. We need to break a trust that the victim believes sacred. A family member is good, but perhaps some of you have other trusts just as inviolate?

"Well, ain't no trust among my lot," growled Scaggs, "I can get yer people, but people what trusts me? Nah."

"Well, quite," snipped the supercilious woman, "and one doesn't want to associate with common prostitutes in any case. One might catch something."

"Oy! I don't just know tarts, Eristacia! 'Sides, what about your family?"

"If they gave me the respect to which I am entitled, I would not be here. Their doom comes when we take control of the city, and not a moment before. They must see me take my rightful place."

"Enough bickering!" snapped Lady Amloth, "a suggestion from somebody, please?"

"I can supply someone," said the tall man with the deep voice, "As a senior priest of the Sun God, there are many who have placed their trust in me. I am sure I can find a suitable..." he paused, savouring the words, "nun, perhaps?"

"A nun! Now that sounds a good idea!" said one of the men.

"A young one, of course," said Valmor.

"I am sure I can find someone suitably trusting and innocent. In return for delivering her to you, I would expect to be the one who deflowers her, of course."

"As we all watch and wait to take our turn," agreed Amloth, "subjecting her to the most degrading sex acts our minds can conjure. An excellent idea, Domand, I commend you. But now there is another matter that requires our attention."

"Need I remind you," she went on. "that there needs to be thirteen of us for the ceremony. With Myrek gone, we need another."

"The Presence occupies the minds of many of our own followers," pointed out the guardsman, "we can pick any of them."

"Not so, Tenik," replied the drow, "they are merely tools of the Presence. We need to induct someone willingly, someone who chooses to be one of us. Which brings me to Yelvann, here."

So that was it. She stepped from the shadows into the circle, looking round at the robed and hooded figures. She knew the names of some of them now, and it had become clear why they were unafraid to use those names in her presence. She was to join them, or so they hoped.

"Yelvann here is a necromancer. She worked with Myrek recently, and can easily take his place. Her necromantic arts are, in any case, crucial to our plan to seize control of the city."

"And what, exactly, do you have to offer me? I imagine that Valmor here has already been promised rule over the magicians of this new city of yours. Not that I would want such a duty, in any case."

"We offer you knowledge," said Amloth, "that is what you have demanded for your pay so far, is it not? And what we have offered you thus far is a pittance in comparison to the dark knowledge that you will gain from communing with the Presence. It is a creature of Hell itself, and its secrets are terrible. I know you do not seek after power, strange though that concept is to me, but you do seek understanding of the blackest of powers. Where better to acquire it?"

Yelvann hesitated, a twitch of curiosity on her thin features. Yet her bony hands moved at her side, ready to cast spells if she needed to escape. "And submit myself to the power of some other entity? That does not sound rewarding."

"Not submit yourself, no. We twelve – we thirteen, if you join us – retain our free will, it has no control over us as it does over the others. The Presence will assist you, whisper its knowledge to you, in exchange for your help in bringing it to reign here in the mortal world. What you do after that is of no concern of its, or ours."

She hesitated. The promise of such understanding, a voice from the infernal powers themselves, was tempting indeed. Besides, would they really let her stay outside the conspiracy, after everything that had already happened? There seemed to be little choice, if she wanted to live.

"Very well," she said, "then I will join you."

"Step forward, my dear," said the drow, extending an arm, the sheer blackness of her skin making it almost invisible in the gloom.

"I do have one question." It was Eristacia, the noblewoman, speaking.

"Yes?" Amloth's voice showed a flicker of irritation.

"We have lost our original sacrifice, but may I ask what has happened to the censer?"

"Oh that," Lady Amloth grinned, a flash of white teeth against jet black lips, "that part worked well. We have it, in our possession. For the time being, the agent that I hired to acquire it is keeping it safe. The Presence assures me that hers are the very safest hands of all in which to keep it. You may question it yourselves, if you wish. But you may trust me: our plans move perfectly smoothly there. Once we have the sacrifice, and the stellar conjunction is right, nothing will be able to stop us."

"Now," she said, turning back to the necromancer, "approach me."

──◊──

Since that first time, Leren had found regular excuses to get the other servants out of the house to give herself time alone with Stuath. They had probably worked out what was going on by now, but it seemed the right thing to do. Valmor, of course, had no clue, and was so rarely around these days that he was no longer much of a concern anyway.

Stuath panted as he continued to pump into her, hips thrusting in time to the rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh. It wasn't just that he was good looking, although he was – dark haired with long sideburns and deep brown eyes. He was also trim of build with a washboard stomach, athletic chest, and broad shoulders, all of which she found enticing. But, despite all that, it was his evident enthusiasm that truly enthralled her. She had sometimes wondered what drove him to such heights when other men didn't react to her in the same way, but, in the end, it didn't really matter.

Stuath gripped her round buttocks as he continued to pound his cock in and out, filling her with wonderful sensations that made her positively whimper in pleasure. Her thighs and belly were wobbling with the force of his thrusts, her toes digging into the mattress. She realised that his movements were coming quicker now, his groans higher in pitch, as he obviously approached his climax.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 28



But she was not done with him yet, and wanted more. She twisted round, forcing his cock to slide free and slap against one of her thighs. The man-servant let out a disappointed moan as she rolled over onto her back, moving round on the bed to get a better look at him, now kneeling beside her. His body was sweaty with his recent exertions, hairy chest moving in and out, cock bobbing up and down, still slick with her juices. 

He sat down on his haunches, brushing a strand of hair away from his face, then gazing at her longingly. "Leren," he said, simply, moving a hand to grip one of her breasts, massaging her large nipples. He looked into her eyes, continuing to knead her flesh as his erection pressed into her side. Making a sudden motion, he straddled her, legs either side of her belly. "Please, madam," he said, "please?"

She knew what he meant, and was reluctant to grant the wish, since she knew that this had occasioned the only instance since their first tryst when he had been unable to contain his seed. But perhaps he deserved just a little bit tonight.

She nodded, and he leant forwards, cock pressing against her ample cleavage. She pressed her breasts together, enveloping him, and he began thrusting enthusiastically between them, moaning with pure bliss. She let him continue for only a little while, savouring the feel of his firm shaft against her flesh before releasing him again.

He nodded, apparently understanding her reasons for not continuing. "Thank you, madam," he said, and moved himself backwards, running his cock over the swell of her belly, pausing just a second to press the tip against her navel before moving back between her spread legs.

He rubbed the curve of her inner thighs with his fingers, following the motion of her own hand with his eyes, as she slid it down over her body and through the thick thatch of hair over her mound. She slid her fingers between the damp lips, then pulled them apart, allowing him to see into her, silently begging him to restart what she had stopped.

With a sudden thrust, he was back inside her, filling her, his muscular hips grinding against the soft cushion of her body. He gasped loudly, hands running over her plump breasts and flanks as his cock slid in and out, sometimes almost completely free, other times pushed as far in as he could go. Her chubby belly slid against his flatter one, and he increased the urgency and force of his thrusts, making the bed creak and her breasts wobble.

This time, she surrendered to the sensation, letting herself go. She moaned, fingers digging into his back, squeezing his thighs between her own, her hips rising to meet his motions. They came together, he letting out a long cry of release, and she a moan of deep contentment as they gripped and held each other.

At last, he rolled over beside her, nestling his face in her breasts, gently kissing and licking at her nipples as she came down from the peak. Oh, yes, he was good to have around the house.

──◊──

Images flashed through her mind, of dark passages and odd-looking temples. Somewhere in the distance was the sound of a beating heart, getting steadily louder and closer. A room lit by four towering green flames filled her mind, and she felt... a presence.

It was malevolent, as she had known it would be, patient yet full of anger. She could feel it probing her own thoughts and memories, and, too late, had renewed doubts about her decision. The thing did want to take her over, no matter what Amloth had just said. Perhaps the ceremony only required that the initial step had to be taken through a free choice, or perhaps the demonic entity's understanding of free will was more limited than was her own. Either way, it wanted to possess her.

She slammed up mental walls, blocking off her mind. She had developed that skill as a necromancer, and, at least, had some understanding of the kind of entity she was facing. Not the details, and she had never faced something so powerful, but she dealt in the magics of the dead, the hideous forces of the Other Side. She had more ability to do this than anyone else here, except maybe Amloth herself.

She thought of things it would already know, or guess; knowledge of the dark arts. She let it feast on those, thinking it had consumed the depths of her own understanding. Keep it away from the core of her being. She would not be controlled, would not be a puppet.

But, for the time being, she would serve the Presence, and bring about its victory here in the mortal world. It was just that she would also look out for her own safety, if that became needed.

Yelvann opened her eyes, and Amloth was grinning.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 29



"She went to see a magician named Ornejirhs," explained Almandar, as they stood outside the Wizards' College, "he's a visitor to the city, not somebody I've heard of before."

"I have," said Tarissa, unexpectedly, "he's a demon hunter. They mentioned him at the Pardror temple. I was going to suggest we pay him a visit anyway."

"And after seeing him, Calleslyn disappears? I'm not sure I like this, especially since we don't know anything about him. We don't even know where he's from."

"I was told that he was from the south," replied the paladin, "although I suspect they may have got confused on that point – it's not a name from any southern culture I'm familiar with." Tarissa, of course, was from the southern lands, herself, as her blonde hair and blue eyes made apparent. "Although I was told that he does have a companion called Imrilda, who certainly is southern, from the description. She belongs to an order called the Shield Daughters, who have some rather strange ideas about dress, but are essentially honourable. From everything I was told, this Ornejirhs sounds a trustable person."

"Then why hasn't Calleslyn returned?" Almandar reminded her, "she went to see him yesterday afternoon."

"Perhaps she spent the night," suggested Tarissa, "it's not as if you haven't done the same more than once."

That caught him a little of guard. It was, of course, perfectly true, and it was something that he suspected the paladin felt a little uncomfortable even mentioning. If Tarissa herself had a sex life, he knew nothing about it, and her moral code was certainly opposed to casual encounters of the sort that he had so often. She was, perhaps, being generous in usually glossing over his activity. And it was at least possible that she was right, although with Calleslyn's elven heritage, it was likely she would be as interested in Imrilda as Ornejirhs himself.

"Well," he said, "at least we know where to go."

"Actually, I'd like you to stay here," she said, "there might be something useful in the restricted section of your library. I'm sure Vardala and I can find this demon hunter." Dolrim was still guarding the villa, although the chances of a return visit by the intruder seemed unlikely. "I doubt the Wizards' College knows more about fighting demons than my church, but you never know. At the least, it might be interesting to know who has been poking around with those sorts of books. Even if it is all down to this Lady Amloth that Vardala found out about, she will probably need allies to conduct a major ritual, or this dark influence beneath the city could have infected the College – which would really be something we'd need to know about."

"All right, all right," Almandar held his hands up, "I suppose we don't want magicians working against us. But I'll try to be quick, and I might follow you to this Ornejirhs' house after I finish."

As the two women left, Almandar headed back into the college, and towards the library. He hoped that Tarissa was right, and that Calleslyn's failure to return to the villa that morning was not the result of something sinister. But, since he had been asked to view the restricted section, that was probably what he should do. First, of course, he would need permission, and, since the Master of the College was likely to be busy, that meant talking to the librarian.

──◊──

"The restricted section!" squeaked Nariti, her eyes widening, "whatever for?"

"I want to know who might have summoned this demon who attacked us, and that means I need at least some idea how they might have done it."

"Oh, yes... you said." The small woman still looked rather nervous, "are you really sure?"

"I won't be long. Look, you can come with me, if you want."

"I don't know... perhaps I should ask the Master. I think he might be free this evening..."

"I know that access to that part of the library is limited," conceded Almandar, "but we do have it for a reason. Why keep books if nobody reads them? And I think I have a pretty good reason. I really need your help on this – you know more about magic books than anyone."

"Uh... yes... well, I suppose so," she nodded her head up and down, her hands fluttering nervously over the scroll on her desk, "if you really need my help. Yes, I will give you permission, then. I haven't been in there for a while myself, so I should probably check on it. Make sure that everything is back where it should be. Cataloguing is important, you know."

She seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as him, so he did not interrupt, and allowed her to lead the way. He couldn't help but notice how her confidence had increased once she had begun to think about cataloguing; that was obviously something she found easier to deal with than people.

They descended a narrow flight of steps at the rear of the main section of the library, until they came to a small metal door, painted black. There was no lock or handle, just a red rune where one might otherwise be found. Nariti pulled a wand from the satchel at her side, and muttered an incantation under her breath as she tapped the rune. It glowed for a second, and then the door swung soundlessly open.

The room within was gloomy, windowless, but with a permanent light spell cast onto a fitting against one wall, perhaps as much a protection against fire as a convenience. There was a small desk, and a single leather-padded chair, but otherwise the room was free of furniture, except for the numerous bookshelves stacked tightly against the walls. 

The shelves were packed with a number of books and scrolls of all shapes and sizes. A great many of the books had black covers or sinister designs on them; evidently the people who produced such things couldn't resist adding a suitably dramatic flair.

The door shut behind them, locking out the rest of the college. Almandar looked up at the shelves, wondering where to start. "So what have we got on summoning spells?" he asked, "it might be useful to see what things are required."

"Uh... well..." Nariti looked nervous again, her hands fidgeting now that she had put the wand away, "I suppose that the... uh... the Umbrosus Pacta would be the best place to start." She stood there for a moment, apparently not realising that he had no idea where to look, and then suddenly gave a little jerk, "oh, yes, of course. It should be over here, on the third shelf, just along from the..." she frowned suddenly, and stepped across to the place she had indicated. "Oh, really! People should put books back where they find them. How else am I supposed to catalogue anything? But wizards will do whatever they please, sometimes. Its as if they don't understand the importance of an efficient manuscript retrieval system!"

It was about as passionate and confident as he'd ever heard her be. Clearly he'd found a topic of conversation she actually thought was important. She scurried around the room, sifting through the shelves, and casting her eye over all of them, small hands darting over the scrolls, sometimes raising small puffs of dust.

"Oh my goodness me!" she stepped back, into the middle of the room, hand rushing up to her mouth, a look of near panic on her face. "It's not here! It's not here!"

"But nobody can take things out from here," pointed out Almandar, "are you saying it's been stolen?"

"Steal a book? From a library! Oh my gosh... that's... that's quite outrageous!" Her voice had reached a high pitched squeak of indignation, and a slight flush of red rose to her pale cheeks.

"More to the point, why?" mused the other magician. "You said you hadn't been in here recently, so who has been in here since you last checked it?"

"Only Valmor. Oh, he wouldn't... surely not. Besides, it's a big book, how would he get it out?"

"Shrunk it, perhaps? Or concealed it in a magic bag? Of course," he added, worried that she might rush off and confront the man, which would be a very bad idea if he really was in league with demon summoners, "it might not have been him. Perhaps somebody found a way of by-passing the magic lock – it's not impossible, and if they shrunk the book and carried it out, well, you'd never know, would you?"

"No, I suppose not. You're right. It was probably some irresponsible student who got hold of a wand they shouldn't have done. Or something like that. I shall report it to the Master of the College – we simply can't have this sort of thing happening!"

"Oh!" she gasped suddenly, "but what if others have been taken? I must check them. My library, stolen from!"

The little magician seemed almost close to tears, and Almandar felt quite sorry for her. None of this had been her fault after all; it had not even been she who gave Valmor permission to enter the place, and to do so without supervision. He reached out an arm and gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Surprised by the gesture, she turned to look at him, giving him a small smile of gratitude, and then darted back towards the shelves, checking them more thoroughly.

There was nothing Almandar could do but watch her, wondering about the strange little woman with the mousy hair. She seemed so isolated from the outside world, only happy when in her element. He felt sure he had never seen her outside the building, realising she must use the accommodation here, like some of the students. Her library was the only thing that really mattered to her, and it was a small affront that the demonic forces beneath the city had hurt her like this.

As he did so, he noticed one book that seemed to stand out from the others. It was slim, and bound in red leather, but what most caught his attention was the sigil on the spine. It was the holy symbol of Sarlene, the same shape as the one he wore about his neck. As the librarian continued to search, he slid it out, and opened it, noting that it appeared to be a book of spells.

"No, nothing else gone," she said, after a surprisingly short yet thorough search, "oh, thank goodness." She leaned back against the shelves, waving a hand to cool herself, and brushing a strand of mousy hair back from her forehead.

"I see you've found the... uh... yes..." she said flustered again, as she saw the book in his hands.

"Oh, yes..." he was the one to be embarrassed this time, "I didn't realise this sort of thing counted as restricted. Or that we had books like this at all. Some rather unusual spells in it, I see." He put the book back, making sure it was in the exact position that he had found it.

"Yes," agreed the librarian, nodding, "I did read some of it once, and found them most curious. Most of the other books in here are a bit... well, they don't seem very nice. That one was different, but very puzzling. Why would you want a spell to make a specific body part larger, for instance? And it only worked on men."

"Yes," said Almandar, cautiously trying to feel his away around the conversation, "I can see why you might find that odd."

"Obviously, it has something to do with Sarlene," said Nariti, apparently feeling a little more relaxed now that she knew nothing else was missing, "you can tell that from the cover. But there doesn't seem to be anything religious in it, just spells. And it used some curious words, which I haven't seen elsewhere. Do you think they might be religious terms? I worship Nyrandos, of course, so I wouldn't know."

Nyrandos was the god of knowledge, who tended to be the most popular among magicians, but the revelation was doubly unsurprising, coming from her. 

"Yes, that seems quite possible," he said, as noncommittally as he could.

"It was quite vexing. I don't like not understanding things. I suppose I should..." her eyes widened, as she caught a glimpse of the silver symbol around his neck. "Oh, but you worship Sarlene, don't you? That's most... well... not very usual, but I'm sure it must have some advantages. Love is important, all the books are clear on that."

"Yes, it's all part of the world," he conceded, "it keeps everything together."

"So they say. Uh... would you mind... could you explain some of the words to me? I think it would be important if I understood the book. As it's custodian, you see."

"Yes, I suppose so," he said. The goddess taught that you should spread her message where you could, although he suspected any such conversation with Nariti was likely to be a very strange one indeed.

"Not the actual prayers and history of the Church," the librarian went on, "I found books on those. Just... uh... just some of the more specific terms, and the bits about... um... what those spells would be for? Because that's really, you know, the bits that I... well... that I want to understand better."

"Right," said Almandar, uncertainly. "Didn't your parents ever give you this talk?" She frowned, deeply. "No, evidently not. I guess... sure, if that's what you'd like."

"Is it... um... practical? I mean, there's obviously... well... a sort of physical component," she looked a little flustered, fingers twitching, "Obviously," she repeated. "I mean, it's not that I don't know roughly what's involved. I get the general idea. But what I mean is... uh..." she trailed off, giving him a pleading look.

"Yes?" he asked, prompting her to continue.

"I know where babies come from, if that's what you're wondering. I know what has to be put where... more or less. It's the specific details, like the words in that book. 'Cunnilingus', for instance, that was one of them. What does that mean? Which is where... you know, considering the general subject matter... that was where... well, I was wondering if you'd have to... uh... show me?"

Almandar was struggling to get his head round the conversation. If she was coming on to him, it had to be just about the strangest way of doing it that he'd ever encountered.

"You're wondering if I would need to give you cunnilingus?" he said slowly, "no, I don't think that would actually be mandatory."

"Oh. Because I wouldn't mind, if that was the best way."

"Nariti," he said, grasping the nettle, "I'm going to be blunt about this: are you asking me to have sex with you?"

"Um... yes?"

"Are you sure about this? I know you're a grown woman, but you seem a little inexperienced, if you don't mind my saying so."

"How else am I going to get experience? And... well... you know, you've always been nice to me. And you know all about it, so I think you'd be a good teacher."

Almandar thought back to just a few days before, when he'd told Calleslyn that the librarian 'wasn't his type'. Which was true, in a general sort of way, although she wasn't exactly unattractive. It was more that she was socially awkward, in a way that didn't really inspire sexual thoughts. Plus, there was the worry that he would be taking advantage of her innocence.

On the other hand, it might help her to loosen up a little. The gift of love, whether manifested through romance or through physical communion, was an important one, that everyone should have the chance to experience. Might she find somebody else, if he said no, somebody that might be less considerate? And she was, of course, right, that there was no other way to gain experience.

"Right," he said, making his mind up, "sure. I'll be happy to help you, if that's what you'd like."

The librarian relaxed suddenly, almost deflating, and rolling back slightly on her heels. She let out a small puff of relief, and flashed him a nervous smile. Then she unbuckled her satchel, and began to fiddle with the hem of her dress.

"What, now?" he said, almost incredulous, "here?"

"Well... um... yes?" she said, glancing up at him, already holding her outer skirts up around her waist, "Why not?"

"Because we're in a library?"

"Of course," she said, continuing to remove her dress, "but it's my library, isn't it? And the smell of parchment always make me feel... uh, good?"

He glanced towards the door. It was solid, and the stairway beyond reasonably long. He had to admit that they were unlikely to cause much of a disturbance. Even so, it seemed a rather odd environment, even if it was one that made Nariti feel comfortable. He watched as she carefully laid her dress on the floor, giving them at least something soft to lay on, rather than the stone flagging beneath it. More of a problem at the moment was that her odd approach had not got him particularly aroused.

The little librarian pulled her shoes off, and stepped towards him, wearing a short-sleeved shift that came to her knees. She stood up on tip-toe, reaching out gingerly to move his head down, and then gave him a nervous little peck on the lips. She leaned back slightly, her mouth twitching, one hand bunching the material of her shift, kneading it beneath her fingers.

He gently reached out, and pulled her back in, kissing her again, but this time doing it properly. Her lips were soft beneath his, and he sensed a slight smell of ink from her hair, as he moved his hand around her back. She was tense at first, but soon relaxed, her lips parting as he slid his tongue inside her mouth, and pressed her body gently against his. 

They broke free, she grinning slightly. "That was nice," she said, clasping her hands together, and looking at him earnestly, "I mean, uh... a nice start. Now... um... let me see..."

Her hands reached gingerly towards him, and she began to unfasten his tunic. He helped her remove first that, and then his shirt, pulling it over his head, and dropping it beside her dress on the floor. The librarian looked at his exposed upper body with what appeared to be satisfaction, running her hands across his chest so that just her fingertips brushed it. She gave a shy smile, and then glanced downwards, her fingers beginning to untie the fastenings on his trews.

It took a while, her fingers fumbling on the knot, but at last his trews slid down around his ankles. Gingerly, she moved for the top of the drawers he wore underneath, pulling them down slowly over his hips, until they followed his trews. He was only semi-erect, and stood there in slight embarrassment as she looked at his cock, as if wondering what it might do.

He was about to say something when Nariti suddenly kneeled down, and reached out for him. Her fluttering fingers brushed his pubic hair, and stroked down along his length. She seemed to be curious, more than anything, but, intentionally or otherwise, the way she touched him was at last beginning to arouse him. The librarian jerked back slightly in surprise as his cock began to swell, rising upwards, but she soon overcame her reaction to reach out for it again, gently stroking his shaft, moving her small fingers over every part of it, then exploring his balls.

Reaching the tip again, Nariti gently pulled back his foreskin, her head just inches away as she tried to get a close look. Her fingertips caressed the head, and he found himself fully erect as she continued to tease him, dabbing at a drop of pre-cum.

"Interesting," she said, which was perhaps not the reaction he had been particularly hoping for. 

Then she moved away, and sat down on her dress, arranging his tunic and shirt to form further padding, as he removed his shoes and stepped out of his remaining clothing. He lay down beside her, and they kissed again, her fingers tracing the feel of his sides, from below his armpit to the swell of his buttocks.

He ran a hand along her calves, up to her knees, where he began to raise the hem of her shift. She watched curiously as he lifted it higher, exposing the creamy skin of her slender thighs. He ran his hands over them, feeling the soft skin, then motioned for her to adjust her position so that he could lift the shift over her hips.

She did so, and he pulled it up to beneath her chest. Her waist was narrow and her belly flat, the skin essentially flawless. She shivered slightly as he ran a hand over her skin, but grinned slightly when he glanced at her. He slid his hand further up, beneath the fabric, round the side of her chest, but it was she who took the initiative, and finally pulled the shift up over her head.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 29



Her breasts were small, as had been obvious when she was fully clothed, but more rounded than he had expected, not at all child-like. Her body was thin, making them appear more prominent, and her nipples were small and dark. He trailed a finger over one globe, twining in towards the centre.

"So..." she said unexpectedly, "you said you would teach me some words."

He smiled, and nodded. He moved the finger between her small breasts. "Cleavage," he said.

"I had worked out that one," she said, sounding slightly affronted.

"I see. What about..." he leaned in closer, and kissed the skin of her right breast gently, before moving his tongue to run in a tight circle around the nub of her nipple. "Aureoles?"

"Ooh..." she said, her voice squeaking, "I like that one."

Encouraged, he pressed his lips against her nipple again, kissing it and sliding his tongue over the tip. It was definitely getting harder in response, and her body was beginning to move, as she let out a little sigh of pleasure. He moved to the other side, and treated it similarly, causing Nariti to hold his head there to prevent him stopping his ministrations for some time.

"Mmm..." she said, after a while, "what about you? Words, I mean."

He leaned back on his knees. This still felt really strange, but he supposed it was the best way. "Scrotum... uh, testicles, I guess... foreskin... glans – or just head," he indicated each part in turn, "but you've already seen this. There are still some other words you need to know," he glanced meaningfully down at her slightly over-sized panties.

She slid them off, and he gently moved her legs apart to get a better view. First, he ran his hand over her belly, down towards the light thatch of mousy brown hair, slowly rubbing it. "Mons," he said, "sometimes called the mound of Sarlene, you know. And..." he trailed the finger lower, "labia."

She let out a gasp as he continued to fondle her, noting that her lips were already engorged, and finding a slight dampness between her legs. He wondered if he should demonstrate 'cunnilingus', but decided against it for now. "Of course," he went on, "it's also true that if your book mentions lips, it might not mean the ones on your face. Now..."

He slipped his index finger inside, finding her damp and inviting. 

"Lots of words for this, but let's stick with 'vagina' for now... wizards like the technical terms." 

"Oh!" cried out Nariti wordlessly, her back arching, and a hand reaching out to steady herself against the bookshelf behind her. She gazed towards him, face intense yet flushed, her breath coming in short gasps, and her small breasts rising and falling as he moved his finger inside her.

"And this..." he said, reaching her nub, "is the clitoris."

"Oh, my gosh!" she cried out, "Goodness me." He continued to tease her, moving his finger in small circles, as her hips began to buck. She let out a long moan, her body squirming until he finally released her.

He moved up beside her, folding an arm across her belly, and kissed her again, a lingering caress as he gently fondled one of her breasts. She murmured something – he couldn't catch quite what in between the kisses – and her hands began to stray down his sides, fluttering little gestures, fingertips only briefly brushing his skin as they wandered down to his buttocks.

He tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She wasn't the prettiest woman he had ever been with, although she had a certain kind of attraction, and right now she had him fully aroused, desperate to find out what it would feel like to be inside her. She bowed her head, unwilling to meet his gaze, and nestled it in the crook of his neck, skinny body pressed against his.

Her hand wandered round, running along the length of his shaft again, holding it against her belly. "So..." she said.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked again, uncertain what he would do if she said 'no', but feeling the need to ask, anyway.

She pulled away from him slightly, leaning back against the bookshelf again, and nodded wordlessly.

"It might hurt a little," he warned her, "the first time. But I'll be as gentle as I can."

She nodded again, eyes wide, looking nervous once more, and he gave her a reassuring kiss.

"So... how do we... um...?" she asked.

Instead of answering, he moved himself over her, so that she was lying partly underneath him, and moved one of her legs aside to gain a better angle. Her gaze flicked between his face and his cock, now inches from her damp pussy, and her lips moved as she was about to ask another question, and couldn't quite articulate it.

He pressed against her, wrapping an arm around her back, and pushing the head of his cock between her inviting lips. She gasped, body bucking under his, legs sliding against his thighs. Slowly, he pushed his way further in until suddenly she cried out, fingers digging hard into his back, body shivering. He waited a moment before continuing, pressing in until his whole cock was inside her welcoming cunt, her slender little hips embracing him.

He began to move gradually, gently thrusting into her, trying not to hurt her. Her cunt was tight, enfolding him in pleasurable sensations, and soon her hips were moving in time to his. The little librarian let out a series of gasps as he continued to move against her, her small breasts pressed against his chest, the nipples hard against his flesh.

"Oh my goodness..." she managed, "I hadn't realised... oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh..."

He continued to slide in and out, soon letting her set a mutual rhythm that belied her otherwise evident inexperience. Her head was thrown back, mousy hair spilling across the shelf, one hand gripping onto it, the other on his back. One of his own hands was around her back, partially holding her up, the other pressed against the floor to support himself. Pleasuring Nariti was turning out to be slow, yet wonderfully gratifying, work.

She leaned her head forward off the shelf, locking eyes with him, rather more firmly than she had before, face flushed with passion, breath coming in short little pants. He quickened his pace, and she cried out in pleasure as her body responded in kind.

"There's one more word you really need to know..." he managed, between her increasingly rapid high pitched gasps. She nodded slightly, unable to speak for the moment. "Orgasm," he told her.

Seconds later, they climaxed together. Nariti let out a long, high-pitched cry as she pressed herself into him, her whole body shaking as he felt his seed gush into her tight, convulsing cunt. They remained clamped together like that for a little while, before he released her, drawing himself out, as they rolled over to lie on the clothes laid out beneath them.

His arms enfolded her, her back pressed against his chest, his face against the back of her head, smelling her hair. It still smelled of ink and dry parchment, although only a little bit. He recalled that the librarian had implied that the smell was pleasurable to her, even sexually attractive. 

Right now, he found himself agreeing.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 30



Calleslyn awoke suddenly. She felt refreshed, invigorated, as if she had just had a long nap and was ready to face the new day. And yet... she was sitting on a small, backless armchair, bound to it by her wrists, and with her ankles also tied together. There was a man sitting across from her.

"Welcome back," said the man, "it would seem I owe you an apology."

"You attacked me!" snapped the elf, as her memory returned.

"In fairness, you had just attacked my fighting companion. What was I supposed to infer?" His voice was calm, sounding reasonable, and almost affronted by the accusation.

"And now you've kidnapped me."

"That was a necessary precaution. I did not know how you would react when you woke. I have not treated you badly."

Glancing around to gain her bearings, Calleslyn had to admit that things could have been worse. She was not in a dungeon, or anything of that kind, although neither was she in the house where she had first encountered the pair. Instead, she was in what appeared to be a tent, a large and luxurious one of red and gold cloth, with soft cushions and mats upon the ground. The chair she was sitting in was padded, and would have been comfortable had she not been bound to it... with, she now noticed, white cords of silk that were tied firmly, but not overly tight.

There were two other people in the tent with her. Imrilda stood beside the man, dressed again in the strange mail armour that showed off most of her body, her hand hovering above her sword. She looked more worried than anything else.

The man himself was unusual and striking. He was tall, a little over six feet, and dressed in a long robe of pale blue and white, decorated with abstract designs reminiscent of no culture she was familiar with. It was a large world, of course, but still... The man had long hair of such a pale blond that it was almost white, and which seemed to have a slight silvery lustre to it. His skin was pale, and his limbs long and slender, but it was his eyes that really caught her attention. They were pale blue, paler than any she had seen before, the colour of ice crystals, and they bored into her as if looking at her soul.

Calleslyn was acutely aware that she was still dressed only in her underwear.

"If I take it that you will not attack me, Imrilda will untie you now," the man said. "We mean you no harm."

Imrilda looked less than certain about that, but she stepped forward, looking between Calleslyn and the stranger. Calleslyn slumped in the chair, and nodded reluctantly. Attacking them both now, when they were alert, was unlikely to achieve anything, and at least this way she would be free. The man nodded to Imrilda, and the warrior woman stooped down to undo the silken cords, still looking wary as she stood back, her hand moving back to the hilt of her sword.

"You say you owe me an apology," she said angrily, standing up to face the pair. "I think you owe me rather more than that. You are Ornejirhs, I take it?"

"I am," said the man, still watching her calmly, "I believe there has been something of a misunderstanding."

"She," Calleslyn pointed at Imrilda, "tried to drug me."

"A case of mistaken identity. I think, perhaps, I should explain."

"You can start with who and what you are."

"I am a magician, just like you. I met my fighting companion here in the lands you refer to as the South. She is a Shield Daughter, a skilled warrior, and trained in what we might call arts of distraction."

"I asked about you," said the elf, jabbing a finger towards the still seated magician, "your name isn't southern, your taste in art doesn't look southern, and you certainly don't look to be from the same part of the world as she does. I can believe she is what you say she is, but you are being very cagey about yourself."

"I am from the south," said the man, still looking calm, "geographically speaking, at least. My homeland is rather further south than Imrilda's, that is all."

"I do know a little geography," Calleslyn pointed out, "and there isn't anything south of the southern lands. Just tundra and ice."

"Well, that is true," conceded Ornejirhs, "but there is rather a lot of tundra and ice."

"I'm still waiting for a clear answer." There was much more she wanted to ask as well, such as what he was doing in the city, and who they had – supposedly – mistaken her for. But getting the man to confess his origins would at least be a good start.

"I'm..." for the first time, he hesitated, a worried look crossing his flawless alabaster features. "Yes, I suppose I do owe this much, under the circumstances. Very well, then... I am not human."

"What?" She hadn't expected that. His features were unusual, certainly, but not so much as to give her any hint about what he had just said. Which meant that it had to be a disguise for his true form...

"I am a dragon," said Ornejirhs, "I have the power to take human form when I wish it, and generally find it to be quite convenient."

Calleslyn was so stunned by that revelation that she found herself sitting back on the chair, staring at the man in amazement. It actually made sense, now that he said it. The unusual name, the skill at magic, the oddly abstract designs that he favoured... even his preference for living in luxury, surrounded by what might well be called treasure. Not many dragons were said to be able to take on human form, but neither was it something entirely new to her.

"I hope I do not need to transform to convince you," he continued, "that would be rather awkward at the moment. Suffice it to say that when I claim to be a hunter of demons, that also, is entirely true. There are many of my kind that spend their days gathering hordes, or that seek to dominate the lands around them, but I am not one such."

"Silver..." said Calleslyn, finding her voice again, "you're a silver dragon, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," replied Ornejirhs, giving a slight tip of his head, "and if you have heard of my kind, you have also heard, I hope, that we are an honourable breed. My choice of lifestyle is unusual for a dragon, perhaps, but it has its merits. Demons are as much a concern of ours as they are for the humanoid races. Which is why I have dedicated my life to defeating them, and why I have arrived in this city."

"Well," he added, "we are now outside the city, as you may have guessed, but we are close by, and I assure you that you may return at any time."

If he was telling the truth – and that was seeming increasingly likely – did that mean he knew of the demonic threat she and her companions had uncovered? If he was here to fight it, that would be good news indeed. But it still didn't explain why Imrilda had tried to drug her.

"My companion tells me," he continued, "that you wanted to see me because of a matter concerning a demon. May I ask what that was?"

"Once you have answered my questions, perhaps," she shot back, "you have said you a dragon. Very well, I believe you. But why are you here? What interest does Haredil hold for a demon hunter?"

"The answer to that is simple: I am pursuing a demon. He – or more accurately 'it' – is named Sashjant, and he entered our world in a place much further away from here than even my homeland. The other side of the equator, in fact – a land in the northern hemisphere. He is a corrupt being, as all infernal creatures are, yet very wily, and a master of illusion and mental powers."

"Indeed, I have been having difficulty locating him here. He is, I believe, aware of my presence, and his powers now alert him whenever I get close; a fact that, I confess, is most frustrating to me. That he has not left, however, may be significant, for normally he does not remain in one place for long, and I cannot imagine he would do so without good reason once aware that one such as I were so close to him."

"In short, I believe there may be something that keeps him here specifically. Which is why I am most intrigued by your claim that you have met a demon recently, and why I must once again apologise for the manner of our greeting. I understand why that might have made it difficult for you to trust us. None the less, it is Sashjant we seek, not you, although naturally any demonic threat is of interest to us."

"And, yes," he went on, seeing her expression, "I see I must return once again to the source of our mistake. You see, Sashjant travels around with what we might loosely call a 'harem'. He has a number of young, female human followers, all comely in appearance, who do his bidding. He controls them, using his powers, and they work as his eyes and ears, his merchants and artisans, warriors and concubines."

"Forgive me for saying this, but the reality is you are a very attractive woman, Calleslyn, a fact that made my companion wary. She believed you might be a servant of our foe, and sought to detain you until I could arrive and be sure you were not a trap, or a spy. I know now that is not true, for my own senses can discern no taint upon you."

"I will say, in our defence, that my companion did not actually drug you, although she had prepared for that possibility, should it prove necessary."

"No," admitted Calleslyn, "that wasn't quite how she detained me." She glanced across at Imrilda, noting that the woman was blushing, and carefully nor looking at either of them.

"Yes," said Ornejirhs, smiling amiably, "I understand that a dance was involved. She can be distracting when she wishes."

"You could call it a dance, I suppose," said Calleslyn, now fixing her gaze on Imrilda. The warrior was turning a brighter red, and seemingly entranced by some object in the corner of the tent.

"Oh?" said the dragon, looking genuinely curious, "what else might one call it? Imrilda?" He looked up at the blonde for an answer, but she was avoiding him, hands fidgeting behind her back.

"Let's just say it went a little further than a regular dance," replied the elf.

"It doesn't matter!" snapped Imrilda, speaking at last, and turning back to Ornejirhs, "I thought I needed to detain her, so I came up with a ruse. The details don't really matter. It was nothing."

Calleslyn frowned. She still had not fully forgiven the human woman, and the way she was speaking now only added to her irritation. She decided that a bit more truth was called for, to put the warrior in her place.

"So you were faking it?" she asked, "I congratulate you on how far you were prepared to go. You certainly seemed to be enjoying it when we were both naked together."

"It wasn't like that!" Imrilda cried, flushing redder still, "really it wasn't, Ornejirhs - don't listen to her. It was just a ruse."

"This sounds most interesting," replied the dragon, "do continue, Calleslyn."

The elven magician decided to twist the knife just a little further. "I can't speak to Imrilda's motives, but I really doubt she could have faked getting that damp when I was fingering her. Isn't that right, Imrilda?"

The blonde warrior glared back at her. "Why... I... I..."

"If it's any consolation, if that was really your first time, you were doing pretty well when you had your tongue between my legs."

Imrilda gasped. "It's not true! I didn't! Ornejirhs – you can't believe her!"

"I confess ," said the dragon, "that if what she says is true, it does reveal a side to you of which I was not previously aware." The warrior spluttered, apparently unable to find a good response to the remark, but Ornejirhs calmly continued. "On the other hand, it does not seem entirely at odds with your modus operandi."

"What do you mean?" asked Imrilda, now looking a little worried.

"You are a Shield Daughter, belonging to a group of female warriors that use revealing magical armour to distract their male foes. It is natural to assume that that is an advantage you would use for other purposes, and, indeed, I have observed it to be so. Consider the young ranger that you convinced to help us a few months ago, as we crossed the wilds to get here. It was evident to me not only that you flirted with him, but that the pair of you had sexual intercourse. I should add that I was grateful for his assistance, and was glad that you had persuaded him to provide it, no matter what means you chose to employ."

"Moreover, while I have not seen the purpose in mentioning this to you before, there have been occasions on which I have overheard you engaged in sexual acts with others, and always to good purpose so far as it concerns me. And on those occasions, I had observed that you certainly gave every audible indication of your personal satisfaction, for which I was also happy."

"I trust you do not mind that I speak so openly of this matter now, but the issue has been raised, and I sense that you are somewhat disturbed by it."

Calleslyn struggled to suppress a smile at Ornejihrs' polite speech, and the faintly bemused tone that had crept into his voice. It certainly supported his claim that he was not as human as he appeared.

Imrilda struggled for words again, but eventually found her voice. "You're not upset?"

The dragon frowned. "No, why should I be?" Then realisation appeared to dawn, "ah – I see it now. Of course, your species is generally monogamous, or at least professes that it be so. You are concerned that I might feel jealousy towards your partners. I should explain," he added, turning back to Calleslyn, "that Imrilda is not merely a sword-hand to protect me when I am in human form, but that she and I have enjoyed the delights of each other's bodies on more than one occasion – an act which we both find most stimulating."

"But you need not be afraid, my friend," he said to the warrior, "for my species is not monogamous, as yours is. We form no lasting partnerships, for such is not our way. The idea that you should remain faithful to me alone is not one I have ever entertained. Especially when, judging by the cries I have heard you utter, you find great joy in the act. Why should I not be happy that you are also happy?"

"It seems," he went on, a little ruefully, "that this is a conversation we should have had some time ago, for you may have been labouring under an unpleasant misapprehension, even a sense of guilt, for which you had no good reason. But, for now, I am curious – is what our new friend says the truth?"

Imrilda sighed, and reluctantly nodded. "I didn't think you..."

"Pay it no mind. And you reached sexual climax with this woman?"

"Yes, dammit," muttered the warrior, blushing again, "she made me come, all right?"

"And you her, by her account. But that both of you are female... this is, as I say, something new to me. I was not aware of such a practice, for it is unknown among my kind."

"It's an elven thing," said Calleslyn, amused at the way the conversation had turned.

"That may explain its rarity. It is even so, a concept I find most intriguing. Over the years that I have adopted this form and spent time with Imrilda, I have attained a considerable appreciation of the female humanoid form." He reached out a slender hand, casualty stroking his companion's bare flank above her belt. "Imrilda," he said, meeting her gaze, "despite my earlier statements, I have never yet had relations with a woman other than you. You are not of my kind, yet I have learned to find your body most enticing, and to take great pleasure in it. When I embrace you, and penetrate you, my every motion and thought are sincere."

"I know," replied the human woman softly, taking his hand in hers.

Calleslyn cleared her throat. "Perhaps I should leave at this point?"

"You are free to do so, of course, yet that was not what I had in mind. If we are to cement a new friendship, a new understanding between my companion and myself, what better way to do so than we three together? If you are amenable, Calleslyn, I would be most interested to see this new practice of which you have spoken, and to take my part as well."

The suggestion caught Calleslyn entirely by surprise, especially given the dragon's continued polite and reasonable tone of voice. Perhaps she had been speaking entirely too freely, and giving the wrong impression?

But it was the warrior who spoke first. "You want to watch us?" she asked, eyes wide with shock. "I can't imagine Calleslyn would be interested in such a thing!"

It was Imrilda choosing to speak on her behalf that settled the matter for the elven woman. She strode up to where the pair were standing, and, with a swift movement, pulled the human's upper garment up around her shoulders, letting her ample breasts swing free. She massaged one with her hand, watching the expression on the woman's shocked face.

"We started like this," she told Orenjirhs, "your girlfriend has magnificent breasts."

"As I have observed," admitted the dragon, leaning forward to tweak the nipple of the other breast between his fingers. Then he bent his head, and poked out a remarkably long tongue, replacing his fingers with its moist tip.

Calleslyn moved down, planting kisses across the soft mound, rubbing the hardening nipple inside her own mouth, moving a hand down towards the woman's crotch. Imrilda let out a strangled gasp, and almost fell away from them, and quickly laid herself down on the floor, removing her sword belt and top. Calleslyn moved down on top of her, her mouth eagerly finding the breast once again, as Ornejirhs climbed out of his chair and lay down on Imrilda's other side.

The warrior woman panted and mewled, arching her back as the pair of them feasted on her breasts. There was no doubting Ornejirh's enthusiasm, Calleslyn reflected, as their hands met across Imrilda's belly, fingers briefly entwining before Calleslyn's hand darted lower, towards the woman's lower garments.

Soon she had pulled them down, exposing Imrilda's thick blonde bush. The dragon watched in interest as she stroked it, dipping a finger down to run across the damp pussy lips, presenting the moisture for his inspection.

"Ornejirhs..." breathed Imrilda, her shapely buttocks squirming against the blanket that they lay on.

The man got up onto his knees, and began to remove his robes, as Calleslyn began to move her fingers deeper, pressing them between the swollen folds, and planting a kiss on the other woman's navel.

Ornejirhs was naked now, kneeling beside his companion's head. His body was almost devoid of hair, an expanse of smooth milky skin, with nipples scarcely darker, and well defined muscles. His cock was fully erect, a short fuzz of golden-white hair adorning its base. Calleslyn reflected that it must have been a full eight inches long, larger than anything she had seen on an elven man. Imrilda was stroking it gently along the length, teasing back the foreskin as the man sighed in contentment.

Calleslyn bent down, her long golden hair draped across the other woman's belly and thighs, and pressed her lips to Imrilda's pussy. Her tongue darted inside, tasting the human's evident excitement, sucking gently on her clit. The warrior cried out, pressing her face against Ornejirh's thigh as she did so.

"Not faking anything now, are we?" asked the elf, releasing the damp pussy to sit back on her knees. Imrilda shook her head dumbly, and the dragon smiled, before turning his piercing blue eyes onto Calleslyn.

She slowly raised the hem of her shift, moving it up inch by inch until she could pull it over her head, and then slid her panties down her thighs. Ornejirhs watched every movement, eyes drinking in every curve of her body, cock still throbbing in Imrilda's hand. 

"Most satisfying," he said, still watching her.

Calleslyn decided to give the human woman something other than the dragon's cock to focus on, and moved up to sit on the other side of her head, legs slightly apart. She pressed one hand against the warrior's cheek, turning the woman's face towards her own body. Imrilda got the hint, and released the man, rolling over onto her front, knocking the chair beside them over in the process, but not taking any heed of it.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 30



Calleslyn settled back, resting on her arms, thighs akimbo, noting how the dragon's eyes were now fixed on the spot between them. Hungrily, Imrilda pressed her head to that place, kissing the elf's pussy, then pushing her tongue in, nose tight against her partner's narrow bush.

Ornejirhs breathed another sigh, his eyes wider than ever, as Calleslyn pushed a hand down to her crotch, pulling the pussy lips apart to give the warrior greater access to her cunt. She found it hard to believe that Imrilda had not done this until the day before, for she was expert at it, her tongue caressing every fold, flicking her clit, curling in circles until the elven woman found herself moaning in appreciation.

It seemed the dragon could contain himself no more. He moved round behind Imrilda, stroking her sides and buttocks as he did so, his bulging cock seemingly longer than ever. Slowly he eased himself inside his companion, making her gasp out loud in pleasure, and to temporarily halt her ministrations.

Calleslyn pushed the woman's head back down, feeling her tongue press its way inside again. Ornejirhs began moving himself in and out with rhythmic thrusts, and soon Imrilda's tongue was moving in time to his motions. The elf moaned again, louder this time, as the dragon focused his ice-blue eyes on the movements of her slick body, and the way her small breasts were now rising and falling in time with his own thrusts.

He began to press into Imrilda harder, hips grinding and skin slapping on skin as the warrior let out moans muffled by Calleslyn's thighs. All three of them were groaning now, and the elf found herself watching the man's taut belly and the base of his long shaft, so coated now in Imrilda's juices. 

At one point, the blonde warrior let out her deepest moan yet, losing her grip on Calleslyn's cunt. She tried to return to her task, but the increasingly urgent thrusts from her partner were too much for her, and she lost her rhythm, tongue fumbling at the pink flesh as she continued her moans. Reluctantly the elf moved herself back, and watched as Ornejirhs pulled his strong arms around the other woman's waist, pulling her upright, against his chest.

Imrilda was now pumping herself up and down on the dragon's cock, his arms about her waist, her breasts heaving in time to the motion. Calleslyn could see the man's balls and the base of his cock pressing into her again and again, both their hips thrusting against each other as the warrior let out deep moans of satisfaction.

The elven woman pressed herself in, fastening her mouth on one sweet bouncing nipple and sucking for all she was worth as she slid a hand down to the seat of the action, rubbing against both Ornejirhs' smooth balls and the stretched pussy lips of his partner.

Imrilda practically screamed her release, and the dragon at last slid out of her, as she slumped over onto the rug. As she lay panting on the ground, Calleslyn found her eyes irresistibly drawn to the man in front of her.

It was a remarkably long time since she had been with a man. She was as bisexual as any of her people, although she had to confess to a slight preference for the fairer sex. Yet, somehow, she had avoided the men of Haredil, and she found herself slightly uncertain faced with Ornejirhs' obvious masculinity. That he was not truly human, despite appearances, also lent a degree of uncertainty to it. How would it feel to have sex with a man after all these years, and how would it feel to have sex with one that was also a dragon?

His muscular chest was moving only slightly, as if he was hardly put out by his recent exertions. His belly was smooth and firm, his hips strong. If he had chosen this form, he had chosen well, with more of a sense of human aesthetics than might have been expected. His long cock stood proudly erect, covered in Imrilda's juices, the pink head throbbing. It was evident that he had not yet reached his own climax.

He reached out for her, running one finger along her flank, and then brushing the length of her arm, those piercing blue eyes fixed on her own green ones, a slightly quizzical look on his face. Slowly, his hand trailed over her shoulder, and onto the base of her neck, as he gently pulled her towards him. Their lips met, just for a couple of seconds, and her eyes fluttered shut. She felt his hand move downwards, over her breasts now, until it circled the nipple, lazily forming an intricate pattern.

"Yes?" he said, his voice a quiet breath, hardly audible, yet hot against her cheek.

"Yes," she replied, opening her eyes again.

He leaned back, and she moved over onto the carpet, beside the other woman. Ornejirhs was poised between her legs now, his hands running along the curves of both her thighs, his erection still damp. His eyes were still fixed on hers – she noticed now that he hardly ever blinked – as he moved over her, into position.

He pressed just the head in at first, moving it in a gentle circle for a few seconds as he watched her reaction. Then he began to slide his way in. Calleslyn had not felt a cock inside her for years, only fingers and tongues, and this one was unusual in its length. She moaned as he filled her, further than she could imagine, sending thrills through her body. He was taking her slowly, obviously savouring the pleasure as much as she was.

His hips ground into her in a controlled and gentle rhythm, the motion of his cock driving her to heights of ecstasy. She had almost forgotten Imrilda until a shadow moved over her, and she saw the woman leaning above her, facing her companion, large breasts obscuring Calleslyn's view of the tent top, with sunlight still filtering through.

The couple kissed, the man's hand wandering down the warrior's naked body, feeling her back and caressing her buttocks, yet never pausing in his other movements. The elf pulled down the human's woman's hips towards her, and reached out a hand to stroke the swollen labia. She pressed her index finger inside, finding her still damp.

Imrilda gasped as Calleslyn drove her tongue into the pink folds, wet with the juices of her recent orgasm. The elf enfolded the other woman's bud, sucking her clit until the warrior's hips began to move involuntarily against her face. At no point did Ornejirhs' motion change, he just continued slowly driving her towards the brink as she strove to re-ignite Imrilda's fires, to wring a second orgasm from her, proving herself the equal of the great dragon.

Unexpectedly, he pulled out, leaving her feeling empty. Why did it have to end so soon? Imrilda was climbing off her, and they both looked up towards the dragon. He was watching them, his eyes moving between the two, apparently trying to decide between them. Did he want them to beg for him, Calleslyn wondered? She was not going to do that – no, instead she would finish her aim with Imrilda, show him that sometimes, men were not needed.

She moved up into a sitting position, next to the warrior, and kissed her passionately on the lips. To her delight, the warrior returned the kiss fully, and soon the pair were sitting pressed facing each other, their hands exploring each other's bodies, squeezing and fondling every curve, lips wandering over chins, ears, and necks until Calleslyn plunged down to lose herself once more in the delight of the warrior's curving breasts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ornejirhs moving again, but paid him little heed, sliding her hands down between the other woman's thighs. A moment later, she felt a damp flickering movement there, and bent her head to watch as the dragon lay down on his back and began to taste Imrilda's cunt. She could see his tongue was long, and that it evidently pleased the warrior, for soon she was quietly moaning again, changing her position so that she squatted over the dragon's face.

Calleslyn silenced her cries with another kiss, pressing her small breasts against the much larger ones of the human. Their nipples rubbed together as their hands returned to exploring each other, and Imrilda began to make whimpering noises in the back of her throat.

The elf felt a hand against one of her thighs, moving gently up, and she let it do so. Shortly, that magnificent cock was back inside her again, Ornejirhs sliding into her even as he continued to lick at his human partner. His hands were wandering up, one over Imrilda's bucking back, the other pressing its way between their breasts, fondling them both at once.

This time, his motions inside her were more urgent, powerful, as they had been with Imrilda the first time. The sensation was overwhelming, and the elf could not help herself crying out, until the increasingly loud moans of both women filled the tent.

Remembering her mission, she darted a free hand down the warrior's belly, curling the fingers between her lips, pulling them out of reach of the dragon's long tongue, caressing and rubbing the nub for all she was worth. Imrilda's second orgasm was quieter than her first, but no less mistakable for all that.

Hearing the sound, Ornejirhs increased the speed of his thrusts still further, and Calleslyn pushed back against him, desperate to feel it all. They came together, he letting out a roar of pleasure that drowned her own long cry, his cock jerking again and again inside her pulsing cunt.

The dragon's orgasm seemed to go on and on, flooding her with his semen. Even when he pulled out, after what seemed an eternity of delightful torment, more white fluid dribbled down it, splashing into her thigh before it finally stopped.

Even Ornejirhs seemed contented after that.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 31



"I hope you know where you're going," said Nyvara, as the three of them trod the branching passageways beneath the city.

"I know the direction," replied Zarenis, "I can feel it. This thing,,, the Presence, whatever you want to call it... it shows me images sometimes, but mostly I just sense the way I have to go. All I have to do is work out the details."

"That doesn't sound very reassuring," complained the sorceress, "how do we know it isn't lying to you?"

"It has no reason to. It wants to be released, and my demonic ancestry is the strongest link it has to this world." She didn't add that the Presence had already shown her that it had been responsible for her own birth, through a lesser demon. Since she had touched the censer, it could send her visions while she was awake, and she had experienced first hand its ability to manipulate the infernal taint in her blood, tying them together.

At least, she had now been able to gain some measure of control over the new powers in her blood. She was able to suppress all the transformations it wanted to make in her body, restoring her eyes and horns to their usual forms, and now looked as human as any tiefling should do, not like the hideous half-demon she had been at risk of becoming.

In truth, she did not know how far she could really trust the entity, but there was little doubt that following its demands was the best course of action for the time being. It said that it would bring her power, make her its primary voice in the physical world, once it was released from its prison. Given the trouble it had gone to in order to create her, that seemed at least plausible. It didn't seem to be able to act without some sort of intermediary, and it was unlikely that a better candidate existed anywhere near Haredil.

So now she, Nyvara, and the sorceress' bodyguard, Rolgor, where stalking through the tunnels under the city, looking for the key that could release the Presence. The visions it had sent of where exactly the key was, and how it was guarded, had been vague; evidently, the Presence had difficulty seeing into that part of the tunnel system. But she knew enough to be able to get there, and enough that it was obvious she would need assistance in doing so. Nyvara, who was simply mercenary, was a far better choice for that assistance than anyone Amloth could have provided, for it had also become clear that, in the long run, the drow would be her greatest rival if she wished to truly act as the Presence's chief representative on Earth.

"I can't believe," continued Nyvara, "that there are people who do this sort of thing for a living. Is it something about penetrating deep passages? This place is dusty and grimy, and if I wasn't holding a magical light, we wouldn't even be able to see anything."

"We're not adventurers," Zarenis reminded her, "we're here to get one thing, not to explore. In and out, as quickly as possible, that's the idea."

"Well, I don't see any treasure to steal, anyway, if that's what they're in it for. What kind of idiot leaves piles of gold coins lying about in a catacomb, anyway? I'm beginning to wonder whether there's anything down here at all, except dirt, smells, and scalding water from the springs."

They turned a corner. "There's that," said Zarenis.

In front of them, the corridor was choked with a vast profusion of mutated plants, springing out of the water channel that filled much of its base. The plants were greyish and blotched, unnaturally growing down here in the perfect darkness. There were tendrils that visibly writhed as they watched and buds that looked more like vicious mouths. 

"Can't hack through that," said Rolgor, speaking for the first time since they had descended into the depths, "too much bad."

"A spell won't work, either," added Nyvara, "anything I could use against it would have to be strong to risk bringing the roof down. I hope this isn't your only way in."

"This is a tool of the Presence," said Zarenis, confidently, "nothing more. A sign of the encroachment of its world into ours."

"And that helps us how?"

"Because it knows its own." She strode forward, until she was right next to the edge of the vegetable barrier. The creepers waved about uncertainly, reaching for one her moment, then rearing away. 

Zarenis closed her eyes, relaxing her hold on the blood that raged deep within her, letting a little more of the Presence out through her. It was less shocking than the previous times it had happened, partly because she knew what was coming, and partly because she had the transformation more under her control. Heat rose within her, and she felt her horns and fingernails lengthen. Her ankles twisted, and she felt a sharp pain above her buttocks as a growing tail pressed against her clothing. 

She heard Nyvara take a sharp breath, not quite managing to hide her distaste at the tiefling's shape-shifting. When Zarenis opened her eyes, she knew that they were blood-red, and that even her skin was tinged with a reddish-purple hue. In front of her, the plants reared back, pressing themselves hard against the walls of the tunnel, opening a narrow passage between their bent stalks. It went about twenty feet into the morass, before more plants closed off any view of what lay beyond.

"I would follow very closely behind me, if I were you," she told the others.

Rolgor looked to his mistress, more uneasy about the plants than about Zarenis' demonic appearance. The sorceress looked uncertain, but, clenching her fists, stepped forward to stand immediately behind the tiefling, and then follow as she walked into the cleared passageway. The half-orc immediately followed her, although it was clear that he was gripping the haft of the axe they had found him very tightly indeed.

The plants continued to squirm, rustling against the stone walls, but, as they walked forward, those at the far end of the vegetable tunnel began to open up, revealing yet more beyond.

By the time they were twenty feet in, the mutant plants began to close behind them again, sealing off their only escape. Nyvara and Rolgor absolutely needed her now, if they were ever to escape, for Zarenis knew that there was no route to the surface beyond this point -- she would hardly have come this way if there had been. They were trapped in here, with her.

The same thought had obviously occurred to both of them, and even the muscular half-orc flinched now as tendrils began to reach out for him, stopping less than an inch from his skin. They kept very close to her after that, their bodies almost touching as they continued to walk ahead.

In fact, while it must have seemed like an eternity to the other two, Zarenis judged that they had gone only another ten feet or so before the plants continuing to open up ahead showed, not more of their own kind, but the blackness of an open corridor. Not long after that, they had passed through, and were standing on the other side, as the horrible mutated barrier closed up behind them.

The passage they were in looked no different from that on the other side, with a deep conduit for the hot spring water occupying most of its width, and a narrow walkway along one side. Zarenis paused for a moment, to allow her body to resume its normal appearance. Although she sometimes needed to allow her new demonic form to come to the surface, it was not an experience she enjoyed, and the sooner she was back in her own flesh, the better she felt.

A sudden vision sprang to her mind of a dry side passage. She knew she would find it up ahead, and that that was where she had to head next. She also felt a sense of foreboding, her senses warning her to the fact that here, beyond the protective barrier, the Presence held more sway than it did elsewhere in the mortal world, and that anything could have been attracted here by its otherworldly nature.

"I'm not sure what's here," she told the others, "but there's no reason to assume anything else will behave as quietly as those plants just did. So we will have to be careful."

"There bad smell," said Rolgor.

"This whole place is dank," pointed out Nyvara, "you'll have to get used to it."

"No, real bad smell." The half-orc hefted his axe, and moved to stand in front of the two women.

Something scuttled out of the darkness ahead, the magical light from Nyvara's wand catching on a glistening green flank. The thing was running along the side of the tunnel, not along the floor, and it was headed straight for Rolgor. His axe whirred through the air and hit the thing with a heavy thudding sound, making it emit a high-pitched screech and back off. They could all smell it now, an unpleasant rotting odour that perhaps gave some clue as to what the thing fed on.

Now that it had paused it was easier to see what it was... or at least, what it looked like, for none of the three could recall having seen anything quite like it before. It was about ten feet long, with a body that loosely resembled a caterpillar, or possibly some kind of maggot. An array of long tentacles sprouted from its head -- one of them severed and oozing pale yellow fluid. Dark, insectile eyes glittered above a wide maw filled with dagger-like teeth and a pair of bone-crushing mandibles.

The thing hissed and lunged forward again, tentacles flying around it like a shield. Rolgor swung his axe, but there were too many tentacles and one of them slapped him across the legs, spattering transparent slime as it did so. The big half-orc let out a grunt of surprise as one leg went numb, collapsing beneath him to pitch him onto the floor. Another tentacle swung by just inches above his head, but then the monster scuttled forward across the wall, now poised directly above him, tentacles waving.

Nyvara cast a spell, a bright blue spark of energy that momentarily obscured the light from her wand. It struck the creature, making it hiss in fury as it retreated a couple of feet up the wall. With a shout of rage, Rolgor reared up on his remaining good leg, swinging the axe one-handed, powerful muscles rippling beneath his tunic. The axe bit into the creature's side, spraying yellow fluid onto the blade, and the thing stumbled, half falling off the wall to crash down beside him.

Before it could recover, the half-orc gripped his axe in both hands, half-leaning against the wall to support himself, and rained down blow after blow on the thing's head until long after it had stopped moving. 

He remained there, panting with exertion for a while. "Leg numb," he said, after a while, "can't move it. I not hurt... but leg bad."

"Some sort of paralysing contact poison," commented Nyvara, "whatever that is, it must secrete the stuff."

"If we find an adventurer," said Zarenis, "we can ask them what the thing is. But can you reverse the effects?"

The sorceress nodded, "it should be simple enough, with a neutralising balm. But I hope you aren't expecting the sort of powerful healing magic that can put limbs back. I'm not a priest, and there could be something worse out there."

"There's an area up ahead that's safe," Zarenis told her, "we just have to get there quickly."

Nyvara's balm was as good as she has said, and soon the three of them were headed down the tunnel again, moving a little quicker this time. The side tunnel was, as the tiefling had thought, not far ahead, and, unlike the main passage, it was entirely dry, without any conduit along the floor. It was evidently a later addition to the system, not part of the channels for the hot spring water, although its original purpose was far from clear. 

Three visions sprang into Zarenis' mind in quick succession. One showed a pit, plunging down into the earth, the second a stone archway carved with runes. The third image was blurred, unclear, a murky darkness that she couldn't understand, but accompanied by a flash of almost painful heat. She didn't have time to make more sense of it, hopefully all would become clear when they got nearer to whatever it was.

The trio quickly moved down the side-passage, Nyvara and Rolgor glancing behind them from time to time to ensure that nothing was following.

"Stop!" shouted Zarenis suddenly, holding out her hands to grip the sides of the narrow tunnel as Nyvara almost cannoned into her.

"What now?" snapped the sorceress, irritated, and clearly a little out of her depth.

"There's a pit just ahead. The entire floor drops away. There's a narrow edge along one side, but we have to move carefully."

"Is there a breeze?" asked Nyvara, and Zarenis had to agree that there was, although she had not noticed it until now. It was cold, at odds with the warm atmosphere they had encountered so far down here.

"Smells wrong," said Rolgor, "a bad wind."

Zarenis nodded, but said nothing; her sense of smell was obviously not as keen as the half-orc's. "We need a good look ahead with that wand of yours," she told Nyvara, "so we can see where the pit is."

The wind grew stronger as they moved ahead, until they stood at the lip of a sudden chasm where the floor simply dropped away into the lightless depths. The air poured out of the gap, freezing cold and clutching at their clothes and hair. A narrow ledge just eight inches wide wound round one edge of the gap, with no clear hand-holds in the wall. 

"It's otherworldly," said Nyvara, "it has to be. There's no way wind could come from down there, otherwise, and, if it did, it wouldn't be this cold. Not next to volcanic springs."

"Don't fall in, then," said Zarenis wryly, "follow me carefully as I walk along the ledge. There's a false step about half way along, make sure you don't step on it -- I'll warn you when we get to it."

The journey was difficult, and slow-going, but it was only about twenty feet, so it probably seemed to take longer than it actually did. Eventually, they reached the other side, Nyvara breathing heavily, and the half-orc looking uncharacteristically pale. Being down here was not a pleasant experience, and that pit was not going to stop any more of those wall-climbing creatures that might be down here.

"We should come to an archway," Zarenis told them, "it's magically warded, but not by the Presence. It was put here a long time ago, by the adventurers that last tried to seal the Presence in here, and used it to protect what we're now after. If we get past the arch, we'll be safe from any other infernal creations, but we will also lose some of my ability to sense what is ahead."

This, in fact, was what she really needed Nyvara for. She could not hope to overcome the magical wards, or anything similar that might lie beyond. Although, as it turned out, the monster they had already encountered was probably something she would have had difficulty tackling on her own, so it seemed all of them were needed. She hoped that thinking like that wasn't making her too much like adventurers, with their little bands that spent their days delving into old ruins in search of treasure and glory... that was no way for anyone to live.

──◊── Four hundred years ago

"It isn't enough."

Romas turned to look at the elven archer, frowning. "What do you mean, it isn't enough?" the big warrior asked, "Oshanti said her wards were almost impenetrable."

The Jalibian magician nodded, "they are. There are multiple layers of protection on the arch, I don't see how we could possibly make them stronger. Nothing can get through them."

The elf brushed his long blond hair away from his face, looking slightly embarrassed, "I hate to say this... but you're thinking like a human."

"Well, that's because I am human. What's your point?"

"Will the wards still be so strong in a hundred years time? In two hundred? Five hundred? To an elf, that's just a few generations. Will your wards last that long?"

She sighed, "no... no, perhaps not. But what else can we do? With the pit guarding the approach, I don't see how we could have found anywhere better, and nothing's ever permanent."

"We could leave a guard down here."

"For five hundred years?" asked Romas, "how is that going to work? With the enemies we've made among the Presence's supporters, I don't think we can even stay in the city for much longer."

"I think I see what he means," said Sister Yarona, "a guardian need not be human,"

"Exactly," replied Carandel, "we leave something that doesn't need to eat or sleep. A final protection in case, the gods forbid, some day someone breaks through the wards and finds this sceptre. Because we already know that we can't destroy the thing ourselves, and the Presence will recover, given time, and send somebody down here, perhaps centuries from now, and they will, eventually, get through Oshanti's wards."

"The problem," said Yarona, crossing her arms, and looking intently at the elf, "is how exactly we are supposed to summon something to do that. I am a cleric of the Sun God, and we're underground."

"There must be a ceremony," said the elf, looking a little defensive, "something you can do. Or Oshanti can create something magical."

"If you're thinking of a golem," said the magician, "I really don't think that's an option in the time we have available."

"And to summon something, I would need candles, a great fire, something to represent the Sun God," agreed Yarona, "we haven't got that sort of equipment down here. Summoning ceremonies aren't that simple."

"Is there no other way of contacting the Sun God?" asked Romas, "it's not as if we're trying to do something that simply benefits ourselves."

"Not directly, no. You need fire and light."

"Wait..." said Oshanti, looking up, her dark eyes shining with a sudden idea, "what do you mean, 'not directly'?"

──◊──

The arch turned out to be instantly recognisable; the past adventurers had carved runes all around it, and marked it with sigils whose paint was so old that it was peeling away, but had nonetheless stained the stone behind it. The sigils, apparently, were not much of a problem, and perhaps their fading with time was part of why the Presence was growing stronger recently. But it took Nyvara some time to neutralise the runic wards, carved so solidly into the stone that they could easily have stood for centuries more.

But succeed she eventually did, and the trio stepped through to the far side, another corridor, this one sloping slightly downwards. As soon as she did so, however, Zarenis felt the world spin around her, and she had to grab onto the wall to support herself. It wasn't just the sudden dislocation from the Presence... she could feel something else.

"Are you all right?" asked Nyvara. She didn't sound concerned, or at least not for the tiefling's wellbeing. She was more worried, no doubt, about her ability to get out again.

"Yes," said Zarenis, steadying herself. Once the initial shock of the transition was over, it no longer seemed so bad. "But there is something here, something watching us, and it isn't good. It feels like a fire... a burning light, and its somewhere up ahead. Nothing to do with the Presence, quite the reverse. I can't read its mind, but I can feel it probing us, trying to see what we are. The old adventurers... they left something here, something to protect what we're looking for, and something a good deal worse than the barrier we've just passed."

"When you say it's not good, you don't mean its infernal, do you?" asked the sorceress, evidently already guessing the answer.

"No, I mean that it isn't good for us. I've never felt anything like it. I'm still new to this... but I think it could be celestial."

"Celestial is not good?" asked Rolgor, looking a little confused.

"Not when its protecting something we want to steal, no," said Nyvara, "but how is that even possible? What did they do, build a shrine down here to summon an angel of Pardror? How much time did they have?"

"I have no idea," said Zarenis, irritated that she was being questioned, "but there is something here. And it has already sensed us. You can ask it what it is and how it got here when you meet it -- because, believe me, we are going to meet it."




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 31



"I'm not facing something celestial! Those things are as powerful as demons, and I know a lot less about them!"

"Then you can walk back out the way you came."

Nyvara glared at her in silence for long moments, and Zarenis simply stared back, arms on her hips. Rolgor just looked worried, although the tiefling knew that, if it came to it, he would back his mistress, not herself. "It knows we're here," she said eventually, "but we know it's here. So we make sure we're ready for it."

Nyvara's shoulders slumped; she knew she didn't have an option. "Right," she said, curtly, "this better be worth it."

They walked in silence for a while, as the corridor continued to slop down into the depths. At last, Nyvara's mage-light glittered off something ahead. Soon it became clear what it was -- water, wisps of light vapour wafting from its surface. The tunnel ahead was flooded, obviously having dropped below the water table of the city.

"Well, that's that," said Nyvara, sounding a little relieved, "unless you fancy going for a swim?"

Zarenis looked back at her, a slight grin on her face. "Why wouldn't I?"

──◊──

"I cannot believe you talked me into this."

"It'll work," Carendel assured her, "you're a cleric, which means you have a channel to the gods. We open a pathway to the right deity, one that doesn't need candles and fires, and use that as your route through to the Sun God."

"The operative phrase there is: I'm a cleric!" 

They were alone in the chamber, the fighter and magician having moved outside to allow the ceremony to take place. Sister Yarona was glaring at the elf, her lips pursed and her eyebrows deeply frowning; she didn't seem as enamoured of the idea as he had hoped.

"And the gods will smile on us," he offered, "because we're doing this to protect the city. I admit that's the only reason it will work, but it is a good one. You're the only one of us that can talk to the gods."

"That's not the part I'm worried about." Her dark eyes narrowed, "you planned this, didn't you?"

"It's was Oshanti's idea, not mine!" he protested. - truthfully, as it happened, although she might not believe that.

"She's not the one who has to do this."

"Because she's not the cleric. Although," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly, "I suppose she could help out."

"Oh, don't be so..." she snorted in exasperation, turning away from him, and then suddenly spinning back to wave a finger under his nose. "As you so recently reminded me," she snapped, "you're the elf, not me!"

"Which is why we have to do the ceremony this way," he pointed out. "Look, it's not that bad, surely?"

"I just need..." she turned away again, looking at the wall, stumbling over the words, "I just need some time to get used to it. I mean, this isn't exactly regular." 

She stood there in silence for a while, hands clasped in front of her; he supposed she might be praying. He did nothing, respecting her space, waiting for her to say something else. At last she let out a long sigh, squaring her shoulders, and turning back to face him.

"Right..." she said, "so how do we do this?"

"You must have some idea."

"Very funny. You know what I mean."

"Yes," he said quietly, deciding that teasing her probably wasn't the best idea under the circumstances. "Look... you do understand this? You open a channel to Sarlene, and she is our conduit to the Sun God, her father."

"I understand the idea," she said, her dark eyes staring straight into his green ones. Her white and gold robes enwrapped her form, showing a slim waist and a pleasing figure, and her long black hair fell over her shoulders from the golden sunburst and wreath on her brow. She looked, he reflected, as beautiful as always, if not more so, but she also looked very uncertain.

"My point is," he said, speaking softly, "only you can open the channel. That means... you have to reach orgasm. It's no good if it's just me, it has to be you, too."

"I think I can do that," she said, nodding, a hint of colour rising to her cheeks, although she still did not look entirely convinced.

"You could have chosen Romas."

"I know..." her voice was quieter now, "but I would rather it was you. Besides, he and Oshanti... well, you know."

He nodded, "I'm still flattered."

He reached out a hand to her cheek, feeling her soft skin beneath his fingers, and leant in closer towards her, feeling her warm breath on his face. Gently, he kissed her, their lips just touching. Her eyes closed, long dark lashes sweeping down, and he kissed the tip of her nose before moving into her mouth again, holding the kiss longer this time.

She moved in slightly towards him, their bodies touching through their clothing, and he dared to put a hand around her waist, running it slowly up her spine as she reciprocated the embrace, her own grasp less firm than his own. They broke apart, she gasping, eyes fluttering open, moving her hands away, although he kept one resting on her hip. 

"That was nice," he said, smiling in what he hoped was an encouraging way, "a good start." 

She nodded mutely, not daring to say anything, and he kissed her again. At first, she didn't respond, but then she let out a quiet moan and pressed herself into him, exploring his lips, their tongues entwining as she reached a hand up to brush his long blond hair. He held her tightly, and the kiss seemed to go on and on, until at last they released each other, gasping for air, before he ran his lips down the angle of her jaw, brushing up against the high cloth collar of her robes.

She gasped, and Carendel took a step back, watching her dark eyes intently. They were fixed on him, watching his face, her desire evident; he thought she had never looked more beautiful. Although it was true that he had desired her for many years, and her occasional sly glances in his direction had allowed him to hold out hope that one day he might be able to consummate that desire, he had never imagined it would be like this. A woman like the cleric deserved to be romanced with roses and fine wine, and bedded on soft fresh sheets when she at last surrendered her religious inhibitions. 

The middle of a dungeon was not quite what he had had in mind.

The elven archer unhitched his cloak, spreading it out on the floor and began to remove his shirt, revealing the slender yet toned body beneath. Yarona's eyes wandered down, taking in every nuance of his pale skin, and, for a moment he felt slightly foolish standing there, the object of such attention. 

He inclined his head slightly and made a vague motion towards her. "Uhh... you..." he said quietly, raising his eyebrows and hoping she would get the hint.

She nodded, as if coming to her senses, and reached for the fastening on her robes. He undid his belt and pulled his trews down, pulling off his boots while trying not to let her out of his gaze as she slowly stepped out of her outer garments. He did not want to miss a moment of this revelation of a body he had so longed to see more of.

The cleric's white robes fell to the ground with a whisper as the elf straightened himself up, now clad only in his shorts. His eyes widened as they wandered over her body. Sister Yarona had not been wearing a conventional shift under her robes, he now saw. Instead, she had on a tight sleeveless tunic that reached to her waist, and shorts that reached a third of the way down her thighs. The skin of her arms and legs was flawless and creamy, deliciously shapely, as were the curves that her tight underwear did little to hide. A golden sunburst hung on a chain around her neck, matching the one on her brow.

He was aware that she was looking at him as eagerly as he was at her, and when her eyes dipped down to his shorts, she blushed deeply, for there could be no mistaking his deep arousal. Turning her eyes away from the sight, she reached for the headband in her rich, dark hair.

"No," he said, reaching out an arm towards her, "it may seem strange, but you will need the holy symbols."

"Yes, of course," she said meekly, lowering her arms again, and then standing still, unsure of what to do next.

His arm was half way towards her, so he extended it further, brushing the soft skin of her shoulder. He traced his slender fingertips down the bare skin of her arm, even that touch of her more than he had attained before. He smiled at her, reassuringly, and his fingers reached her wrist, trailing lower to take her hand in his, squeezing it slightly.

"You are all right with this?" he asked, "Truly? Because if you are not, then it will be worthless, and I do not wish to do this with you for nothing. Without affection and absolute freedom of choice, this means nothing to Sarlene."

"I know," she said, "and were it anyone but you..." she looked away, eyes lowered, "I couldn't. I am a cleric, and I have to take that seriously. But with you, I..." she turned back, and said, simply, "kiss me, Carendel."

He moved towards her, taking her head in his hands, running long elven fingers through lustrous black hair, and kissed her once more on the lips. She responded in kind, and soon he felt her fingers running along his flanks, before one hand curled around to hold the small of his back, and another reached up for his own long hair. Her body pressed against his, and he could feel the swell of her breasts through the single piece of fabric that separated them, his erection pressed against her thigh.

They pulled apart, suddenly, and she knelt down on his cloak, pulling her shoes off as he lay down beside her. They kissed again, softly, and he patted her hip, feeling the shape of it through soft, white material. He pulled himself up onto one elbow, lying on his side, and let his eyes drink in the whole of her body, still clothed in her tight underwear.

He traced his free hand down the outside of her thigh, stroking her gently, taking his time to savour her. On impulse, he shifted his position, moving down to plant a kiss on her bent knee. He glanced up at her face, seeing only rapture reflected in it, and placed another kiss on her calf. With no objection evident he continued kissing her there, moving his lips across both her legs, all of the exposed skin of her calves, ankles, and lower thighs, sometimes darting his tongue out to taste her, to revel in the tang of the cleric's sweet scent.

"You are so beautiful..." he whispered, pulling himself a little further up until he could take the hem of her upper garment in his fingers, and lift it a few inches. 

He kissed her exposed belly, and lifted the tunic further out of the way, briefly pressing his nose into her navel, his lips caressing her narrow waist. She whispered wordless encouragement, as he hitched her clothing further up her body. He pulled away slightly to feast his eyes on her as he finally lifted the tunic over her breasts to bunch under her shoulders. He let out a sigh of appreciation as he did so, lost in the beauty of her naked flesh, unable to pull his eyes away from the rounded mounds before him.

Carendel moved his fingers over every inch of the cleric's breasts, before pressing his lips to them, moving his kisses in ever decreasing circles towards her small, dark nipples. They were erect he saw, as he at last surrendered to his desire and kissed each of them in turn, running the tip of his tongue over them until Sister Yarona gasped aloud in pleasure.

It seemed like an eternity before he pulled back, away from her, giving the cleric a chance to pull the tunic over her head, and readjust her holy symbol so that it nestled in her enticing cleavage. Carendel removed the last item of his own clothing, seeing the cleric's eyes drawn irresistibly to his erection, which felt larger and more swollen than it ever had in his whole life.

"You are beautiful too," she told the elf, "although I could not tell you before."

She moved to place a hand on his hip, feeling the toned flesh there before, ever so slowly moving it round to the base of his balls. She cupped them, before sliding the tip of her finger up the underside of his shaft. Now it was his turn to moan in pleasure, and wonder how much more of this he could take before he exploded.

"Beautiful, indeed," she said.

He lay down beside her, and they kissed, hands exploring each others' bodies, legs rubbing against one another. When her hand brushed his cock again, he reached for her long panties, pressing between her legs, fingers probing her through the fabric. He could feel the warmth there, perhaps a slight hint of moisture, although the fabric was relatively heavy.

Tongues entwined, the cleric's hand caressing his buttocks, the elf dared to slide his fingers beneath the material of her panties, down across the short hair there, feeling her sex by touch alone.

"Oh, Carendel," gasped Yarona, pulling her clothing down to give him freer access. 

He pressed his fingers against her pussy lips, finding them as damp as he had expected, teasing her slightly. She wriggled against him, hip moving involuntarily, breasts sliding against his chest. He had never been driven so close to the edge before, almost dared not imagine what bliss still awaited him.

"Are you ready?" he asked, finding his voice husky.

"So, so ready..." confirmed the cleric, her burning desire evident.

He lifted her leg up, and pressed himself against her, remaining like that for a few seconds, before she rolled over onto her back, and at last he pushed himself between her open legs. His own gasp of pleasure drowned out the cleric's, but he was barely inside, and her second gasp as he pressed the rest of the way was loud with wonder and delight.

"Yes, yes..." he cried, calling out her name as he began to move slowly and rhythmically inside her.

She was tight and fresh, enveloping him in wondrous sensations as his motion continued. The human woman moaned and cried out as he continued to pleasure her, body responding to his, hips rising to meet him, slick breasts rubbing against his chest as her fingers dug into his shoulders. He kissed her outstretched throat, gripping her body, savouring every moment, as she herself was so evidently doing.

Suddenly he pulled out, and moved away from her. Her eyes widened, begging, as she moved herself up onto her elbows. Her lips formed a silent question, evidently wondering whether it was he who was now having second thoughts.

He shook his head, not finding the words to tell her that he had been perilously close to climax, ruining the simultaneity that the ritual surely required. He gazed down at her, magnificent naked body spread out below him, still wearing the sacred sunburst in her hair, the second holy symbol nestling between those oh-so-kissable breasts.

She reached for his cock, hands sliding in her own juices, pressing him back towards her. Carefully, he pushed himself back inside, and resumed his motions. He sensed her rising urgency now, and began to move a little faster, drawing yet more moans of pleasure from his partner.

"I am close..." she whispered, "oh, goddess... I can feel her presence... oh, Carendel, I'm going to come... OHHH..."

The elf ejaculated with a long drawn out moan of pleasure as Sister Yarona bucked in the throws of a powerful orgasm. Everything went white, a brilliant blaze of divine light erupting from their coupling bodies and filling the room with its searing glory. 

And something took shape.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 32



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

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

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

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

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

"You're new here," said Almandar, "a visitor from the south?"

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

"Yes..." she said, uncertainly, "we're just buying some food."

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

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

"I..." she said, hesitantly, "I am busy. I have many things to do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have to be getting back," said the redhead, "or he..."

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

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

"I will see," repeated the warrior.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──◊──

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean, you're busy all the time?"

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

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

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

"I thought you might be trying to protect her."

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

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

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

"I am..." she frowned, apparently looking for the right word, "I am a... 'monk'?"

Almandar grinned despite himself, "I don't think that's the word you're looking for."

"Oh. What is a monk, please?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded, accepting the compliment. "It is dark now."

"Yes," he admitted; she was obviously thinking about returning to the rest of the harem, and, now that he thought about it, that would mean she might raise the alarm about the possible reason for Kara's absence, assuming the others had managed to intercept her.

"You must want to go home," she said, casting her eyes downwards.

"It doesn't have to be right away." He knew he couldn't keep her here by force, or take the time to cast the spell. She had already admitted to being an expert in unarmed combat, even if he could somehow disarm her.

"Please, I..." she stumbled over the words again, but it seemed this time as if a range of conflicting emotions were fighting inside her, and not just a simple difficulty with translation. How strong was the charm over her... could she perhaps fight it off herself, if only just a little? Or at least subvert it? If, even subconsciously, she wanted rescuing, that made it even more difficult to abandon her.

"I said before that I need a change some times," she said, finding her voice again. "I think I want change with you tonight. I want to... I do not know the word, not right word, but I want to stay with you tonight and not sleep. Yes?"

He breathed out, realising he had been holding his breath. "That," he said, "sounds like a very good idea, indeed."

──◊──

As soon as the door closed behind them, Mei-Xing pressed herself into his arms, her lips fastening onto his. They kissed passionately, his hands feeling the limber muscles of her body through the cool satin, hers running through his hair. The suddenness of her motion almost caused him to stumble, and he bumped up against the wall, still some distance from the bed. She twisted beneath him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, until it was his body that hers trapped pressed up against the surface.

Their tongues entwined, breath coming hard as he surrendered to her evident passion, her hands now moving down to pull up his shirt, roaming over his bare back as one leg wrapped tightly around his, leaving her standing on just one foot.. When she finally stopped kissing him, he was gasping for air, although she seemed hardly affected, her eyes brimming with excitement and her mouth breaking into a wide grin as she ran the tip of her tongue slowly around her lips.

He wrestled with the fastening on her belt, causing it and the strange weapon to fall to the floor as he reached for the golden sash that held the tunic together. That unravelled much more easily, the broad flaps of her tunic swinging open. Pressed against her, his hands ran over her belly, which was taut and smooth, but less muscular than he had expected. She pulled his head towards her, and they kissed again, but this time he broke free, pressing his lips to the side of her mouth, over her high cheek bones and across to nibble at her earlobe.

"Yes, you are good..." she whispered in her musical, accented voice, before he turned his attention to her long and graceful neck, gently running his lips over it, pressing them against her warm flesh.

He peeled her tunic down a few inches, feeling firm muscle as his lips explored her shoulders. She was not heavily muscled, as a man might be, but there was no doubt as to her athletic potential, and he imagined that her professed skill at unarmed combat would be quite impressive if he ever got to witness it.

The satin tunic fell loose, now held up only by her elbows, for her arms were still around him, one hand caressing his hair, the other running against his lower flank beneath his loose shirt. She wore nothing beneath it, and he paused for a moment to admire her pert breasts, firmly erect nipples rising from tiny dark areoles. A moment later, he fastened his mouth over one, kissing and sucking, teasing the hard bud with his tongue. 

"Oh yes, I like that!" she cried out and he could feel her body writhing beneath his arms, her raised leg rubbing against his, her hips making slight motions back and forth. 

Encouraged, he continued his ministrations before switching to the other side. She made slight moans of appreciation, arching her back to press the small globe more firmly into his face, and he obliged by sucking on her nipple more firmly yet.

At last, he broke free, straightening himself to kiss her again on the lips. Her hands moved down, pulling his shirt up further, and soon he was struggling out of his upper garments, still trying to kiss her as he did so, admiring her lithe torso as her own tunic fell to the floor.

Now it was her turn to rain kisses on his neck and down over his shoulders. One of his hands caught in her long braid, and he savoured the softness of her hair as it ran through his fingers. Her kisses moved lower, over his chest, tongue darting out to run circles around his nipples before kissing and sucking on them, exerting a slight pressure. Her leg untwined from his as she moved into a crouch, her lips now exploring his belly as her hands deftly undid his belt and pulled down his trews.

His hard cock, now free, brushed against her breasts as she dipped her tongue into his navel, determined to explore every cranny of his body. Slowly, she ran her lips down towards his groin, his erection now pressed against her chin. He did nothing, just holding his hands against her head, waiting to see what she would do next.

With a sudden motion, she pulled him inside her mouth, and he let out an involuntary sigh of contentment. Gripping his buttocks, she pushed herself against him as hard as she could, talking him the whole way in, until he was surprised she didn't gag. Slowly, she pulled herself out again, lips sucking on his shaft before plunging him back inside. The tip of her tongue caressed his balls as she pressed her small nose into his belly, and his cock quivered against the back of her throat.

After that, she began pumping him enthusiastically, sliding him and out with rapid motions, her head bobbing back and forth, her nostrils flaring as she somehow managed to keep her breath. He looked down at her, and she paused for a moment, wide eyes locked onto his before she returned to her task, fingers softly kneading his balls. 

Just as he was wondering how much longer he could hold out, she released him, straightening up to take his head in her hands and kiss him for all she was worth. He could taste some of his sweat and pre-cum on her tongue, as he pressed her back up against the wall and stepped out of his remaining clothes.

"I need you, Armandar," she gasped between kisses, "I need you very much. Need you inside me."

He needed no further encouragement to pull down her satin trews and the panties beneath. He glanced down, gripping one smooth buttock in his left hand. Her thighs were strong, yet still womanly, not overly muscular. His eyes, however, were irresistibly drawn to her crotch. She was partly shaven, only a small, neatly trimmed, strip of black hair pointing downwards to between her legs, where he could already see a drop of moisture on her hairless pussy lips.

He pressed himself against her, forcing her up against the wall, small breasts squeezed into his chest, as she raised her left leg, brushing the back of his thigh with her toes, as if to show how remarkably limber she was. He groaned out loud as he thrust his cock between her pussy lips, and into the sopping dampness of her eager cunt.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 32



She cried out a short word in her own language; he needed no translation to interpret it as a complement of some kind. He ground into her slowly, moving his cock up and down in the slickness of her cunt, making her pant in appreciation, her hands gripped tightly against his back.

To his surprise, Mei-Xing raised her other leg off the floor, crossing both legs behind his buttocks as her hips moved in time to his repeated thrusts. Aside from her grip on him, her only support was the wall against her back, leaving her body weight to push him yet deeper inside her as she let out wordless cries of delight.

She began to push against the wall, making him take small steps backwards, all the time her eyes on his, trying not to surprise him with sudden motions. Then, with a little gasp of triumph, she pushed free of the wall altogether, wrapping her arms around his neck. She arched her back, leaning away from him, holding her arms straight, as her hips continued to grind against his, his hands around the small of her back to help support her.

Her mouth formed into an 'O' of passion as her body writhed against his cock, her pert breasts rising and falling with her exertions, her long braid dangling almost to the floor behind her. Had he not been afraid of dropping her, he would have tempted to tweak one of those small dark nipples between his hands, but instead, he concentrated on pleasuring her cunt. Although, to be fair, by this time, it was her own movements against him that contributed the most to their dual motion – for, although he was very fit for a magician, he was certainly not as athletic as she.

Somehow, they reached the bed and Almandar fell onto his back, watching Mei-Xing as she squatted over him, thrusting herself up and down on his erect cock, long braid swinging over her shoulder and down her side. It was so long that the tip actually brushed against his stomach when she leaned forward slightly.

It seemed she had had enough for the moment, for she climbed off, allowing a sudden waft of cool air to brush over his slick, but suddenly bereft, erection. He ran a hand over her flank, beads of sweat rolling against his fingertips. But only for a moment, for, the next thing he knew, she had plunged his shaft back into her mouth again, engulfing it, pressing the tip against the back of her throat as she tasted her own juices.

She bobbed her head up and down a few times, her tongue licking over every inch of his member before she pulled free again.

"We taste good together," she said, "you see, too?"

She moved round to place her legs over his head, shaven crotch inches above his face as she took him into her mouth again. He spread her hairless lips with his fingers, and pressed his tongue into her damp folds. In response to her muffled sounds of encouragement, he wormed it deeper in, as her hips ground against his face. He sucked the nub of her pleasure, making her body buck against his for a moment before she pressed herself back. All the time, she continued sucking his cock, head bobbing back and forth as she took him deeply inside her talented mouth.

Mei-Xing straightened her legs, pulling away from him, yet slowly enough that he could easily follow. Quickly, he divined her intention, and sat upright on the bed, her legs crossed behind his head as he held her upside down, vigorously throating him as he returned to licking her, his nose, lips and tongue pressed into her willing flesh.

After what seemed an eternity, she unwrapped her legs, raising them vertically in the air, and then gracefully using her arms and body to swing herself down onto the floor, his erection slipping free of her mouth with a slight pop. As he looked down from the edge of the bed, she positioned herself beneath him, legs held wide apart and over her head, holding herself up on her shoulders and elbows.

"Please now," she said, "do me hard and long now."

Leaning over, he grabbed one of her thighs in each hand, looking down at her body upside down beneath him, and thrust down into her as hard as he could. Mei-Xing cried out wordlessly, and he continued to pump into her, the weight of his body allowing him to push deep inside between her open legs. Her own body moved back in response, breasts rising and falling, legs sliding against his chest as he pounded into her over and over.

Her eyes and mouth were wide, her expression clearly urging him on as he kept thrusting into her, surprised at his own reserves of stamina. The sensations flowing through his body were fantastic, and it was obvious she felt the same way. Then, she cried out something in her own language, a longer phrase than last time, the tone in her musical voice clearly ecstatic. He had no idea what she was saying, but he heard his own name in their somewhere, and increased the rapidity of his thrusts until, moments later, they both climaxed, he with a loud groan, she with a long wordless sigh of utter contentment.

──◊──

"Why so glum?" he asked cheerfully, once he had rejoined his companions.

"We had no opportunity," muttered Vardala, "she managed to stay close to the crowds all the way. No way we could do anything without looking like we were mugging the woman. She's back with the demon now. We didn't get the key."

"Well," said Almandar, grinning as he fished something from his pocket, "I, on the other hand, did."

"You managed to get the key off the warrior?" asked Dolrim, raising his eyebrows, "how did you manage that?"

"I'm not sure I want to know," said Lady Tarissa, before he could reply, "I'm more interested in what happened to her afterwards."

"She's free," he said simply, "I cast the counter-spell, and now she's free of the charm. Her life is her own."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 33



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's..." Tarissa began, just before everything went black and Calleslyn felt herself being whirled round like a spinning top.

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

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

This was not going as well as they had planned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, you're one of Sashjant's slaves?" she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that might be easier said than done.

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

"Lies! Mei is as loyal as I!"

"Not any more. My friend was evidently quite persuasive."

"I do not believe you."

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

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

"The suggestion I have heard that you five are a 'harem' is a literal one, then?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And how exactly did he do that?"

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

"It didn't make you jealous?"

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

"And that was it?"

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

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

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

"Impossible!"

"Prove it."

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

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

"No."

"Could a woman?"

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

"That's ridiculous," she said at last, her voice wavering.

"Prove it."

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

"Prove to me, here, now, that I can't make you climax. Because I think I can."

"That's... that's preposterous. The idea is ridiculous."

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

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

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

"No," said the human firmly.

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




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 33



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Turn me back up, you bitch! Let go of me!"

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

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

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

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

"How dare you!" squawked her captive, "and... and they aren't. You're lying! It's all you can do, tell lies!"

"Really?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you doing? Give that back!"

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

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

And then she screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How can I repay you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's get dressed," she said instead, "we have a demon to defeat."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 34



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

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

"We don't know how far the water goes," she pointed out, "we could drown."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I go first," he said, and followed the tiefling.

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

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

Damn the bloody woman to hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And everything went black.

──◊──

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you? Why are you here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What makes you think I would tell you?"

"Your life matters so little?"

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

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

"Nonetheless. You will tell me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Replace your clothing, mortal," commanded the being.

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

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

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

"I... I would not... I should not even listen to such an accusation."

"You did, didn't you?" she said, realising it was true, "you couldn't resist the opportunity!"

"Do not speak to me in such a way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 34



"Release me! You may not touch... wait... what are you doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do not tempt me, mortal!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes... oh, goddess, yes..." she managed.

"Oh fuck..." it moaned, resonant voice full of exultation and pleasure, "fuck, yes!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well..." said Zarenis's voice in the darkness, "that was not the way I would have distracted it. But it certainly worked."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 35



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

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

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

"Let's..." said Tarissa, but at that moment everything went dark. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm a magician, I bypassed your lock."

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

"There's just me."

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

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

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

"Your master is a demon. I know that much."

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

"I didn't think the people of the Wild Lands liked demons?"

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

"I don't know who you mean."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I distracted her," he said, "that's how I found out about this place, about where it was."

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

"We had sex. She liked it... a lot."

"Now I know you are lying!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My name is Gut'rul," she informed him, "and you are?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uttrag'na se..." she muttered, or something like it, evidently resorting to her own language.

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever you want..." he gasped, sensing that was the right answer.

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

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




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 35



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

"Lower down," she said, "that's not what I want your fingers for."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But only 'almost'. 



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 36



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

"Let's..." began Tarissa, and then her voice cut off as everything went black and the world seemed to spin around them.

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

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

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

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

"You deign to attack me physically? How crude!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──◊──

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

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

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

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

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

"Who are you?"

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

"What is that supposed to mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop that -- I won't tell you anything." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You pervert! Don't think you can tempt me."

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

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

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

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

"Then tell me about your friends," she hissed triumphantly.

"I can't betray them... but you mustn't..." he tried to think desperately of anything to say to her, "listen... no, don't do that..."

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

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

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

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

"It does?"

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

"But I don't want you! The room is just warm, that's all it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could resist it. He would resist it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No... no, of course not," he spluttered, turning red as an image of Raylana's long thighs flashed before him.

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

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




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 36



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

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

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

"I can't... please..." he choked on the words, unable to continue further.

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

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

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

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

"Well, I can see what you're looking at," said Geska, "ready to admit that you want to see more?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 37



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only she could do so in time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The paladin, naturally, said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 37



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 38



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Horvan, I heard you were here."

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

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

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

"How is it with... uh..." he struggled to remember the name.

"We broke up. It's a long story."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was what he wasn't supposed to talk about. "It's just temporary. Nothing to worry about."

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

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

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

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

"Oh my goddess!" she gasped, rushing to his side. "You've been hurt! Let me see -- I'm a healer, maybe I can do something."

"It's fine, really, nothing. I mean, it's already been healed." 

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll be the judge of that," she said firmly, getting up to close the door. 

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

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

"Well... nothing much."

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh...?" he said; a rather incoherent query.

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

"Should we be doing this?"

"Why not?" she whispered, "there's nobody else, is there?"

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

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

"I mean, it's just, we're in the temple, and you're a novice..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't think I seem sure?" she said teasingly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yeah..." be breathed. He had forgotten how good this was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes..." she whispered, eyes wide with desire.

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

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

"This isn't working," she muttered suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh my goddess..." she said, fingering the holy symbol around her neck, "oh my good goddess..."

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



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 39



Author's note: This episode, unusually, focuses on the villains of the story, and is therefore somewhat darker than my usual style. These characters are not, after all, meant to be very sympathetic or likeable! I don't know whether that's a good thing, or a bad one, but either way, Sarlene's Touch will be back to its more typical self from episode 40.




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go now, and prepare yourselves."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──◊──

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I really do not think so!"

"Is that a bet?"

"I beg your pardon?"

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

"He most certainly is not!"

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

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




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 39



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yer taste of..." he began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 39



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

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

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

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

"It's hardly the same thing!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This looked like being good. Very good.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 40



The raid on Sashjant's lair had been a far shorter venture than any of their great expeditions into the wilderness, plundering ancient tombs or forgotten labyrinths. Yet it felt just as satisfying, producing the same thrill that escaping from near-death in an underground catacomb did. Or so Almandar felt, and he got the impression that the others did, too. Admittedly, in his case, the manner of his escape had been somewhat unorthodox, if far from unpleasant. 

Presumably, for the others, the experience had been rather more conventional, but what really mattered was that they had saved five women from a terrible fate at the hands of a wicked demon. It was clear, now that they were free of his mental influence, how they regretted what they had done in his name, and, for some, at least, he suspected it would take a long time for their emotional scars to heal. Which meant that he currently felt as if he was walking on egg-shells when he was around them.

The former members of the harem were currently gathered in the main room of the adventurers' villa. Calleslyn had left to give Ornejirhs the good news, and Dolrim had left them alone, unaccountably bashful – perhaps he was overwhelmed by the emotion of the event, since dwarves were known for their taciturnity. That left Almandar with Tarissa and Vardala, talking to the rescued women.

Gut'rul was standing at the back of the room, looking stoic, although he could tell that even she had been deeply affected by the rescue, and perhaps ashamed by the way the demon had taken her over. The other four women were in a huddle around a sofa, clearly overjoyed to be free and together – Mei-Xing had received a rapturous greeting when the others found her safe and well.

"Thank you again," said Rupinder, "I can hardly begin to... well, I am still coming to grips with how this day has turned out. It is as if my world is upside down..." she paused, eyes flicking to the floor, "in more ways than one..." she rallied herself, leaving Almandar to wonder what her sudden reticence had been about, "but in a good way. In every respect... a good way. You have not just saved us, you have opened our eyes."

"What will you do now?" asked Vardala.

"I don't know... we will find something. Perhaps stay together... at least our experience has given us a common understanding. But in the longer term, I don't know; we shall just have to see what the world has waiting for us. We have seen a lot of the bad side of this world, perhaps now we shall have the opportunity to see some of the good."

"We do have a question, if you don't mind," said Tarissa, business-like as ever, "something that you might have learned while with your captor."

"Please ask, anything!" The others nodded in agreement.

"There is something terrible in this city," said the paladin, "we thought Sashjant might have had something to do with it. But if he did not, well, perhaps he knew of it. Did you hear anything about another demon in Haredil, perhaps?"

Kara nodded, "in a way, but we cannot tell you much. Our captor came here for a reason. He said there was something powerful here, something that he could be a part of. At the time, it did not make much sense to us, because we all believed that he was... well, you know what he thought about him... but, yes, he came here looking for something."

"Did he have a plan to meet it? Do you know anything more about it?"

The red-haired woman shook her head, "no, he never did meet it, or its slaves, if it had any. If he had a plan he did not share it with us. Perhaps he was just hopeful?"

"Wait," said Almandar, "how did he even know about it? Did he just sense something?"

"I'm not sure..."

Rupinder interrupted, "he said there was a legend. That is what he told me, once when we were alone together. A legend about how something had come to this city, and how it would rise again. He seemed to think it might happen soon, although I don't know why."

"What was the legend," asked Tarissa, "do you remember?"

"No, I am afraid he didn't tell me that much. I am not even sure where he heard it. But there was something... a name he used, something or someone connected with the story." She frowned, struggling to remember, and then her eyes lit up. "Throndar," she said, "that was the name: the Legend of Throndar. Do you know what that means?"

Tarissa looked around, but both Almandar and Vardala shook their heads. "No, I have never heard that name before," she said reluctantly, "and you don't even know whether that is a person or a place?"

"No, I am sorry. I wish I could help you."

"Probably a person," said Vardala, "or an entity of some kind. The place would have to be here, wouldn't it? I mean, if the legend is about something that came to the city."

"Maybe," agreed Tarissa, "but at least it is some sort of clue. Although I am afraid that we have little time in which to pursue it. We at least know where we have to go, because we have been there once already."

Almandar nodded; with the aid of the druid's potion, they should be able to get past the deadly plants, although who knew what lay beyond? This particular adventure was far from over yet.

"Could you and Calleslyn look in the College library again?" the paladin suggested.

"We didn't find anything like that last time," he said, reluctantly, "I don't think we are going to find more, at least not with a quick search. Possibly we could... no, wait, I have a better idea," he said, suddenly, "this is a legend, right, something oral?"

"He first mentioned it when we were in the eastern wilds," agreed Rupinder, "so it would have to been an oral tradition of some kind, I suppose."

"Right, well I know a bard, a woman called Yarai, and she knows lots of legends about Haredil and the lands all about. If anyone would know, she might. It's not as if it would take long to ask her, and there's no reason Calleslyn can't check out the College at the same time. I think it's worth a try, at least."

"A good idea," said Tarissa, "it is getting late now, but tomorrow, you can find this Yarai, and see if she knows what the word or name 'Throndar' means. If she doesn't know, or it doesn't help, then come back here. Quickly, for preference," she added, with a knowing look.

"Yes, of course."

──◊──

It had been a long day, and Almandar was glad when he had the chance to finally slip between the sheets and try to catch some sleep. Hardly had his head touched the pillow, however, than there came a knock at the door to his room. 

"Wait a moment," he mumbled, grabbing a silk robe and wrapping it about himself before answering the door. Peering through it, he saw Kara standing outside in the corridor. "What is it?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes... sure," he said, pulling the robe tighter, and wondering what this was about.

"Thank you," she said, slipping inside and closing the door behind her. "I wanted to ask you a question. About magic."

"I'll do what I can. It's about... him, isn't it?" 

He had noticed that some of the women were reluctant to mention Sashjant's name. She nodded, confirming his suspicions. Although, what else could it have been?

"Are there spells to make you forget?" she asked, looking directly into his face, green eyes wide.

"No,," he replied, suddenly uncomfortable in her gaze, "I'm afraid not, at least not for the duration of memory you're talking about... a few minutes, perhaps, but certainly not years. Even if there were such a spell, I would think it would be very damaging. Trying to wipe so much from your memory... even if it could be done, it would destroy who you are. It's just too difficult. I'm sorry."

The redhead slumped down on the bed, gazing at the floor, "I didn't think it would be that easy," she said, sounding dejected, "but I had to ask."

He sat down beside her, noticing for the first time how she was dressed. She had, of course, had the opportunity to rescue her belongings from the magical dwelling, and it seemed that that had included a nightdress. They were, he understood, a southern thing, for the nights were much colder there; people in Haredil might wear a light shift at night, but many, like Almandar himself, slept naked.

Kara's nightdress, however, was more substantial than anything local. It was made of white material, with long sleeves and a skirt that fell to her ankles, secured about the waist with a long belt similar to the one on the robe he was now wearing himself. In the light cast by the two moons – both of them full tonight – he could even see small flowers embroidered around the collar and in a double row down the front, and cuffs of fine lace at the end of her sleeves.

She looked dejected, red hair falling partially across her face, hands held listlessly in her lap. She was, of course, an attractive woman, as all of the harem had been, in their different ways, but the gloom on her face was not bringing out the best of that at the moment. Which was probably just as well, considering the situation. Given what she had experienced, the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of her, and he resisted the temptation even to pat her shoulder, concerned that she might take it the wrong way.

She was the first to break the awkward silence. "He made us do such terrible things. Burying the bodies of those he had slain, setting traps, destroying..." she broke off, taking a deep breath to steady herself, her voice sounding increasingly miserable, "how did we do all that? How could he make us think that was right? Why didn't we question it?"

"It's an evil spell, the one he used on you. Most charm spells are not so potent, they can twist minds to make somebody think they are your friend, make them eager to help, but not to act against their natures. His was a stronger version. It's illegal in most places, a forbidden spell, like necromancy, but, well, that would hardly have worried him."

"It was an unquestioning awe of him," she said, "that was what it felt like. I don't think he changed our minds, our natures, except when it came to him. If he told us to do something, we would just do it, and be happy for it, knowing that, even if we would never do such a thing otherwise, we had to make an exception for him. It's difficult to explain, but, looking back, none of it was pleasant, though that was not how it seemed at the time."

"I'm sorry, Truly I am. At least it is over." He dared to reach out, and squeeze her shoulder, just briefly, and she didn't flinch, but he still moved his hand away afterward.

"The first time, when he captured me... I was frightened, I thought he would kill me. I knew what he was, even though he was in human form, so... yes, he disgusted me, too, and I thought he might eat me or something. But then... it was... it's hard to describe, like somehow the world had changed, and I saw him as this magnificent figure. It was so sudden... an evil spell I realise now, of course, but, for some reason, it didn't feel that way when he cast it." She shuddered, "that's one of the memories I wish I didn't have."

"Moments before," she continued after a little while, "he had disgusted and terrified me, and then... I mean, I really didn't have much experience. A little, but never that good, to be honest. And then, we were... while all the others watched... he was shouting, pulling my hair, slapping me, doing it so hard it hurt... and I liked it. Because it was him. Gods, I actually thanked him! And then... then he returned to his natural form, and made me... made me..." her voice broke.

"It's all right, I know," said Almandar softly, "Calleslyn told me."

She leaned into him, nestling her head in his shoulder, tears starting to form in her eyes, "looking back, it was so horrible... and so... often..."

He did put his arm around her properly that time, stroking her long red hair as she cried, letting out some of the anguish. "It's over," he told her, "you'll never have to do that again."

"Hold me," she whispered, "just hold me."

──◊──

Gut'rul was pressed against him in his dreams, naked and warm, body moving slowly against his, arousing him as she rained kisses over his neck and shoulders. Her voice was soft, murmuring, different to how it had been earlier in the day. But it was a dream, and he did not think about such things, just allowed her to stroke him as his clothes fell away.

"Are you awake yet?" asked the barbarian woman, her voice less harsh than it had been before.

It seemed an odd question to ask, but he considered it nonetheless. Experimenting, he opened his eyes, and realised the answer was 'yes'. For it was not Gut'rul's face before him, but Kara's, long red hair falling down onto the pillow as she leaned over him, still clad in her nightdress. His own robe was open, however, his chest bare, and as he struggled to full consciousness, she smiled and moved down his body, stroking his chest hair, lips brushing over his nipples.

"Uhh..." he said, still addled by sleep. Was this real? He thought so.

"Hush," said Kara, pressing a finger to her lips, "Mei-Xing told me what you did for her."

But not Gut'rul, presumably, thought the magician. But then, she did seem the silent type, and he could hardly describe her as 'touchy-feely'. At first, he followed Kara's lead, enjoying the feel of her caresses, finding himself increasingly hard as she slipped more of his robe open. When she moved up to kiss him softly on the lips, however, he at last found his voice.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, glad that at least he hadn't made the first move.

She nodded, leaning back, legs straddled either side of his, flipping back a long fringe over one shoulder. The moons were both still up, giving him a better view of her than he might otherwise have expected in the night time darkness. He obviously had not been asleep for long.

"I told you, I've never truly had the chance to enjoy it before. I want to discover what it's really like, what it should be like. To remember that there's something good in two people sharing each other, that it isn't all just sordid and painful. You don't mind... I mean, after Mei-Xing, I assumed..."

"No, I don't mind. I just thought that you wouldn't want..."

"If I don't do this now, I might not build up the courage again," she said, "I need to see that it can be good, like the others say. Do this for me?"

He reached out a hand to pat her hip through the nightdress, feeling the soft cotton as he slid it up over her flank, her warm body beneath it. He moved it slowly round to her front, stroking her belly through the fabric, and she smiled, properly, for the first time since he had met her.

Kara undid the tie at her waist, and then slowly slid her nightdress up and over her head, shaking her hair free as she dropped it to one side of the bed. The moonlight glinted on the mounds of her breasts, prominent and pale, large reddish nipples slightly pointed, and on her ginger tresses as they fell over her freckled shoulders.

Her skin was light and pinkish, quite untainted by the touch of Haredil's burning sun, and she shivered slightly as he stroked it, trailing his finger tips up her body to cup her breasts. Her nipples were already hard, but seemed to swell even more beneath his touch, as she leaned over to kiss him on the lips.

He responded eagerly, hands moving up around her back as her soft mounds pressed into his chest, tongue and lips slowly mingling as they tasted each other's mouths and she let out small sounds of encouragement. He rolled over onto his side, hands sliding down over her pale thighs, the pair of them still kissing as her own gentle fingers ran through his hair.

Almandar broke from the kiss, but only to press his lips against the angle of her jaw and then down over the skin of her throat as she arched her head back to accommodate him. Gradually, he moved lower, tongue gently flicking between pursed lips to taste every inch of her pink skin. He moved down over her upper chest, one hand caressing a breast, the other roving over a thigh, and she rolled onto her back to give him more freedom, silver light still outlining her body against the sheets.

He savoured her breasts, but not hungrily, taking his time, teasing each of her large nipples in turn with gentle brushes of his tongue before pressing them between his lips. She sighed, one hand still brushing his hair, the other resting on his shoulder.

"Mmm..." she whispered, "this is good..."

He abandoned the luscious mounds to move his kisses lower, across her belly, as his hands roamed across the rest of her body. He ran his tongue in circles round her navel, dipping it inside, pressing his nose into her rounded flesh before moving still lower, her body quivering in anticipation as he did so.

She still wore panties, he saw, slight affairs of a lacy material that went with the nightdress. He ignored them for a moment, pressing his lips into her thighs, running his hands over slender shins, tickling her toes before his kisses moved inward and upwards. She gasped, a quiet breathy sound, as he pressed his nose against the lace, and her hand fell from his head to grip the sheets as he began to slide the garment down.

He blew against the soft triangle of ginger hair, ruffling it before shifting her legs apart to view her pink lips. He blew against them, too, his breath cooling against the dampness there, and she whimpered as his lips pressed into her mound.

He ran his tongue along the length of her slit, at first with the slightest of touches, then pushing further inside, tasting her juices as her hips moved slightly, rounded buttocks rucking the sheets. Encouraged he went further, and she gripped his head again, other hand contracting against the sheets as she let out a low moan of pleasure.

He began to lick her with slow motions, probing between the swollen pussy lips, feeling every movement as her body responded to his touch, She gasped as he reached her clit, arching her back against the bed, thrusting her breasts into the air, moving her head against the pillow.

He bent expertly to her needs, moving her thighs to rest over his shoulders as he pulled her hips up towards his mouth. When he moved away for a moment, she begged him to continue, and he returned happily to the task.

Her gasps were becoming more frequent, although still quiet, little exclamations of pleasure as he sucked and licked every inch of her eager pussy. He could sense she was approaching fulfilment, and accelerated the pace of his own movements, teasing her throbbing clit for all he was worth.

She came suddenly, hips pressed against his face, body arching as she let out a long, low, moan of pure bliss, convulsing against him, until she subsided, panting, into the sheets once more.

──◊──

Rupinder tossed and turned in her bunk as she struggled, yet again, to get some sleep. Geska did not seem to be having any difficulty she reflected as she looked across to the blonde woman. The villa had not had enough rooms for them all, and they were having to share, but it would only be temporary, and, in any case, there was something relieving in being close to somebody else who had been through the same experiences.

Although none of them for as long as she had.

There had even been others, who had died along the way. The life of a rakshasa was not without risk, and, while she had been Sashjant's first conquest, Mei-Xing had not been the second. They were long gone now, victims who had not survived to see their slave master brought low, and it was sad to think that they had never known true freedom again.

Yet, at the time, of course, her emotions had been clouded, as had those of all the others. To be enslaved, and not even to know it... it would be hard to imagine, had she not experienced it.

Her distaste for Sashjant knew no bounds now that she was free of his evil magic. His appetite had known no limits, whether for gluttony, debauchery, or simple malice. Yet, for all the thoughts of the day rushing through her head, she was not sure that it was that final battle, that feeling of liberation on seeing the demon die, that most kept her from sleep. But rather, what had happened before, of how she had been freed.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 40



Sex for her had become nothing more than pleasing her master. She had even been worried by the way he had focussed more on the newer members of the harem, more than on she, who had served him longest. Now, she was glad of that, but she had not been so at the time. Even as she had watched him working out his aggression on Kara, humiliating Geska, or taking Mei-Xing up the arse because he knew it made her scream, she had wished that it was her. Now she hated herself for it.

And yet... she remembered Callesyn's hand on her thigh, and the squeeze of a woman's hand on her breast through the fabric of her clothes. They did not seem unpleasant at all, despite the situation at the time, which was hardly romantic. She had been confused, unsure of how to respond, struggling with feelings that she had kept repressed for her entire life, even before Sashjant.

She remembered the thrill when the elf had pulled her top up, seeing how the other woman looked at her bare breasts. Her mind, then still loyal to her slave master, had told her one thing, but her loins and heart had told her something else. She had wanted to be ravished, all the while protesting to the contrary, had wanted it to go further, right up until the point when Calleslyn's spell had brought her face to face with the truth about her life, which had swept all other considerations aside with its stark horror.

And now, for all that she was trying to forget Sashjant, to force him down to a dark part of her life she no longer wished to think about, it was hard to keep Calleslyn from her mind. She had even found herself fantasising about what might have happened next, had she not lost the magical ring of protection, had the elf not been more interested in her freedom than her body.

She sat up in bed, heart beating. She had to resolve this, to get it out of her mind, or she would not be able to rest. She sat there, motionless, trying to pluck up the courage for what she wanted to do. It was a dramatic step, with no turning back, and it was entirely her own choice, not one made for her as so many had been over the years. This was her responsibility now, and she would have to live with the consequences, whatever they told her about herself.

It was hardly an easy decision. Yet, at the same time, she knew she had to try.

With a sudden motion, she got out of the bed, wrapping her light golden robe about herself, bare feet on the wooden floor. She glanced across at Geska. Still asleep; good. She tip-toed out of the room, hardly able to believe what she was doing, and closed the door as quietly as she could. She half-hoped somebody else would be up, that she would have an excuse to return to her bed, the action impossible. But there was nothing to stop her, and, squaring her shoulders, she walked through the corridor and crept up the stairs to where the adventurers had their rooms.

Her feet were silent on the floor, but she fancied her own breathing was loud enough to wake anyone nearby. But, of course, nobody stirred, and she continued on her way. Hearing a sound, she stopped suddenly, frozen in place, wondering how she would explain what she was doing if she were caught. Trying to find the bathroom, perhaps, even though she knew full well it was downstairs?

The sound, she realised, had come from a nearby door. She took a few steps towards it, glancing about – for no good reason, since the corridor was obviously both unlit and empty – before moving her ear up to the wood. 

"Yes... please... ohhh..."

The words were unmistakable, if quiet. Kara's voice? She stepped away hurriedly, not wanting to intrude, but with a slight smile on her face. Perhaps she wasn't the only one out of her bed tonight...

She knew which room was Calleslyn's. She had watched when the elf went up to bed, not quite knowing why at the time, yet happy to take advantage of the fact now. Now that she stood outside it, though, she felt a crisis of conscience.

What if Calleslyn said no? She had made it clear enough that her actions earlier in the day had been a ruse, not a matter of true desire. What made her think now, that the elf would want this? Of course, she had seen the way the woman's eyes had lingered on her exposed breasts, seen her trying to mask the desire with business-like intent.

It might be different now, of course. But she had to try, didn't she? To find out one way or the other? Her legs were shaking, her heart in her throat, as she stood there with her hand inches away from the door handle. Could she really go through with this, were the rewards so great to be worth the potential embarrassment of rejection, of being found out?

Yes, she rather thought they were.

Rupinder opened the door and stepped inside.

──◊──

"That was wonderful," sighed Kara, as he nestled up beside her, "really. Nobody's ever done that for me before." She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, arms wrapped around him, breasts pressed against his chest, "I really liked it," she giggled, "well, I guess you noticed that, huh?"

"I'm glad," he said, hugging her back, even while he felt painfully aware of how his stiff erection was pressing against one of her tender thighs. "It should be fun. Always."

She murmured agreement, snuggling into him, relaxing in the afterglow of her experience. They lay there like that for a little while before she moved again, gazing up at him with wide green eyes. "I guess I should be thinking of you, too," she said, moving her free hand down over his side to caress his hip. "Anything you want to do? That was pretty intense, but..."

"I think it's your turn to make all the decisions tonight," he told her, "if you don't feel up to anything else, I'll understand."

"You're sweet, but I don't see why the night has to end just yet. Be gentle, though... like you were just now." She rolled away from him, over onto her back, his body casting a shadow that meant only the tips of her prominent nipples glistened in the moonlight.

He stretched out to stroke her belly, and looked into her eyes, "why don't you go on top? Then you can control the movement."

She grinned, a flash of white teeth in the gloom, and moved round to embrace him again, their lips meeting as his fingers twined in her long hair. He rolled over onto his back, and she was lying on top of him, still kissing his lips, his erection still against her thigh, free hand running over her smooth buttocks.

She moved away, breaking the kiss, letting his hand trail free of her hair as she moved her legs up to straddle his waist, letting his cock swing free. Her body almost seemed to glow in the moonlight, the long red hair a darker colour framing her face. She smiled again, and he reflected that she seemed to be truly happy, something that could not have been the case – at least not naturally so – for a long time.

She curled a strand of hair in a finger, pressing it to her lips as she looked down at him, spread out below her. "You're handsome," she said, at last, running the other hand down his cheek.

Instead of replying, he pulled her in towards him, her body yielding to his touch as he moved to bring her prominent breasts towards his face. He kissed them again, a hand caressing one as his lips brushed against the other, feeling every soft curve. He pressed his face into the mounds, taking a rosy nipple in his mouth, tongue sliding over the swollen flesh, suckling gently as she gasped in delight. 

He felt her reach one hand back to stroke his cock, running from the tip down to his balls, and then she adjusted her position, pulling her breasts away from his questing mouth, but bringing his shaft to rest against her pussy lips. He lay back as she slowly guided him in, just the tip at first, then inch by inch into her waiting, eager, body.

Kara's mouth made a round 'O' of pleasure as she began to rock back and forth above him, laying over him so that her nipples brushed against his chest. He cupped one buttock in his right hand, brushing her long hair aside with the left, stroking her cheek as she continued her slow and gradual movements.

He had to consciously hold himself back, letting her do all the work, watching her face in the silvery light as she panted, the sound broken now and then by little high pitched gasps. It went on and on, as if it would never end, she seemingly untiring, continually bringing him close to the brink then relaxing back down again. 

He could not say how much later it was that her pace finally began to quicken. She pressed herself against him, gasping louder now as he rained kisses on her face, her hair falling down over him like a curtain. He felt his own urgency rising in response as her hips ground into his, his cock seemingly deeper inside her than before, the sensation all but unbearable.

Kara cried out, a high pitched, wavering squeak, eyes wide as her body arched beneath his hands, hips spasming against him as she came. With a sharp grunt, he followed suit, filling her as she finally relaxed against him, sheltered in his arms.

──◊──

Calleslyn was sitting up in bed, the sheets pulled up under her armpits. She didn't appear to be wearing anything underneath, a thought that made Rupinder's mouth go dry. The elven woman did not even appear to be tired, looking as fresh as if this were already the morning; she didn't know whether elves needed relatively little sleep, or whether they just freshened up quickly.

She licked her lips, trying to moisten them enough to speak, "it's about earlier today. How you freed me. That distraction, was it... I mean, do you normally...?"

"Do I normally force myself on strange women? No, I am sorry if that disturbed you. I thought it was for the best,"

"Oh, it was!" She suddenly stopped, embarrassed by the eagerness in her own voice. "I mean, to free me. But that's, I mean, what you did... I'm not sure how to say this." The Common tongue was not her native speech of course, but over the years, although she had never quite lost her accent, she had become quite fluent. That she was having difficulty finding the words now was not at all due to familiarity.

"I think I understand what you mean," said Calleslyn carefully, "this is about your reaction? About what you said afterwards?"

The northern woman nodded. "I felt... I think you know... I mean... Goddess, this is difficult... what I mean is: is that natural?"

"Yes, of course it is. Human cultures seem to have a problem with such things, but to us, it's all part of the world, part of the way we are. Why limit yourself like that? Perhaps humans are different from us on some level. Some humans, that is, not all of them, by any means, as I think you now know."

"So you have done it before. Gone further?"

"Yes."

"And you think I'm attractive? Oh, goddess, look, what I'm saying is..." and then the words came out in a rush, as she felt that she had to say them now, or she never would, "I didn't want it to go further, but at the same time I really did. And now I'm not under magical control any more, and I'm not a captive. And I haven't been able to think about anything else all night, and that's why I couldn't sleep. Despite everything else today, it's been consuming my mind, and I don't know how to cope with it, and I really, really, want to know what would have come next. I think it's always been there, part of me, but I never wanted to acknowledge it, and now I have to face it, and I think it's really me, that this is what I want. And, goddess, you do think I'm attractive, don't you? Please tell me it wasn't all an act, because I so want it not to be."

"Yes, you're beautiful," said the elf, and Rupinder's heart leapt, "although I should probably tell you that I already have a girlfriend."

"Even if it's just this once. I don't know if I'll ever be able to work up the courage again if I don't find out now. Please," with shaking hands, she slid her robe off her shoulders, letting it pool around her hips, her smooth, coppery brown breasts exposed to Calleslyn's gaze. She felt a tightening in her stomach – surely there was no going back now? "Please make love to me."

To her delight, Calleslyn reached out and gently pulled her head in closer. Soon their lips met, at first tentatively, then in a longer and more passionate kiss. That sensation alone was powerfully erotic, and Rupinder closed her eyes, savouring the sensation of another woman's soft lips against her own, tongues sliding over each other. It felt so real, so wonderful, something she had not even dared dream of until now.

She pulled back from the kiss to gather her breath, and watched as the sheet fell from Calleslyn's upper body, sliding down to where her hips and legs were still concealed. Rupinder's eyes instinctively lowered to the elf's breasts. They were smaller than her own, as had already been obvious, but they looked smooth and rounded, pale skin with small pink nipples. 

Guiltily, she turned her gaze back to Calleslyn's face, reflecting on her beauty. Her long blonde hair shone in the moonlight coming through the window, green eyes focussed on her as a wry smile touched her soft lips. Rupinder leaned in again for another kiss, pressing in closer this time, lips and tongue caressing. Their breasts touched, Callesyn's nipples hardening against her own coppery mounds. Just the thought of it was stimulating, the actual experience overwhelmed her mind so that she could think of nothing but ravishing this beautiful elven woman, of making this night go on forever.

The elf's arms were around her, holding her, pressing her down onto her back as the other woman turned in the bed to lie over her, sheets twisting about her hips, one foot stroking against her shin through the fabric. Still, they kissed, Rupinder losing herself in the sensation as Calleslyn's hands roamed over her belly, then up onto her breasts, light fingers first brushing her nipples, then kneading the hard points.

Realising her own hands had been taking no opportunities, Rupinder reached up to feel her lover's soft flesh, so different to that of a man, so enticing. Soon she was running her hands down the elf's back, feeling the slight bumps of her backbone. They were still kissing, both moving their hands lower down each other's bodies, Calleslyn's soft fingers stroking the human's belly, Rupinder's sliding down to finger the slight crease at the top of the elf's buttocks.

The northern woman gasped out loud as her partner's hand moved lower still, parting the golden robe from over her hips, brushing over her upper thighs and exposed crotch. The elf's hands were small, with delicate fingers... again, different from a man's, and so gentle. She quivered and moaned, her hips moving beneath the enticing soft touch as slender fingertips brushed the dark mound of her pubic hair.

Calleslyn's face hovered above hers, green eyes evidently taking in every subtle expression on her face as the fingers darted just a little bit lower with every movement. At last they rested between her legs, one slender digit stroking her damp and swollen folds. Rupinder whimpered with anticipation; she could hardly imagine how the sensation could get any better, yet knowing that surely it would.

"Please... please... I so want you..." she whispered, then cried out in rapture as the probing finger sank between her pussy lips, her hips bucking as Calleslyn moved into a better position, the sheets at last sliding away from her lower body as she moved her legs free. The first finger was followed by a second, kneading her, rubbing her swollen clit, driving her to heights she could not have imagined. She could not speak, just mewl in pleasure as the motion continued.

She gazed at the elven woman lying partially above her, propped up on her other arm, pale curving breasts hanging down above her own. Tenderly she reached for one, feeling the shape beneath her fingers, probing the soft skin, and teasing Calleslyn's pink nipple as the blonde woman softly sighed her encouragement.

She shifted on the bed, causing the damp fingers to slide free and trail up her side. She needed a break from that wondrous torment, or everything would be over too soon. Besides, she just to sample more of those delightful breasts, those curves so feminine that it made her catch her breath just to think of it.

She kissed Calleslyn's throat, eagerly moving lower as the elf moved to accommodate her desire. Rupinder rained soft kisses across each of the elf's pale mounds, feasting on them, sucking a hard pink nipple into her mouth, tasting it, her nose pressed hard against the rounded flesh.

"You've never done this before?" asked Calleslyn, "my goddess, you're a quick learner... mmm..."

Rupinder released her and they kissed, on the lips this time, breasts rubbing together, legs entwined. The elf's hand darted back to its prior task, and the human woman gasped in pleasure, throwing her head back, closing her eyes as her hips ground into that skilful, feminine hand.

She found her own hand tightly gripping Calleslyn's buttocks, and realised that, once again, she was surrendering so much to the sensation that she had forgotten her part in the act. She released the curving shape, moving down instead to the blonde's thighs, darting between them to touch, for the first time in her life, another woman's most intimate area. What her fingers found showed beyond doubt that the elven woman was as aroused as she was, a thought that somehow thrilled her all the more.

She lay back, giving herself the opportunity to see her slender partner outlined in the moonlight, silver light spilling across her body, breasts casting shadows, and gazed down to where her hand rested against a narrow patch of blonde hair, fingers vanishing between pale, narrow thighs.

Rupinder sighed in contentment. What could be better than this?

Calleslyn smiled, flicking back a long tress, and shifted her position again, her face now close to the darker woman's belly, pale fingers probing coppery folds of soaking flesh. Her hips rose in the air, and Rupinder twisted round for a better look, moving one of the elf's legs out of the way to gain a more comfortable purchase.

She could see everything now; Calleslyn's pink pussy exposed to her view, a light tuft of golden hair above folds whose moisture glistened in the moonlight. Coppery fingers probed the elf's pale inner thigh, then stroked her swollen lips, admiring them, savouring the feel against her own skin.

Rupinder let out another cry as the elf's tongue joined her questing fingers, as those lips she had kissed sought out and found the core of her pleasure. She knew she could not last long now, and, at last, pressed two of her own fingers into Calleslyn's pussy, spreading the lips, sliding against slick folds, pressing against the elf's own clit.

The fingers inside her began moving with more urgency, and she followed suit, maintaining the same rhythm. Lips, tongue and fingertips were moving in unison, driving her on inexorably, her cries becoming louder until at last her body erupted in the waves of the best, and longest, orgasm of her life. Moments later, hips thrusting back against her lover's pumping fingers, Calleslyn joined her with a musical cry of release, slender body shuddering with delight.

Rupinder realised she had been doubly freed that day. Her life was her own from now on, and she knew at least one path that it would take.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 41



Zarenis sat on the bed in her tiny apartment room, thick curtains drawn against the morning light outside. She had handed over the censer to Lady Amloth -- or at least, to her manservant, for she felt reluctant to meet the drow herself now. She had been invited in, which indicated that she was expected, but had declined the offer. She had fulfilled her mission, and was now rid of the infernal artefact that she had been hired to collect. In return, she had a large payment of gold coins, enough to keep her in relative comfort for a while.

So it should all have been over. That was it, mission accomplished, her part in Lady Amloth's schemes completed. Except, of course, that it wasn't.

She looked at the sceptre she held in her hands. It was made of a bluish-black metal, either crafted with some sort of pigment worked into it, or perhaps made of a substance she could not identify. Its tip bore a set of three sharp spikes, arching around a clear crystal with a slight tinge of yellow. Those spikes had proved deadly when she had used the thing as a weapon, making it almost as much a spear as a sceptre, although it was a little cumbersome to be used as a true weapon of war. The shaft was hexagonal, engraved with writing in what she could only assume was an infernal script unknown to her.

The sceptre had much the same effect on her as the censer, or perhaps the latter's effect had not faded. Either way, while she had the transformation under control, it took an effort of will to maintain her normal form, keeping herself from being more noticeable among normal humans than she already was. In that form, she looked even more demonic than her father had, and the tainted blood had run stronger in his veins than it did in hers. She wasn't comfortable with it, preferring to vanish into the background... but the problem was, the sceptre spoke to her.

Not in words, as such, it was simply the impressions of the Presence in her head, nudging her in its planned direction. Lady Amloth was its chief servant in Haredil, that much Zarenis knew, and she wondered why the drow apparently knew nothing of the sceptre. Perhaps she did, and was keeping it quiet, but she sensed that that was unlikely. Perhaps the Presence's plans were more complicated than its own followers realised.

The Presence wanted her to anoint the sceptre with her blood. She didn't know why, although clearly it had something to do with her specifically, since the Celestial's blood had clearly had no particular effect -- and the sceptre had been coated in that until it burned away. But Zarenis was beginning to feel doubt. She had followed the Presence's prior instructions, acquiring the sceptre in the first place, but that had almost got her killed, with only Nyvara's opportune distraction saving her life. 

So should she do this? And, if she did, what would be the result? She didn't know.

She was tired now, and would have to reflect on it more the following night, after a good day's sleep. It would be, she believed, her last chance, for the night after that something happened. Something that was special about that night, although, yet again, she did not know what it might be. The moons were both full, she knew that much, but that happened almost every year, and this had to be something more significant than that. She supposed that, either way, in two nights' time, she would find out.

She put the sceptre down, gingerly, on the battered old dresser opposite her bed. It could wait, at least for now. Then she undressed, and climbed into bed, wrapping the sheets around herself as she succumbed to sleep.

On the dresser, the crystal at the sceptre's tip glimmered, briefly, a dull greenish light flickering over it. The Presence did not intend for Zarenis' sleep to be dreamless...

──◊──

Age seven

Zarenis sighed as she bent over the broom, pausing just for a moment in her efforts to clean the floor. It was tiring work, but she had to keep the house clean for when Daddy came home. He would be angry if she did not, and it was scary when Daddy got angry. But he was all she had, all she had ever had, and, besides, what else could she do?

He had never talked about her mother, and the one time she had asked him he had shouted at her, told her that it didn't matter. She hadn't asked again. Her mother, she supposed, must be a normal human, like everyone else who lived in the houses nearby, because otherwise her horns would be long, like Daddy's, and her eyes would be blood-red too, not their actual garnet hue. 

Would that be a good thing, she wondered? Then perhaps she would be scary, and the other children wouldn't tease her. Or would they be worse, because her heritage would be that much more obvious? But surely nobody had ever teased Daddy, had they?

But she looked the way she looked, and that was why she didn't mind staying in the house, keeping it clean, preparing her own food, as she had done ever since she was old enough to make the attempt. If you stayed indoors, you didn't have to face the other children, and they weren't nice to her. Especially the older ones, who sometimes kicked her, or pulled her hair. But even the ones her own age called her names, making fun of her horns, of her demonic heritage. The big children did that too, of course, but she didn't understand some of the words they used, although she knew they had to be bad.

So she stayed in here, away from people, away from the cruel world that only ever seemed to want to hurt her. At least, when Daddy was out, she could play games in her own mind, imagine a different world, in which she was a princess, or a powerful magician that nobody dared cross. 

She finished up her work, and pulled some bread from a cupboard, tucking into it hungrily. She hadn't eaten all day, and Daddy had forgotten to go shopping again, so there wasn't anything else to eat, and she had been saving this until her work was done, even if it was going a bit stale now. She had to eat, after all.

The door slammed open, and Daddy staggered into the room from the darkened street beyond. He was drunk, again, red eyes bleary, unsteady on his feet. He glared at her.

"Lazy little girl," he snapped, "just sitting there, stuffing your face! I don't know why I fucking had you."

She scrambled back off the table, just managing to cram the last of the bread into her mouth. He didn't mean it, and he would be different in the morning, when he was sober. Then it would be all right. 

"Fucking useless little... where's my food? What you made for me, huh?"

She hadn't made him anything, of course. There wasn't anything, and he had, in all probability, had whatever he was going to eat at the tavern, before he started drinking. But now he was hungry again, and angry with her. Which was never good.

She ducked out of the way as he aimed a slap at her, but fortunately he was too drunk to get anywhere near.

"You're a fucking waste, that's what you are!" He snarled, then seemed to give in trying to catch her, "oh, never mind. I'll just get something tomorrow, like I always have to. Because you are so fucking lazy, and I'm the only one who does any work around here. Go to your bed. Out of my sight, waste-of-space girl!"

She ran into what passed for her room, although it was really just a cupboard -- the house, frankly, wasn't big enough for much more. Slamming the door, Zarenis dived into her bed, one that was already too small for her, and pulled the sheets over her head, trying to drown out the banging and cursing from the next room.

Perhaps things would be better tomorrow.

──◊──

Age fourteen

Zarenis stepped into the dark alley, casting her eyes about to make sure she was not being observed. The minor moon was almost full, casting its light -- fainter, and slightly more golden than that of the major moon, now below the horizon -- across the streets, but there was a patch here where two buildings came close together that was deep in shadow. No windows looked into this part of the alley, so, while it was far from ideal, it would do.

After all, she had to sleep somewhere.

She had walked out on her father just a few days ago, at last unable to put up with his abuse. Perhaps she should have done it years before, but she had been too young, and even now it was proving harder than she had imagined. She was desperately hungry, a gnawing chasm in her belly, and had barely managed to snatch a drink from some rainwater in a cistern earlier today. 

She was nothing, she was nobody, a lost teenage girl wandering the streets with no means of support, and no roof over her head, owning nothing but the clothes she stood up in, and a kitchen knife she had taken for protection. She prayed she wouldn't have to use it.

She crouched down in the patch of darkness beneath the wall, and wrapped herself in the blanket she had managed to steal from a washing line the day before. For all that Haredil was hot through the day, it could get bitterly cold at night, the warmth rapidly vanishing into the cloudless, starry, sky.

She huddled down, long, ragged hair falling down over her face, and tried to sleep.

Her fitful doze was broken by the sound of footsteps, and she instinctively tried to push herself back into the wall, hoping she would not be seen. Too late, though, for the footsteps had stopped in front of her, and a man's silhouette was blocking the moonlight.

"Are you all right, my child?"

She didn't answer, kept her head bowed so that he couldn't see her face.

"Have you nowhere to go? There is an orphanage not far from here, somewhere you can get a little food. It isn't much, but it must be better than here. There will be other people like you there."

She still said nothing. She did not trust him, did not trust anyone. Why would he offer her help, when no one else ever had?

"You are frightened, I see that. But let me help you. You will be with others, safe and warm, at least. You can always leave if you change your mind. Why not try it, just for a night?"

She looked up at him, then, garnet eyes wide, hair falling back slightly from her face, trying to explain that other people her own age had never been safe for her to associate with. But she needn't have bothered, for he made her own argument for her.

He gasped as he saw her. "What?" he said, a steely note creeping into his voice, "let me see you!" 

He reached out for her, and she saw the holy symbol of the Sun God on a cord about his neck. He grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her fringe to one side, exposing her forehead -- and the two miniature horns that sprouted there. They must just have become visible as she looked up towards him.

"I thought so! Demon-spawn! Tiefling!" He slapped her, hard, across the face, almost knocking her to the ground. "What obscene lusts spawned your creation, monstrous wretch?"

"I..." she began, but he would not let her continue.

"You think you can trick me? You think you can deceive me by pretending to be lost, and vulnerable? You want to get into the orphanage don't you? So you can corrupt the innocent with your demonic bile? Your filthy, evil, creed? Hell-spawned monster!"

He raised a walking stick, which she had not even noticed until now, and brought it down across her shoulders, striking her over and over. She tried her best not to scream, tried to huddle into a foetal ball, but tears welled up in her eyes despite her best intentions. At last, she could take no more.

"Stop it!" she shouted, turning on him, trying to grab the flailing stick, tears of pain and anguish pouring down her cheeks. 

"Let go of me, you... thing!"

They tussled for control of the stick, but he wrenched it from her grasp and raised it over her head once more. In desperation, she lashed out with the kitchen knife hidden beneath her skirts, slashing up to ward off the blow, not even looking to see where it landed.

The knife hit something yielding, and warm liquid sprayed across her hand. Zarenis yanked it back, stifling a scream, and watched through blurry eyes as the man fell to his knees, and then flat onto his back. She crawled over to him, body still aching from his blows, and saw blood fountaining up from his neck.

His mouth was working, trying to form words, but he could not make any sound. His limbs thrashed, a random spasm as his face filled with an expression of fearful horror. After a while, he stopped moving, and his head lolled to one side. His eyes were still staring wide towards her, but he could no longer see.

Zarenis threw up, or tried to, nothing but painful acid burning her mouth as she dry heaved beside the cooling corpse. The enormity of what she had done began to sink in, and her body trembled with the horror of it. 

But she had to survive, had to get away before he was found. Nobody would protect her if she did not protect herself. Once her stomach had settled itself she rubbed a dirty sleeve across her eyes, wiping away the tears as best she could. She grabbed the knife, clutching it to herself despite the warm blood still miring its blade.

And then she ran; alone, into the night.

──◊──

Age eighteen

They were leading her through a tunnel, that much she could be sure of. She even had a vague idea where they were, although she wasn't going to tell them that. But, with the black bag over her head, she could see nothing and allowed them to lead her onwards. 

Her hands were secured in front of her by a leather strap, although it was not tight enough to be painful. She wondered if that was to intimidate her, to stop her lashing out, or just to prevent her from pulling off the sack so that she could see where they were going. On reflection, it was probably all three.

At last, one of them broke the silence. "She don't look too bad with a bag over her head."

"Shut up," said the other one, "we got a job to do."

"Nah, but, be fair. Bit stringy, but not that bad."

"Give it a rest. You kinky for tieflings or something? Besides, we're almost there."

"Just saying..." muttered the first speaker, and then they lapsed into silence again.

They climbed up some steps, she managing to do admirably well, considering she couldn't see them, and then stepped into what was, from the sound of the echoes, some kind of stone-lined room. The bag was unceremoniously pulled from her head.

A man sat across from her, behind a low table with a hooded lantern sat on it, casting light in her direction, but not in his. She assumed it was supposed to be intimidating, but, with her unnatural night vision, it was probably less effective than the man hoped.

There were four others in the room with them; the two who had brought her in, and two standing behind the man across from her, one large and muscular, the other a gnome. The man himself had rich clothing underneath a plain cloak, and thinning hair swept back across his head. He was heavy-set, but more of that was fat than muscle. For a long time, he did not speak, simply looking over her, as if making an appraisal.

"Do you know who I am?" he said, after a while.

"Yes," she replied, "you're Ber..."

"Not my name!" he snapped, "my position!"

"You're the head of the Thieves' Guild."

"Exactly. How the fuck do you know my name, anyway? The people standing behind you don't know my bloody name!"

"I keep informed."

"She keeps informed," he said, to no one in particular. "She's a fucking teenager, and she keeps informed. Well, Miss Zarenis, you have doubtless been informed of what that means, of what the Guild is. And you, Miss Zarenis, have been stepping on our turf."

"I take what I need to survive."

"Do I look like I give a shit what your reasons are? But see, I'm a generous man, and, besides, we always need recruits. So you have got a choice, which I think you'll agree is remarkably kind of me, seeing as to how much you've been 'informed' about me." 

"You can work for us," he went on, "or not. The 'not' tends to involve you lying dead in an alley somewhere if you carry on the way you are doing, and don't leave the city. So I'd recommend the first, but it's your choice."

There wasn't much to think about, really. "I'll join."

"Good! See, that was easy. I see potential for you, if you play your cards right. You got skill, at a young age, and, while, let's face it, you do kind of stand out in a crowd, we can always use skill. You're going to get real money, not just living hand to mouth like you have been. Just remember to always give us a cut, or it'll be the worse for you."

"And you come when we call, you do what we ask, when we ask it, and you don't argue when that happens. There's no being independent in this city. You're ours now, for always."

──◊──

A few years ago

All things considered, the room wasn't in that bad a state. True, there were a couple of corpses being dragged into it, bodyguards that they'd had to eliminate after she'd helped them break in. Past, it had to be said, quite an impressive array of traps. But otherwise, the rich furniture and decorative artwork had hardly been disturbed. She could tell that the head of the Thieves' Guild lived in high style.

He, of course, was now kneeling in the middle of the room, ropes wrapped around his bulging torso and a wide gag over his mouth. He looked, she reflected, more angry than scared, dark eyes glaring at the people around him, defiant in the face of their treachery. His wife and teenage son, trussed up beside him, looked far more worried. As well they might be.

A newcomer stepped into the room, ducking his head under the doorway because of his height. 

"Good evening, Berat," said the Rake. Berat looked at him with disgust. "No last words? Never mind. It was always going to come to an end eventually. You did know that, right? Nobody lasts forever in your position. Although, frankly, now that it's mine, I'm going to give it my best shot."

Nobody else said anything, letting the Rake speak. He was head of the Thieves' Guild now, not Berat. There would be adjustments after the coup, but they, at least, were on the right side of it. Zarenis herself was just the assistant, one of the crew that had helped them get in, although she expected a few considerations in return. But many of the others would be rewarded with senior positions in the new order, as Berat's more loyal lieutenants were, even now, being cleared away elsewhere.

"You have to admit, you haven't done too badly out of it so far," the Rake continued, waving his hand towards some of the artwork. "it's a nice place. But now that I am you -- as it were -- there is the small question of what we do with you. Although I imagine you have already guessed the general plan."

Berat stared at the traitor, his composure still not broken. But then, as one of the soon-to-be Guild lieutenants pulled his wife to her feet, at last some more fearful expression began to cross his face. The woman let out a terrified whimper, and the son cowered, too frightened to even look in his mother's direction.

"What are you doing, Scaggs?" asked the Rake.

"Takin' 'er upstairs; I don't want everyone else watching while I fuck her, do I? Though the rest of yer is welcome to form a queue outside the room, if yer like."

The woman let out a small scream behind the gag, and her legs trembled, so that she would have fallen had Scaggs not been holding onto her. Zarenis clutched her fists, helplessly. She had guessed this might happen, but even though she had come here prepared to kill, to do this as well seemed... somehow less clean.

"We don't have time," said the Rake.

"It won't take long." Somebody snorted at that, and Scaggs looked around in annoyance.

"I said: we don't have time." The Rake's voice was level, but full of menace, and Scaggs reluctantly pushed the woman back onto the floor. "Does anyone else want to ignore what I tell them?"

"Oh, good. Because now I am the head of this organisation. I got you here, and I will reward those who helped me, but woe betide anyone who thinks they can cross me. The man in front of you tried to cross me, and he was in a good deal stronger position than any of you are. Make no mistake, I am in charge now."




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 41



"If you think this change means you can do what you like, think again. I own you, all of you." He grinned suddenly, a feral smile that did not reach his eyes, "but tomorrow, when these three are out of the way, we celebrate."

──◊──

The Future?

Zarenis sprawled back across the cushions, revelling in the feel of their soft satin, and took a sip of fine wine from a golden goblet. She was wearing a tight sleeveless top that left her midriff bare, high boots and a skirt that reached half way down her thighs. 

She had taken on her favourite form, making her heritage clear to all, but not to the full extent that it had on her first encounter with the censer, before she had learned to control it at will. Her horns were prominent, curving spikes two inches in length, not the small nubs they had been in her former life, and a slender tail with a barbed tip curled against the cushions. Her eyes were garnet, not pure red; she had tried them brown, and human-like, but, in the end she had decided that she liked their natural colour. It reminded her of who she was.

"Ah, Amloth," she said, waving a hand as the drow entered the room, "how goes it with the Jalibian ambassador?"

"He has seen sense, as the Presence knew he would. The threat of our demonic forces has unnerved him, and he has brought gifts for us. Pearls, rare woods, exotic artworks, and..." she held out her hand, "this amber necklace, for you."

"Oh, I like that!" said Zarenis, leaping to her feet and stepping over to the drow woman to examine the necklace more closely. "Yes, that is nice. Very fine." She put it on, admiring the way that it glittered in the light from the great pillar of fire that shone from beyond the archway.

"So," she said, "everything is fine? The Jalibians will trade with us, and the city will be wealthy?"

"We could press for more," said Amloth, "for preferred trading status. They still do not fear us as much as they could, and perhaps we could persuade them to crush their paladins... or whatever their equivalent is. Our demons are strong, urging for a fight, I say we give them one, show the Jalibians the true cost of not bowing to our will."

"And I say we don't," said Zarenis, "certainly not yet. We are the great demon city, but that does not mean that we should antagonise our neighbours unnecessarily. And the demons will do as I tell them, for that is the will of the Presence."

"Oh, don't look so petulant, Amloth. I know that when you conducted the ceremony, you thought that you would be ruler of Haredil, that you would be the Presence's chief acolyte on this world. But you are not -- I am. It was always me, all along, that was my destiny, why I was created. My demonic blood binds me to the Presence like nobody else, and now that I am its living conduit, if you even thought about betraying me... well, you know what it would do to you."

"But don't worry about it -- you are my High Priestess, my deputy. Certainly higher than Scaggs and Valmor and all the rest. I mean, really, what do we even need a Thieves' Guild for anyway, these days? He took over from the Rake, but so what? And, in a city of demons, a priestess is always going to be more influential than a magician."

"You're important, Amloth," she said, leaning over to pat the woman's cheek, "of course you are. But no mortal being will have authority over me, ever again. The people of this city worship me as an avatar of the Presence, and even the demons follow my every command. I have everything I could ever want -- even this lovely necklace!"

She laughed at Amloth's expression, a mixture of wounded pride and affronted shock. "Oh, why can't I be frivolous from time to time? I can be whatever I want, whenever I want. I just never had the chance to do this before! Oh, and speaking of fun..." 

She turned round, and jabbed a manicured finger towards one of the human guards standing to attention at the periphery of the room. "You! You get to join me in my bedroom tonight." She swished her tail, "infernal delights await you, and, believe me, they're always the best kind."

"Thank you, your highness!" gasped the guard, an exultant grin spread across his face.

Zarenis winked at him, then turned back towards Amloth, her face serious again. "Back to business. How goes my latest decree?"

──◊──

Zarenis woke suddenly, staring at the ceiling above her. The dream had been vivid, contrasting her former life as a servant or victim to others, against what could be hers if only she anointed the sceptre. Amloth would be the last person ever to try to manipulate her, for soon, the tables would be turned. 

She might not become that woman in the last part of the dream, but that was the point. She could become whatever she wanted to be. No more living like this, in a tiny garret, no more bowing to the Thieves' Guild, or anyone else. She could be the master of her own destiny, the powerful, feared, and beloved ruler of Haredil. It would all be so simple, just one little sacrifice.

She slipped from the bed, and ran her hand across one of the sharp spikes of the sceptre until a drop of blood fell onto the crystal. It flared into light, a powerful golden glow that flooded the room.

Zarenis was going to be a princess, after all. 



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 42



It hadn't taken Almandar long to find her. If you asked those who liked their music, and knew the local entertainers, she was distinctive enough that it really took very little effort indeed to learn where she was performing tonight. He was lucky that she had been in the city at all, of course, because she often travelled elsewhere, as bards were wont to, but once he knew that she was, it had been easy enough to find the right tavern.

He heard her even before he entered the room, her clear voice floating out onto the street. The patrons were quiet, enraptured; there was no hubbub of conversation while she performed. And there she was, as he walked in to stand at the back, near the bar. A flicker of recognition, of surprise, crossed her face, but it was momentary, and her performance did not halter for a second. It was unlikely anyone else would even have noticed, such was her professionalism.

He hadn't seen her for years, for all that they had so much in common. In a way, perhaps, he had more in common with Yarai than anyone else in the city, yet he had been avoiding her. He wasn't sure how she would react to seeing him now, after all this time, and the brief flicker across her face as he had walked in was not enough to give him a clue. Perhaps she would be the one who would avoid him. He hoped not, because that would make things awkward... well, more awkward than they were going to be anyway.

He should have sought her out before, really. But instead, he had taken the obvious course, looking for records in the College library, trying to find some explanation for what had happened in the distant past, and for why it might be happening again now. Yarai knew all the old legends; she would have made an excellent source. But he had pushed the possibility to the back of his mind, putting off the inevitable encounter.

And, in the end, of course, it hadn't worked, because here he was. With a woman with whom he shared one unique bond, at least so far as the city of Haredil was concerned.

She was playing the lute as she sang, slender fingers dancing over the strings, the instrument complementing the almost unnatural clarity of her voice, still fresh and beautiful after all these years. She didn't look a day older... but then, she wouldn't. Fair hair tumbled about her face in ringlets, blue-grey eyes glittering in the lamp light. She wasn't looking at him, not since that first glance, but every other eye in the tavern was focussed on her, his own included.

She wore a long-sleeved white blouse under a blue, sleeveless jerkin, trimmed in silver, and dark, tight fitting, leggings that emphasised, rather than concealed, the shape of her long legs. Her black boots were high, almost knee-length, folded over at the top to reveal a paler lining -- they looked decorative, but, if you looked closely you could see the tough soles that made them so practical for a life on the road.

She wore long ear-rings, he noticed, each one a golden filigree in the shape of a butterfly's wings, with a tiny blue sapphire in the centre. They drew his eyes upward, to the curving points of her ears, prominent against her rich golden curls.

For Yarai was a half-elf. 

There were few elves in the city. The dwarves and gnomes were numerous enough to have their own quarters, a few streets where they could live in a home away from home, surrounded by others of their kind. But elves had never been that plentiful, not here in Haredil. It was perhaps the local environment, too dry for forests, semi-arid scrubland the most you could find away from irrigated farmland or city parks, neither of which held the natural allure which elves liked. Which wasn't to say that there weren't elves, of course. There were always a few, such as Calleslyn, many of them passing through, and a few with reason to stay here for longer. But there were never many, which was why their culture seemed so mysterious to many of the humans here. And where there were few elves, and fewer still that were not transients, there were, of course, even fewer half-elves.

Apart from himself, Yarai was the only half-elf he knew that had been born in Haredil, and that had always given them something of a shared perspective. He had met others, of course, on rare occasions, passing through from elsewhere, but in Haredil itself... there was only her. Her story was much the same as his, in that respect -- an elven man, passing through, who had had a brief liaison with a human woman before leaving for who knew where. He was probably out there still, as his own father must be, perhaps living a care free life without ever worrying what had happened to his child. Elves, sometimes, could be flighty.

She finished the song, to a round of enthusiastic applause -- in which, of course, Almandar joined. He was deciding how best to approach her when he realised there was no need; she had hooked her lute over her shoulder, and was heading straight for him, taking plaudits from the crowd as she did so. He hurriedly ordered a goblet of wine from the barman, and it arrived just as she pulled up a stool next to him.

He passed it over, and she took it, rather grudgingly, he thought.

"It's been a few years," said Yarai, looking at him sideways, not meeting his direct gaze. Her voice, even when speaking normally, was still musical, a gift from her elven heritage that he did not quite share.

"You've been out of the city, so have I... I guess we just didn't meet up."

"Right..." she said, with a tone that said she didn't believe a word of it, "For all those years... yeah, that would explain it."

"We've been both been busy. It's not that I didn't want..."

"Please, spare me," she said, still looking ahead, "I'm not that foolish."

"No, you're not."

"Love 'em and leave 'em," she said, "I can tell which side of the family you got that from."

"Sorry... I should have..." he wasn't sure what to say. This, after all, had been why he had been avoiding her. He hadn't wanted this conversation.

"And it never occurred to you," said the bard, suddenly turning to face him properly, "that I might be the same as you? It's half of my family, too."

He was silent this time, uncomfortable, and feeling that anything he said might only make things worse.

"Still," she said eventually, "you're back now. I'm glad you changed your mind." Her face, on the verge of a smile, suddenly went hard as she saw his expression. She turned away again, pointedly not looking at him. "Aw, crap. You want something don't you? That's what this is about. You didn't want to see me. You need a favour, so you decided to turn up out of the blue after a few years of avoiding me. You've got some nerve."

"Look... sorry, it's really important, and if I could turn anywhere else..."

"You'd still be ignoring me," she said, turning back to face him again, delicate eyebrows set in a frown, "yes, I'm getting that message."

"That's not what I meant."

"Sounds like you did."

"You're making this difficult."

"That's the idea, yes."

He drew breath, steadying himself rather than replying straight away. Then he tried another tactic. "Look, you're the best bard I know, I just want to use that skill. It's nothing you wouldn't do anyway. I'll pay you, if you really want."

She actually laughed at that, a brief tinkling like musical notes. "What makes you think I'd want your money?"

"Well, whatever. Forget the money. I need a legend, and who better to go to? Reciting stories, it's part of what you do, Perhaps I can give you some in return... I'm an adventurer, I have tales to tell."

Yarai looked at him appraisingly, the slender fingers of one hand tapping on the bar top beside her. "This really is important to you, isn't it? What legend?" She sounded curious now.

"All I have is a name, or perhaps a word: Throndar. Do you know what that means?"

"Wow..." she said, breathing out, "the legend of Throndar. That's an old one, and not one I've told in a long time. What do you want that for?"

"But you remember it?" he said, ignoring the question.

"Of course, I remember it," she said, looking slightly offended, "I'm a bard, remember? Now why do you want to hear it?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet, anyway."

"You don't trust me."

"It's not that, it's... it's complicated."

Yarai's blue-grey eyes widened. "It's back, isn't it?"

"Is what back?"

"Why else would you want to know a legend that old?"

"I can tell you the story afterwards. When it's over."

She looked him over again, eyes alive with interest now, a smile on her lips. "Very well. It's agreed. I'll tell you the legend of Throndar, and you... first, you don't wander off for so long next time. You come and see me occasionally, all right? And, when you've done whatever you've done to save us all from you-know-what, you give me all the details. There could be another legend in it, Deal?"

"Deal," he said, relieved, "I promise."

"Right," she said, beaming, and stood up, walking through the crowd for a short distance before stopping and turning back towards him. "Are you coming?"

"Coming where? I thought you were..."

"I think this is a story better told in private, don't you? Considering you won't even tell me why you want to hear it. Even though I can guess."

"Yes, right." He had to admit that made sense. "So...?"

"So come up to my room. I'll tell you there. Come on!"

──◊──

Yarai carefully placed her lute onto a cushioned chair beside the bed, patting it almost reverently before pulling off her jerkin and hanging it over the back of the chair. 

"What are you doing?" asked Almandar as the bard began to pull her blouse free of her leggings.

"You need to ask?"

He frowned, puzzled. This wasn't quite what he had expected.

"You, me," she said, as if explaining the obvious, "in a room with a comfortable bed. How did you think it was going to end? We might as well get on with it."

"I thought you were angry with me?" he ventured.

"I am!" said Yarai, putting her hands on her hips, "you walked off and left me, just because, what -- we had a fling and you didn't want to talk about it afterwards? If course I'm mad at you, who the hell wouldn't be?"

"So, uh..." he waved feebly towards her, the white blouse hanging out of one side of the band of her leggings.

"So, you fool, you have years to make up for. I told you, I'm like you. Maybe it's part of what we are, I don't know. But if you think I'm going to let you get away with simply saying you're sorry, you're mistaken." She pulled the other side of her blouse free, and stood on one leg to pull off a boot. "You're going to have to do a lot more than that to make it up to me, believe me."

He held up a hand as she began to remove the other boot. "I'm sorry, but maybe later. For once, I really don't have the time."

"You don't have the time?" she threw the boot to the floor, and took a step forward, her eyes glaring.

"I promised someone I'd do this quickly," he said, weakly, "just learn the legend and..."

"You don't have the time?" Yarai repeated, reaching forward and grabbing him by the tunic. "Well, you'd better make the time, because... because..." she crumpled slightly, her voice becoming more quiet, "because I've missed you. Not just for this, though the goddess knows it was some of the best I've ever had, but because you're you. You understand what we've been through. As half-elves. You know what it's like, with the people around you aging faster than you do, never having childhood friends for long, because they outgrow you, just standing out because we're different... all of that. I could talk to you, and you'd get it."

"And it's been a long time without any of that, and, quite frankly, I haven't been with a man for a couple of months. I'm not asking for commitment, I'm not even asking you to carry on where we left off, but right now," she leaned up close to him, her breath warm on his face, as she lowered her voice to a husky whisper, "I am as randy as I've felt in ages, and I really don't care what you have time for. So if you want to hear this legend, you've got to make it up to me first."

Her lips brushed against his. "Please?"

He responded, kissing her softly, to see how she would react. She melted into him, a musical sigh on her lips, pressing up against him, her arms around his waist, tongue pressing into his mouth, warm body against his. They remained like that for a long moment, just kissing, his hands exploring her back through the fabric of her blouse, re-acquainting themselves with fondly remembered curves.

Then she pulled free, a wild grin on her face and took a few steps back before throwing herself onto the bed, and turning round to face him, curling hair falling over her forehead, legs slightly apart, bare toes wiggling. Almandar hurriedly unbuttoned his tunic, discarding it as he climbed onto the bed beside her, followed by his shirt.

She was a beautiful woman, one he had known for a long time, and, much as he had enjoyed making love to her before, he had never quite known how she would react. Certainly, she seemed to have been happy enough at the time, but he hadn't been comfortable with it, not after the fact. She said she didn't want commitment, he reflected, as her hands began to wander across his bare chest, nails digging into his flesh just enough to be noticeable without really hurting. Perhaps she was like him; they shared a lot, after all.

He deftly undid the drawstring of her leggings, pulling them down over her hips. They were tight, and she wriggled a bit on the bed as he began to peel them back, revealing her long legs inch by inch, until at last he was able to pull them over her feet and drop them onto the floor at the end of the bed.

Her legs were, he had to admit, one of her best features. They were graceful and smooth, with perfect calves and rounded thighs, a long expanse of soft pale skin. He raised one of her feet to his mouth, kissing her ankle. She wriggled her toes, grinning as she did so, and he moved to kiss them, too, sucking gently on each one in turn, before running his nose along the side of her foot, planting a kiss on the soft spot above her heel.

Yarai let out a contended sigh, in that distinctive way of hers, which made it sound almost as if she were singing softly. Never had he met anyone so obviously destined to become a bard. 

His kisses moved up her calf now, hands caressing the smooth skin, tongue darting out to taste her. His fingers brushed the back of her knee as his lips moved ever on, the curving expanse of her thighs beckoning. He shifted his position, having to move his head closer to the bed now, and ran his free hand over her other leg as his kisses moved ever so slowly upward.

His left hand moved up over her hip as his kisses reached the white fabric of Yarai's panties. He could see a slight dot of moisture forming between her legs as he trailed the tip of his tongue down the inside of her thighs, his right hand caressing the smooth flesh as he did so. He moved until he was kneeling between her legs and moved up to kiss the expanse of her belly, gently pushing the blouse up to bunch under her breasts. The bard's hand ruffled his hair, trailing down to run her index finger over the lobe of one of his ears.

He pressed his lips into her skin, moving down again until they brushed against the hem of her panties. Deftly, he pulled up the edge of the fabric with his mouth, holding it in his teeth then peeling it back, pulling the piece of clothing down as she shifted her buttocks to free it. Soon, Yarai's panties were around her thighs, exposing her sex to his view. Releasing them, he kissed the hair on her mound, trailing his lips up from there towards her navel.

Gently, she pushed his head down again, whispering "not yet." It was clear what she wanted, and he was more than happy to oblige.

He kissed the inside of each of her thighs in turn, moving his hands to pull her buttocks slightly up off the bed as she pulled her legs wider apart, and then shifted one onto his shoulder. She shuddered as he kissed her sex, running his tongue along the slit, tracing her swollen pussy lips with those of his mouth. Then he darted his tongue inside, taking small, discrete laps at her moisture, teasing her, caressing her folds with his mouth and making her cry out with pleasure.

He moved in deeper then, lapping at her, tongue sliding inside her, first flicking her clit and then sucking on it as he pressed himself against her sex. He glanced up, saw her body arching against the bed-sheets, free hand gripping the pillow above her head as the other still trailed in his hair. She cried out, then, murmuring something he could not quite hear, pulled her blouse up over her head, dropping it beside the bed. Her hand moved from his head to her own small yet rounded breasts, caressing them, fondling her small pink nipples as she let out small sighs of encouragement.

Almandar did not need encouragement. Her taste was familiar against his tongue, her smell familiar to his nostrils, taking him back to previous times they had made love, so long ago now. He knew exactly what she liked, how to make her squirm, even how to make her beg, although he wouldn't try that now. Hers was the first cunt he had ever tasted, the first time he had gone down on a woman, as a young man, and that time he had driven her to orgasm with his tongue alone. Hearing her cries now made him feel young, invigorated, bringing him back to a comforting past, before he had even become an adventurer.

At last he relented, climbing up onto his knees to look down at her naked body spread out below him on the bed. He pulled his shoes off and began to unbuckle his belt, and she sat up on her elbows to help him, pulling his trews down to expose his burgeoning erection. Her hands ran along its length, and he could feel the slight calluses on their tips, the signs of her playing the lute. 

Yarai flashed him a quick grin, flicking back some of her curls over pointed earlobes, her face flushed, eyes wide. She fondled his balls with gentle motions, and leaned forward, teasing down his foreskin, and planting a kiss on the swollen head beneath. His cock jerked, pressing against her soft cheek, but she only moved back, lying down on the bed again, looking up at him, legs akimbo, one hand pulling apart her damp pussy lips. 

Almandar wriggled out of the last of his clothes, and changed his position, squatting on hands and knees over her, one leg either side of her head. Then he lowered himself, his own hand replacing hers to probe into her cunt as he ran his tongue over her inner thighs, then finally dipped it once again into the seat of her pleasure.

The bard let out another, enchanting, musical moan, and reached out to caress his buttocks before lowering him down until his erect cock rested against her chin. With a deft movement, she pulled it into her mouth, not using her hands, her lips at first running over the head then sliding further up as he gratefully lowered himself onto her face.

Almandar alternately sucked on the half-elf's clit and moved his tongue through the depths of her cunt, occasionally teasing her with the tip of a finger. Her moans were muffled now, her usual musical tone dampened as he slowly moved his cock back in forth in her mouth, saliva coating it, her pink tongue almost wrapping itself around him. The tip was almost against the back of her throat, just short of making her gag. She slid him out, but only to kiss and nibble at his balls before pressing him back inside again.

Their hands caressed each other's bodies, feeling every familiar curve -- she really did not seem to have aged -- as their mouths hungrily devoured their partner's sex. Yarai's breasts pressed against the magician's abdomen, her chest rising and falling as they surrendered to the pleasure.

At last though, he pulled free, lying beside her on the bed as they rested for a while. Sweat coated both their bodies, and Yarai giggled as he blew against her belly, a cold draught against the moist skin.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 42



After a little while, she rolled over onto her front, legs kicking in the air, looking back at him with a contended smile, white teeth showing, long hair trailing over the pillow. He ran a hand along her back, feeling the shape of it, before rubbing and teasing her buttocks. "Ready for more?" he asked, placing a kiss on her shapely bottom.

"Mmm hmm," was her only reply, but he needed nothing else.

He moved behind her, stroking her long legs as he eased them apart again. He pressed his cock up against her pussy, just rubbing against it, softly teasing her as she raised her hips up towards him. He could wait no longer, and at last pushed himself between her lips, eliciting a soft moan of contentment. He pulled himself out, then pressed in again, this time beginning a slow rhythm and making her pant with appreciation.

Yarai rose up on her knees, Almandar still slowly pushing himself in and out of her damp pussy. She pressed one hand against the wall to steady herself, and slid the other down her belly to rub against the front of her slit, fingering herself, and sometimes stroking his shaft as he continued to impale her. He held onto her with both hands as he quickened his pace, one hand fondling a perfect breast, rolling the pink nipple between his fingers.

The bard gasped and cried as he thrust into her, needing no words, the magic of her voice driving him on without further exhortation. He leaned forward, nibbling one pointed ear, the dangling earring fluttering against his chin. Yarai's cries became louder, her body writhing in his hands, smooth back against his chest, heaving breast in one hand, long, shapely legs gripping his as she pressed her hips harder back against him, taking him ever deeper inside.

She called out his name, and he once again increased the motion of his thrusts, their flesh now slapping together as the bed creaked beneath them, pounding repeatedly into her eager cunt. Yarai was letting out a long warbling cry now, the pitch changing in time with his motion, and he marvelled at how musical her voice still sounded, even now, in the depths of her passion.

They climaxed together, an explosion of delight, and Yarai slid off him, dropping back down onto the bedsheets, clutching the pillow to her chest. A last drop of his cum fell onto one thigh before he rolled away to lie panting beside her. She reached over, kissing him, hugging him to herself as she pressed her face into his chest.

"Oh, that is payment enough," she whispered, "you're forgiven. For now, at least."

"Thanks," he said, "although if this is the punishment, I'm thinking maybe I should let you down more often."

She hit him with the pillow. "Don't you dare, Almandar!"

"It was a joke!" he protested, grinning.

She didn't say anything else, but moved up to sit on the bed beside him, looking down, at his naked body, her expression suddenly serious as she flipped away a loose strand of hair from her sweat-slicked face.

"What?" he said.

"Remember why you're here?" she said softly. "It's time for you to hear the Legend of Throndar..."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 43



Throndar raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The land he was travelling through was dry and dusty, and he had not seen a cloud for days. The occasional hardy bush or thorn tree broke the monotony, but this was not a good place for living.

Not that he minded, for Throndar was a barbarian, born and raised in lands not much less harsh than this, skills and reflexes honed in a dangerous environment, to become one of the greatest warriors in his tribe. That tribe was gone now, slain by evil sorcery, and Throndar wandered the world alone, a freebooter and mercenary in search of plunder and riches. 

He was a tall man, standing six feet and four inches in height, but powerfully built, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps. Like all the people of his former tribe, he wore little, especially in the warm climate of this land, with leather boots, a wide belt about his waist, a loincloth of thick fur and naught else but his sword belt and a small bag of provisions. The hot sun glistened on his bare chest, his powerful muscles well defined beneath the lightly tanned skin.

***

"So, when is this set, exactly? I mean, when did it happen?"

"Hush. It'll all become clear."

***

Throndar's attention had been caught by a wisp of smoke on the horizon. It was there again, intermittent, but undeniably real. Shading his eyes, he could make out a collection of rocks near the source of the smoke. Some of them might even be buildings, although nothing grandiose. But who would live out here, and why light a fire in the middle of the day? 

There was not enough smoke, he reflected, to be the signs of destruction -- a burned caravan, perhaps. No, he had stumbled across some other traveller, or a native of these desolate lands. If it was the latter, at least there might be water. But there might also be trouble, and Throndar walked towards the mysterious site cautiously, eyes and ears alert for any sign of hostility.

As he got closer he saw that what had appeared to be buildings were only ruins, simple stone structures that showed signs of recent fire damage, a few blocks of rubble lying nearby. They stood on top of a ridge, obscuring the terrain beyond from his current vantage point. Despite the fire damage, though, the smoke could not be from any great pyre; indeed, it seemed so pale and slight that he doubted now that it could even be from a camp fire. In fact... was it even smoke, or intermittent puffs of steam?

Throndar reached the top of the ridge, eyeing the ruins to make sure they were empty, and looked over into the land beyond. There was an oasis there, trees and greenery in greater profusion than he had seen in many days of travel, and, scattered amongst them, a few more ruined buildings and pools of open water. The puffs of what he was sure now were steam came from cracks in the natural rocks strewn hereabout. 

He dipped his hand into one of the smaller rock pools. The water was warm, heated, perhaps, by some mysterious underground source. Which would explain the steam, but would the water be drinkable? The fact that there were trees and greenery here suggested it could not be too poisonous, but then, Throndar was not a tree.

The barbarian's keen eyes spotted a footprint in the dusty ground, and his hand reached for his sword, suddenly wary. Looking about, he could see more footprints. Some were made by crude sandals, but others looked to be bare feet, larger than those of most men, with splayed toes that the experienced tracker knew could mean only one thing.

Orcs!

He heard a footfall behind him, and whirled, drawing his sword from the scabbard in one swift movement. An orc was creeping up on him, wielding a scimitar, and dressed in patchy leather that would offer only minimal protection. It snarled, large yellowish tusks jutting from its jaws to give it a fearsome appearance, but one that held no fear for Throndar. He had faced orcs many times before, and always triumphed. He battered aside the creature's weapon with his own, slashing across its chest causing a deep gouge that made it hiss in pain. For a moment, its scimitar dipped, and the barbarian's next blow severed its arm at the elbow.

The orc let out an agonised high-pitched scream as it collapsed to the ground in a spray of blood. Suddenly, two more orcs appeared, charging towards the barbarian warrior as he readied his bloodied sword to take them on. He dodged the swipe of one scimitar as he slashed out at the other assailant, only for his blow to be parried. He ducked, spinning round to jab his sword at the first orc, receiving a satisfying grunt of pain as it bit into the creature's side. 

The second orc's scimitar grazed against his leg, a minor wound, but one that could have been much worse. Turning to face it, he gave out a loud battle cry, and forced it backwards with a flurry of blows it was barely able to block. All its concentration on defending itself against Throndar's attack, the orc stumbled over an unseen rock, and that gave the human all the opportunity he needed to stab his weapon into the undefended greyish-green skin of its belly.

Turning with panther-like grace, Throndar brought his sword up and around at the injured orc now coming up behind him, the tip of his blade slashing up across its throat and bringing it down. He could already see more orcs springing up as if from nowhere, and could only assume that they must have been somewhere below ground when he arrived. His grin as he ran at them was savage, and soon steel was clashing against steel as the feral humanoids sought to take out the raging force of nature they had unleashed.

The orcs were skilled warriors, tough and resilient, but even though he was outnumbered, they were no match for Throndar's ferocity and killer instincts. Soon, there was but one orc left standing, with the others dead or dying at Throndar's feet, yet while the barbarian was bloodied, he scarcely noticed the pain from his few wounds. 

The last orc, a slimmer and younger specimen than those he had already defeated, evidently saw sense and bolted. Throndar chased after it, leaping over the bodies of the fallen, and saw it vanish into an opening in the side of one of the ruined buildings. Not stopping to think, he followed it inside, eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness as he found himself at the head of a stone stairway descending into unknown depths.

He reached the bottom of the steps, illuminated only by a glimmer of light from up above. At first he could not see the orc but then a snarling face appeared in front of him, reaching out of some hidden alcove. The space was too small for either of them to bring their swords to bear, and the creature had lunged at him with a dagger. He caught its fist before it could strike home and slammed the orc back against the cold stone of the passageway. They were face to face, the orc's breath hot against his skin, its yellow eyes staring into his, tusks slashing just inches from his skin as he met its growl with one of his own. They struggled for control of the knife, arms locked in a battle of strength, legs kicking out at one another with little effect.

Throndar was the stronger, and the orc hissed with shock as the dagger bit into its own chest. It tried to drop the weapon, but the barbarian was too quick, catching it and jabbing it between the creature's ribs, silencing it for good with a single stab to the heart. He released the orc, which slid down the wall, already dead as blood began to pool around it.

Throndar stood still, regaining his breath, coming down from the animalistic rage that had coursed through his body during the fight. Instinct had taken over, allowing him to leave a trail of carnage behind him without the distractions of more reasoned thought. Now he had time to reflect, and to wonder where he had found himself.

He was standing in a stone passageway, better built than he would expect of orcs, although whether they had had assistance or had merely commandeered it from some previous owner was unclear, and might always remain so. His eyes caught a glimmer of light from somewhere beyond, and he reflected that even orcs needed illumination to see, if not as much as humans did. There might be more down here, or they might at least have some loot taken from unwary merchant caravans, or from the previous occupants of the site, Either way, he had to explore the passage, and see where it led.

After wiping his sword clean, Throndar strode on down the darkened corridor, alert for any sign of further orcs. Soon he came to a fork, but the light came from only one direction, so that was the one he took. It rapidly became lighter, until he could see an archway ahead, the glow from beyond it steady and golden, perhaps the result of some sorcerous spell rather than true fire.

He edged closer to the arch, seeing nothing but a bare stone wall on the far side of the chamber beyond. But there was a sound, as if of someone moving out of his field of view. He raised his sword and leapt into the room, ready to strike.

He was greeted, not by an orcish yell, but by a feminine squeak of fear. The chamber was strewn with what had to be orcish bed rolls and provisions, but its only occupant was a human woman, cowering in the corner.

"Please don't hurt me!" she cried, holding her hands over her head, knees hunched up against her chest.

"You are a prisoner of the orcs?"

She nodded, stifling a sob, "they were going to kill me, I'm sure of it! Or... or worse. Please don't hurt me!"

"Fear not, fair lady," he informed her, "for I am Throndar the Mighty, and I have come to rescue you!"

***

"What, he actually talked like that?"

"Apparently, yes."

***

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" she scrambled to her feet, a great look of relief upon her face.

Throndar could not help but notice that she was a well-proportioned woman, although slender and weak as civilised women often were. She had long black hair that contrasted sharply with remarkably pale skin and clear blue eyes. Considering her ordeal, her clothing was in remarkably good condition, a long black skirt slit to one side to show off a shapely leg, a tight bodice and a low-cut sleeveless top, also black, that displayed a most impressive cleavage. The orcs had not even removed the silver and emerald necklace that clasped around her neck. Perhaps they had not yet had time.

"How many orcs were there?"

"Eight, that I saw. But they might have fellows elsewhere, so we must leave quickly!"

Throndar realised that he actually had no idea how many orcs he had just killed. He hadn't exactly been counting, although he was fairly sure there had been at least six. Still, if they had any treasure, it was not here, so perhaps they should leave now, and he could decide what else to do once he had learned more.

"Very well," he said, "stay close to me, and I will deliver you from this place."

She quickly ran over to join him, and stared fearfully down the corridor that he had emerged from. There didn't seem to be any orcs there at the moment.

"Thank you, Throndar," she said, "I will be most grateful once I am free. Very grateful, indeed!" She placed a hand on his bare chest and leaned in close, as if to kiss him.

"There will be time for that..." he began, just as she threw a handful of white dust in his face. "What are you... uurgh..." Throndar felt his knees go weak as his head began to swim. He looked at the woman in confusion as the world span around him, his sword clattering from suddenly nerveless fingers. Seconds later, he slumped to the floor unconscious.

──◊──

When he came round, Throndar found himself chained to a wall. The chain was a heavy one, tightly wrapped around his chest and secured by bolts in the wall, giving him almost no opportunity to move. His hands were bound in front of him by a smaller chain, and, even had he not been disarmed, there was little he could have done to fight.

He was in a high, domed, chamber, much larger than the one he had seen previously, and he was not alone.

The first person he noticed was, of course, the woman, who was smirking at him as he shook his head to clear it of the last of the magical drug. He had, he realised, been foolish to be so easily captured -- she had, after all, been in a far better state than any genuine orcish prisoner was likely to be. His eyes flicked from her to his sword, lying just a foot or so away, although it might as well have been a mile, and then to the other human standing with them.

He was a tall man, although not so tall as Throndar himself, and remarkably thin and pale. He was dressed in long black robes with a purple trim and decorated with arcane symbols that left his profession in no doubt.

"I see our prisoner awakes," said the man, "good work, Shelazzar, he shall be of most use to us tonight. Truly, the infernal forces bless our enterprise." He looked at Throndar, "know then, barbarian, that you are the prisoner of Yluk Tz'n'o Razht-Abar, the Renegade Sorceror-Deacon of Phleng!"

***

"Seriously?"

"Oh, be quiet. There's some important stuff about to happen."

***

"It as well for you, wizard, that I am bound, for I would slay you where you stand if I were free."

"And, yet, you are not free! No, you are my prisoner, and yet, with greater good fortune than you can know. For, tonight, you shall bear witness to my ultimate triumph! The ceremony is all prepared, as you can see, and tonight, the signs in the heavens shall be right for its completion, and the coming of..." he paused, dramatically, "The Presence!"

"What's that, then?"

"Oh, you shall see, Throndar the Shackled! You shall see."

Throndar glowered at the man, but there was little he could do at the moment; the chains were simply too secure. What he could see about him was certainly sign of some kind of evil ceremony. There was an altar in the middle of the room, with a wicked looking knife and a bowl of the sort that he feared might be used to collect blood. Lying next to those was a strange metallic sceptre, adorned with runes and sharp spines. All of these things were sign enough of evil intent, but the chamber also contained three orcs.

They were different from the ones he had killed, not least because these were all females. Perhaps he had killed off all the menfolk, and only their women now remained. But, in any event, they were trussed up as firmly as he was, arms and legs bound by heavy ropes and with leather gags across their mouths. All three of them looked as fierce and angry as their males had done; as well they might, under the circumstances.

Two, he noticed, were wearing short dresses of dark leather, decorated with crude tribal marks, and with necklaces of animal teeth around their necks. The other was, so far as he could tell, the youngest of the three, although her greenish skin and wild black hair clearly emphasised her non-human nature. She had clearly once been dressed as the others, but perhaps she had put up more of a fight, because her clothing was torn, her skirt missing and her upper garment hanging loose on one side to expose a saggy green breast. Her bound legs were held up tight against her body, hiding much of it from view. As she shifted slightly in position, though, Throndar realised with surprise that her hairy buttocks were bare, and she apparently wore no loincloth.

"Well, who can blame me?" asked the wizard, seeing the direction of his gaze, "A bound and helpless woman, especially one as proud and fierce as an orc? It is not an opportunity to be missed. Oh, you should have seen the expression on her face!"

Throndar caught the disgusted glance that the woman -- Shelazzar -- threw towards her companion, but apparently the wizard did not notice.

"But, I am told that you have slain all the other orcs at my disposal," Yluk continued, "which is a nuisance, but not as much as it might have been at this time. I could do with a new warrior, though, once this is over. I don't suppose you would consider joining me? I know something of your people, and know what oaths you would have to swear to make you honour bound to serve me, so do not think about pretending. But swear that loyalty, and you will be rewarded beyond imagining. What do you say?"

Throndar spat, "do you think I am stupid, wizard?"

"Well, the thought had occurred to me, yes."

"I will never serve one such as you!"

The sorcerer shrugged, "ah, well, it was just an idea. No harm in trying."

"The time approaches, my lord," said Shelazzar, speaking for the first time since Throndar had woken.

"It does, indeed," cried the wizard, "Let us begin!"

He raised his arms in the air, and with a gesture the light in the room began to fade -- there must have been enchanted light sources somewhere out of Throndar's view -- and then the domed ceiling began to ripple. The captive warrior looked up with amazement as the roof seemed to vanish, giving an unobscured view of a moonless night sky.

The sorcerer strode over towards the altar, and one of the older trussed orcish women. "Take her legs," he told Shelazzar, and together they lifted the orc onto the altar.

The green-skinned female was thrashing about, trying to kick with her legs and throw herself off the altar top, muffled sounds that might have been furious curses emanating from behind the gag, but there was nothing she could do. The wizard grabbed the knife, raising it above his head before bringing it down in a spurt of dark blood. The other two orcs screamed in outrage, as much as they could behind the gags, but soon the victim had ceased her movements, and Yluk began gleefully carving signs into her body before rolling the bloodied and mutilated corpse off the altar top.

The second victim's screams were, if anything, louder and more prolonged than those of the first. Even Throndar, who had never really thought of orcs as more than monsters, closed his eyes to block out the horrible sight. Shelazzar looked disturbed too, he thought, although clearly determined to see the act through. But Yluk Tz'n'o was cackling with delight as he worked, revelling in the slaughter he was causing. And Throndar could do nothing to stop him.

He opened his eyes again when an orange light began to shine on them, and he felt a warmth against his skin. A disc of fiery light had appeared behind the altar, silhouetting the pair of evil humans against its glow. It grew to about a foot across, pulsing slowly, and the barbarian thought he could hear the beating of a distant heart.

"The Presence comes!" shouted the sorcerer, "the portal begins to open!" He rolled the second corpse off the altar, "let us bring the third sacrifice!"

The pair grabbed the remaining orc, who seemed to be shivering, chanting something over and over beneath the gag, her yellow eyes wide with fright, but not screaming as the others had. Throndar could see now that she was, as he had suspected, naked from the waist down, the orange light making fresh scratch marks visible around her hips and breasts.

"Oh, I wish we had more time," the sorcerer told her as they laid her down on the altar, seemingly resigned to her fate, for all that her bestial face was filled with an indescribable hatred. "Who would have dreamed that orcish pussy could be so hot?"

He laughed mockingly, raised the knife, and brought it down.

The disc of light surged, growing dramatically in size, until it was several feet across. Beyond was nothing but flame, although some shape moved about within, too obscured, or perhaps too ephemeral, to make out any details. The sound of the heartbeat was clearer now, filling the room with its steady thrum.

"You have served me well," Yluk told his female companion, "for the promise of power beyond all imagining. Soon, the Presence will be here, establishing a reign of demonic power here in the material world that will last for all eternity. Demons shall walk the wastes openly, and I shall be its high priest, its chief servant, the most powerful and feared mortal anywhere on the surface of the world! And you, I have promised you so much in return for your unstinting loyalty."




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 43



He paused, and grinned, as if remembering something. "Oh, yes, one other little requirement before the Presence physically enters the world. I almost forgot, in all the excitement. Yes, one little touch... I need some..." he raised his hands and a blast of blue-white lightning fired out, striking Shelazzar and flinging her across the room with its force. "... some betrayal!"

Laughing maniacally, the sorcerer grabbed the now-bloodied sceptre from the altar and raised it over his head. Throndar strained against the chains, but they were as fast as ever. Glancing across the room, he saw Shelazzar, lying where she had fallen, moving her head in his direction. She was not dead -- but how could that help him?

The answer came a second later, as the dark-haired woman cast a spell, fingers pointing in his direction as they rapidly formed a complex gesture. With a quiet click, the bolts that held him sprung loose, and Throndar was free, already reaching for his blade.

"It comes! It comes!" yelled Yluk Tz'n'o in triumph, looking towards the portal, and not seeing what was happening behind him, "nothing can stop me now! Nothing!"

Throndar rammed his sword through the sorcerer's chest.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." grumbled the wizard, before falling dead to the floor.

"Throw the sceptre through the portal!"

"What?" asked Throndar, confused.

"Throw it into the fire!" repeated Shelazzar, "so long as it's here, the Presence can still come through. We have to send it back where it came from, or we're all doomed."

"But you're on its side... uh, aren't you?"

"Not any more! Now throw the damn thing, you idiot!"

Throndar considered his options for a second. What she said made a sort of sense, and it certainly didn't look as if Yluk had been intending to throw the sceptre anywhere, so it wasn't as if she was tricking him into completing the ceremony on her behalf. Gambling that the sorcerer's betrayal had truly changed Shelazzar's mind, Throndar did as she said, picked up the sceptre and hurled it at the fiery portal.

There was a bang and a flash of light as the portal vanished. The sceptre, oddly enough, continued its flight through the air, clattering onto the stone flagging beyond as the room plunged into near total darkness. 

"Too late!" wailed the woman, before composing herself, "well, at least it can't come through without another ceremony. It's trapped half way between its world and our own now, and that sceptre is the key to releasing it. We'll have to take it with us."

"It is a thing of evil!"

"Then give it to me. You can destroy it later if you like, but we can't leave it here."

"Can you walk? I am surprised anyone could survive the magic he threw at you."

"This bodice is enchanted with defensive magic. He didn't know that. Idiot. I should have known never to trust him. Now come on! The illusion of the open sky," she gestured upwards, "will not last much longer, and then we won't even have starlight."

Her warning was well justified. She had barely had time to pick up the sceptre before the ceiling faded, and the room became pitch dark. As it was, they stumbled around for some time before finding the exit. From then on, Shelazzar had to lead him, remembering her way through the subterranean passages as best she could -- whatever magic she knew, it apparently didn't include any light spells. 

Her memory was not, however, the best, and she was evidently finding the navigation difficult. He thought he felt wind one time, and turned that way, in the hope it was towards the exit, but she firmly warned him away, insisting that only a trap lay in that direction.

"It's this way, follow me."

"I can't see you."

"Follow my voice, then. If I remember rightly, it's just a... " She left out a sharp yell as she fell into something with a loud splash.

After much thrashing about, Throndar was able to grab one of her arms and pull her from the water.

"I dropped it!" she wailed, "I dropped the damn sceptre! We've got to find it."

"Forget about it," he told her firmly, still holding onto her arm, "it's pitch dark, and it's as safely hidden in that pool or whatever it is, as it will be anywhere. I suggest we leave this accursed place."

"But if anyone finds it..."

"Unlikely, even if they do know what to do with it. Now come!" he yanked her arm, pulling her away. "Which way is it? Tell me!"

──◊──

Shelazzar shivered in the cold night air, wrapping her bare arms around her legs. "Well, we are free of that place," she said, "but what do we do now?"

"In the morning, we leave," Throndar informed her, "I can easily find my way across these wastes."

"I have to walk all that way in this dress?"

"It would seem so."

She tutted, "I can see there will be a lot of walking ahead. Couldn't you have brought a horse, or something?"

"Couldn't you?" She said nothing. "Are you sure there are no more orcs around?"

"No, they are definitely all dead. You slew most of them yourself."

"Good. Then there will be no one to disturb us," he said, rising to his feet.

"Uh, no, I guess not. Why, what did you have in mind?"

"You said you would be grateful if I rescued you. I have done as you asked."

"I was saying that to get the chance to knock you out. Not that I am ungrateful, mind. We would both be dead, without each other's help."

"Then we shall celebrate your decision to abandon evil!" said Throndar, undoing his belt and casting it aside. "For I, Throndar the Mighty, am well gifted in the arts of love, as well as those of battle. What say you, dark lady?"

"What?" she said, suddenly realising his intention, "is this your normal way of wooing women?"

"I find it successful among the tribes," he replied, slightly puzzled by her reaction, "Are civilised people so different?"

"They are generally less blunt."

"Oh. Well, I am not like your dead wizard; it gives me no pleasure to take one who is unwilling. So perhaps I can change your mind?"

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe once I've at least got to know you?"

Throndar considered this possibility, but it seemed to him a rather pointless way of deferring the inevitable, the sort of ridiculous thing that civilised people tended to do. The barbarian way of life was always so much simpler.

"There is but one thing you need to know, dark lady Shelazzar," he informed her, discarding his loincloth and baring himself to her gaze. "Behold," he said, "the might of Throndar!"

"Oh, for goodness sake! Do you have to be so..." she paused, before adding, somewhat reluctantly, "although, in fairness, I have to admit that that is worth boasting about."

She sat there, still on her haunches, back against a ruined stone wall, eyes fixed on his stiffening cock. He had little experience yet with civilised women, but he doubted that they were so meek and well mannered between the furs as they were when fully dressed. He looked forward to testing the theory out.

"Oh, what the heck... have it your way," she said at last, leaning forward to grip his erection. She pressed her face into it, lapping at his balls with her tongue, then...

***

"THIS is part of the legend?"

"I'm a bard, I extemporise. The legend does say they made love under the moonlight, and, quite frankly, I know my audience, and I elaborate on the bits I know they like. Come on, I don't often get to tell this kind of story."

"Sorry, go right ahead. I'm listening."

***

Still holding his cock, Shelazzar sucked Throndar's heavy balls, popping each into her mouth in turn, gently running her tongue over the skin. The barbarian sighed and closed his eyes, letting her continue, now licking the length of his shaft, pressing lips and tongue against his exposed tip as he groaned in pleasure.

His eyes snapped open as she stood up, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder, and he pushed her hard up against the wall, pressing his lips against hers, smothering her with passionate kisses as she responded in kind, her hands now gripping onto his muscular back. He wanted to tear the dress from her body, leaving her quivering and naked in the cool night air as he ravished her... but realised in time that she didn't appear to have anything else to wear unless they went back into the stygian blackness below to fetch something.

Shelazzar was struggling with the top of her dress, pulling her arms free from the shoulders as Throndar's hand caressed her ass and thighs and rained kisses on her upturned face -- he reflected that she was having to stand on tip toe just to reach him, he was so much taller than she. As soon as her arms were free, the barbarian took the opportunity to yank the top of her dress down, bunching it above her bodice as her heavy breasts burst free of their confinement.

His hand leapt from her legs to the exposed mounds, glistening white in the double moonlight, their skin so much paler than his own. He kneaded them, squeezed them, feeling every inch of their soft texture beneath his rough fingers, his gaze sometimes flicking up to watch her face as the dark sorceress panted in anticipation. His next move was to get her out of the bodice, and he struggled to find the ribbons that held it on before she gripped his hand as firmly as she could and pulled it away.

"No," she said, "that's my protection, remember? It stays on. Even now."

He shrugged, finding it odd but not overly concerned with questioning her choice. "But not your skirt?" 

He grabbed at it, trying to tug it free from her hips, and this time she helped him, undoing the hidden clasp. "No, the skirt's not a problem," she confirmed, breathlessly.

It was Throndar's turn to kneel before her, and he did so, gripping her pale thighs in his hands, eyes moving up to her panties, which were as black as the rest of her clothing. He massaged the backs of her knees, noting how her legs quivered, and she leaned back harder against the wall as he did so, spreading her thighs apart to give him clearer access.

She had to move them back together again as he roughly pulled her panties down around her knees, but then managed to pull one leg free, letting the thin garment slide down around her other ankle. She was still wearing knee-length black boots, which also seemed to be tied up at the sides. He didn't know whether or not they should be considered in the same way as her bodice, but decided it didn't really make any difference, and left them on.

Throndar cupped a hand over her groin, rubbing a thumb through the triangle of black hair that stood out so prominently against her pale, moonlit, skin. His fingers slid between her legs, rubbing her, teasing her until he began to feel the moisture forming against his skin.

He stood up and pressed himself against her, up against the wall, one hand squeezing a breast, the other easing a finger between her folds as the tip of his cock rubbed against the firm fabric of the bodice. Shelazzar gasped and let out small cries of pleasure as he continued to tease, finger jabbing in and out of her wet cunt. Her small hands grasped his buttocks, digging into the muscular flesh with her blunt fingernails as she writhed against him, lifting one leg and wrapping it around one of his, allowing his thrusting fingers greater access.

They remained like that for a short while, Throndar satisfying himself by listening to the civilised woman's whimpers of delight as his hands continued to tease her. He had known she could never resist his advances -- why had she ever pretended otherwise?  

Firmly, but not roughly, he pulled her raised leg away from his thigh and pushed it back down to the ground. Then he stepped away from the wall, pulling her with him. She clung to him tightly, face pressed into the crook of his shoulder, one hand caressing his bulging pectorals as the other still gripped a firm buttock. He lifted her chin up and gazed into her dark eyes.

"Now we truly begin," he told her.

"Yes, goddess..."

"Tell me what you want."

"What do you think?"

"Well, civilised women..." he shrugged again, with some awkwardness, considering how tightly she was holding him, "you hear stories..."

"Then don't be civilised."

He grinned. "I will not!"

He pulled her down to the ground, leaning over her so that his broad chest blocked out the light from the twin moons. Shelazzar gazed up at him, dark hair in disarray, ample chest heaving with anticipation, legs spread wide. Suddenly, she rolled over onto her front, bare breasts brushing against the sandy ground, pale buttocks thrust into the air. He leaned back to get a good view of the pussy he had so recently fondled, then gripped her with both hands around the waist, finding purchase against the fabric of her bodice.

The dark sorceress let out a sharp cry as, without further ceremony, he thrust his cock hard between her waiting legs. Throndar found himself echoing with his own groan of deep pleasure as her body enfolded him. Her skin was softer than any barbarian's woman, yet her cunt was tight, gripping him better than any he had previously encountered. With renewed excitement, he began to began to move in a slow rhythm, sliding in an out, watching how her pale buttocks moved in the moonlight, heaving in time to his repeated thrusts.

Shelazzar moaned as he continued his exertions, occasionally gasping breathlessly, or muttering words of quiet encouragement, but mostly lost in the rapture. Unsteadily, she raised herself on her arms, letting her breasts swing free, and he grabbed one, teasing the nipple as the pale mound swayed with their joint motion, the sorceress' hips pushing urgently back against his.

In the dusty ground next to the ruined building, under the open sky and silvery moonlight, the barbarian and his newfound lover coupled enthusiastically, both their cries vanishing into the still night air. Every time she came close to a peak, Throndar slowed his motion, letting her rest, just a little, before continuing his endeavour. He was leaning over her now, face almost in her hair, pressing deeper between her legs than ever before.

"Enough..." she whimpered at last, and he had to agree.

This time, instead of slowing, he quickened his pace, powerful muscles driving him into that soft, yet oh, so tight, pussy, with all the strength he could muster. Shelazzar's moans came ever more rapidly, beating out a fierce tempo as he pounded into her, pale buttocks and thighs slamming against the barbarian's firm body.

They climaxed together, Throndar's groan of delighted pleasure almost drowning out that of his partner. He held her like that for a little while, letting her shaking body subside, savouring the feel of the cool night breeze against his skin. Then he released her, and they both rolled over onto their backs, looking up into the night sky, uncountable glittering stars spread before them in the inky blackness, both moons full, and already dipping towards the horizon.

***

"Can I speak now?"

"Sure. That's the legend."

"Uh, well, I feel I should point out that you made a mistake."

"No, I did not! Bardic memory is perfect, even when extemporising."

"You just said the moons were both full. In fact you said it several times."

"So?"

"So earlier on, when they were performing the ceremony, you said it was a moonless night. It can't have been, not if the moons were both setting just a few hours later."

"Gah, magicians! Who'd have thought you'd be interested in that bit! Look, there's a perfectly good reason, I just didn't think it was worth mentioning."

"Go on."

"It's why they had to do the ceremony that particular night. It was the night of a double lunar eclipse, so, of course, when they were actually performing it, the moons were invisible, and later... what are you doing? What... what are you getting dressed for? I thought we could, you know... look, what's the matter?"

"Don't you see? Don't you pay any attention to astronomy?"

"Not really, no. I'm not the magician, remember?"

"There's a double lunar eclipse tonight. They're incredibly rare, so that's when they're going to do it!"

"Do what?"

"They're going to bring the Presence back! Tonight! We only have a few hours."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 44



Lady Tarissa bit back the angry words she had been planning when she saw the desperate look on Almandar's face. She had specifically told him to be quick when he went to talk to the bard, Yarai, and yet he had, in fact, been some hours, leaving her on her own back at the villa waiting for him. She could guess what he had been doing; she wasn't that naïve. Yet it looked as if something really had him worried, and her recriminations could wait. No matter his peccadilloes, he was an experienced adventurer, and he wouldn't look quite so rushed without good reason.

"What is it?" she asked curtly, instead of delivering her rebuke.

"It's tonight!" said the magician, somewhat breathlessly, "and the sun is almost set now! That's when they're starting it!"

"Explain," she snapped, "what have you learned?"

He visibly steadied himself, clearly flushed from having run most of the way here from... well half-way across town, presumably. "There's a ceremony that somebody has to conduct to summon this thing called 'the Presence'... I'm still not clear what it is, but it's something very powerful and demonic. It's been here since before the city even existed, and tonight, somebody is planning to summon it. It will give them power over demons, or something... Hell on Earth quite literally, or something much like it."

"Where is this ceremony? Who's behind it?"

"That I don't know," he admitted, "but I think if we can get back into those tunnels, we can stop it from down there. That's where the ceremony was conducted last time. If they're not actually down there this time -- and from what we saw, there's no easy way in -- there's at least something they need to make the connection. If we can break that, we can stop them, no matter who they are. At least I hope so... where are the others?"

With that, she did snap at him, "because you took so long getting back, I sent them off to follow up a lead that Vardala found. They're trying to find out what they can about somebody called Amloth. She seems to be behind this, or at least involved with it somehow. I stayed behind to wait for you... and now you're telling me we've got what... until sunset?"

"A little longer than that, actually. I don't know if you follow the timing of astronomical phenomena..."

"Not especially, no. It didn't seem a high priority."

"Well, there's a lunar eclipse tonight. A double one, and that's what they need to do the ceremony. It's a little after dark... but still not long."

"Then we're getting tooled up now. Quickly! We need to find the others."

She half-ran up the stairs, Almandar following her, before they headed into their separate rooms. She hadn't expected they would have quite so little time, and wished now that she had thought to be already wearing her armour. As it was, the paladin had to strip off her dress, and didn't even bother changing her expensive underwear for something more practical before starting to pull on her suit of heavy plate. 

It seemed to take forever to do up all the straps, something she normally didn't notice, But she had to check everything properly, or it was worse than useless. At last it was done, and she buckled on her sword before rummaging through her cupboard for holy water and anything else that might come in handy. She cursed Almandar under her breath, knowing that if he hadn't been delayed by the obvious, they would have had that much further warning. And the others might still have been here.

At last she was done, and headed back into the lobby of the villa to find Almandar already waiting for her. Well, he didn't wear armour, so it would hardly have taken him as long to get prepared.

"Have you got those vials you acquired from the druid?" she asked him.

"Ready to use," he confirmed, "look, I'm sorry about..."

"That can wait until later," she told him, "right now, we need to stop this ceremony, and that means finding the others. Let's go."

Tarissa had to deliberately slow her pace once she had left the villa. It wasn't possible to run in full plate armour, and even walking briskly would tire her out, and she knew she would soon need her full reserves. She intentionally calmed her mind of her frustration, especially as she saw the sun now dipping below the horizon, and both moons rising, almost directly opposite. 

One rim of the minor moon touched the disc of the major, and she supposed it would soon slide behind it. From the little she understood of eclipses, that was presumably how this one would happen; a shadow would fall across the major moon while the minor was behind it, and therefore in, more or less, the same position. She couldn't tell when that would happen, but if Almandar said it was tonight, she had no difficulty believing him.

The problem was, she did not exactly where the others were. They had gone to see what they could find out about this Lady Amloth, the necromancer or demonologist of some kind whose name had cropped up in Vardala's investigations. Her public face was that of a merchant, so they had gone first to the market, but what they had done after that she couldn't possibly know. It depended on what they had found out.

With all the uncertainty, and the growing urgency of the situation, the paladin's face was set in a grim mask of determination. She used her mental disciplines, honed over years, first as a squire, then as an adventurer, to clear her mind, ignoring concerns she could do nothing about to focus on what really mattered.

Somebody screamed.

A woman, close by, a genuine shriek of pure terror. Tarissa turned, Almandar immediately behind her, to see somebody running from an alleyway, eyes wide and horrified. The alleyway itself was cast into shadow, although the sky still had some glow to it, and it was obvious that there was somebody else there, staggering... no, shambling... out of the gloom. The figure stepped into the better lighting of the street and the paladin instinctively drew her sword from its scabbard.

The man before her was dead. Or, more precisely, undead. His skin was sallow and grey, eyes filmy, jaw slack, a smell of decay on his body, clothes ragged and dirty. He moaned, faintly, and continued to shamble forward, head turning to regard the two adventurers, sensing closer prey than the fleeing woman.

The paladin's sword slashed into the creature's leg, knocking it to the ground before the second strike smashed its ribcage, destroying its ability to move. There was a stench, a familiar one to the adventurer, as the animating force left the thing and it stopped twitching. There was no blood, of course; there never was, for nothing flowed through the veins of such undead.

"Where the hell did that come from?" asked Almandar, like her, experienced in seeing such things, but not here.

"It can't be a coincidence," she said, "I wonder... there's another one!"

This one took only a single blow, lopping its head from its shoulders. Zombies were not particularly difficult to kill, by the standards of such things, not least because they were slow moving, and their sinews no longer held them so firmly together as they had in life. But what grave had been opened to get these things out, and by whom?

"They said Amloth might be a necromancer," she said, "evidently she is, or at least knows one. But how many more has she summoned?"

"But why set them loose in the city?" asked Almandar, glancing back at the moons, still both full, "the ceremony won't have started yet."

"Protecting something? A distraction? Perhaps they don't want to be interrupted, or perhaps it's just paving the way for what's to come?"

"We seriously need to find the others."

She nodded, and they headed, as quickly as they could, in the direction of the market.

A man came running down the street towards them, face flushed, evidently frightened. There were two more behind him, both coming from the square. 

"Monsters!" he shouted, "Undead!"

They didn't need the warning. There were obviously going to be more of the things about. Were they everywhere, or just towards the centre of the city? Lady Tarissa knew she was far from the only paladin in Haredil, and hoped that the warriors and clerics of Pardror had already been alerted. They should be able to deal with an infestation of undead, if anyone could. Although it rather depended how many there were. In all honesty, yes, there were other paladins, but few with her experience.

Nonetheless, when they reached the market, it was evident they were not the only living things there. A knot of undead -- two more of the zombies, and a hunched grey-skinned thing she recognised as a ghoul -- were surrounding somebody slashing about themselves with a sword. Another was already down, lying on the floor at his feet.

She could use the power of her god to drive them away, radiating a holy aura that undead could not resist, but what good would that do? They would simply run away into the city and cause more havoc among the innocent. She leapt into the fray, sword slicing into dead flesh.

Between the two of them, it was not long before all three undead were scattered on the ground. She looked up, and only then recognised who she has just assisted. 

Tarissa's face broke into a grin, "Larimor!"

"My lady Tarissa," the other paladin said, evidently relieved, "thank the gods you are here. These things just came out of nowhere. If I had not been here, there would have been deaths. Even then, I fear, with three against one..."

Larimor was about her own age, perhaps a little younger, a full knight of Pardror, but without her adventuring experience. She knew he was a capable swordsman, although, today, he was out of his armour, evidently just finishing up some shopping, or other mundane task. Her eyes flicked over him, evaluating that he did not seem to be injured, even as she also -- with a twinge of guilt -- drunk in his broad shoulders and trim hips. 

But such thoughts were inappropriate for a paladin, and doubly so now.

"There are more of them," she said, "we just saw two, and I believe they cannot be alone."

"But how? Where are they coming from?"

"I don't know," she said, "not exactly. But I know how to stop them. We should have brought you into this days ago... but are you with us?"

"Of course! Always," he said, and she thought she saw more than comradely affection in his eyes. Unfortunately, now was hardly the time to think about what that meant.

"We're going underground. Into the sewers. Almandar, you have the dwarven map?"

"Yes, but..."

"Where's the nearest entrance?"

"What about the others? Calleslyn, Dolrim, and Vardala are out there somewhere..."

"I know, but they aren't here, and with everyone gone, we have no chance of finding out where they might be. There isn't time, and they can fend for themselves. It has to be us, and it has to be now. With luck, they'll have the same idea and join us... if not, then we'll have to end this on our own. There isn't another chance, not now!"

He nodded, knowing she was right. Larimor just looked bemused.

──◊──

"I don't think there's anything more we can do here," said Calleslyn, "we know they've gone inside, and we know who some of them are, but we aren't going to find out what they're discussing."

They were standing in a sheltered alley leading off from the red-brick plaza that surrounded the Rotunda. Having discovered where Amloth lived at the market, they had had the good fortune to find her heading off just as they arrived at her house, and had followed her here. It was a large round building, often used for public meetings, which meant that she must have considerable connections with the authorities to get to use it for the night. Evidently they had been right to keep quiet about their investigations into whatever was under the city.

Amloth had met up with some other people before going inside. Calleslyn had recognised Valmor from the Wizards' College, and Vardala identified somebody named Scaggs, but the others were a mystery. Scaggs aside, though, they all looked prosperous and could well have been wealthy merchants, guild leaders, minor nobles, or others of influence. Lady Tarissa would probably have known a number of them, but she was the only one of the adventurers who walked in anything like the right circles.

Some of them, including Amloth herself, had been bringing packages with them. One trunk had been so large that two of the men had had to unload it from a cart and drag it up the steps, but there was no way of telling what might be inside it. 

But now that the group were inside the building it was not obvious what else she and the others could do. It certainly looked suspicious, particularly with what Vardala already knew about Scaggs and what she was beginning to suspect about Valmor, but thirteen people meeting at the Rotunda was hardly something you could call the city watch about.

Although one thing was odd; the thirteenth guest had crept into the Rotunda through one of its many side entrances, not greeting the others, seemingly having waited until they were all inside. That figure had been hooded and cowled, and the shadows from the setting sun were long enough to hide them, so that Calleslyn could not even tell if they were a man or a woman. Somebody clearly had not wanted to be seen.

The crowds on the street were already thinning out as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was getting late. Time, perhaps, to return to the villa, and see whether or not Almandar had come home yet. Calleslyn had a pretty good idea what he had been doing, and suspected that Tarissa would be quite annoyed about it, but it didn't affect them right now.

Dolrim nodded in reply to her statement. "You're right," he said, "let's head back."

Hardly had they stepped out into the street than there was a scream. Not from the Rotunda, but from one of the main streets that led into the plaza. She could see people running down it, towards them. Dolrim was already hefting his axe, and her own fingers were moving as she wondered what spell to cast.

"No," said Vardala, "back into the alley. This can't be a coincidence, and we don't want to be seen."

Calleslyn glanced back to the Rotunda, and dodged a tradesman running past her, eyes wide. "Get away!" he shouted at her, before pelting on down the street.

She hesitated for a moment, and then decided to follow Vardala's advice, ducking back into the shadow, hoping that nobody was watching from the Rotunda, because she would already have been seen if they were.

She was glad she had, because the next thing she saw was a horde of undead following the fleeing citizens. There had to be dozens of them, an array of different kinds, zombies, skeletons, ghouls, some once human, others former orcs, and even a few other races in the mix. 

"Right now, we really need a paladin," grunted Dolrim, "we can't take on all of those alone. I've never seen so many!"

"If Amloth really is a necromancer, she's a powerful one," agreed Calleslyn, "with one hell of a supply somewhere."

"But what are they doing?" asked Vardala, "they aren't really chasing anyone."

"At the speed they move, what would be the point?" asked Dolrim, "besides, with that number, maybe they don't need to."

"No, Vardala's right," said the magician, "the ghouls, at least, could run if they wanted to, and ghouls are normally hungry. Whoever summoned these things has a specific plan in mind for them. We have to see what it is, if we can. I know we need Tarissa here, but she also needs to know what they're up to."

"We're too late, aren't we?" cursed Vardala, "we should have gone into the sewers, destroyed whatever was beyond that vegetable thing. We could have done it days ago, if we wanted to!"

"Not without abandoning those women to the rakshasa," Calleslyn reminded her, "we weren't to know this was going to happen tonight." A thought struck her, and she glanced up at the moons, together in the sky. "Although, of course, this isn't a normal night..."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind that now... look, the undead, they're forming a ring around the Rotunda."

"Stopping anyone seeking refuge inside it," suggested Dolrim, "or just guarding it. They certainly aren't attacking it... the damn things are looking outwards."

"Not all of them... some of them are going on down the street. That's the way to the temple quarter, isn't it?"

"You mean they're heading towards the paladins? That doesn't make sense."

"It does if they want to keep them busy, keep them away from here. Or just wipe them out as soon as they can. If they've got more than regular magical backing, maybe they can resist the divine power there?"

"Horvan!" cried Vardala, aghast.

"Sorry?" Calleslyn was momentarily confused. What did their manservant have to do with anything?

"He's in the Temple of Felanda! If these things are going to the temple quarter, we have to protect him."

"The best way to do that is to get inside the Rotunda. If they're controlling this, perhaps we can stop them."

"No! We've got to save him!" Vardala was already running off down the alley, searching for a side street that could take her in the right direction, while avoiding the massed ranks of undead.

"Don't be stupid! Come back here! What would Tarissa say?"

"I don't care!" The gnome had already turned the corner, out of sight.

"Do we follow her?" asked Dolrim.

Calleslyn swore under her breath. What had gotten into the rogue? She was concerned too, concerned that Messandra might be in danger, somewhere else in Haredil, but she couldn't allow that to affect her now. Horvan was a dear friend of theirs, and they had all felt the shock when he had been attacked a few days ago, but their duty was here. Why couldn't Vardala see that?

"No," she said, reluctantly, shaking her head. "We have to stop this, even if we have to do it on our own. We're the only ones who know that Amloth and the others are here, and that they surely must be behind this."

"So what do we do? We can't storm that many undead, and some of the people inside aren't going to go down easily. What if they're all demonologists? Well, not all of them, but at least one looked like a competent warrior, a guardsman or something. It's not like they're all soft merchants."

"Hold on!"

"To what?"

"Me."

She wrapped her arms around Dolrim, earning a startled grunt in response. Then, with a quick spell, they were flying through the air, the dwarf gripping on quite tightly once he realised what was happening.

She flew as quickly as she could, towards one of the upper windows of the Rotunda, well over the heads of the undead. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be looking up, and the Rotunda's upper windows weren't glass, or shuttered. Moments later they were inside, and the dwarf was stumbling free of her grasp.

"Don't do that again!" he hissed.

"Quiet," she pressed her fingers to her lips, "let's see what they're doing."

They were standing in a circular corridor that ran the circumference of the upper story, open windows looking out onto the street beyond. She walked down it briskly, feeling nervous and unprotected. They hadn't expected anything like this, and she had her spells, but neither of them had the full array of magical equipment that they would have brought had they known. Which meant that they had to be very careful, especially since Dolrim's concerns about who they might be facing were entirely legitimate.

She soon found a door leading inwards, to a short corridor ending in a balcony overlooking the Rotunda's central space. She ducked to the floor, the dwarf imitating her, and crawled along on her belly until she could peer through the balustrade. 

There were twelve people there, gathered in a circle, all dressed in black robes, one of them with a silver chain as well. They were hard to distinguish, but she thought she could recognise Valmor's heavy bulk, almost opposite her, on the far side of the chamber. She wondered where the thirteenth person was. Below her, perhaps?




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 44



The robed figures were chanting, and, in the very centre of the room stood the censer that had been stolen from the villa, now filled with an incense that sent a vile scented red smoke up to the domed roof far above. There were other items there, too, knives, and bowls, the regalia of dark gods, a makeshift altar formed by pushing two small tables together. Nothing, though, she noted, that could explain the largest trunk.

"What do we do?" whispered Dolrim, behind her.

"I'm not sure," she said, honestly, a dreadful uncertainty beginning to rise in her chest. She wished Tarissa and the others were here.

──◊──

The ghoul scrabbled in the air, its claws inches from her face, then fell back off her blade, splashing into the warm water of the conduit. It thrashed there for a few moments, and then was still, its animating power gone, leaving only a thin exudate on her sword in lieu of blood.

"There's more coming!" called out Sir Larimor, his blade already raised, as she looked back down the underground passage. There were three of them, all zombies this time. All things considered, there had not seemed to be many of the things down here, perhaps because they were up above, but the sewers were far from empty.

This time, she raised the symbol of Pardror she bore about her neck, and called out "begone!"

She felt the holy energy flow through her, out towards the undead creatures. They balked, cringing at the end of the passage, where it crossed another, then turned, stumbling, unable to abide the presence of divine power. Almandar hurled a spell in their direction, taking one of them down to lie in a crumpled heap on the ledge, but the other two were already out of sight around the corner.

"We might need that spell later," she chided him.

"I know, but if they get out of here, there's innocent people up above."

She sighed, "I'm not blaming you. I'd probably have done the same."

"What is going on here?" asked Larimor, "you still haven't said."

"That's a fair question," she conceded. "We came across something, something demonic that's trapped down here. You said it had a name, Almandar?"

"Not a real name, no. The legend just calls it 'the Presence'."

"Well, whatever it is, it has been down here for centuries, and now it's waking, because somebody is summoning it."

"How did you find out about this?"

"We came across an old document. We thought we should check it out, since it's obviously a danger to the city."

"And this is when it rises again? After all these centuries? Isn't that a bit of a coincidence?"

She hadn't thought about that, but it was a good point. "Apparently," she said, after a thoughtful pause. "Although perhaps we can think about that later. At the moment we're looking for... actually, what did you learn, Almandar?"

"Down here, presumably on the other side of that barrier we found, is the remains of an old... temple, I suppose you could call it. The chamber in which somebody once tried to summon the Presence to this world. It's now trapped there, between its world and our own. When it breaks free, it can... well, it's a little vague, but I get the impression it can bring demons through into this world at will, and whoever summons it gets some kind of control over them. The city would be destroyed, or turned into a haunt of demons, if we don't stop it."

"But if we can stop it from down here, then the summoning won't work, and whoever is controlling it all -- perhaps this Amloth person -- won't be able to complete their ceremony. Which I am afraid, involves a sentient sacrifice. The last summoner used orcs, but I imagine the current one is more likely to sacrifice humans."

"So we have to stop it," Tarissa explained to Larimor, "tonight, because of... an eclipse, right?"

"That's when they have to do it, yes."

"You don't have to persuade me," agreed the other paladin, "but it's nice to know what I'm getting into. What about this barrier?"

"It's just down here," she said, and led them the last short distance.

Soon, it loomed in front of them, a thick impenetrable wall of sickly grey plants, hideous and unearthly, tendrils and thorns snapping about with malevolent hunger. Larimor grimaced.

"How do we get through that?" he asked.

"We have something that we didn't have last time we were here. And then... well, we're not sure exactly what's beyond. But hopefully, this old temple. Ready, Almandar?"

The half-elf nodded, and pulled a glass vial from his satchel, glimmering in the mage-light he was holding in his other hand. He raised it up as close to the vegetation as he dared, and removed the stopper.

There was a flash of brilliant light, stronger by far than that from his own spell. Glowing beams struck out in every direction, and where they touched the hideous plants, they withered, as if instantly burned, falling as dead char to the stone and water beneath.

And that was where it all started to go wrong.

──◊──

Zarenis was standing in one of the short side passages underneath the balcony, outside the main chamber of the Rotunda. The light from the braziers that the conspirators had set burning only barely extended here, keeping her in shadow, but she suspected that the Presence was also clouding their minds, discouraging them from looking in her direction. It had its reasons for that, as would hopefully soon become clear.

The cloaked figures were chanting, in a ring around the item she had stolen for them, other infernal paraphernalia with it, although it was the dark magic of the censer that truly helped give them power. What they did not have was the sceptre, which she held clutched in her own hand. Amloth and the others were not as fully in control of events as they thought, but it was all the Presence's design, and they would be rewarded for their part in events.

The chanting stopped, and Amloth's voice called out, "Bring her forth!"

Zarenis watched as two of the conspirators stepped away from the circle, heading to another alcove, where a large chest was waiting. They opened it and dragged a gagged and bound woman from inside. This, she assumed, had to be the sacrifice. Although the eclipse was still not here yet... they must be intending to do something else before the ceremony itself.

The woman, she saw, was dressed in the demure grey and white robes of a nun of the Sun God, a few strands of dark hair escaping from her askew wimple. She looked terrified, even as the robed figures cut her bonds and removed her gag, before dragging her towards the middle of their compatriot's ring.

One of the other conspirators stepped forward, a tall and powerful man, and, to Zarenis' surprise, pulled back his hood to look the frightened nun in the face.

"You recognise me?" he asked.

"F... Father Domand..." she said, "but... but..."

"Don't be afraid child. This all for the greater good. You do trust me, don't you?"

"I... I..."

"You have trusted me, but now you are a little confused. Understandable, I suppose. And it is the former trust that matters." The young nun whimpered, clearly not understanding what the man was saying. "I have a gift for you, my child. Perhaps it will make everything clear. Do you want to see it?"

She still said nothing, but Domand pulled aside his cloak anyway, revealing the robes of a Sun priest underneath, although, Zarenis noted, without the holy symbol that they normally wore. The cleric reached under his belt, as if about to pull something from his pocket. 

"This is my present for you," he said, with a grin, as he pulled his erect penis out to face the nun's horrified gaze. "I don't suppose you've seen one before, but you're about to get very familiar with this one."

"No! No, no, no!" screamed the woman, tears in her eyes as she struggled futilely against the two robed men still holding her. "Please, no! Why are you doing this to me?"

"Who wants to see her naked?" cried out Domand to a chorus of agreement from the others. "Who wants to look at her sweet virgin pussy before I fuck her brains out?" Another rousing cheer greeted him, and he turned to the two men holding the captive. "Strip her!"

Zarenis stepped forward, eyes shifting to blood red, horns sprouting as the demonic blood boiled in her veins.

Simultaneously, four brilliant streaks of white light shot from the balcony over her head. They struck Domand in the chest and throat, and he staggered back, a look of horrified astonishment on his face as the magic spells penetrated his body. With a choking gasp, he collapsed to the floor, eyes rolling up in his head, large cock flopping limp.

A moment later there was an explosion, a brilliant blast of orange fire showering chunks of masonry into the room, toppling the brazier. Many of the conspirators screamed, and the nun, suddenly released, fell to the floor, cowering in terror. From where Zarenis was standing, momentarily frozen in surprise, she could see that at least four of the conspirators had been caught in the mysterious blast, and some of them weren't moving.

Something rolled onto the floor, tossed from the balcony up above. Dark smoke billowed forth, rapidly swelling to fill the room, obscuring everyone's vision. Some of the cloaked figures were panicking, running about in confusion, although she saw one running for a stairway that led upwards, a sword in his hand.

The Presence surged within her, telling her what she had to do. Zarenis took her chance, darting through the thick smoke that seemed to be so confusing the others, towards where the Presence told her Amloth was standing. She grabbed the startled drow, who looked at her in numb confusion.

"Follow me!" snapped the tiefling, "this doesn't stop us. There is another way to achieve our goal," she waved the sceptre in the drow's face, "and, if you follow me, we can still win, but only if you do it now, and leave the others to fight off whoever this is."

──◊──

Lady Tarissa had not given much thought as to how Almandar had acquired the druidic charm. There had seemed little reason to do so, after all. Druidic magic might be a little outside of her experience, but she had not expected it to be that much different from the powers of the priesthood.

Perhaps, most of the time, that was the case. But trust Almandar to find another way.

The glowing energy from the vial was doing more than burn away the monstrous foliage. As the beams of light struck the three of them standing before it, their bodies were infused with an ancient power of nature, one that she had not been expecting, and one of which her body had no practical experience.

Thoughts flashed through her mind as the heat rose in her loins. She had dreams sometimes, dreams that, as a virginal paladin, she could not admit to. They were formless, involving Larimor, at least as of late, yet lacking specifics. Partly, no doubt, because of her lack of genuine experience, but partly because she managed to put that part of her mind away during her waking hours. She had needs, as any woman did, but she could control them, dedicating herself to her divine mission ahead of mere carnal gratification.

Yet, while she could never tell anyone, the sensations that now flooded through her were not quite so unfamiliar as they should have been. There had been times... not many, but there had been some... times when she woke from a dream unsatisfied. Half asleep, she had found her hand slipping up under her nightdress, easing pleasure from her body. Often she had the presence of mind to pull herself back as she fully awoke, denying herself the release. But sometimes, sometimes she had surrendered, gripping the soft pillow with her other hand, pressing her lips to it to muffle the eventual sound of her cry. Then came the inevitable shame, the self-admonishment that she would not do such a thing again.

Her knees went weak, buckling beneath her as her sword fell from her hands. Dimly she was aware that Larimor had done the same, evidently just as overwhelmed as she. Tarissa's nipples were hard beneath her clothing, her loins moist as the hot desire rose within them. Then the sensation was gone, thankfully leaving her short of the humiliation of actual public climax, Even so, her body was weak, shaking as she tried to gather her senses.

She looked up, saw the passageway free ahead of them, the last scraps of plant life falling away. And down that passage something was rushing, with deadly intent, straight towards them. Both paladins were disarmed, near helpless, and Almandar's hands were too full to cast a spell.

She did not even have time to shout a warning before it struck.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 45



The fireball had had the desired effect, sowing confusion among the cloaked figures conducting the ceremony. Calleslyn had, at least for the moment, saved the intended victim from her fate, but that hardly meant that the danger was over. As she had said to Dolrim just moments before, there were too many of them, and it was likely that at least some were capable of fighting back. Valmor certainly would be, and it was unlikely he was alone.

She had had no choice but to attack when she did, but she and Dolrim were heavily outnumbered. She just had to hope that the sudden explosion and magical assault had evened up the odds a little.

"I'm going to try and protect her," she told the dwarf. After all, the conspirators were surely still desperate to complete their ritual, and that would mean taking their sacrifice back. The woman was a nun, helpless against them at the best of times. Even if she tried running, the building was surrounded by a ring of undead, and that wouldn't end well. So Calleslyn had to do something.

Dolrim grunted assent, already standing and hefting his axe. If anyone had the presence of mind to notice where the attack had come from, they would be heading up here towards the balcony. Calleslyn hoped he could deal with them as they emerged from the magical mist she had created, and that now flooded the lower half of the room.

Casting a levitation spell, she vaulted over the balustrade around the balcony, and floated gently down through the mist towards the floor, several feet below. It was as grey and disorienting down here as she had hoped, but she had already locked in her mind the direction to the centre of the room, where the sacrifice and her tormentor would hopefully still be. She ran towards that spot, unable to see anyone else through the gloom, as handicapped by that as they would be. Hopefully it at least meant they couldn't all rush her at once, which would make things a little more even.

The nun was huddled on the floor, eyes wide in blind terror, letting out a little scream and curling into a defensive ball as Calleslyn approached.

"Are you all right?" the elf asked. There was no response. "I'm the one saving you," she said, as quietly as she could, not wanting to give her location away to anyone else still in the room. "Stay near me, and you might be safe. Don't try and run, or I can't protect you."

She reached over to the figure lying on the floor nearby; the man in the clerical robes she had struck with the first spell. His eyes were open, staring up sightlessly in the direction of the ceiling. He was dead; the spell had killed him with a single stroke. Good shooting. She looked around, and saw a bulky figure looming out of the mist.

"You!" shouted a familiar, deep, voice, "bloody adventurers! You just don't know what's good for you!" It was Valmor, hair in disarray, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead, black cloak and rich robes smeared in dust from the rubble. "Get back to the cesspit dungeons where you belong!"

He raised his hands and a beam of brilliant reddish-white light spat towards her. Her own hands were already in a defensive posture, the counter-spell partially completed, but not quite sufficient. Blazing heat enveloped her body, making her cry out in pain as she fell to the marble floor. Valmor might not have her combat experience, but she knew he was a capable magician. Perhaps her only advantage was that he apparently did not want to use his most powerful magic, for fear of accidentally killing the nun alongside her... she was somebody he presumably still needed alive.

"Let me teach you your bloody place!" he shouted, face full of fury as he raised his hands a second time, towards Calleslyn's sprawled body.

Valmor might be concerned not to use his most deadly magic for fear of hitting others. But she was facing the other way, and had no such compunction. Gritting her teeth against the pain of the burns he had inflicted, she hurled a blast of blue-white lightning towards him, It hurled him off his feet, catapulting him back into the mist and out of her sight.

She listened carefully, looking about to see if anyone else was coming. There was a scrabbling sound from Valmor's direction, a grunt of angered pain, and then footsteps, staggering, moving away. The spell hadn't finished him off... she didn't necessarily want him dead, but she certainly didn't want him conscious. On the other hand, there was no sign that anyone else was approaching. Perhaps the others had all fled?

She cursed inwardly. She couldn't let him get away, and use his undoubted influence to make it look like he was the victim.

"Protect her!" she shouted up towards Dolrim "I've got to stop him.," she added, to the cowering nun, but still receiving no answer.

She clambered to her feet, wincing at the pain. It was starting to fade now, and not as bad as she had at first feared. But it certainly hadn't gone, and she could only hope that Valmor was in a worse shape than she was.

She ran into the mist, hoping to find him.

──◊──

The undead were swarming around the Temple of Pardror. If they had taken the paladins by surprise, the holy warriors were now re-grouping, fighting back against the horde of ghouls, zombies, and who knew what else besieging their holy site.

It seemed counter-intuitive at first. Why attack the place best able to fight off undead? But, as Vardala watched, she realised that there was a kind of logic in it. By attacking them first, it meant that the paladins had no chance to get organised in defence of the rest of the city. Nor could they use their normal ability to drive away unnatural creatures with the power of their holy icons, for that would just force them into the city, giving them free reign to attack the innocent. Instead, the paladins were having to hack through them one at a time, and they were clearly outnumbered, and unprepared.

In fact, there were not, it was becoming clear, all that many paladins in the city. It was, after all, hardly a common calling. Many of those defending the temple were priests, for the most part lightly armed, although a few had magic. The fight was certainly not going all their own way -- even as she watched, one cleric disappeared beneath a pack of ghouls, dragged down as he exhausted his spells. If they had known the assault was coming, they could have prepared better... but that, surely, was the point.

Vardala was beginning to doubt her choice of action, wondering if she should have stayed with the others, stopped the ceremony at its source. Was the necromancer controlling all this in the Rotunda somewhere? Presumably, and taking him out might have been the best course, after all, just as Calleslyn had said. But it was too late to second guess that now. She had come here to protect Horvan, and that was what she was going to do.

It did not take much to slip into the Temple of Felanda, the goddess of healing. The monsters were not attacking that yet, and, in any event, the temple had no guards -- it never did, for that would not have fitted with its ethos. Nonetheless, she drew her shortsword, keeping it ready as she half ran through the corridors, seeking the way to the living quarters where Horvan should be sheltering.

Unfortunately, she did not really know the layout of the temple, never having had any real need for it. When she needed healing, Lady Tarissa was always there, and, in any event, Felanda's strength was more in healing the illnesses of everyday folk than the wounds of adventurers. Perhaps she should head towards the centre of the building -- there might at least be someone there she could ask.

A few passages later, and she found herself in a large open space, filled with beds and pallets. Priests and priestesses were bustling about, in a state of frenzied desperation, evidently trying to get some of the most seriously ill people to safety. It looked as if many of them had already left, but those that remained had the hardest jobs. What presumably wasn't clear to them was that, if their temple was under threat, so was the whole of the city. There might not be anywhere safer to move the patients to.

She looked about for someone to talk to, but all the white-robed figures were ignoring her, intent on their own duties. Then she saw him, and her heart leapt; he was safe!

"Horvan!" she called out, running towards him, as he struggled to heft one end of a makeshift stretcher.

"Vardala! What are you doing here?"

"I've come to get you. Come on, we've got to get out. The outskirts of the city might be safe."

"Right..." he said, fear and confusion showing on his face, "we've got to get everyone to safety."

"What? No... we've got to go now!"

"You're not going to leave these people?" he looked shocked by the suggestion, and she was ashamed to realise that it hadn't really occurred to her.

"I... I..." she stammered, lost for words, looking about at the people around her. The priests and priestesses, defenceless all, were risking themselves to get people to safety. It was clear they would not abandon anyone, regardless of what it meant for themselves. And the patients looked desperate, helpless, some of them weak or crippled, unable to escape by themselves, allowing slow-paced healing magic to do its work, not the more instant laying on of hands that she had experienced. Battle wounds, it seemed, were easier to heal than sickness; she had never really thought about that, either.

Horvan was looking at her with desperate eyes, and so, it was becoming clear, was the priest holding the other end of the stretcher. They wanted her help, and she realised, with a sinking feeling, that she had to provide it. Besides, hadn't she thought, just a moment before, that there might not be anywhere safer than this?

"Yes... yes, of course," she said, "but we need a secure location. We can't just evacuate the temple, the things are everywhere. We need to find a safe sanctuary, here, where we can wait it out. The others have that side of things in hand... I think. Where would be the best place?"

"There's a windowless chamber that way," offered the priest, nodding his head towards a door on the far side of the room, "we use it for meditation. It has light from the ceiling, but only one entrance."

"That way, then -- everyone!" she called out, but nobody else seemed to be taking much notice of her. "Oh... you organise it," she told the priest, "they'll listen to you. I'll check the path is safe."

She ran across to the doorway, and ducked through it to look into the corridor beyond. She heard a blood-chilling howl, and something sprinted towards her. It was coming from what she suspected was the opposite direction to the chamber she was looking for, but that hardly mattered. The ghoul slashed out with its claws, but she was already out of the way, dodging to one side, blade slicing through the air towards it.

The sword bit into the creature's side, and it growled, raking its claws above her head as she ducked beneath it. Vardala delivered a second blow, slicing through a thigh muscle in a way that, on anything living, would have led to fatal blood loss. The ghoul had no such problem, but it was slowed, and, a few blows later, she had the thing on the ground, hacking at its neck until the animating spirit left.

She looked up. There were more undead coming down the corridor behind it. She dashed back into the infirmary, slamming the door closed behind her, running high on a rush of sudden energy brought about by the danger.

"It's too late!" she shouted, to anyone who would listen. "They're coming! Bolt the doors! Block them with anything you can. Quickly!"

She turned to face the door, sword still raised. She was the only person in here who could fight, and she was horribly, horribly, outnumbered.

──◊──

The side-effects of Davnait's vial were not ones that Almandar had anticipated, although, in retrospect, perhaps he should have done. As the glow suffused him, a vision of his encounter flashed through his mind, surprisingly vivid. The druid's face before his, dark eyes wide, luxuriant black hair falling across her forehead, pert nipples brushing against his chest as her heaving buttocks pressed against his thighs, her body enveloping his.

It was momentary however, and he rapidly regained control of his body, legs shaking, cock hard with the unexpected power of the memory. Then it was gone, the pleasure ebbing as he forced himself back to the present. The empty vial was still gripped in one hand, and the glowing mage-light in the other.

He turned, to see that the two paladins accompanying him had fared less well. Larimor was half crouched against the wall, overwhelmed by what Almandar assumed was not merely unexpected, but possibly also unfamiliar. Lady Tarissa had slumped over, her sword fallen from her fingers onto the stone flagging beside the water conduit, her face burning crimson, blue eyes wide with shock.

Almandar suppressed a smile; the sensation might even do them good, and they would recover soon enough, even if it took them a little longer than it had his. Then he caught Tarissa's expression, and saw that her eyes were focussed on something behind him, and any thoughts of amusement vanished as he whipped round to see what she was looking at.

It was moving quickly, down the tunnel towards them, dozens of legs skittering against the walls and floor, a great segmented creature illuminated by a dull red glow from beyond. For a second he thought it was some kind of giant centipede, but it's eyes were too large, its head the wrong shape, and there were sharp needle-like teeth within its gaping mouth. 

He dropped the vial, acutely aware that neither of the paladins was yet in a state to act, and that he needed at least one hand free to cast a spell. It was too late; his moment's hesitation, turning to face his companions, had cost him dear. The thing's body slammed against him, hard plates nearly as tough as metal bruising him as he twisted beneath legs with stabbing claws. He raised a hand to cover his face, one of the claws slashing against it, and only just avoiding his eyes.

He heard a shout of pain -- a man's -- and then the thing was off him, still rushing onward down the corridor. He looked up, to see that it had grabbed Larimor in its jaws, raising him aloft, about to vanish into the darkness back down the passage. The male paladin was, he knew, not full armoured, had not been prepared for action as they had, and those sharp teeth were clearly biting ferociously into his flesh.

He threw a spell after it, bursts of white light striking against the thing, and it whipped its sinuous body around to face him, Larimor still dangling in its vicious grasp. He had not dared use a more deadly spell, not when it had a victim so close, but he had at least angered it, caught its attention.

The thing thrashed its head to one side, slamming Larimor's bleeding body against the far wall of the passage, then dropping him into the hot water with a mighty splash. Then it rushed down the corridor towards the others.

Tarissa's sword was nearby, but she had been rolled away from it down the stone ledge, nearly falling into the water herself as the creature had run over her. She turned to face him desperation in her eyes, clearly once more in control of her body. He grabbed the sword and threw it in her direction, pommel towards her, and she snatched it from the air with practiced ease, just as the thing reached her.

It was ignoring her, trying to run over her again in its apparent eagerness to reach the half-elf. She slashed her sword upwards, cracking armoured plates and causing a spray of strange, blue blood to splash over her. But still it came on. Almandar threw up a shield spell, rolling down to the ground as it rushed over him, claws sliding on the unexpected invisible barrier. He felt a blast of heat against his face, and realised that the red glow came from the creature's back, actually glowing red hot with some kind of bizarre internal energy.

The creature reared directly over him, maw open wide, teeth dripping with Larimor's freshly shed blood as the invisible shield gave way. Almandar desperately hurled another spell upward, straight into the creature's face. A blast of brilliant white energy engulfed it, accompanied by a paralysing, numbing cold that flooded the entire area.

For a moment, the thing remained poised above him, insectile face coated in a thick layer of sudden hoar frost. Then it crashed down, landing partly atop him, legs thrashing feebly, teeth cracking like icicles, eyes permanently blinded. He was vaguely aware of Tarissa finishing it off and rolling it into the water channel, hot liquid splashing over him as she did so, and then he somehow clambered to his feet.

Tarissa barely glanced at him, turning away to run back down the corridor as he staggered to follow her. She was plunging her hands into the hot water, shouting something barely coherent until one of Larimor's weakly flailing hands found hers. Almandar helped her haul her fellow paladin from the water -- thankful now, that the man hadn't been fully armoured.

He was badly injured, clothes torn and bloodied, a gaping wound in his chest, barely alive or able to move. Tarissa leaned over him, and Almandar fancied that he saw tears in her eyes as she placed her hands over the chest wound, pressing down as she muttered a prayer over and over.

Larimor spasmed, spitting out water, the wound visibly healing beneath the woman's magical touch. He would live, but, Almandar thought, he could hardly be in a fit state to continue.

The same thought had evidently occurred to the paladin. "Go on without me," he gasped, locking eyes with Tarissa.

"We can't leave you here!" Almandar caught the raw emotion in her voice, wondered for a second what she had seen when he opened the vial, and then thrust the thought back down as unworthy.

"You must. You have to stop this thing. Leave me my sword. Everything's coming from beyond that place, you can stop it before it gets to me. I'll be all right. Now go!"

She nodded, although the magician could see the reluctance in her face. They had no choice.

──◊──

"Who is this person?" demanded Eristacia, a hint of hysteria in her voice. "I demand to know what is happening!"

They had gathered in some sort of underground chamber. A cellar, she supposed, beneath the Rotunda. Initially black, it was now lit by an orange glow from some sort of magical sphere that one of her fellow conspirators had produced from beneath her robes. There were only six of them in the room, although she knew others had survived. Tenik and Scaggs had been close by her when the explosion happened, and she had seen both of them still standing once the mists had descended. Yet neither were in the little group now.

And, somewhere, there was Yelvann, of course, the pet necromancer whose hordes were supposedly destroying the paladins as the ceremony got underway. There might be others, too, although she was sure some had been caught in the mysterious blast. How could everything have gone so suddenly, horribly, wrong?

"That seems a fair question!" snapped one of the other cloaked figures, a merchant whom she did not know particularly well. 

"Is this it? Are we all doomed?" asked a second man, nervously, until Amloth quelled him with a disgusted glance.

"No, of course not," snapped the drow, "somebody has found out about us, tried to stop the ceremony, but there is still time. There's another way," she turned to look at the stranger, "isn't there?"

"There is," said the mystery woman, "the Presence is not so easily defeated."

"And just who the hell are you, anyway?" snapped the remaining conspirator, the woman who had produced the magical light. Eristacia thought she was some sort of petty sorceress. "And what are you?"




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 45



"She is another agent of the Presence," said Amloth, "whose inner nature I have awakened. She is the one who acquired the censer for us."

Eristacia noticed that the drow had not really answered the second part of the question. For the mystery woman did not look human, but some kind of mix of mortal and demon. She had sharp horns jutting from her forehead, blood-red eyes, and a skin whose colour... well, she could not quite tell in this light, but it did not look normal. A tiefling, just possibly, but one whose demonic taint was far stronger than in any she had ever heard of. More like a demon herself, perhaps. Not that she was an expert, in such things, of course.

"Zarenis," said the stranger, "my name is Zarenis." 

She held, Eristacia noticed, some kind of sceptre, with a lightly glowing crystal at the tip. Even Amloth, she could not help noticing, kept glancing at it, as if not sure what it was.

"Oh, this?" said Zarenis, apparently noticing her gaze, "this is how we do without your original ceremony." She smiled, with no trace of warmth in it, but said nothing further.

The awkward silence dragged on, until Amloth at last decided to break it, looking as uncomfortable as Eristacia had ever seen her. "How?" the drow asked, clearly fuming at having to seek advice.

"Ask the Presence," said Zarenis, "and you will know how. You are, I believe, the only one who can speak to it directly."

"I am," said Amloth, a haughty tone creeping back into her voice now that she evidently realised that she still might have the upper hand. She was silent for a while, as if listening to an inner voice, then she suddenly flicked her head up, expression unreadable. "I see," she said, in a surprisingly dead voice. "So be it."

The drow reached into the black bag that she had been carrying at her side all evening, and drew out an engraved purple rod, something like a wand, raising it into the air with a flourish.

She pointed it at the merchant, and spoke a single word of command. A blast of greenish light spat out from the end, striking him in the chest. The merchant screamed.

He fell to his knees, still screaming, as Eristacia and the other two conspirators looked on in horror. Only Zarenis and Amloth looked calm as tendrils of smoke began to pour from beneath the man's robes and he thrashed on the floor. Then flames began spurting from his mouth, and a few seconds later, he had stopped moving.

Amloth looked at the others in the room. "We still needed a sacrifice. And a betrayal," she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Of course," sad Zarenis, "without the full ceremony..." she let the words hang in the air.

"Quite," said Amloth. "One is no longer enough." And she shot the second man.

The other conspirator, the sorceress, realised what that meant just a moment before Eristacia did, and ran for the door even as the second man collapsed screaming on the floor.

Zarenis had thrown a bolt across the doorway, and the sorceress, fingers scrambling, did not even have time to finish pulling it back before she too, was letting out a high-pitched yell of unbearable agony.

Eristacia made a lunge for the door, but Zarenis was in front of her, wickedly pointed sceptre pointing in her direction. The noblewoman dropped to her knees, uselessly covering her head with her arms, sobbing in sudden terror. This hadn't been the idea! She should have been on the verge of unimaginable power and riches, and now she was going to be murdered by own compatriots?

Everyone had betrayed her. She had always been betrayed for all of her life, and it was always, always, the fault of others! What had she ever done wrong? What had she ever done to deserve this fate? The feeling gnawed deep inside her, even though she knew that that emotion was exactly what the Presence wanted. What Amloth wanted.

She realised she was still alive.

Slowly, she uncurled her arms, looking up at the other two women with tear-stained eyes. The three cloaked figures were charred husks on the floor.

"Three should do it," said Amloth.

Zarenis nodded, and Eristacia drew a shuddering breath, amazed at her good fortune. "Out of curiosity," asked the demon-woman, "why her?"

"She has promise," said Amloth, casually. "But mainly because I have an exceptionally large strap-on dildo I was going to use tonight," she patted the black bag, "and I don't intend to let it go to waste." She turned to the shaking noblewoman, "tomorrow, you will be at my side as ruler, perhaps the only one left who is. You will get everything you always anted. But tonight, once I have finished with this matter, I am going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. And, 'heterosexual'," she spat the word, like a curse, "or not, I am not going to stop until I am sure that you have climaxed at least once."

"Well," she said, her voice suddenly lighter, "fun for us later. But back to business!"

──◊──

Calleslyn wasted valuable magical energy forcing open the door that Valmor had sealed with a spell of his own. The human magician had fled up a spiral staircase inside the Rotunda, closing off the door at the top before she could reach it. Neither of them was moving very fast, she still stinging from her wounds, and he probably unfit even before he had been injured, but there was nobody else here to interrupt them. If any other of the hooded coven had survived, hopefully Dolrim was dealing with them right now.

She threw the door open, leaping through it and rolling to one side. As she expected, a spell flew over her head as she did so. It was good to see that having more combat experience than he did give her some advantage.

Continuing the movement seamlessly, Calleslyn sprang to her feet, hands raised. She did not have the strength left for many of her more powerful spells, but she could still use the one that had felled the priestly would-be rapist. Unfortunately, even Valmor had thought of that, and the sparks of light fizzled to nothing in front of him, a protective barrier evidently already in place.

They were on the roof, she now saw, under the moonlit sky, the great dome of the Rotunda to one side, and a sheer drop not far way, across a short, flat, space that did not even have a railing. Valmor was already gesturing with his hands, and swirls of black smoke were beginning to form all around her, rising up into smoky tendrils that swatted at her body.

"Let's see you learn humility, elven bitch!" shouted Valmor, as one tendril wrapped itself around her leg, pulling her to the ground, ripping her skirt and forcing her to move her aim away from the other magician.

The human rose into the air, a flight spell bearing him aloft, laughing cruelly as he moved away from the edge of the roof, leaving her to grapple with the inky ropes he had summoned. Calleslyn saw him moving his hands in a motion for another spell, one that would surely blast her where she struggled. He had held back from using his most deadly spells before, but there was no reason for that now, and he was already protected from most of what she had left in her own arsenal.

"You are nothing next to me? Do you hear me?" screamed Valmor, a crazed look in his eyes, a split second before she wrestled her hand free and hurled a final spell at him.

It wasn't a combat spell, so it produced nothing physical his shield could protect him against. Instead, Calleslyn cancelled his flight spell.

Valmor let out a piercing shriek of pure terror as he dropped like a stone, cut short as his body smashed into the cobblestones far below. The tentacles around her faded, vanishing into the cool night air.

Calleslyn eased herself over to the edge of the roof. She could see Valmor sprawled in the moonlit street, a pool of blood oozing out around him. He wasn't moving. 

And then the ghouls were upon him, a seething mass raking with claws and teeth as they began to devour his body.

──◊──

"This way," said Almandar, examining the old map, "that other way leads to a pit, and some sort of trap beyond it. But this way... this way is the chamber we are looking for, I think. The heart of all this."

They had left behind the water channels of the old drainage system now, and were traversing some very old looking stone corridors, perhaps once part of a temple complex. Doubtless they were whatever ruins Throndar had stumbled across, here long before Haredil had ever existed.

On occasion, they heard skittering sounds in the dark beyond the light, ominous shuffles, or sudden grunts. But whatever was out there did not seem to be approaching them, at least for the moment. They were clearly somewhere that touched the infernal planes in some way, tainted by the Presence. Perhaps there was a gate somewhere through which the monster they had encountered had crawled, as the barriers broke down, and the Presence neared the time of its own release.

The corridor ended, where the map said it should, and Almandar and Tarissa stepped into a large chamber with a high, domed roof. Five ancient and corroded candelabra stood at the apices of a pentangle carved into the floor. The signs, he suspected, of the former adventurers' attempt to imprison what they had found. Within it, near the centre of the room, was a stone altar, dark stains covering its surface. 

Four skeletons lay around the altar, three of orcs and one of a human, their bones as dry as dust. This, it was clear, was the chamber from which the dread sorcerer Yluk'Tz'n'o had first tried to bring the Presence to this world. Now his bones lay with those of his sacrificial victims, a stark testament to his failure.

"Now what?" asked Tarissa.

"I don't know," he admitted, walking around the room, outside the pentagram, the darkness lit only by his mage-light, trying to see if there was any hint as to what could be done. He could not see any.

"We have to do something," the paladin pointed out, "we've come all this way."

"I know," he agreed, "I was rather hoping there would be more of a clue."

"Could we destroy it?"

"Perhaps, but it might not be so easy. Between us, perhaps we can think of something. What do we know of demons, of the place that they come from?"

Before she could reply, the room was flooded with brilliant white light, and Almandar stepped back, shielding his eyes from the sudden glare.

"What is that?" asked Tarissa.

He looked, now that his eyes were adjusting, seeing a beam of light projecting from the apex of the dome onto the altar. Orange flames, burning without fuel, were springing up across the stone where it touched, forming into a disc, leaping impossibly high into the air, as if climbing up the beam of light.

"They must be doing it now!" he said, "it must be the eclipse. They're completing the ceremony."

"We don't have time to think about this any more!" cried Tarissa, and he had to agree.

Destroy it. He didn't know if that would work, but what other choice did he have? There was nothing else here, no clue as to what might hold back the Presence. But maybe, just maybe, it needed the altar. Almandar hurled his strongest spell at the stone table, a blast of lightning striking it, shattering the rock, cracking it open as the unnatural fire guttered and spat, as if disoriented, randomly casting about.

"Run!" he shouted to Tarissa, throwing a fireball back into the chamber as he followed her out of the archway and back into the corridor.

In the enclosed space, the explosion was even louder than he had expected, shaking everything about them. He saw a slab of the domed ceiling crashing down beyond the arch, adding to the din, throwing dust and rubble after them. Even the corridor was shaking, crumbling. 

They had not wanted to use such magic to fight their way through the deadly plants for fear the corridor might collapse, and now that prophetic fear was proving true. They ran on, pelted with stones, sometimes jumping over fallen boulders, Tarissa panting hard in her armour, choking dust filling the air, until the mage-light proved useless. 

He blundered on, hands stretched out to find some hint of a wall -- until something hit him hard on the head, and he fell to the ground, blacking out, unconscious.

It seemed like only a moment later that he awoke, the sound of rumbling fading in his ears. Everything was pitch dark, and something was lying across his legs, the pain intense.

"Tarissa!" he called out.

"I'm here!" he sighed at the familiar voice. "I'm all right, just hold still, while I get you out. It's stopping, I think. This part of the passage is stable. We just got to the end of the dangerous part."

"Thank the gods for that..." he breathed, as he felt her beginning to clear away the rubble that partially buried him.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes, I think. Can you see?"

"No, can you make another light?"

He shook his head, but of course, she couldn't see it. "Sorry," he said, "not yet. My head is... I was stunned there for a moment." He tried to stand, winced in pain as he did so. "Okay, walking maybe not quite so easy as I thought."

"Lean on me. I'll get you out of here."

"I know," he said, "I know."

──◊──

The banging on the doors had stopped. The priests and patients huddled together in the middle of the room, as Vardala stood there uncertainly, sword in hand. There was silence from outside the infirmary.

"Have they gone?" asked Horvan, sounding as if he did not quite believe it. 

Neither did Vardala. "I don't know," she said, "I can't see why they would. It's not as if we can open the doors to check." She glanced up at the windows, far above. There was nothing there but night time darkness. "We wait," she decided, "until we can be sure what is happening."

And so they did, until the surviving clerics of Pardror came along to tell them the path was clear. The zombies had all fallen down suddenly, at a single stroke, and were lying, decaying, in the streets. The ghouls, and worse things, had fled, melting away into the night, and nobody could tell where they had gone.

The disaster -- inexplicable to anyone here but Vardala -- had passed as suddenly as it had started.

──◊──

"How many?" asked Calleslyn, as Dolrim averted his eyes from the wide rip in her skirt. She didn't really think it was time to be prudish, but she supposed a lifetime of dwarven habits was a hard thing to break.

"Three you caught with your first fireball," he said, "him over there," he indicated the priest, "and one I took down myself. The guardsman, I think. He was the only one with the presence of mind to come up and fight me. Your magician?"

"Dead. The ghouls started eating him, and then they melted away."

"Somebody's done something, then."

"Almandar and Tarissa; it must be. How is she coping?" She nodded towards the nun.

"Incoherent, really. She's had a nasty shock. But she's alive, we saved her."

"Yes, with the help of the others."

"Five in here, your magician makes six. There were thirteen people that entered this building. Where are the other seven?"

"Good question. The undead are all gone, so she'll be safe enough here. So let's go find those seven. Ready?"

"As ever."

──◊──

Amloth stood before the great disc of fire that had appeared in the room, arms outspread. It was a portal to somewhere else; that much Eristacia understood. This was what they had been trying to summon, and now the moment was almost upon them. She strained her eyes, and fancied that she saw something moving within the patterns of swirling flame, but could not make out any details.

She had joined in the chanting, as she had been told to, but now her role seemed past, and she was uncertain as to what would happen next. They were on the cusp of success, weren't they? In just a few moments she would be... well, she wasn't sure what, now that she thought about it. But victory, final, absolute victory over her traitorous relatives, over the whole of the society that had wronged her, was finally just within her grasp.

Even so, she could not help glancing at the bag Amloth had brought with her, remembering what the drow had said would happen before the morning. 'Exceptionally large', she had said. Just how big was that? The thought repelled her, and yet at the same time, strangely excited her. She didn't know how that would end, either.

"It comes!" cried Amloth, voice exultant, "the Presence comes! All hail the Presence!"

Something was definitely moving within the flame now, growing larger before Eristacia's astonished eyes. Then the flames began to dance, moving erratically, the portal itself changing in shape, rippling into an irregular pattern.

"No..." gasped Amloth, and Eristacia once again knew fear. Something else was going wrong.

There was a brilliant flash of white light, overwhelming everything, and a crashing, roaring sound that filled the room. Eristacia stumbled back against the wall, momentarily blinded.

"What happened?" she wailed plaintively, as her eyes struggled to see again.

"I... I don't..." it was Amloth, worried, uncertain.

"We won."

She turned to look at Zarenis. Her voice was deeper than before, though still just about feminine. The tiefling, or half-demon, or whatever she was, was standing still, a grin across her face.

"We did?"

"Yes."

As her eyes finally recovered, Eristacia realised that Zarenis was even less human than before. Her horns were huge now, ram-like, her skin, illuminated in the brilliant white glow that now poured from the sceptre she carried, was a pinkish red, her fingernails black and claw-like. Swirls of dark mist rose up from her hands, and her blood-red eyes were literally glowing, as if with some demonic fervour. She also had a long, barbed tail, which swished behind her, although at least there was no sign of wings.

"They destroyed the altar," she said, "they think they have ended this."

"Who?"

"Does it matter? They were too late. The Presence has already come through. It is in me now. We have won."

"I can't hear it's voice..." Amloth sounded confused.

"You can hear me. That shall suffice. I can summon demons whenever I wish. I can create an army with a click of my fingers. The city is ours; it just doesn't know it yet."

"But I am the high priestess. The power should be mine!"

Zarenis snorted. "Which among us has demon blood? The Presence needed you to set up the ceremony. It does not need you now. I am the ruler now. I am your Princess, your master."

"No! It should have been me!" The drow screeched, raising her hands towards the demonic figure before her. "It should be me."

"And that," said Zarenis, "is why I can never trust you." 

Flame spat from her fingertips, blasting Lady Amloth back into the wall, where the disc of flame had been not long before -- Eristacia had only just realised it had vanished. The drow screamed, a yell of frustration and outrage more than one of pain, as the glowing fire consumed her.

Zarenis turned to look towards Eristacia.

"Please don't kill me!" she begged, falling to her knees, "I'll do anything you want! Anything at all! I'm not like her. You can trust me to be your servant. Just please don't kill me!"

Before Zarenis could make any kind of reply, there was a scrabbling sound behind her, and she turned to see Amloth climbing to her feet. The demon-woman actually looked surprised.

"I am hardly defenceless against demonic power, you hell-spawned bitch!" spat the drow. "Think you can destroy me so easily? Think again!"

She hurled a spell towards Zarenis, but the other woman simply caught the glowing light in her hand as if it had been a ball. It flared and faded. Glowing red eyes examined her now empty hand curiously, then flicked up towards the drow.

"Not really going to work," she said, voice calm.

Amloth screeched and leapt forward, hands outstretched, fingers clawing.

"It should have been me!" she yelled, grappling with the horned woman, eyes wild, lost in a furious rage.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 45



Suddenly, there was a knife in Amloth's hand; a small and slender blade of dark metal, slim and decorative, but little more than kitchen utensil. She stabbed with it towards Zarenis' belly, but was easily swatted aside. Eristacia took the opportunity to race for the door, scrabbling with the bolt, as the sorceress had before her.

She heard a feminine shriek of pain and horror, and, despite herself, looked back to see what was happening behind her. Somehow, Zarenis had managed to reverse the blade, which was now projecting from between Amloth's ample breasts, piercing the cloth of her robes. It didn't look as if it should have been particularly serious, and there was little blood, but the drow was staggering back, eyes wide with shock.

Amloth threw her head back, and Eristacia saw a bluish foam appearing on her lips. Moments later, she had dropped to the floor, convulsing and thrashing. The blade had been poisoned, and with no mere regular venom, but something magically deadly, perhaps from the drow's own subterranean homeland.

Moments later, the fit had subsided, and Lady Amloth's head lolled to one side, red-flecked eyes staring sightlessly into the gloom. Eristacia renewed her efforts on the door, throwing the bolt to one side, and grappling to pull it open, struggling more than she should because of her own panic.

Zarenis stepped up beside her, and slammed it shut again. Eristacia screamed, and slid down to the floor, back against the door, hands raised once more over her head. Yet the other woman merely reached her hand to the noblewoman's chin, raising it to look into her eyes. Eristacia whimpered, knees literally shaking in terror, ashamed at how the fear was so consuming her. She didn't want to die.

"Stand."

Legs quaking, trying to fight back the tears, she did so. "Please..." she whispered again, mouth dry.

Zarenis stepped forward, wrapping her arm around the human woman's shoulder, an almost comforting gesture.

Then she snapped Eristacia's neck.

──◊──

When Calleslyn and Dolrim found the chamber, there were five dead bodies in it. But no sign of anyone else. 



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 46



Tinberly sat on the edge of the fountain, swinging her legs idly as she watched the crowd go by and chatted with her best friend. Lissica was her own age, eighteen years old, and they'd grown up together, only a few streets apart. They had a lot in common, both having lost a father; in Lissica's case a southern merchant who simply never returned home one day from a long trip abroad. That showed in her fair hair and grey eyes, contrasting against the more typical dark tones of Tinberly's own. 

They had a lot to talk about, as they always did, the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, the constant bustling life of the city around them. The afternoon had gone fast, and now the sun was setting, the sky starting to dim, signalling that the day was finally at an end. 

"It's getting late," said Lissica, eventually, sitting beside her on the stone ledge. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"I can't go home," said Tinberly, glancing down at her feet, "not yet."

The other girl frowned, a quizzical look on her face. "Why not? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes... there's not a problem." Which wasn't exactly true. "What I mean is, my mother has a guest, and, uh, I probably shouldn't, um..." she trailed off, unsure of quite how to phrase things, especially since it wasn't something she really wanted to think about.

Lissica's grey eyes widened, evidently catching the meaning anyway, "your mother has a boyfriend?" she asked with surprise, "why didn't you say earlier?"

She almost said 'because he's a half-orc, and he's really ugly, and I actually heard them having sex, which was gross, and I can't understand why he's still coming round, and why she looks so happy to see him'. All of which would have been true, but was far more than she wanted to share. So instead, she just said, "I'd rather not talk about it," and Lissica caught her expression, and evidently understood that she shouldn't press the matter.

"Well, what do you want to do? I guess we can stay out – we're adults, after all."

"You'll stay?"

"Yes, of course. What else are friends for?"

"Thanks, Lissi," she said, beaming, "I really appreciate it."

The other girl leapt to her feet, long hair swishing around her shoulders, contrasting with the blue-green of her dress and complementing the light copper scarf that she wore about her throat. "So, what do we do? Your decision!"

"Well..." she suddenly stopped, voice frozen as she felt a strange tingling sensation, and a burst of warmth against her chest. It took her a moment to realise what that meant, and, when she did, the alarm clearly showed in her face.

"What is it?" asked Lissica, voice suddenly serious.

"My amulet!"

"What amulet?"

"It's... it's something my mother bought for me," she wasn't going to explain how, especially since it involved him, "it's magic."

"You've got a magic amulet! Wow... let me see."

"No, no," she said, suddenly getting to her feet, "you see, the enchantment is that it gets hot when someone dangerous is coming. Somebody that might harm me. And that's what it's doing now."

"Are you... yes, of course you're serious. Oh my gods... what should we do?" The other girl was looking frightened now, catching Tinberly's own fear, glancing about across the square, although nothing in particular seemed to be happening.

"We've got to keep moving, until it gets cooler. That's what she said."

"What who said?"

"We don't have time. Come on, Lissi!" She turned instinctively in the direction of the street that led towards her own home – both of their homes, actually – but, as she did so, she felt the amulet grow warmer. That was where the danger was coming from! She grabbed Lissica's hand, and tugged her in the other direction. "This way, follow me!"

They ran down the street, in the direction of the market, the amulet growing cooler as she did so. So far, so good. She was grateful to her mother now, no matter what the circumstances. The amulet worked, and, tonight, it was truly showing its value. 

Suddenly, she stopped, as she felt another burst of heat from the amulet, even stronger than before. She was still holding onto Lissica's hand, bringing the other girl up short, so that she part span around, grey eyes now wide with shock, a wordless question on her face.

"It's coming from up there, too!" Was the amulet supposed to get this hot? It was positively uncomfortable. But how could a threat be coming from two directions at once? Was it tricking her, somehow? Nyvara had hardly been a trustworthy person, no matter what else had happened that night... something else she didn't want to talk about, even with her best friend.

A scream from up ahead answered that concern. Somebody was running towards them, and, in the rapidly gathering gloom, it took a second for her to realise that he wasn't an assailant – he was running away from something! Something really terrible was happening! Was the city being attacked?

"Monsters! Undead! Walking corpses!" screamed the man, trying to warn anyone who would listen. 

Tinberly's heart almost skipped a beat. No wonder the amulet was so hot! And she, really, really, didn't want to see a walking corpse. Still less be attacked by one.

"What do we do?" wailed Lissica, her hand now gripping Tinberly's tightly.

"Side alley," she said, breathlessly, and pulled her friend in that direction. Normally, a dark alley would not be the best place to avoid danger, but right now, she didn't feel she had much option.

She wasn't sure how much later it was that they finally stopped running. She wasn't even sure where they were, they had taken so many back alleys to get here. Somewhere not far from the city outskirts, that much was clear, and probably on the far side to that with which she was most familiar. Whatever sudden disaster had suddenly raised the unhallowed dead seemed to have mostly affected the central areas, and the amulet had, so far, prevented her from actually seeing any of the monsters. At least, if they weren't on the outskirts, that meant her mother should be safe... and whatever she thought of Rolgor, he was as able to protect her as anyone else she could think of.

The amulet had, at least for the time being, returned to its normal self, no longer warning her of danger. She leaned up against the nearest wall, regaining her breath as Lissica leaned over beside her.

"We're safe... for the moment," she gasped.

Her friend nodded, still panting too much to speak. At last, she straightened up, long hair in disarray, sweat beading her brow. "Where are we?"

"I don't know." She looked at the building whose wall they were next to. "Nice house... the ones over there," she waved at the opposite side of the street, "aren't bad, either. Doesn't look like anyone's home, though."

"What do we do, Tins? We're lost, it's dark, and there's monsters killing everyone."

"We don't know that, Lissi."

"There was screaming. And your... magic doodad said we were in danger. I mean, come on, undead? What else would they do?"

She nodded. Whatever was happening was clearly very, very bad. "Perhaps..." she said, "perhaps we find some shelter? Somewhere dark to hide until dawn? Then we can see what's happening, get home." Right now, she really wanted to be at home, curled up in her bed, whether Rolgor was in the next room or not.

They found an alcove at one side of the building, something intended for water run-off, although, with the clear night sky, there was no fear of that tonight. They hunkered down in the shadow, the wall protecting them from even the light of the double full moons, deep in shadow, eyes staring out into the street beyond. 

Tinberly felt Lissica's arm around her shoulder, the other girl pressed up close to her in the small space, and tried to avoid thinking about what else had happened on the night she had gained the amulet. Not that Lissi was at all like that, of course, but she was glad that her friend couldn't see her blushing at the memory. Awkwardly, she put her own arm around her friend's waist, and they huddled together, sharing their body warmth. 

She really shouldn't be thinking like that, not at a time like this. But the alcove was dark, and she was tired, and Lissi was warm and soft... For all that she tried to keep her eyes open, she found herself nodding off, and soon surrendered to a fitful sleep full of running, and invisible monsters... and kissing. She wasn't sure how the kissing had started, in the way that you often weren't with dreams, but it was certainly pleasant, and things seemed to be looking up – when she suddenly awoke, to find Lissica's hand over her mouth.

There were voices in the street, and she realised, with horror, that her amulet was heating up again. But she had been asleep, and it had been her friend who had noticed the danger before she had. Now, there was nowhere to run, not if anyone was out there, in the moonlight.

"You don't need to scarper!" a man was saying, "that's what I'm tellin' yer!"

"But they're all dead – you said it yourself!" The second speaker was a woman, her voice creaky and nasal.

"Yeah... kind of. But not all of 'em. Yeah, it's gone a bit tits up, but we still got a chance. Some of 'em's alive, and I still got contacts in the Guild. I still got power. I dunno what's happened to Amloth, and the rest of 'em, barely got out of there in one piece, but I know some of ;em are still out there, and the ceremony ain't failed."

He paused, and then continued, sounding puzzled "Ain't you getting any of this? I know it don't speak in words, but it's still tellin' me. It wants us to go back."

"I've lost control of my horde," snapped the woman, "I'm back to my normal power. Which means that, no matter what you think, you've failed, and I'm leaving!"

"But it's in my head! It's like an itch, it won't let me leave, even if I wanted to. And it don't want you to leave, neither. We're all in this together, the Presence is in you, an' all, Yelvann. How the fuck do you expect to leave with that in yer?"

"I can hear it, Scaggs," said the woman, "but I choose to ignore it. You think that, with my skills and knowledge, I would let it control me? I know how to deal with demons, how to avoid their mental tricks. It doesn't master me, and, once I've left Haredil, I will find a way to get it out. Unlike you, I am not weak, and I am not without resources."

"Well, fuck you, 'cos I ain't..."

"We're being watched."

That seemed to take him aback. "Huh?"

"I can see in the dark, remember? I have senses you cannot dream of."

"Amloth?"

"No, not one of us. Somebody new. Just let me focus, and I can tell you."

"Point 'em out, and I'll fucking kill 'em. Can't 'ave no witnesses."

Tinberly heard the sound of a sword being drawn, and the amulet against her chest surged with almost unbearable heat that made her whimper in sudden pain.

"I 'eard something! Come out, so I can stick yer good and proper!" She could see him now, walking into her field of view, sword drawn. An ugly, rather brutish looking man, in rumpled clothes.

"Yes, it's..."

There was a loud bang, like a thunderclap, and a brilliant surge of white light. An arcing blast of lightning struck the man, and, for a second, he stood there, mouth open in mute shock as the light played around him. There was a horrible smell of singing flesh as the alley plunged back into regular moonlight. The man – Scaggs – convulsed, then collapsed to the ground, sword clattering on the cobbles beside him.

"I'd run, if I were you," said a new female voice, and Tinberly heard the sounds of somebody doing just that. Then there was silence.

"You can come out now," said the new voice, after a while.

Tinberly gingerly dipped her hand into the front of her dress, feeling the amulet. She was afraid that the earlier heat had numbed her chest, but, no, it wasn't that: the amulet was cool again. She stood up, and Lissica suddenly grabbed her legs in panic.

"No, we're safe now. I think it's over, at least for now."

"Oh, thank all the gods!" 

Tinberly could only agree, and sent a silent prayer of gratitude to whichever one might be listening. "Let's thank our benefactor." Lissica stumbled to her feet, and they both stepped out into the alley, Tinberly's hand still gripping the amulet through the fabric of her clothes, just in case it changed its mind.

The woman standing before them as they emerged was, Tinberly supposed, relatively young, although certainly a good few years older than herself. Maybe thirty or so, which was old, but not old old. So far as she could tell in the moonlight, she was tanned, with jet black hair and dark eyes, and she wore some kind of white dress beneath a hooded blue cloak. Tinberly had never seen her before, and judging from her expression, neither had Lissica.

"You saw us?"

"Only when the lightning bolt went off."

She looked down at the blackened husk lying in the street, then turned away with disgust. "Is he...?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes."

"And the woman?"

"Gone. Which is just as well, since I won't be able to cast anything like that again for a while. I think she wanted to go, and, well, I see no reason not to let her. I don't want a fight that I don't need. It sounded like she wanted to leave the city and not come back, anyway."

Tinberly nodded, mutely. The woman had sounded dangerous, but what this other stranger said made sense, under the circumstances.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" asked the woman, "I don't recognise you from around here."

"We were running. I think we got lost."

"Yes, there is something bad in the city tonight. I wouldn't be surprised if that witch who just fled had something to do with it," she smiled suddenly, "I'm Shamira, by the way. I'm a magician, as you might have guessed."

They both introduced themselves, feeling more secure already. The amulet had not warmed up again, and nothing seemed to be coming their way. Not even guardsmen alerted by the sudden flash of lightning, or nosy neighbours. Perhaps the former were busy and the latter were hiding. It was what she had been doing, after all. Or trying to, at least.

"I think it may be dangerous trying to cross town tonight," said Shamira, once they had told her what part of the city they lived in. Then she sighed, "but I can't just leave you out here, either. Come inside, and we'll sort something out in the morning. Maybe we can see what has actually happened by then."

──◊──

Shamira had done something with the body. Tinberly wasn't entirely sure what, but she had gone outside, and when she came back she told the girls that it was gone. Tinberly didn't want to ask how, although, either way, she was glad that it wasn't there any more...she really didn't want to think about a corpse of some dead ruffian lying out in the street, quite apart from what the law might have to say about the matter.

They had been offered the spare bedroom. There was only the one, and while one of them could have taken one of the couches in the living room, neither girl wanted to be alone tonight.

"You take the bed," said Lissica, "I can take the couch here. She certainly seems to have a lot of them!"

"No, you take it; I don't mind the couch. Really."

"You;ve earned it, after what you did for us, Whatever was out there... it frightened me, and without you and your magic amulet, we could both be... ugh... I don't want to think about it!"

"That was just good luck. It wasn't really anything I did, You should be thanking my mother, if anyone. She bought it."

"Still, I..." Lissica suddenly shivered, holding her arms around herself, "actually, why don't we both take the bed? It's big enough."

"Only just," Tinberly pointed out. For a reason she couldn't quite explain, she felt uncomfortable at the suggestion. The girls were standing there arguing in their shifts, and seeing Lissica's bare and slender legs was giving her flashbacks to the night her mother had acquired the amulet, thoughts that didn't really seem relevant now, but were nonetheless... rather less unpleasant than she felt they should have been.

"That's all right, I don't snore."

"How would you know?"

"Because I heard only boys snore!"

They laughed at that, a sudden release of tension, and that was that. Without undressing further – Tinberly, like most inhabitants of Haredil, normally slept naked, but that didn't seem a good idea right now – they climbed into the soft bed, and pulled the sheet up and over themselves.

It was quite tight, and there was no way to stay apart. Tinberly was glad that the near darkness hid the flush on her face as she thought back to Nyvara once again. Damn that woman! Why did she have to be so... well... good?

She felt even more awkward when Lissica put her arm around over her shoulder, almost embracing her.

"Thank you," the fair haired girl said, "even if you think it was nothing."

"Let's just get some sleep," suggested Tinberly, and with that, settled her head against the pillow, conscious of Lissica;s warm breath on her face, the two just inches apart.

She drifted off almost immediately, surrendering to the soft feel of the sheets, and the body warmth of her friend. She felt safe now, despite the unfamiliar surroundings. The amulet certainly had not given any indication of further trouble, but even without that reassurance, she felt comfortable and relaxed. She was with her best friend, and the world was somehow back to its normal self.

There was kissing in her dreams again, But this time, there was cuddling, too, a lovely warm feeling, as if she was swaddled in a cocoon of peaceful comfort, where nothing could interrupt. The dream was just starting to get really interesting, when she felt somebody pinch her arm, and she found herself awake again almost immediately.

"What are you doing, Tins?" It was Lissica's voice.

Still muddled by sleep, she struggled to think of an answer, until she suddenly realised that her right leg was wrapped around Lissica;s left, the other girl's shift hitched up around her waist, warm soft skin caressing hers, her free hand resting gently on her friend's rounded buttocks.

She jerked away, muttering a meaningless apology. That was embarrassing!

"You must have been having interesting dreams," said Lissica, teasing.

"Uh, kind of, Um, yes. I think."

"Don't worry about it. It was just a surprise, that's all."

They were silent for a while, listening to the house, and peering into the near darkness, illuminated only by a stream of double moonlight pouring between two window shutters that were slightly ajar. Tinberly wasn't getting out of bed to close them.

"Lissi?" she said, after a while, voice hushed to a whisper.

"What?"

"Do you think about boys a lot?"

Lissica giggled, "what do you think?"

"I mean, in bed. Have you ever really thought about what it would be like?"

"I guess," she seemed faintly amused, not worried by the question. "You?"

"Mm hmm." She was silent for a little longer, not entirely sure herself what it was she was asking. "Do you... do anything when you're thinking? To... help?"

There was silence for a while, and then, "Yes." They were still whispering, the hushed voices of two young women discussing a forbidden subject.

"Me too. It's good."

Lissica giggled again, a more knowing chuckle, this time. "Oh, yes."

"Lissi," she said, after another pause. "There's something I want to tell you. Something I should have said before."

"You and a boy! Oh my gosh, I knew it!"

"No! And hush – we don't want to wake our hostess."

"Well, what then?" asked Lissica, back to whispering once more.

"Somebody showed me something. About what we were just talking about."

"About...? What could anybody possibly show you about that? And... how?"

"They, um... they showed me it's better when you have help."

"Help how?" Lissica's voice was even quieter now, yet clearly intrigued.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 46



"From somebody else. Somebody who knows just where and how to touch. Lissi, it was good, it was so, so good. The best ever."

"How did that happen?"

"I'd rather not say about that part right now. Seriously."

"Oh." She sounded a little hurt.

"Lissi," her heart was hammering so hard it felt as if her friend should be able to hear it, "I want to share it with you."

There was another long silence, the two just staring into each other's shadowed faces, as if trying to read their thoughts.

"Lissi?" she asked, after a while. Her friend muttered something, too quiet to hear. "Sorry?"

"I said, 'yes'."

Tinberly put her hand on Lissica's leg, the shift still hitched up around her hips. The skin was soft, more so than Nyvara's had been, and just the feel of it against her fingertips gave her a delicious thrill. Slowly, she slid the hand up, ruffling the cotton of the underclothes, moving under them to stroke her friend's back and side. She watched Lissica's face intently, although she could really only see the moonlight glinting off her eyes and highlights in her hair; most of her features were still obscured by the shadows of the darkened room.

Lissica was, perhaps, not as toned as Nyvara had been, but that didn't matter to Tinberly. She tried to push away her memories of that night, one that now she was beginning to see as a remarkable awakening, and concentrate instead on the girl before her. They were almost the same age, and that made things different, but more than that, this was somebody she had known and chatted with since childhood, somebody she really cared for, somebody that she had always shared with, when she could. What they were sharing now, and what would shortly come, would be the best ever.

"Your hands are smaller than a boy's" whispered Lissica, "I think."

""But gentler, too," she pointed out, slowly stroking the other girl's belly, feeling the flesh yield beneath her touch.

"I didn't say it wasn't nice."

"What about this?" Tinberly moved her hand further up, rucking the shift, feeling the swell of her friend's breasts, making the blonde gasp.

"Should we be...?"

"Hush, Lissi, it'll be good, I promise."

Nyvara's breasts had been so much larger, but Lissica's were a pleasant shape beneath her fingers, as she savoured every tiny fraction of their curves. Tinberly felt a longing in her loins, a desperate ache that rose within her, and wondered if the other girl felt the same. As her questing fingertips brushed over Lissica's nipples, she sensed them swelling and hardening beneath her touch, and knew her answer.

She rolled over on the bed, freeing her left hand, her legs either side of Lissica's hips, and began to pull the shift up and out of the way. With a nervous giggle, the other girl helped her, and Tinberly leaned back, letting the sheet fall from her shoulders, to admire the body now spread out beneath her.

Lissica was on her back now, light hair gleaming in the moonlight, a shy grin on her face. But it was the way that the sliver of light from the window glinted on the mound of her breasts, on the rounded pale nipples, and the curve of her belly that entranced Tinberly. She lay down again, her own breasts resting on Lissica's, separated by only one layer of cotton now, and kissed her friend's throat and chin.

"Tins..." breathed Lissica, softly, and the sound of the pet name only excited Tinberly further.

She moved her hand down, pushing aside Lissica's panties, stroking her fingers through the soft downy hair. Cautiously, moving her own leg out of the way, she eased the other girl's thigh out of the way, resolving to feel the shape of those legs more next time. 

If there was a next time, and she hoped to all the gods that there was. She wanted to possess Lissica, ravish her, make her cry out her name, move their long friendship onto a new and deeper level than ever before. But, for now, she held herself back, not wanting to go too far too soon, and ruin the moment.

Her own nipples were like hard points, her panties damp with suppressed passion, as she slid a finger between Lissica's thighs, down over the tender pussy lips, invisible in the darkness, moving by touch alone.

"Tell me how you like it," she breathed.

"I... I move slowly, and..."

"Like this?"

"Mmm... yes... it feels so different, though..."

"Good different?"

"Mm hmm... and then I move in a circle round... oh my gosh... that's it.... yes..."

Tinberly was moving her fingers as instructed, finding her partner increasingly wet as she teased and probed between the folds, taking pleasure in every little gasp or pant she induced.

"Oh, Lissi..." she moaned, daring to kiss the other girl on the lips for the first time.

To her delight, Lissica responded enthusiastically, any earlier reservation gone. Her hands, with their delicate fingers, riffled through Tinberly's long, dark hair, and down her back, even gripping a buttock. With reluctance, Tinberly pulled her hand away from its task, but only to pull her shift up, finding the other girl eagerly helping her, throwing it away beside the bed.

She leaned back into her, lips once more meeting in the near-darkness. No longer did any material separate their breasts, the slight, soft mounds pressing into each other, as Lissica's hands began to explore the Tinberly's body with increasing enthusiasm.

She moaned out her own enthusiasm, lost in the passion, feeling the soft fingertips running over her flanks, her belly, her thighs, and shoulders. Their bodies writhed together, hard nipples jutting into each other's breasts, trailing out a nameless pattern as they moved. 

She levered herself up slightly, and Lissica took the hint, small, gentle hands cupping her friend's breasts, feeling the shape. "Do you like this, Tins?" she whispered, lightly tweaking a nipple.

She nodded, momentarily unable to find words, her body on fire as never before, desiring everything. Letting out a low, wordless moan, she leant forward, planting a kiss on the top of Lissi's pale breast, savouring the feel of the warm mound against her lips. She darted lower, sucking a small nipple into her mouth, flicking it with her tongue, suckling, savouring, tasting.

"Oh my gosh, Tins!" cried Lissica in delighted surprise, her body bucking against the sheets, back arching and pressing the breast further into Tinberly's delighted mouth.

With regret, she eventually released the wondrous treat from her mouth. Lissica was panting, breath ragged, suddenly unsure of what to do next. Then, seizing her chance, Tinberly thrust an index finger deep into her friend's pussy, further than she had dared so far, making the other girl cry out in passion. Lissica's moans were enchanting, the familiarity of her voice alone enough to heighten Tinberly's passion. She couldn't take much more of this, she thought, as she began to pump the finger in and out, first slowly, and then with more vigour, damp juices slick against her skin.

She silenced Lissica's cries with her kisses, although the details of their situation had long since fled her mind. Then, the other girl pulled back for a moment, holding Tinberly's head in her hands, eyes locked on hers, hair spilled out over the pillow in a dark halo.

"Oh, Tins..." she cried, "Don't stop! I'm going to come. Tins, you're going to make me... ohhhh... oh oh oh..."

Lissica's body writhed against the sheets hands clenching as her hips bucked with her passion. Tinberly could not hold herself back any longer. Panties pushed down around her knees, she pressed her lower body against that of her friend, thighs parted, grinding her damp pussy against Lissica's leg. She moved up until the other girl's folds pressed against her own, their hips moving in tandem. With increasing desperation, she continued the movement, her most sensitive areas pressed against those of her friend, wordless passion and desire taking over, everything contracting into that one feeling.

She cried her friend's name as she came, a wave of pleasure engulfing her beyond anything she had previously experienced. Then they lay there, panting, arms wrapped around each other's slender, sweat-slicked bodies, faces pressed together.

"Tins," whispered Lissica, "promise me that won't be the last time."

"I promise. I so, so, promise."



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 47



"He's upstairs," Ansrael told her when she arrived at the house, "you're welcome to go on up. He told me what happened. Or some of it, at least. I gather we owe you a debt of gratitude -- the whole city does."

"It wasn't just me," Lady Tarissa informed the elven squire, "there were many of us involved. Including Larimor."

"Thank you, nonetheless. I saw a lot of what happened, and I can't imagine what it would have been like if you -- all of you -- hadn't put an end to it. I'm going out to help with some of the clean-up at the temple. Larimor has been there all day, but I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you."

"Thank you, Ansreal." She was visiting Larimor's home, a well-appointed building, if smaller than the adventurers' own villa, and one that, of course, he shared with his squire, at least until her knighting ceremony, which was due quite soon now. She had not been here often before, and then only for brief visits, and it was a pleasant surprise to discover that they would actually have some time alone for once.

"First door on the right at the top of the stair," said the elf, as she stepped outside, "I'll see you later, and you can tell me your side of it. 'Bye!"

Once the front door had shut, Tarissa turned to the stairway and headed up. On the few occasions she had been here before, she had only seen the ground floor, which had a tastefully appointed living room and a secure armoury, as well as a yard outside for martial practice, A paladin, after all, always had to be prepared for action.

"Larimor!" she called out, as she approached the door that Ansreal had indicated, "it's me. Can I come in?"

"The door opened, and the tall knight stood there, beaming, "Tarissa! Come in, by all means. It's great to see you... after what happened yesterday."

She stepped inside, and realised that she was in her fellow paladin's bedroom. It was as pleasant as the rooms downstairs, with a large four poster bed and a plush carpet on the floor. Fortunately, despite the hour, Larimor did not appear to have been getting ready for bed -- that would have been embarrassing, for both of them. 

"How are you?" she asked, reflecting that the last time she had seen him, he had still been suffering from the wounds inflicted by the subterranean monster.

"Much better, thank you. Working with so many priests skilled in healing is definitely an advantage of being a paladin." He flexed an arm, demonstrating his suppleness, the strong muscles moving beneath the fabric of his tunic. "But what about you? You obviously knew a lot about what was happening. What can you tell me about it?"

"We knew something like this would happen, yes," she agreed, "although not the details. I had no idea there would be undead walking the streets, for one thing. Nor did we know when it was going to happen. It could have been years away for all we knew, at least until very recently. We obviously grossly underestimated the urgency. Which is partly my fault."

"You couldn't have known," he said, reassuringly, "you just said so yourself. Besides, as I said yesterday, it is a bit of a coincidence, you discovering this in some ancient record so shortly before something that must only happen...well, less than once a century, from what I can gather."

"Yes..." she said, thoughtfully, "I remember you saying that. It is somewhat fortunate, now that you mention it. But it happened, and it as well that it did. Who knows, maybe Pardror had a hand in guiding us to the truth."

Larimor smiled. "Perhaps he did. The legends say that such things have happened before. What about your colleagues, though? I know that you normally fight alongside them, and they must have been trapped up on the surface."

"In that at least," she told him, "we were well prepared." She explained what Calleslyn and the others had done, and how they had foiled the conspirators' plan to raise the Presence.

"So there were thirteen of them at the Rotunda?" he asked. "A full coven?"

"So it seems. My friends managed to defeat most of them, and the remainder apparently turned on each other... presumably when their plan failed. Fortunately, we will not even have questions to answer, because everyone assumes that it was all to do with the undead."

"But some of them were killed with a fireball. Won't that...?"

"The Wizards' College is saying that Valmor was valiantly fighting off the hordes, and that he accidentally caught some innocent people in the blast. For, which of course, he could not be held to account in any event, because he eventually succumbed to the monsters himself. As did a guardsman -- Tenik, I think his name was -- who also died there, fighting the creatures. Or so the authorities believe."

"There is little point in disabusing them of that notion now, I suppose," agreed Larimor, "and all the thirteen are dead?"

"There were eleven bodies at the Rotunda," Tarissa informed him, "so two evidently escaped. They were the ones who turned on the others, I imagine. But we need not worry about them, because Calleslyn told me this morning of something a friend of hers at the Wizards' College told her about last night. Apparently this woman met two people, talking about a possessing demon -- evidently the Presence -- and having escaped from a disaster. She thought they referred to the undead, of course, but from what Calleslyn could piece together, they must be our two remaining conspirators."

"Do we know who they are?"

"No, but we do know that one is dead, and the other has fled the city, apparently after throwing off the Presence's control of her mind. We have no way of following her, or of taking any action against her... but she has gone, and has no way of repeating her act, even if she wanted to. So, while I always regret leaving an evil unanswered, in this case, it is not so bad as it could be. Not that we have an option, anyway."

"So, it's all over then?"

"It certainly seems so."

Larimor let out a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for the confirmation, and sat down on the bed. "Thank the gods," he said, "an undead army rampaging across the heart of the city... it's a lot to take in."

She sat next to him, intending it merely as a gesture of camaraderie. "You did your part," she told him, "we have all helped to save the city."

"I feel as if I did not do so much," he said, "it was you and Almandar who went on to the shrine. All I did was distract that... what was that thing, anyway?"

"I have heard of them," she said, "but only far to the south, on the fringes of my own homeland. They inhabit the cold lands, not places like this. It must have come through some kind of portal, a weakness in the fabric of the world caused by the Presence or the ceremony that first summoned it. But, please, do not sell yourself short. I was glad to have you by my side."

"And I you," he said, "fighting alongside you was..." he seemed to struggle for the words, "a good feeling. And you saved my life. You may not believe it, but you are a greater paladin than I. Truly."

"You are as worthy a follower of Pardror as I have ever met," she said, unconsciously reaching out to take his hand in hers. 

Feeling his warm skin against her own, she realised that the gesture could seem rather intimate, and hoped he did not take it the wrong way. Or was it the wrong way? She had always felt strongly about him, admiring both his dedication and his undeniably handsome looks. Yet her desires had always been pushed back, in the name of honour and purity, her devotion to the cause outweighing any personal feelings. But did it have to be that way?

They were silent for a while, and she noted he did not move his hand from hers. 

"I..."

"Tarissa..."

"Sorry, you..."

"No, you first."

"I was afraid," she admitted, "when you were attacked. For a moment I thought I had lost you. I know we had never truly fought alongside each other before, but you mean a lot to me nonetheless. The thought of losing you cut deep."

"When you went off with Almandar, into the unknown, I felt the same," he said, "I was more worried about you than myself. I could not bear being without you, Tarissa."

The next moment, she was in his arms, hugging him tight, face nestled in the crook of his shoulder. It felt so good, so natural, his strongly muscled form held in her embrace, the warmth of his tunic against her cheek. He whispered her name again, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"I have admired you for so long," he said, "a great warrior, a noble heart, full of goodness and resolve. You are everything a paladin should be, and more."

"As are you, Larimor," she told him, feeling the credit undeserved. She was an adventurer, not a knight in direct service of her god. She could do good that way, she knew, and many evils had fallen before her sword arm, but surely his devotion was greater than her own? Why could he not see that, as she could?

She pulled back slightly from his embrace, lifting her head to look into his dark eyes, seeing a gentle and caring look there that she had so long hoped to see directed towards her. Had she just never noticed it before, so determined had she been to stay professional and so fearful of being thought to fall short of her order's precepts? Or had their recent exploits brought them together as never before?

Their lips met, a brief brush, yet one that made her heart soar in her chest.

"Should we be doing this?" she asked, fearful of a negative answer, yet feeling the need to put the question anyway.

"I think kissing is permitted."

She pressed her lips against his again, and this time did not pull back. His breath was warm on her face as their mouths explored each other's, the tips of their tongues touching through parted lips, his broad shoulders firm beneath her embracing arms, his own hands against her back, comforting, supporting.

The kiss seemed to last forever, until they at last pulled apart, panting slightly to regain their breath.

"I have longed to do that since we first met," he told her, "why did we wait so long?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not now."

They kissed again, more fervently yet, Larimor's fingers running through her long hair, her hands running down his side, until they half collapsed together on the bed, she suppressing a most un-paladin-like giggle as they pulled apart to lie next to each other on the sheets.

Tarissa raised herself up on one arm, to look down on him as he rolled over onto his back. There was no denying his handsome looks, his tall and well-formed physique, that of a perfect warrior. She rested her free hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her fingertips, watching the slight movements as he breathed.

"If we... go further with this," she said, "how might we feel? I mean, we would distract each other, spend our time worrying about each other. Might it get in the way of our duties?"

"Too late for that, I think," he said, reaching out a hand to gently brush her cheek, "besides, do you want it to end here, now that we have found each other? Truly?"

"No," she whispered. They could never go back to the way it had been between them, if, indeed, that had ever really been possible.

"It is not as if we have just met," he reminded her, "I have known you for years. Our order prohibits casual liaisons, but it does not discourage romance."

"'Pardror is the brother of Sarlene'," she quoted, something an old priest had told her, back when she was newly knighted.

"Exactly. I don't think either of us could end this here if we wanted. There is too much between us. But nothing more need happen tonight."

"No," she said, surprised at the disappointment that crept into her voice unbidden, "besides, Ansreal will be back."

"Not until late tomorrow morning, actually."

"Well, still..."

"Yes, of course," he said, hurriedly. "We are not prepared. We need time to get used to this. Back in the tunnel, when Almandar... you know... it weakened us. It is just as well that it did not have the same effect on him."

"No, it wouldn't have," she said, wryly.

"So he..." he stumbled over the words, "well, yes... whereas I... what I'm trying to say is I am not entirely experienced at this."

"'Entirely'?"

"At all, really. I mean, I haven't... before." Tarissa was surprised, although on reflection she could not think why. She had just assumed that he was more experienced than she, that he would have some romantic encounters in his past. But why should that be, if he was as dedicated as she? It was touching, in a way, that she was the first.

"I have never met the right woman," he said, breaking the silence, "until now."

She leaned over, gazing into his eyes, moving her hand onto his chin, "then we can learn together."

His mouth made a silent 'O'. Perhaps he had thought the same about her. She realised that his attempts to put things off might simply have been a fear of letting his inexperience show; just nerves at facing something unfamiliar. She could relate to that.

But she was a paladin, an adventurer, a crusader for right and justice. She really shouldn't be frightened, she thought to herself, not even of this. She wasn't Almandar, or even Calleslyn; casual encounters held no interest for her. But this... surely this was anything but casual?

"Perhaps," she said, leaning closer still, blue eyes fixed on his darker orbs, "we could learn tonight?"

This time, Larimor made no demurral. They kissed, softly, before he rose to his knees, kneeling over her on the bed. Behind him, she could see the golden rays of the setting sun through the window, outlining his form as he pulled off his tunic. 

Lady Tarissa reached out, stroking her fellow paladin's taut belly, feeling his bare skin. She pulled him down towards her, running the hand over his chest. His pectorals were well-defined, firm beneath her questing fingers, a slight fuzz of darker hair there. He felt warm, comforting, and she could not help but bend over to press her lips against his bare torso, bobbing her head as she moved about to new spots. Larimor ran his fingers through her hair as she did so, clenching slightly as she kissed one of his nipples, and let out a slight exhalation of breath.

She gazed up at him, admiring the look of bliss on his chiselled features. But he pulled away then, turning to draw the curtains around the four poster bed, leaving just a chink open so that the golden sunlight could pour through. Tarissa took the opportunity to pull her high boots off, and wriggled her bare toes against the sheets.

Soon, they were kissing again, bodies pressed against each other, her arms about his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles move beneath the skin. His hands were at her waist, pulling the base of her own tunic free from her girdle. The clothing she was wearing was more practical than that of most Haredil natives, or even, to be fair, that of most women of her own homeland. It consisted of a loose tunic and separate skirt, and, as he was now discovering -- if he hadn't realised already -- over a noblewoman's corset. 

She helped him pull the garment free, and over her head, shaking her long hair loose. He pushed the item through the curtain, to land with a quiet plop on the thick carpet beyond, and bent to kiss her exposed neck. She whispered encouragement as her hands roved over his back, feeling every inch of his flesh. Other than the corset, she wore a short-sleeved doublet beneath the tunic, and Larimor was tugging that down to expose one pale shoulder, planting his kisses on her flesh.

Her fingers fumbled as they struggled to undo his belt, and she gave a slight pant of frustration, a musical note that inspired her lover to run his lips over the angle of her jaw, and press them eagerly to her own mouth once more. She had the belt free now, pulling his trews down around his hips, grabbing a tight buttock through his undershorts and giving it a brief squeeze.

He had to move then, shifting his position to lie back on the bed so that she could pull his trews down over his legs, and remove his boots. His legs were long, his thighs strong and enticing beneath her fingers. 

Tarissa's gaze instinctively looked up, towards the undershorts that were now the only garment that Larimor wore. There was an unmistakable bulge there, tantalising in its possibilities, and her right hand hesitatingly moved in its direction, wanting to uncover more.

Before she could reach it, however, Larimor sat up on his haunches, and her hand found itself pressed against his belly. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, their noses almost touching, both breathing heavily. With confident motions that put her own fumbling with his belt to shame, he began to undo the ties on her corset.

She watched his hands, not moving herself, as each cord was undone. Once the final one hung loose, she helped him pull the cumbersome garment away, dropping it through the curtain to land with their other clothes. They didn't want that in the way, after all.

Her fellow paladin lay back on the bed once again, as he watched her, eyes evidently drinking in every motion, wandering over the bare skin of her arms, not quite as muscled as his own, but undeniably strong by the standards of most women. Clearly, he didn't mind that, and she let own gaze stray over every inch of his body, admiring him as he did her, spread out below her in the increasingly orange light of the setting sun that filtered through onto the bed.

She stroked his chest and moved downward, as he ran his fingers down the skin of her lower arm, brushing over the slight blonde hairs there. Her hand reached his hip, at the drawstring of his undershorts, dipping her index finger beneath the fabric and over the inner curve of his hip. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and her eyes flicked up to his, seeing a mixture of desire and uncertainty there.

Tarissa pulled Larimor's undershorts down over his strong thighs, leaving him naked before her.

She had never seen the penis of an adult man before, still less one as enthusiastically erect as his was now. Were they normally so long, she wondered idly? Larimor was a tall man with long limbs so... well, perhaps not. It was wider than her finger, too, she thought, with a slight blush, as she reached her right hand out to ruffle his dark pubic hair. From there, she trailed her finger around the base of his shaft and onto his balls, rounded and firm beneath her touch. 

The skin of his cock was perfectly smooth beneath her fingertips as she traced her away along its length, marvelling at the feel of it. Larimor let out a slight grunt as she reached the tip, his cock twitching beneath her hand. She moved it away, suddenly embarrassed by how entranced she had been.

Larimor reached out, patting her side through her doublet, and she flashed a grin at him. Under the circumstances, there was little point in being shy, and they were both learning at this. She suddenly realised that she was still, for the most part, dressed, and bent down to undo her girdle, pulling her skirt aside to reveal the practical shorts beneath -- not the skimpier panties favoured by most women in these parts.

Larimor pulled her doublet up, exposing her belly, seeming content to caress it for a while, eyes occasionally flicking up to her face as if for confirmation. He didn't need that; Tarissa was already blissfully happy, bursting with anticipation for what was yet to come, as surely he must be, too.

She didn't even bother to push her skirt through the curtain, just tossing it to one side onto the sheets. Watching him beneath her in the fading light of the setting sun, she reached her arms round to grab the base of her doublet, hitching it up under her breasts and then, with a sudden motion, pulling it free and over her head.

Tarissa was not especially proud of her breasts. They were, she felt, too large for a warrior woman, prominent curves that distracted from her muscular belly and strong arms. Her fellow paladin showed no sign that he agreed with her assessment, hands reaching up to cup them in slender fingers, gently squeezing and fondling them. The holy symbol of their shared god, hanging on a light cord around her neck, nestled in her cleavage as he ran his hands over her pale pink nipples, and Tarissa found herself letting out an involuntary gasp of pleasure at the sensation.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 47



Hungrily, she pressed herself against him, lying over him on the bed, his hands now free to roam over her bare back, tangling once more in her hair as they kissed. Her naked breasts pressed against her lover's bare chest, the hairs there tickling her nipples as her own hands sought out his hips, buttocks, and shoulders.

The kiss went on and on, with occasional breaks for air, as they desperately explored each other's bodies, Larimor at one point easing his hands inside her shorts to feel the curve of her bottom. She was acutely aware of his cock against her upper thigh, but had no time for that now, letting her tongue and hands do the talking, as they rolled over in the sheets, lost in each other's embrace.

Larimor was the first to break free, now on top of her, arcing back on his arms, and then resting on his haunches, gasping for breath, eyes feasting on the woman beneath him. After a pause, as they both regained what remained of their composure, he gave a wide grin, and swiftly pulled her shorts down, tossing them to one side, leaving Tarissa suddenly stark naked, legs slightly apart, chest rising and falling with her deep breaths.

His eyes were full of passion, surely reflected in her own. She looked down, past his chest and abdomen, to that long, fascinating, cock, now pooled in dark shadow. His hand stroked her firm belly, moving down over her hips, ruffling the blonde thatch of hair between her slightly parted thighs.

"Larimor," she said, speaking for the first time in a while, "I want you. Make me complete."

"Oh, Tarissa," he gasped, "yes..."

He leaned over her, chest pressed against hers, their eyes locked together, each seeing the desire in the other's face. Tarissa felt his cock pressed against her groin, and barely suppressed a shiver of anticipation. He looked uncertain, unsure of quite what to do, shifting his position above her, until she felt the tip pressed against her most intimate area. She gave him a begging look, unable to express in words how much she wanted this.

Larimor eased the head of his cock inside her pussy lips, at first tentatively, and then, with a delighted gasp, further and with greater confidence. He felt so large inside her, like nothing she had ever felt before, and she cried out loud at a sudden pain as his hips began to buck against hers. Her finger nails suddenly dug into his back, as he thrust again, making her cry out for a second time, before he unexpectedly withdrew.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, concern written across his face.

"No," she lied, "no, you know you could never do that."

Despite the pain, she was desperate for this not to end. It had hurt, yes, even if she couldn't tell him that. But, at the same time, it had felt so right, flooding her body with sensations that more than overcame the downside. How could she explain it, how everything had been so mingled, the pleasure so great that she would do anything to experience it again?

"Take me, Larimor," she whispered, "oh, please..."

He pressed his way inside again, and it hurt less this time. But the pleasure... oh, the pleasure was undiminished. He moved against her, his chest pressing against her breasts, arms around her shoulders, hips moving with an awkward rhythm as he tried, inexpertly, to match her responses. Tarissa let out a moan of satisfaction as the pain faded into a delicious sensation that threatened to overwhelm her entirely. He felt so good inside her, his magnificent long cock stroking her most sensitive areas, filling her, driving her towards a bliss she had never known before.

She did not mind that he could not quite find the right rhythm, that he paused from time to time to slightly adjust his position. Nothing mattered, because of who he was, and she adored him for it, adding a dimension so far beyond the merely carnal that it seemed she was floating in a timeless space.

Then he unexpectedly pulled out, leaving her feeling empty and unfulfilled. He was panting, and laid over on his side next to her. Perhaps he just needed a breather, she decided, stroking his sweat-slicked chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I..."

"Hush," she interrupted, "it was wonderful."

"I think it..."

She silenced him with a kiss this time, and he responded to that eagerly enough, wrapping his arms around her back. She rolled over on top of him, still showering him with kisses. 

"Wonderful," she repeated, at last, leaning back so that her thighs straddled his hips, cock pressing against her buttocks. 

He grinned, reaching out his hands to stroke her flanks, and then move up to cup her breasts once again, teasing her hard nipples as she whispered quiet encouragement. She moved her right hand back, reaching behind herself to stroke the underside of his cock, pressing it against her flesh. She gripped it, sliding along the length, rubbing the head, and then raised herself slightly onto her knees.

He moaned her name again, and she lowered herself onto him, pressing his length into her damp and waiting pussy.

Lady Tarissa let out her own moan of passion, long and wordless. She realised, now that her weight was bearing down on him, that he had not fully pressed himself inside before. He was even bigger than she had thought, and she could do nothing but pant and gasp as she moved her hips up and down against his shaft.

Now that she was leading, he seemed to have no trouble matching her rhythm, and this time, the waves of pleasure just went on and on. She leaned forward, long hair drifting over his face, nipples brushing against his chest, as he held her slowly grinding buttocks. He was gasping too, now, his face suffused with pleasure than seemed to match her own.

"You're so beautiful," he groaned.

It was if his words broke some kind of spell, freed her of a lifetime of inhibitions, and threw whatever remained of her caution to the wind. Tarissa began to move faster, pumping up and down on top of him, breasts heaving as she pressed herself as hard as she could onto his cock. She was crying out, not even sure what she was saying, although she was sure that his name was in there somewhere, along with praise to the goddess.

His flesh slapped against hers, his cock filling her again and again. Her hair was wild, her nipples hard against his hands as she rode her lover, harder and faster, wordlessly begging him to give her release.

Her climax was like nothing she could ever have imagined, making her almost weep for joy as she felt Larimor pump his seed into her and she let out a long moan of uninhibited pleasure. She rolled off him at last, lying beside him, body shaking with the after-effects of the orgasm, cuddling him in her arms as they gently kissed.

She nestled against him, their bodies pressed tight together. Things had changed, forever.



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 48



The villa seemed quiet as Vardala headed downstairs from her room. After the events of the previous night, she had slept in, and was surprised to discover how high the sun had been in the sky when she finally awoke. By this time, she would normally expect the villa to be bustling with morning activity, but there was no sign of anyone. Perhaps they were outside, clearing everything up.

Suppressing a yawn, and running her fingers through her hair, she walked into the villa's main living room. It looked like everyone else had finished their breakfast, and there wasn't that much left, even for a gnome's smaller stomach. She picked up an apple that had been left over, and took a bite out of it, as somebody quietly stepped into the room behind her.

"Can I get you something? There's plenty in the kitchen."

She turned, to see Horvan standing there, polite and self-effacing, as always. "No, it's all right -- I can wait until lunch. Perhaps it is a little late for breakfast, anyway."

"Of course."

"Where are the others, anyway?"

"They're all out, clearing up, or just checking on things. I believe Lady Tarissa is at the temple, and Calleslyn has gone to check on her friend from the scroll shop. I'm not sure about Almandar and Dolrim; they didn't say."

"Perhaps I should be seeing how things are, as well," she conceded, "instead of sleeping in. Last night's disaster seemed quite widespread."

"You have already done much!" blurted out the young man, more animated than his usual self, "everything you did in the temple -- so many people are alive because of you. You can't feel guilty for not doing more!"

She smiled; it felt good to know that she had really helped people, even if she was ashamed to recall that it hadn't been her first thought at the time. She had become an adventurer for her own ends, of course, not out of a desire to right wrongs, as Tarissa had done... but to think that, sometimes, she did anyway, gave her a pleasant warm feeling that she was somewhat unused to.

"Thank you, Horvan," she said, "that's kind of you to say."

He shuffled, casting his eyes down to the floor, "it's the truth. I know that you are an adventurer, and you face such things all the time, but the rest of us do not, and you saved my life, along with those of the others. I am very grateful for your deliverance... I don't know what would have happened if you had not been there."

"Well," she said, feeling a little embarrassed by the praise, especially considering who it was coming from, "you showed bravery, too. Considering, as you say, that you're not used to such things. For that matter, after the demon attacked you here, you didn;t try and leave us, as others might have done. So we owe you thanks as well."

"It's hardly the same. Besides, I couldn't leave you, not what after everything you've done. All of you, I mean. And to see you in action -- slaying that undead thing with your sword, and not flinching! You are truly beautiful."

She froze, the apple half way to her mouth. Had he just said what she thought he had just said? Or was her mind playing tricks?

"Uh, I mean..." he said, suddenly flushing red, "it was... it was beautiful the way that you... the... I mean... I don't mean that you are... uh, not that you aren't..."

"So you do think I'm beautiful?" she asked, barely avoiding stammering herself as she tried to make sense of what he was trying to say.

"Well... yes... but really, it isn't..."

"But you're human," she said, pointing out the obvious.

"Well, obviously, it would never work." He gulped, going quite red now, and avoiding looking in her direction. 

Vardala herself was standing still, apple still held in her hand, as she tried to digest what she was hearing. It had seemed so obvious to her that there would never really be an opportunity to test her fantasies. The barrier between their respective races had always seemed so insurmountable, and it had never even occurred to her that he might feel the same way. But that was what he had just implied, wasn't it? That he, too, had wished there were some way around the obstacle?

Which there wasn't of course, no matter what she sometimes dreamed about. But then, did it really make things impossible, or just... anatomically awkward?

"I think I should go now," said the young man, looking more flustered than she had ever seen him, even when faced by an invading army of undead.

"No!" she said loudly, holding her arm out, not wanting to let the moment pass.

He looked back towards her, puzzled by the urgent tone of her voice. Vardala struggled to think of a reason to detain him. One came to her, out of the blue -- it had worked on Fentik, after all.

"I have some washing," she said, "up in my room. If you could collect it, please."

"Of course," he said, looking relieved, and headed out of the door, towards the staircase. Vardala put down her half-eaten apple and rushed after him. "I'm sure I can find it," he said, presumably surprised that she was following him.

"Just let me show you," she said, breathlessly, trotting up the stairs as fast as her short legs would carry her.

Once inside the room, Horvan looked around, searching for any discarded clothes. When, naturally enough, he failed to see any, he headed to the cupboard, but, by that time, Vardala was right behind him, pulling off her leather jacket.

"Here you go," she said, holding it out, "I think it got dirty after that business with the undead yesterday. Some of them did smell a bit." 

"Oh, right," he said, uncertainly, taking the proffered item from her. 

She was wearing a light linen shirt underneath, with long sleeves and a collar that tucked up around her neck. It has hardly the most feminine of wear, but then, she had never been one for dresses and long skirts. It wasn't just that they were inconvenient while adventuring; they just felt awkward, as if she was dressing up as someone else. Much better to wear her usual leather jacket and trews, as she had been this morning.

Vardala turned away from Horvan, and pushed at the door, so that it closed with a soft click. Then she pulled her shirt loose from the belt of her trews and pulled it over her head. She wore nothing underneath, of course, and modestly held her left arm across her chest as she turned back to Horvan, holding the shirt out with the other.

"This too, I think. The contamination seems to penetrate everything, don't you find?"

The young man's eyes were wide, and clearly focussed downwards toward her, hovering over her bare belly, arms, and shoulders. She glanced down and saw, to her growing excitement, a bulge beginning to form in Horvan's own trews. The fact that the bulge was level with her head brought her up temporarily, forcibly reminding her of their apparent incompatibility. Humans were just so tall, for all that they looked similar to gnomes in other respects! How far would she able to push this?

Horvan was evidently struggling to find words as he gingerly reached out to take the shirt, a blush spreading to his cheeks again. "Will that be all?" he asked, nervously.

"Hmm," she said, as if pondering the thought, before teasing him, "you think I should take off my trews as well? What about my panties?"

"That's not what I..."

Vardala failed to suppress a giggle at his shocked expression. "Oh, lighten up!" she said, noticing that he was, rather obviously, now holding the shirt and jacket so as to hide her view of his crotch. "You just said you find me beautiful, so how bad can it be?" Her voice softened a little, "did you really mean it?"

He nodded, mutely, before regaining his composure and adding, "I should probably be getting back to work."

"You've been around the house. Are you saying you've never caught a glimpse of me undressing?"

"No!"

He seemed to be being honest, which would, she reflected, be quite typical of him. She decided not to tell him that his own privacy had not been so sacrosanct.

Instead, she grinned, and said, "well, now's your chance," and raised both her arms over her head, stretching herself up on tip toe, arching her back to thrust her bare breasts outward. Even so outstretched, she estimated that she would barely have been able to reach his chest, had they been close enough for her to make the attempt.

Horvan's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Vardala!" he gasped, "please don't tease me like this!"

"Do you still think I'm pretty?" she asked, moving one hand to cup a rounded breast, sliding her fingers up to stroke a rosy nipple, then taking a few steps towards him, hips swaying seductively.

"Oh, goddess, yes..." he moaned, "but you know that we can't! You're so tiny and delicate, and I know that you can't possibly think a human is..." He trailed off.

"Tiny and delicate?" she cried, actually a little offended. Just because he was a human! She dashed towards him, yanking her abandoned clothes from his nerveless fingers. "I'll show you 'tiny and delicate'!" 

She grabbed him by the hips, turning him round, and then giving him a sudden shove. Taken aback, and perhaps finding that she was stronger than he had supposed, Horvan staggered, his legs banging into the bed behind him, and then fell flat on his back onto the mattress.

Vardala immediately jumped up after him. It was a human-sized bed, which made it luxurious for her, although that fact was now beginning to present other advantages as well. She clambered up over his prone body, hands pushing against his clothed chest, until she brought herself face to face with him.

"I'm sorry, I..." he began, but she wouldn't let him finish.

"You great big lummox!" she half-shouted, "how often do you think I've laid in this bed, thinking about you? Just because you're the wrong damn size doesn't mean that I... oh, heck..."

She grabbed his head in both hands, pulling him towards her and kissed him passionately on the mouth. It felt strange, with his mouth being larger than her own, although the difference was rather less than she might have imagined. At first he seemed paralysed, unresponsive, but after a short while he began responding in kind, lips parted, tongue sliding against her own.

She pulled back, gasping, to gaze down at him beneath her. He finally seemed to be accepting the situation, and the flush on his face looked to be more one of arousal now than mere embarrassment.

"Goddess..." he gasped, "you really... all this time?"

"You have no idea!"

Horvan reached out feverishly for her, running large hands along her trembling flanks, lightly squeezing her breasts. His hands were surprisingly soft, yet their grasp was firm, growing in confidence as he fondled her, outsize thumbs rubbing against her nipples. On a whim, she threw a leg over his chest, straddling him, pushing herself up so that her hands gripped the sheets either side of his head.

Horvan eagerly flicked out his tongue, dabbing at the mounds hanging above him, and she moaned, wriggling her body as he moved to taste each side in turn. She gasped out his name, then pulled herself down to kiss him again, his hands this time gripping her bare back then moving down to cup her buttocks through the leather trews.

He tried to reach for the buckle of her belt, but it was in an awkward position for him, currently pressed against his lower chest. In any event, she pulled away from him, gripping his shirt between her hands, pulling it free from his trews as she manoeuvred her way down his body. 

Hitching it up around his chest, she ran her fingers over his exposed stomach, and then, as he wrestled to pull it over his head, further up to his pectorals. His belly was flat, as she had already known, and, while he was not especially muscular, there was no fat on him, either. Her hands ran through the light hair on his chest -- there was relatively little, presumably because he was still a young man, rather than because of any human peculiarity -- and over his pink nipples, pressing her fingertips into his firm flesh.

She slid down further, running her hands over his body, as she turned to look up towards his face, admiring the clean jaw line, and the now slightly tousled hair, gazing into eyes that watched her movements with adoration she had never dared imagine she would see in reality. There was already a heat in her loins, a longing of incredible intensity as all her fantasies came true at once.

She almost wondered if she was dreaming, but it was all very real, his body so warm against hers, at last physically touching what she had so often admired from afar. Her fingers trembled as she reached the waistband of his trews, fumbling so badly as she tried to undo the ties that she had to stop to steady herself -- something she had never had to do before even with the most fiendish of trapped locks.

At last, she was able to pull the trews down over his thighs, running her hands up their inner surface, before she stopped, suddenly, her eyes focussed on Horvan's undershorts and the unmistakable shape beneath. She gulped, trying to muster up the courage to take the next step.

"Vardala..." he said, but then stopped, apparently unable to voice whatever thought had just crossed his mind.

The sound of her name galvanised her to action and she gently pulled down his shorts, watching his cock rise from its nest of pubic hair, proud and erect. She had seen it before, of course, although she would never tell him that, and so had some idea of what to expect. But never like this, fully engorged, and so close.

It was huge. 

Perhaps, she reflected, not so much by human standards, although, even then, perhaps, large enough. Slowly, heart beating, she moved closer to it, and dared to rest her elbow against the crook of the human's groin. Laying her arm beside it, she discovered that her wrist did not even reach the tip, and that her fingers barely reached beyond it. 

Horvan's erect cock was as large as her forearm.

Nor was it just the length, she reflected, as she removed her arm and began to fondle the human's rounded balls. The sheer girth of it was remarkable, compared to anything that she had seen on a gnome. She ran her hand along the smooth skin of the shaft, reaching her dextrous fingers round to try and encircle it... but it was too large, too broad for her fingertips to meet on the opposite side.

"Oh my goddess..." she breathed, eyes still fixed on the enormous member before her.

"I'm sorry," said Horvan, his voice full of regret.

"There are other options," she said quietly.

"Such as?" he asked, eagerly.

"To begin with: this..." 

The gnome leaned forward, kissing the base of his cock, pecking at the skin of his scrotum before running her tongue all along the underside of his shaft. Soon the tip was before her, and, stretching her fingers out, she pulled down Horvan's foreskin until the glistening head was exposed. She stroked it, her nimble fingers bringing gasps of appreciation from her human lover, before she planted kisses over the smooth surface.

She shifted her position a little, letting his balls rub against her belly, and bent her head over, mouth opened as wide as she could make it. Astonishingly, it still wasn't quite enough, but she was at least able to wrap her lips around his upper surface, lashing him with her tongue, tasting the drops of his pre-cum.

"Oh, oh, goddess... Vardala..." he moaned, hips involuntarily moving beneath her, with the unfortunate side effect that his cock slid free from the admittedly insecure grip of her mouth.

He grabbed her shoulder, easing her back towards his swollen erection, but this time, the rogue wriggled free. "My turn," she told him, clambering out from between his legs to kneel beside him.

She unbuckled her belt, throwing it away, then bent to pull her boots off. Horvan's hands were already at her waist, pulling at her trews, which he had down around her knees before she had even finished taking off her boots. She rolled over onto her back, deftly removing the remainder of her outer clothing, legs parted to reveal her panties.

"Let me see you," breathed the human, and they both helped to slide the last piece of fabric over her limber thighs.

Throwing the panties away from the bed to lie with her other clothes, Vardala rose up on her knees, cupping her right breast with one hand, and running the other down her belly to rest between her legs, feeling the moisture there.

"Well?" she asked.

"So beautiful," he said, wonderingly. "Why couldn't we have done this before?"

She jumped across, pouncing on top of him, legs spread out over his chest, and kissed him again, a lingering kiss full of long-denied passion. Vardala eventually pulled free, arching her back and inching herself forward over his face. Horvan rained kisses on her throat, shoulders, and breasts, sucking with evident glee on her hard nipples, but again she moved herself up.

The human man's lips wandered down her belly, which quivered at his touch, but Vardala wanted him lower than that, and eased herself up until her knees reached the sheets either side of his head, thighs parted over him, as she gazed down into his wondering eyes.

"Lick me," she demanded, "lick my cunt, Horvan. Stick your tongue in my pussy."

It was a little awkward squatting over him like this, but well worth it as she felt her lover's long tongue stroking her damp folds then probing its way inside. His first touch inside her most intimate areas was a moment of pure bliss, and she let out a long sigh of relief before slowly rocking her hips back and forth against him. Goddess, but it felt good!

He reached out a hand to steady her as she pushed herself harder against his mouth. She looked across to where the hand held her by the shoulder, and flashed a sudden grin as a thought occurred to her.

"I've got a better idea," she said, levering herself off his face.

"Yes?"

She held onto his hand, kissing it. "You may be too large in other ways, but this," she stroked his index finger, "this looks perfect."

She swung her legs off him, and turned round, presenting her rear towards the human's startled gaze. His cock rose before her, and she grabbed at it, running her hand along it's length, her face almost pressed into his crotch above it. She adjusted herself so that her legs were as wide part as she could comfortably manage, and continued to massage his cock.

She let out a cry as, needing no further instruction, he thrust his finger into her aching cunt. It was almost exactly the size of a gnome's cock, if different in shape and form, and she pushed her hips back against his hand, taking it all in as she gasped in pleasure.

"Give it to me, Horvan!" she begged, "harder, faster!"

Responding with enthusiasm, the young man began to pump his finger in and out in a steadily increasing rhythm, as she continued to stroke him and call out the occasional word of encouragement. She couldn't take much more. It wasn't just the way he was moving his hand, the way he was filling her, but the mere fact that it was him, after all her dreams and time spent pleasuring herself. The pent up frustration was building up inside her, and would not be denied.

The rogue cried out wordlessly as she came, her cunt embracing the damp finger, her hand squeezing the massive cock before her so tightly that Horvan let out a grunt of mixed pleasure and pain.

She panted as he withdrew himself, chest heaving as she raised herself onto her knees to sit beside him. She flicked back a strand of sweat-slicked hair from her face.

"That," she told him, "was almost worth the wait, Almost."

He grinned, sheepishly, and then her eyes strayed to his erect cock, rising just above his belly. Unlike her, he had yet to achieve satisfaction.

"What would you like?" she asked, mischievously.

"I don't know..." he said, eyes not leaving her face, "it's never been like this before."




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 48



"Well, I don't think we're out of..." she savoured the word, flicking her tongue over her lips, "...'options'. Not yet."

She leaned over, kissing the tip of his cock again, and, then reflecting that he seemed to like watching her face -- and why not, since she enjoyed watching his own reactions? -- she moved around until she was squatting between his legs, facing him.

The gnome had to lean down a little to press her face into his cock, glancing up to watch his enraptured expression. She licked the underside of the tip, eliciting a groan of pleasure, then moved up to run her tongue over more of the glistening surface.

Horvan's reached out his hands to hold her, cupping her slightly hanging breasts, evidently pleased to discover that her nipples were still hard. 

"You like them?" she asked, lifting her head up from its task for a moment. He nodded, not saying anything. "How about this?" she moved up, pressing one breast into his cock, rubbing the underside of his glans with her nipple, his balls pressing into her stomach. His cock jerked spasmodically, giving her all the answer she needed.

"I think I know what you need," she told him, shifting her position until his huge cock lay flat against her belly. She pushed herself lower, squeezing her breasts together so that he was pressed into her cleavage. Then, seductively, she began moving up and down, rubbing his cock between her twin mounds, sometimes stroking the head with a free hand, all the while gazing into his eyes with her own.

"Goddess..." he grunted, hips beginning to buck against the sheets, making her almost lose her balance for a moment before she adjusted to his movements. "Oh, Vardala, you're so beautiful!"

He was thrusting harder between her breasts now, balls slapping against her as his hips pumped up and down. The slick, sweaty, cock was sliding against her skin, as she sought to hold it as best she could within her cleavage, tweaking her own nipples as she whispered encouragement.

He cried out her name again, the loudest yet, "oh, goddess, I'm going to..." he thrust upward a final time, cock pressed tight between Vardala's slick breasts, "...FUCK!"

Her head was angled slightly downwards as he came, and the first jet splashed her on the chin. She marvelled at the force and volume of it, surely impressive even by human standards? But it wasn't the last, and as she kept stroking and squeezing his cock, he came three more times, fountains of liquid spurting upwards in rapid succession, splattering over her shoulders and down onto his own hips.

At last he began to soften, and Vardala rolled back onto her heels, eyes wide. "Wow..." she muttered, trying to wipe her chin with her arm, but just spreading it around. She felt a rivulet run down from her shoulder, and over one breast, before finally stopping.

She rolled free of him then, grabbing a handful of bedsheets and using them as a rather more effective wipe-down. "I guess you do have something to clean now," she said with a grin.

Having made herself as clean as she reasonably could without excusing herself for a bath, Vardala lay down beside her human lover, wrapping her arms around his broad chest and nestling her head down against him. She felt him gently fold an arm around her, and she listened to the sound of his breathing as it returned to normal.

"I guess you liked that, then?" she asked.

"Oh, yes! I guess you were right about having options."

"Nothing is truly impossible if you put your mind to it. I guess we should have remembered that earlier."

He nodded, and they lay together for a while longer, as the sun rose higher into the sky outside the window. Nobody else seemed to have come home yet, and Vardala wondered how much more time they had to themselves. Time enough, she hoped, to discover what she really wanted to know.

"I think I'm ready now," she said, after a while, levering herself free of Horvan.

"Ready for what?" he asked, drowsily.

"I think you know."

She slid down his body. His cock didn't look so large now that it was flaccid, but, as she began to run her hand along it, she felt it begin to stiffen and grow. The human man grunted with pleasure, slowly coming awake again, and then his eyes widened as she placed his growing cock between her thighs, rubbing herself up and down against his shaft.

"No, Vardala, you can't..." he said, suddenly grasping her intention.

"I can try."

"But I don't want to hurt you!"

"You could never hurt me, Horvan."

"I think I could!"

Despite his protestations, she continued to rub herself against him until he was fully hard again. She raised herself up, realising that she had to clamber partly on top of him, knees pressing into his hips. Even in that position, his cock slapped against the top of her thighs. For a moment, as she hovered there, above him, she seriously considered taking heed of his advice.

But only for a second.

Vardala pressed the head of Horvan's cock against her pussy lips, and then forced herself downwards. She screamed out loud as his massive girth spread her wide, filling her with incredible sensations beyond anything she had ever experienced before. He wasn't even fully in yet, she realised, straining her thighs to press herself further down over the out-sized shaft.

She was going to be sore in the morning. Actually, it still was morning, so she was going to be sore in the afternoon. Very sore. But she didn't care, anything would be worth it for this.

"Goddess!" cried Horvan, "you're so tight!"

"Fuck me!" she screamed at him, almost delirious, "sweet goddess, Horvan! Just fuck me!"

It was hard to get much motion going at first, he was so large, but a combination of her increasing dampness and sheer determination urged her on. Horvan's huge cock was plunging in and out of the gnome's aching cunt as her thighs strained to take him ever deeper, her pussy taut against the mighty width. She couldn't possibly take him all the way in; that just wasn't anatomically possible, but by everything that was holy, she was going to get as close as she could.

Vardala threw her head back and yelled with exultation, breasts bouncing as she pumped up and down with increasing vigour. Horvan was groaning out loud too, hands on her heaving hips as she impaled herself, but she could hardly hear him over her own cries. She didn't know what she was saying, if she was even saying anything at all, all she knew was that her shrieks of uninhibited delight were echoing through the room, as that glorious, magnificent, enormous cock pounded into her again and again.

They came together, her cries indistinguishable from those that had come before, as the greatest, most spectacular orgasm she had ever known pushed her almost to the point of total physical collapse. She felt Horvan spill his seed inside her -- less, this time, than before, as well there might be, but she continued to hold him inside herself as he slowly softened, stroking herself in the afterglow of the climax.

Eventually, he pulled out, and she felt as if he had left a gaping chasm behind, between her legs. Vardala slumped, exhausted beyond words, longing for the oblivion of sleep.

She wondered, briefly, how she would explain to the others what would surely be a sudden inability to walk...



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 49



Calleslyn's trepidation increased as she turned the corner into the street where Messandra lived. All morning, she had been telling herself that nothing would have happened. The undead assault had been focussed on the temples, and, to a lesser extent, on the Rotunda and the city's main markets. Surely Messandra lived far enough away to have been safe?

But what if she hadn't been home? She might have been out shopping, or even praying to Nyrandos, her favoured deity. She didn't even know how the temple to the God of Knowledge had fared, although at least three other temples had suffered badly during the attack. The conviction that something terrible had happened was beginning to gnaw at her. Had she been naïve to dismiss such possibilities earlier in the day?

When she had awoken, after a long and pleasant sleep, the sun had been shining through the window, and the thoughts of her triumphs the night before had put her in a happy mood, unwilling to contemplate any dark thoughts. She had dressed in some of her finest clothes, a white elven dress made of silk, lace, and the softest cotton. The skirts were long, almost trailing to the floor, less practical than her normal clothing, with a tight bodice trimmed in gold, long outer sleeves trailing free from her elbows. 

She had even sung to herself as she did her hair, taking extra effort to braid the long golden locks, emphasising the leaf-like shape of her ears. A silver filigree circlet completed the effect, and she had also chosen a fine necklace bearing a small emerald that now nestled on the bare skin just above her breast. She had felt happy to be alive, welcoming a new day, as she so often was after facing the perils of her adventuring career.

Now, though, her mind was beginning to fill with dire possibilities. How could she have dismissed such reasonable fears? The city had not survived unscathed. What if Messandra had been hurt, or worse? The thought was too terrible to contemplate; her heart hammered in her chest as she began to walk more rapidly, a cold sweat of fear forming on her bejewelled brow.

Yesterday she had not been frightened, or at least not like this. There had been brief bursts of fear, yes, but not this soul-destroying dread that clung to her now. Then, she had been fighting for her life, for the life of everyone in the city, and there had been little time to think of anything other than tactics. This was entirely different, an experience almost unknown to her. She almost stopped to offer a prayer to the Lady of the Woods, to Sarlene, to whichever deity might be listening, but she knew that would make no difference now, and her feet carried her inexorably on.

There was the shop, in front of her, Messandra's apartments up above it. It was intact! But what did that mean, really? And the windows were shuttered, the place closed up. That should not be the case at this time of day! 

She let out a gasp of concern as she hitched up her skirts and began to run, throwing open the back door and racing up the narrow stairs to the door to the living quarters, urgently banging on the door with her small fist.

It seemed like an eternity later that it opened.

"All right," said Messandra, "what's the… Calleslyn!"

"You're all right!"

"Oh, I was so…"
She didn't give the human woman a chance to finish the sentence, almost throwing herself into her arms. Their lips met in a long, passionate kiss, and it was a while before they pulled free, and Messandra had the presence of mind to shut the door behind them.

"You're all right!"

"I just said that."

"Well, you are!"

"So are you."

They broke into giggles, still folded in each other arms, standing pressed together just inside the entrance to the apartment.

"I knew you'd be in the thick of it. I was so worried."

"I thought something had happened to you."

"No, it wasn't near here."

"But why is the shop closed?"

"Nobody knows if they're going to come back. The city is in a panic. There hasn't been something like this since… since I don't know when. I couldn't possibly open."

"It's over. It's all over. We stopped them. We found who they were, and we stopped them."

"That was you? That must have been dangerous. Oh my gods, were you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Really," she trailed a hand through Messandra's brown locks, "and so are you, which is what matters."

They stayed there like that for a while longer, just gazing into each other's eyes, before Messandra finally broke the silence. "You seem almost as glad to see me as I am to see you. And you're the one who has been putting herself in harm's way. Come on in and sit down. I can get you some tea, or something?"

She declined the offer of the tea, but did at least relent from hugging her friend, and took one side of the couch. Messandra sat down beside her, her arm resting around Calleslyn's shoulder.

"Oh, your dress is so beautiful!" she said, apparently noticing it for the first time, "I've not seen that one before. It's so gorgeous, and… oh, is that real silk? It has such a lovely sheen. And look at me; I'm not dressed for visitors at all."

Which was true. Calleslyn knew that her friend had a collection of fine dresses, but today she was casually dressed in a cheap and worn brown sleeveless jerkin over a plain white blouse with a dark, knee-length skirt and leather shoes. Indeed, the elf had never seen her dress so plainly; perhaps with the worry over the disaster in the city, she had just thrown on some old clothes without any real thought. And, yet…

"You're still beautiful," she told her, trailing a finger down the human's cheek, and meaning every word of it. Unprepared, like this, she was still as lovely as Calleslyn had ever known her, the purity of her looks shining through without the need for adornment. "Truly, you are."

She smiled, and snuggled up close to the elf, resting her head on the other woman's shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, silent, hands clasped together between them. It was pleasant, just sitting there, sharing their warmth, and Calleslyn breathed in her partner's scent, luxuriating in the feel of their clothed bodies side by side.

"Calleslyn," said Messandra after a while, "what do we have?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"Us. What is it between us? I mean…" she sighed, pulling herself slightly up and brushing her long hair to one side. "You're an elf. You'll live for centuries. You… actually, how old are you? If you don't mind me asking."

"A hundred and fifty three."

"Wow." The human's eyes were wide. Then she laughed, half to herself. "I can't believe I never asked that before."

"You know that we live longer than humans."

"Yes, but that's my point. I don't: I am human. I'll have white hair before you're even middle aged. I think."

"Well, don't," she said, softly, "think about it, I mean. That's years away… decades, even. I don't plan on going anywhere."

"Really? You'd stay with me, even when…"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" She realised that she had been thinking about it, unconsciously, for a while now. Despite her dalliances with other women – even with a man, if you counted Ornejirhs – she had only ever wanted to be here, together with Messandra. Monogamy did not come naturally to her culture, but perhaps she could even give that a try. She couldn't imagine that she needed anyone else, not the way that she needed Messandra. 

"But I'll be old."

"You'll be you. That's what I care about. Remember all those nights we just spent talking? Even before we were… involved. Not that the sex isn't good," she added with a slight grin.

"Oh, goddess, is the sex good…" agreed Messandra with such feeling that they both burst into embarrassed giggles afterward.

Calleslyn calmed herself, straightening her face, and looking into the human's brown eyes again. "You're you. We've been friends for years, and now it's even deeper than that." She leant over, and nestled her head in the crook of Messandra's shoulder, soft brown hair falling across her cheek. She still couldn't quite bring herself to use the word, even though she knew that she should. It made things more real, casting her life in a new direction. "I don't ever want to lose you," she whispered instead, lips brushing against the other woman's neck.

Messandra ran a hand silently over the elf's cheek, tracing the outline of one pointed ear.

"So… until I am old…"

"Even when you are old."

"Yes?"

"Mm hmm."

"Well, while we're waiting for that, then."

"Sounds good to me."

"This afternoon, for instance…"

"Mmm…" Calleslyn raised her head, and they kissed; a long, soft kiss that seemed to go on and on. 

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

Breathlessly, they walked through into the other room, arms around each other's waists. They sat down facing each other on the bed, Calleslyn reaching out a hand to her lover, pulling her in for another long kiss. They embraced, holding each other tight, hands running through each other's hair. The elf's fingers wandered down to her lover's body, feeling the soft, slightly worn, fabric of the jerkin. 

Gently, she pulled back, and helped Messandra remove the garment, before moving in to kiss her again. This time, there was only the thinner fabric of the blouse beneath her questing fingers, Messandra's erect nipples slightly stretching the fabric over her breasts. Soon, Calleslyn had pulled the blouse free from her lover's girdle, and her hands darted underneath, feeling warm, pliant skin against her fingertips.

It was Messandra's turn to pull back a little, letting the elf's hands trail forward to her belly. The human reached for Calleslyn's dress, stroking the fabric, and at the same time evidently questing for the ties.

"It does up at the back," whispered the elf, and shifted around on the bed to oblige.

Messandra brushed the blonde tresses out of the way, but, instead of moving to undo the laces, instead leaned in to press her lips against the back of her lover's neck, breath warm against the skin.

"I want to kiss every inch of your body, "she said, her voice husky, and Calleslyn murmured encouragement.

Messandra leaned up against her, chest pressed against the elf's back, and blew softly into Calleslyn's ear. Her tongue soon followed, lightly dabbing at the folds, running along the pointed tip and the blonde sighed in contentment. She could let it go on like this all night; it felt so good just being close to her lover.

Soon, however, tender fingers were easing the ties apart at the back of her dress, sliding it slowly down as it came loose. The human woman gasped in delight as, instead of Calleslyn’s normal shift, she uncovered a lacy garment that matched the dress, clinging tightly to the elf's curves, pale skin partially visible beneath it. As she allowed the dress to pool around her waist, Messandra, true to her word, began to kiss her bare shoulders, lips and tongue darting across the flesh.

When she moved on to the nearest arm, the magician turned round to face her partner, whose brown eyes were flicking up towards hers as she moved slowly down. She grinned as Messandra popped each of her slender fingers into her mouth in turn, and, once she had finished, pulled her in for another passionate kiss.

The human woman’s hands were in her hair, running down the length of it, and brushing against the lace of her undergarments. Calleslyn held her close, slender elven hands pushing up under the loose hem of the blouse, caressing her lover’s smooth back beneath the fabric, familiar curves beneath her gently stroking fingers.

Messandra squirmed delightedly at her touch, and the elf took the opportunity to ruck the blouse up further, until it caught beneath the swelling mounds of the human’s chest. Messandra pulled it up eagerly, raising her arms over her head, and shaking her soft brown curls free. She threw it away with a rapid, almost contemptuous motion, and their lips met again, hungrily, tongues savouring each other, the human’s bare breasts now pressed against the thin lace of Calleslyn’s underwear.

They pulled apart, gasping for air as the elf caressed those delightful mounds, soft curves against her hands. Messandra wriggled lower, reaching for the top of Calleslyn’s dress, still pooled around her waist. Obligingly, the elf leaned back so that she could raise her hips, allowing the brunette to slowly pull the silken garment over her long legs. 

Messandra sat back on her haunches then, taking her time to carefully fold the dress up, quite unlike the way she had just treated her own discarded clothing. She leaned forward, across the bed, heavy breasts hanging down, as she gently dropped the folded garment onto the carpet. Reaching across, Calleslyn stroked the small of her lover’s back, and then deftly undid the tie on her girdle. With a musical grunt of frustration, Messandra helped her pull off the short and simple skirt, kicking it out of the way.

The human woman leaned back, sitting on the bed, eyes wandering over the elf’s body. “So beautiful,” she whispered, half to herself.

“As are you,” Calleslyn replied, drinking in the affection in her lover’s dark eyes, and admiring the way her hair spilled down over her bare shoulders.

Messandra reached for one of the elf’s slender legs, gently raising it up, sliding off the dainty embroidered shoes to press her lips against the naked toes. She delivered small, nibbling kisses along the arch of the foot, and up to Calleslyn’s ankles, and the blonde let out a light giggle of contentment. Teasing the human, she wriggled her foot free of her grasp, pressing it against Messandra's shoulder, catching a strand of hair between two of her toes, then gently kneading the flesh.

She slipped the foot lower, stroking it down to Messandra’s cleavage, soft skin against her own. But the human caught it again, leaning forward to rain kisses down Calleslyn’s shin, and round to first the front, and then the back, of her knees.

They shifted slightly on the bed, Messandra moving to a more prone position and Calleslyn propping herself up against the pillows as the human's questing lips moved up her thighs. She darted from one to the other, kissing, as she had promised, every available inch of skin.

The elven woman gasped with pleasure as Messandra reached the soft skin of her inner thighs, face now brushing against the hem of the tiny skirt of her underwear. She stopped there, pulling herself up for another passionate mouth-to-mouth kiss. Their tongues entwined, Callesyn’s hands running through her lover’s hair as she held her close, savouring the rounded shape of her ears and the pleasing curves of her neck.

“Oh, Calleslyn…” breathed the brunette when they at last broke free. They were sitting facing each other now, breasts rising and falling less than an inch apart.

The human’s eyes lowered instinctively to her partner’s cleavage, smooth pale skin rising above the lace. The garment did up at the front with a small pink bow, then a series of three tiny clasps below that, in a row running to just above the hips.

Gently, she undid the bow, then popped each of the clasps in turn, before, oh so slowly, edging the lace down, exposing the elf’s body inch by careful inch. She grinned, a flash of white teeth against pink lips, and motioned for Calleslyn to turn over.

The elf happily obliged, rolling over onto her front, and pressing the pillow against her cheek. She closed her eyes, smiling contentedly, just revelling in the feeling of Messandra’s hands exploring her body.

She felt her undergarment being removed, lace brushing against the skin of her legs as it was pulled away and – she presumed – carefully placed down with her dress on the carpet. The sheets rustled as Messandra moved, and the next thing she felt was warm breath on her neck and cheek. A tongue gently lapped at the point of her right ear and she gave a wordless murmur of encouragement.

A kiss planted between her shoulder blades. 

More soft kisses, moving outwards, across her shoulders.

On to the sides of her chest, then back in towards the middle. 

Lower this time, lips pressed against her backbone.

Kisses raining down along her body, around her waist. 

Lower still, towards the only garment she still wore – a pair of silk elven panties with a floral design in white lace.

Gentle fingers, stroking the silk.

Messandra’s breasts laying against the back of her thighs. 

Her panties being edged down… but only part way.

The upper curve of her buttocks exposed to the cooler air of the room. 

Kisses there, too. 

The tip of a warm tongue, darting into the very top of her crease.

Calleslyn opened her eyes again as Messandra rolled her over onto her back. She gazed over at the human woman, saw her brown hair falling, unkempt now, across her face, trailing over the elf’s body. 

“So sweet…” she said, quietly, running a hand through that hair, then cupping Messandra’s chin. The brunette had not finished, however, and her kisses moved up across the elven woman’s belly as she slowly eased herself up the bed.

Calleslyn’s breasts ached to be touched, to feel the soft caress of those lovely lips. The magician bit back a whimper of frustration as Messandra’s kisses moved ever closer up her slender body. Her nipples were hard, swollen, yearning for more than the brush of cool air. Her hands gripped the sheets in anticipation, not wanting to break the spell by begging.

Then – yes, blessed relief! Messandra’s hands cupped her breasts, lips moving gently across them, savouring every inch of curving flesh. The human stroked her tongue across the elf’s hard pale nipples, sucking one until Calleslyn couldn’t help but let out a groan of delight.

The human laughed, a musical sound of pure pleasure, and then they were kissing mouth to mouth again, Messandra lying across her lover’s body, breasts rubbing against one another, hands roaming freely. The elf reared up on her elbows, pushing her partner up, until her own kisses were raining down Messandra's throat and over her chest.

She devoured the human’s breasts hungrily, with less gentleness than her lover had her own. Her mouth was open, lips sliding over the rounded flesh, tongue tasting salty beads of sweat. She suckled on one breast, pulling the large brown nipple into her mouth, pressing her face into the soft mound. 

She was desperate, driven almost to distraction by the beautiful woman in her hands, her loins aching with desire. She wanted Messandra inside her now, taking her over and over until she screamed with joy.

But instead, the human woman gently, but firmly, pushed her away, back against the sheets. The magician groaned with frustrated desire, barely holding herself together to let Messandra finish what she had started. Surely the delightful torment could not last much longer?

Messandra was kissing her hips now, just above her panties. Soon, to her great relief, she felt that last item of clothing sliding down her thighs and being casually dropped over the side of the bed. She looked down at her lover, her own breasts heaving with restrained desire, as she gazed once more into these deep brown eyes.

Messandra pulled the magician’s legs apart, exposing her sex, and Calleslyn could remain silent no more.

“Please, oh, please…”

The brunette responded by pulling her thighs even further apart, spreading her pussy. But instead of immediately pressing her face into that damp seat of pleasure, she instead kissed the slight mound above it, short golden hairs sticking to damp lips. But only for a moment, for it seemed that she could hold back no longer, either. 

Calleslyn let out a cry of joy as her lover at last planted her kisses on her pink and swollen pussy. Soon she was inside, her tongue lapping deep within for a moment before pulling back to dab repeatedly against the magician’s most intimate areas. After their time together, she knew well what her partner liked, and the elven woman found herself moaning and crying out, body arching against the sheets, small breasts thrust into the air, hands clenching and unclenching.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 49



She cried out again, louder, as a finger joined Messandra's tongue, probing gently inside her. Her lover began to gently suck her clit, and Calleslyn knew she could not last much longer. She let out a series of musical gasps, increasing in pace, not wanting it to end, yet sensing that it soon must.

And then, just as she was on the peak of what would surely have been a most remarkable climax, she felt Messandra stop. Yearning for release, she let out a cry that seemed almost pitiful in tone, Moments later, her cry was stifled as Messandra pulled herself up on the bed beside her, and wrapped her in her arms. Their mouths met, Calleslyn tasting her own sex on her lover’s tongue as they entwined.

Both women gasped for air as they completed the kiss, a quiet laugh on Messandra lips between her panting breaths. Calleslyn’s hands ran down the human woman's back, to discover that her partner had still not removed her own panties,

She dealt with that problem immediately, and the two were rolling about on the bed, a struggle of hands and thrashing limbs as they re-arranged their position. Calleslyn soon found Messandra’s groin above her, a shadow across her dark bush, pussy damp and inviting. Before she could do anything, her partner’s head was between her own legs, body lying atop hers.

As Messandra’s fingers and tongue once again began their loving work, Calleslyn gripped her partner’s buttocks, pulling her down towards her face. If Messandra knew what she liked – and she, oh so definitely did – the same was also true in reverse. The elf’s tongue darted into her lover’s pussy, slick against the familiar folds, dabbing at the clit, savouring the human's taste.

They continued lapping at each other, now and then teasing with their fingers, free hand gripping their partner’s back. At one point, Messandra stopped in her ministrations, raising her head to let out a long, passionate moan as her body ground against Calleslyn’s, before bending back to her task once again.

This time there was no further interruption. Calleslyn struggled to keep up her end of the bargain as waves of pleasure washed through her body, and a whimpering groan rose within her throat. Messandra was moving quicker, deeper, now, and the elf responded in kind. They climaxed together, cries muffled by each other’s convulsing bodies as they shook with bliss.

“Oh, goddess… oh goddess… oh, Messandra…” gasped Calleslyn once she had regained the ability to speak.

Her lover rolled off her, shifting around in the bed to lie facing her, and they embraced, kissing in the afterglow. Messandra’s hair was in disarray, strands stuck to her sweat-drenched forehead neck, and shoulders.

“I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did,”

“You know I did.”

“Don’t ever leave me Calleslyn.”

“I won’t,” she promised… and almost said the words. 

Yet she still hung back. She couldn’t even say to herself why that was. After such a long life, why not admit that something had finally changed, that she had experienced something entirely new? Something that elves had had a word for even longer than humans. But something that even, now, she could not quite bring herself to say out loud. It was foolish, really, but there it was.

She rested her head against Messandra’s shoulder, and breathed in her scent contentedly. The words of an old elvish poem came to her mind, something from her younger days.

“What does that mean?” asked Messandra, and Calleslyn realised she had spoken out loud.

“It’s an old poem,” she replied, “about having found one’s perfect place in the universe, being at one with the world. My mother used to say it when I was little.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“Mmm…” She was drifting off, safe in the warmth of her lover’s arms, comfortable and happy as she had been with no one else in her adult life. 

As she rested, she felt Messandra’s hands softly stroking her back, as gentle as a butterfly’s wings. She surrendered herself to the feeling, revelling in the hedonistic joy of it. Messandra’s hands wandered lower, to her buttocks, then round over her hips, and down between her legs.

Sleep fled from her mind as she looked up into her lover’s smiling face.

“Again?”

“Why not?”

At first Messandra just stroked her pussy lips, but eventually a finger darted inside, languid and slow, Calleslyn responded in kind, and they lay together, bodies pressed close,, gently fingering each other with soft caresses that went on and on, relaxing in a pleasant warm glow of mutual affection.

Time seemed to stand still as they slowly pleasured each other, holding the same position, legs partially entwined, breasts pressed together, gazing silently into each other’s eyes. Calleslyn felt her heart would burst with joy. She could not recall any time that she had felt so happy as she was right now, curled in Messandra’s arms, floating in a sea of pure, unimaginable, bliss.

That was when she finally said the words.

“I love you, Messandra.”

Her partner let out a small choking cry. “I love you too, Calleslyn. I’ve loved you since we first met, but I could never tell you. I love you so, so much.”

It felt liberating, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Why could she never say it before? Now that she had, she kept repeating it, in between soft kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Messandra’s fingers inside her picked up their pace, as they continued to kiss. Calleslyn was overflowing with joy, almost wanting to sing out to the whole world. Her eyes were wide as she felt her second climax of the day approaching. They whispered each other’s names holding each other tight as they approached the brink.

The orgasm was blinding, shutting out all of the world except the woman in her arms. They were both crying out, Messandra nearly weeping as her body shook, pussy contracting around Calleslyn’s fingers. Still she continued on, pressing deeper, stimulating the elf’s clit even as she came down from the dizzying heights of her experience.

Calleslyn could hardly believe it,. She had just experienced one of the most intense, wonderful, orgasms of her entire life, and yet her arousal had barely diminished. She clung to her lover, shocked gasps echoing around the room as the fingers continue to move inside her.

The second climax was, unbelievably, even better than the first. She had never, ever, in her entire life, experienced anything so wonderful. She had never even come twice before, in such rapid succession, let alone the way she was now. She cried out her lover’s name, lost entirely in the sensation.

They kissed, lost in a timeless embrace. Still the fingers continued their motions, and still she responded. Sweet goddess of all that was holy, surely she couldn’t…

She could. Oh, how she could…



Sarlene's Touch Ch. 50



The city was beginning to return to normal after the horrific recent events. Little, it seemed, could subdue the people of Haredil for long. Commerce was essential, and the city's inhabitants had lives to lead, even after the temporary inconvenience of a plague of zombies. The market was open again, sellers hawking their wares, and, for the most part, there had been very little structural damage.

And yet, if you knew the city as well as Almandar did, you could tell that it had not yet quite got over the shock. It had been only two days after all, and, if you looked carefully, you could see the haunted expressions on some of the faces, the nervous glances that tried to remain well-hidden. Trade might be going on, but it was a little less raucous than usual. Many had lost loved ones or friends, and much of the previous day had been spent cleaning bodies from the streets. That was something that nobody could forget in a hurry.

Of course, he was one of the few who had any idea what had really happened. For the rest, there was no clear indication that the undead would not return. Last night had been quiet indeed, everyone barricaded inside, lest it should all happen again. A few pointed to the double Lunar eclipse, saying that that had somehow magically caused the dead to rise, but others pointed out – quite rightly – that they didn't really know that. Nobody was even sure quite where the dead had risen from, and there was no good explanation as to why they had vanished so suddenly.

Almandar knew the truth, of course, but there was no way he could tell anyone. They would demand to know why he had not issued a warning, and the fact that he hadn't known the full details, or known the time of the crisis until it had happened wasn't something that would be likely to go down well. Emotions were running high, and he did not want to risk a confrontation. And he had never become an adventurer simply for the glory.

So it was with something of a sense of guilt that he now walked the streets of the city, one of many lost in their own thoughts, yet reassuring himself that it still stood. In the long run, nothing would change, the events would pass into history and folklore, as so many had before. Haredil would go on, because it always did.

"Please help me!"

A woman had grabbed his arm, holding on tightly. So lost had he been in his reverie, he had not even seen her approach. In fact, he was not sure entirely where he was... close to the merchant's quarter, perhaps, but he could not put an immediate name to the street he had wandered down.

"What's the matter?"

She was a youngish woman, slender with dark hair and a rather haunted expression, lines on a face that would otherwise have been pretty. Somehow, he felt that she had seen more in her life than anyone of that age should have had to. Her clothing was plain and simple, the sort favoured by servants or junior clerks. She was clearly distressed, and he could not help but feel that it might, in a way, be his own fault.

"Just come!" she said, pulling at his arm, her face turned away from him, looking towards the corner at the end of the street. Her voice seemed desperate, anxious.

It had to be something to do with the undead attack, surely? Some legacy of his failure to deal with the issue before it turned to bloodshed. The feeling of guilt spurred him on, allowed her to pull him forward.

"What's your name?" he asked, as they half ran down the street, turning onto a wider avenue that was more familiar to him, "what has happened?"

She didn't reply, and he didn't stop to wonder why she had picked him, when there had to have been a dozen people closer to the building they were now approaching. If this was something he had been responsible for, even if indirectly, he had to make amends. The woman almost pushed him towards the door, which was standing half open.

"Quickly!" she said, "please! He's at the back!"

He stepped inside, finding the corridor undecorated. There was a door at the far end, and another on the side, opposite a staircase that ran to the upper floor. There would likely be a kitchen at the back, but he still wasn't clear what the problem was. Deciding that, with the woman approaching hysteria, it was more useful to see what was happening than to quiz her, he hurried on down the passageway towards the door.

There was a sudden sting in his neck. 

He stopped, reaching for the source of the pain. A small dart was stuck there, buried into the flesh. He looked in that direction: staircase. Looked up: a figure darting out of view.

He lunged for the stairs, but his legs felt suddenly weak, and he stumbled.

"I'm sorry... so sorry," said the woman, and he turned to see her looking mortified, in his direction, just before his legs gave way entirely.

Numbness was spreading through his body. It had to be some rapid acting poison! He cursed himself for his gullibility, but there was nothing he could do. How had he got himself into this, alone and unguarded?

"I'd run if I were you," said a woman's voice from upstairs, "I'd run as far from this city as you can, and never come back."

His captor took one last look in his direction, her dark eyes pools of regret, and, yes, her look said something of a deep, unspoken pain. Then she bolted out of the door. He wondered who she was, as mist filled his vision, and his eyes fluttered shut.

The last thing he heard was footsteps coming down the stairs.

──◊──

Almandar woke lying on his side on a wooden floor. At first, he was groggy, vision blurred and his limbs still refusing to move at his command. Somebody else was walking about in the room, soft leather soles making a distinctive, yet quiet, sound against the floorboards. He couldn't see them, not yet.

The footfalls stopped. "Ah, you're coming round," said a voice, the same one he had heard from the upper floor of the building.

"Wh... whhherrgh...." His tongue and lips were responding little better than any of the rest of him.

"Shouldn't be long now," the voice informed him, and he was able to turn his head fractionally in her direction. He could see a pair of leather boots, but nothing else. "I'd just wait, until you get some feeling back in your limbs. Drow drugs; they're really rather useful."

Even as she spoke, some feeling was returning. He realised that his hands were bound together, the cords digging tightly into his wrists. His legs didn't seem to be similarly restrained, but without his hands, he couldn't cast spells, and, whoever she was, she presumably knew that.

And just who could she be, anyway? Nobody else knew about his involvement with defeating the Presence, and, if anyone had known enough to target him, they would probably know enough to be at least grudgingly grateful. Drugging him and tying him up seemed a little extreme.

Unless the Presence still had allies, of course, he thought with a cold chill of fear. There had been thirteen people entering the Rotunda, according to Calleslyn and the others, and there had been twelve bodies by the time the night was over. They had been told that the thirteenth had fled, but what if that wasn't wholly accurate? That had been a woman, hadn't it? What if she'd changed her mind, and come back for revenge?

The thought was decidedly worrying, especially since nobody would have any idea where he was.

He felt a sharp tingling in his legs as the circulation began to return to normal, and he was able to force himself up onto his knees, arms still a little wobbly, but basically functional. He shook his head, finding his vision fully restored, and took a good look around.

He was in a large, windowless, room. Too large for the building he had just been in, unless it occupied the entire upper floor, which seemed unlikely. The floor was well polished, made of high quality wood, and the walls panelled with expensive engravings. There were some well upholstered chairs in the corners, but they weren't being used. The only light came from up above, a skylight, showing that it was still day outside.

His captor was standing in front of him. She was nobody he had ever seen before, a woman a little shorter than himself, dressed in tight leathers with a black hooded cloak. A shortsword hung in a scabbard from her belt, and the hilt of a short dagger peaked from the top of one high boot. He could tell, by the way she bore herself, that she was competent and adept, perhaps with as much experience of combat as he had.

Her hair, what he could see of it below the hood, was a rich brown, but her skin was pale, as if she rarely saw the sun – something quite difficult in Haredil, for all that she had no trace of an accent. Yet it was her eyes that immediately caught his attention. They were dark, hard and emotionless, fitting the calm yet determined expression on her face. More than that, they had a slightly odd colour, even in the shadow cast by her hood, a reddish glimmer in irises that it seemed should really have been brown.

They reminded him, vaguely, of garnets.

"Where am I?" Yes, it seemed he could speak properly now. That was something at least.

"The house of a merchant named Lady Amloth. She doesn't need it any more."

"Because she's dead," he pointed out, wondering what her reaction would be to his knowledge.

Her expression didn't even flicker. "I killed her," she said, matter-of-factly, before shrugging, "well, partly, she killed herself. But mainly it was me."

"The other woman... the one who took me into the house... who is she? Is she all right?"

His captor looked at him strangely. That question, at least, had caught her off guard. "She's gone," she said eventually, "she was a servant of Amloth's. If she knows what's good for her, she's running as fast as she can right now. But, either way, she doesn't matter."

"So," he said, seeing that she didn't seem about to speak again, and was just standing there, watching him, "I'll ask the obvious: who are you, and why am I here?"

"My name," she said simply, "is Zarenis. And you are here because you failed."

He didn't say anything to that. Clearly something had gone wrong, and surely it involved the Presence. But what?

"You destroyed the underground shrine," she said, after a pause, "blew it apart with a fireball. And, yes, it saw that, and it knows who you are. It could hardly fail to notice something so close. I imagine your plan was to prevent the Presence from coming through to this world, but, if it were really that simple, don't you think that the previous adventurers who tried to stop it would have done the same thing?"

"The Presence is not defeated as easily as that. You just delayed it a little. As it turns out, only a very, very little, considering how long it has had to wait." 

She turned away, walking over to something hidden in the shadows at the corner of the room that he hadn't seen before. She picked it up, and stepped back towards the middle of the room, holding an ornate sceptre, ending in a large crystal surrounded by wickedly sharp prongs. Almandar had never seen it before, but he could guess what it was from the legend of Throndar.

"The Presence has come through," she said, almost reverently, "it has a living anchor to this world now. It is in my blood, and soon I will release it. Haredil will become the Hell-city, one end of a permanent bridge through which demons can enter this world. Its armies will be magnificent, its power unimaginable. And those armies will march at my command, they will bring me wealth and comfort, and all those other things that I could never have before."

"We'll keep mortals around, of course, because we'll always need slaves. Genocide really isn't very interesting, but being the physical avatar of the Presence, its voice here in the solid world... that should be good enough, don't you think?"

She seemed to have stopped her little speech, and Almandar examined her face for any sign of weakness. He wasn't finding one. "So why haven't you done it already?" he asked instead.

"Oh, that's where you come in. The Presence wants you to see it triumph. It feeds on that kind of emotion. It loves betrayal best, but horrified despair is pretty close. So we held back just long enough for you to know that you have lost, to see your plans come to nothing. It's a pity the others can't be here too, but, well, it reduces the chances of something going wrong, and you are the one that destroyed the shrine. So..." she shrugged again.

"What is it? The Presence, I mean."

She gave a short, barking laugh; he got the impression that laughter wasn't something she was particularly used to. "I can see why you're the magician. Always curious!"

"But it's a fair question," she continued, "what is the Presence? Let me see... it's a dead god, essentially. Apparently 'dead' is a relative term for beings of that sort of power. It wanted to manifest in our world, to rule things directly, which, as you know, is not something the gods have ever done. So they turned on it, killed it, imprisoned its remains in Hell. I don't think it is truly divine any more – being dead will do that to you, I suppose – but it's close enough."

"And if it does get a foothold in this world, none of the other gods will be able to stop it. Not any more. What can they do, point their worshippers in the right direction through hints and fortuitous discoveries? That's the best they can normally manage, and it's a bit late for that now."

"Who knows, maybe they've already tried, and failed," a thought evidently struck her as she spoke, and she looked at him curiously, "how did you know where the shrine was, or that you had to destroy it? Did a priest point you in the right direction, or did a favoured worshipper of some deity coincidentally come across a piece of valuable information at just the right time? Does your little group of adventurers have some patron deity, who might, perhaps, have been unusually generous towards you of late?"

He said nothing, but could not quite keep the realisation from his face.

"Thought so," she said, "well, you can tell whichever deity it is that they failed. Although they'll know soon enough, of course, so it's rather redundant."

She had let the servant woman run away, he realised. She could have killed the witness, but instead she let her run. It was a small mercy, but perhaps a real one. Was there a spark of morality in this woman after all, something he could appeal to? It seemed his only chance.

"Why do you want to do this?" he said, "bring about hell on Earth? There have got to be easier ways to achieve fame and fortune. You don't need to destroy everyone else along the path. The Presence is hardly an improvement on the world we have! It will spread misery and destruction, and you will be at the core of it. You're not Amloth... heck, you killed her. Why? Because you knew she was evil?"

"Do you want that?" he went on, "do you want to be Amloth? What has the city ever done to you that you would want to drag it down like this? What has the world ever done?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and he realised that as she took a few sudden steps towards him, face at last showing real anger.

"Look at me!" she shouted, throwing back the hood of her cloak. She jabbed her free hand towards her forehead, and he saw two small horns there, her garnet eyes suddenly very apparent. "Look at me! I'm a tiefling! I'm damned; I have the blood of demons in my veins."

"Everyone who sees me, all they ever see is this! The product of unnatural lusts, tainted by pure evil, a miscegenation spawned in the pits of Hell. That's what I am, that's what I'll always be, to everyone."

"You... you're a half-breed, like I am. But your non-human half is an elf. People like elves, even if they don't understand them. Elves are handsome, elves are good and helpful. You're probably a great hit with the ladies, am I right?"

"But me... no, I'm some foul offspring of horror. I see the disgust in people's eyes when they look at me, when they see my horns, my eyes, reminding them that the world is not a safe and happy place. I have nothing, nobody. I never have had. I'm deformed, not like you."

He flinched back at the force of her tirade. He hadn't thought she was deformed, even after seeing the horns.

"Perhaps you haven't met the right people," he said. "Some of us can see past that. I think you're an attractive woman, and perhaps you just need a chance."

"If it wasn't for these?" she spat, pointing again at her eyes and horns.

"I didn't say that. You're attractive, really. Why don't you want to believe that?"

"Because it's not true," she shouted, "and even if it were, it wouldn't bloody matter! What the fuck are you trying to do, Almandar? Seduce me, and turn me over to the side of light? Because if you are, you have seriously picked the wrong woman. While you've been whoring around town, or whatever the fuck you do, I've actually been working. That shit doesn't work on me."

"I will have respect! I will have power. I will never be loved, but I will be feared, and I will have more than I have ever had before. I will be the Demon Princess, and nobody, nobody, will ever look down on me again."

"Listen, I..." he began.

"Enough!" she barked, "be silent! Be silent, and witness your defeat like you're supposed to!"

She raised the sceptre, and the crystal at the tip burst into brilliant white light flooding the room. White fire seemed to wreathe the teifling's form, and then more flame burst around her, forming a blazing tornado.

It looked like an illusion – for one thing, it wasn't burning the floor. But he could feel the heat on his face. Instead of an illusion, it had to be something contained, magically stopped from spreading to its surroundings, yet just as deadly if you touched it. He scrambled backwards out of the way as it grew to engulf more of the room, Zarenis' own form now hidden behind the orange, roaring, wall.

He bit at the cord tying his wrists, but it was too well secured... and even if he could cast spells, what could he do against this? He had no idea.

And the Presence was coming.

──◊──

Zarenis found herself suspended in the middle of a vertical tube of fire, orange walls of flame spiralling around her, heading upwards to who knew what? She could feel the heat on her flesh, almost burning, and yet, for the time being almost comforting. She felt exultant, her emotions heightened, basking in a kind of euphoria that she felt was more than just the proximity of her final triumph.

She looked down. Her feet were suspended in the air, and below them she could see the great, hollow, corridor of fire stretching down for what she somehow felt had to be an almost unimaginably huge distance. Although, without any landmarks to measure it against, she could not say how she knew that. 

Somewhere far beneath her was a roiling cloud of darkness, and, despite the distance, she sensed that it was rushing up towards her. Towards the physical world. Perhaps it was as clear a view of the Presence as she would ever get. 

A voice sounded in her head, and she wondered if this was what Amloth had experienced. Yet it wasn't truly a voice, for she could not hear the sound of it, could not say whether it was deep or high-pitched, masculine or feminine. It was more as if words formed themselves within her head, a more detailed and clearer version of the way it had spoken to her before. She could not even say what language, if any, it was speaking in; she just knew the meaning of its words instinctively.

I COME, it said. I HAVE TRIUMPHED. THE PORTALS ARE OPEN, AND I ARRIVE. I AM THE OMEGA, THE HARBINGER OF THE ESCHATON, AND I BRING A NEW WORLD TO REPLACE THAT WHICH IS TO FALL. MY ENEMIES HAVE FAILED. I AM REBORN. I AM THE INEVITABLE OUTCOME OF FATE.

The sceptre blazed in her hand, white light drowning out even the glow from the fiery walls. She could hear the beating of a gigantic heart, and more than that, she could feel it resonating through her body, her own blood rushing through her ears in perfect time with the sound from below.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 50



MY WAY HAS BEEN PREPARED, AND YOU SHALL BE REWARDED BEYOND ALL IMAGINING. YOU SHALL HAVE ARMIES, AND RICHES, AND SLAVES BEYOND NUMBER, AND THE WORLD SHALL FEAR YOUR NAME. OF ALL MORTALS ON THE SURFACE OF THE WORLD YOU SHALL BE THE GREATEST.

I HAVE CREATED YOU, THIS IS MY FINAL VICTORY. YOU WERE CREATED FOR THIS PURPOSE, YOUR WHOLE LIFE HAS MOVED TOWARDS THIS POINT UNDER MY GUIDANCE. FOR GENERATIONS I HAVE NURTURED YOUR LINE, AND EVERYTHING HAS BEEN AS I DESIRED IT. THIS IS YOUR DESTINY.

THIS IS WHY YOU EXIST.

Zarenis raised her head, now looking blankly into space, not at the force that was still rushing up towards her, climbing the long distance out of Hell. She thought back to every moment of her life, every moment of despair and humiliation, every horrid moment of subordination and squalor.

She felt an unfamiliar burning sensation in her eyes, and for a moment she could not place it. The she realised that she was crying.

NOW ALL HAS COME TO FRUITION. YOUR DESTINY IS FULFILLED. FOR EVER ON, YOU SHALL BE THE GREATEST OF ALL MY SERVANTS.

Zarenis screamed, a raw yell of pure anguish and despair, ripped from her lungs by the force of her emotion.

Then she hurled the sceptre downwards with all her strength, straight into the bottomless pit beneath her.

It struck the Presence with a brilliant flash, and exploded. The dark cloud retreated even faster than it had come. This was what Throndar should have done, all those centuries ago, but he had delayed, and he had not been in her position. 

The fire around her disappeared, and she found herself plunged into darkness. She was not in the real world; she was still wherever she had been. And she had just destroyed the magic that had sustained her.

Silently now, finally accepting her fate, Zarenis dropped like a stone, and plummeted down to Hell.

──◊──

Almandar awoke to find himself lying on a four poster bed with red satin sheets and a luxuriously soft mattress. He was fully clothed, but no longer bound or tied in any way. He tried to remember how he'd got there – he didn't even remember blacking out, although he supposed he must have done. The last thing he remembered was watching the pillar of fire form around Zarenis, and trying to bite through his bonds. Then... he was here.

"I did it."

He pulled himself up sharply at the sound of the voice. Zarenis was sitting in a chair just beyond the end of the bed. The room they were in was sumptuously decorated, almost palatial. He assumed, for lack of any evidence to the contrary, that he was still in the same building, probably in Amloth's personal bedroom.

Knowing what little he did of Amloth's tastes, he shuddered inwardly to think what sort of things might have happened in this room. But he quailed even more at the dead sound of Zarenis' voice, and of what it implied.

"We're..." his voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence: '... in the Hell-City'.

"I did what you wanted," she said, her voice still flat. Not the calm professionalism of when they had first talked – before he had raised her ire – but a dull affect, as if she was emotionally drained, and in a state of shock.

"I defeated the Presence, destroyed the sceptre. It can't get out of Hell, not ever again. It still exists, of course. If the gods couldn't destroy it permanently, I hardly could. But it won't ever be a threat again."

Relief flooded through him, and he almost collapsed back on the bed, a prayer to Sarlene on his lips, but his emotion was soon tempered by the flat expression on Zarenis's face.

"You did the right thing," he pointed out, wondering why he even had to reassure her.

"Did I?" she asked. So far, she hadn't looked straight at him, staring off into the middle distance, but now she turned to look at him, and he caught an unaccountable look of anguish on her face. Her eyes were even redder than usual, and he found himself wondering if she had been crying.

"Yes... yes, of course. Think of all the lives you have saved, of the untold misery you have averted!"

"I didn't do it for them," she said, almost too quickly, he thought. A harder edge was creeping into her voice, too; at least she was showing some sort of emotion now, recovering from whatever shock had engulfed her. "I did it for myself."

"It controlled me, it was responsible for everything," she said, anger clearly rising, although no longer directed at him. "All my life I have been at the mercy of others, all my life people have curtailed my freedom, had power over me. I want to be free, and it would never let me do that, I would always be its servant, no different than anyone before me."

He wasn't quite sure what to say to that, other than "well, you're free now."

"But I'm not, am I? Nothing's changed. That's why I can't help thinking I made the wrong decision. Everyone who ever controlled me still does. The Guild, the world... everyone. I'm still what I was before this started. Perhaps what it was offering was the closest thing to freedom I could ever have. And now that chance has gone forever."

"You can do whatever you want," he pointed out, "the world is as it is, but you don't have to be a slave. You've got skills, you can use then. It's possible to leave the Guild, you know; a friend of mine did,"

"What, and become an adventurer like you? I don't think so. That's no life, at least not for me. And what sort of skills do I have, really? What other sort of life can I lead?"

He threw his hands up in despair, "then leave the city! Find somewhere else! It's a large world out there. Travel to the west; the elves live a pretty free life. Just stop wallowing in despair like this. What's your problem? I can hardly imagine that it's lack of bravery."

Suddenly, she rose to her feet, knocking her chair backwards, and glaring at him with rage. "Because of these, remember?" she jabbed a finger towards her horns, her garnet eyes flashing. "I am demon-spawn; and that isn't something I can just run away from."

She looked down, suddenly quiet again, reaching a hand out to steady herself against one of the posts of the bed. "I was falling down to Hell," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He wondered if anyone had ever seen her so emotionally vulnerable before. She didn't seem the type to normally open herself up like this. "When I awoke, and found myself here, I thought it was Hell. I realise it isn't now; I don't think Hell would actually be like this. But for a moment, I thought it was."

He tried to digest the concept, tried to make some meaning out of it, but failed. "What do you mean, you were falling towards Hell?" he asked.

"Just that," she said, raising her eyes towards him again, "I destroyed the sceptre, and the magic that suspended me... wherever I was... stopped. The Presence may even have dragged me down with it. It would hardly be surprising, after all. So, yes, I was following it down to Hell, where it is imprisoned."

"But you're here," he pointed out.

"Evidently," she said, with a hint of sarcasm.

"So what happened?"

"There was a light," she said, uncertainly, "a light from above me. It seemed to be reaching down for me. And then..."she faltered, about to say something, and then suddenly changing her mind, "then I was here. In the other room, that is. And you were unconscious. I brought you here. I didn't know what else to do."

A light from above, as she had been falling into Hell... the conclusion was obvious. But she was leaving something out, and Almandar thought he knew what it was.

"What else?" he asked, "Did you feel anything when the light touched you?"

Zarenis looked at him wide-eyed, "I felt..." she said, then faltered again, turning away from him, refusing to look at him, "I felt..." she whispered, and the last word was inaudible, something she couldn't quite bring herself to say.

Almandar moved forward on the bed, kneeling at the foot of it, closing the distance between them. "...Loved?" he asked.

She nodded mutely, still not looking at him, then spoke, her voice breaking with emotion, "cared for, sheltered..."

"You asked before," he said, "which deity had helped us, which gave us the clue to look for the Presence at just the right time. It was Sarlene, the goddess of love."

She turned to face him then, incredulous. "Sarlene? Seriously? But she's... she's..." she shook her head.

"Not important? Not dramatic and righteous? But she is; she's everything. Without love, what is the point of anything?"

"But surely..."

"Why deny it? You felt it yourself. That doesn't sound like Pardror or the Sun God, does it?"

"But it was all fake! It wasn't real, or true. Besides, why would Sarlene rescue me?"

"Because you did the right thing... for whatever reason. Because you're as important as anyone else. All right, I'm not going to say you're a good person, because you'll probably shout at me if I do," although he wondered if what was behind those garnet eyes was quite so ruthless and self-serving as she liked to claim, "but you still deserve love, everyone does,"

She leaned towards him, scowling, fists clenched on the bed sheets, "you're forgetting these," she said, not even bothering to point this time, "demon blood, remember?

"I'm forgetting nothing; that's what you look like, who your parents were... whatever... but it's not you. Look past them, and really see yourself for a change. Tiefling or not, you still deserve to be loved."

She thrust her face towards him, until they were inches apart, her breath warm on his skin, glaring garnet eyes filling his vision. "How can I look past them when nobody else can?"

"I can look past them. And if I can, others can, you just haven't let yourself notice it. I said earlier that you were an attractive woman. That wasn't a ruse, as you seemed to think. I really meant it. You are... you are actually quite beautiful."

"Prove it," she snarled.

Almandar suddenly took Zarenis's face in his hands and kissed her for all he was worth.

The tiefling's eyes widened in shock, and her hands feebly pushed against him. He recalled that she had a dagger in her boot, and was suddenly relieved that her first thought had not been to use it. Zarenis let out a muffled cry of outrage, but he held her tightly, arms pinned against her side, as much to stop her remembering the knife as anything else.

His intention had been to stop there, to pull back, his point made. But, to his surprise, he found her responding, lips pressing against his, her mouth opening to slide a warm tongue past his own, small panting noises rising in the back of her throat. The kiss went on for a lot longer than he expected, and, then at last, he did pull back, releasing her arms as he regained his breath.

Zarenis immediately pulled him back in for another hungry kiss, lips devouring his, hands running through his hair, gripping his shoulder. He wrapped his own arms around her, responding in kind. She had evidently ditched the cloak at some point before bringing him to the room, and he could feel the curves of her body through the tight leathers, and the thought was beginning to excite him.

The tiefling leapt up onto the bed, pushing him backwards to land on the satin sheets, lips still locked together. She at last pulled herself away, panting, brown hair mussed, one of her horns poking through. Her face was flushed, almost delirious.

"That wasn't quite what I was expecting," he informed her.

She ran her hands over his body, feeling it through the cloth of his tunic, and then began pulling his shirt free of his trews, running nimble fingers over his exposed belly. She was grinning, although he wasn't entirely sure that that sight was reassuring.

"It's been a wild day," she told him breathlessly, "it's about time I had some fun, and I can tell," she glanced down to the growing bulge in his trews, "that you're willing. Which, as I keep telling you, is a rare opportunity."

"Been a while, has it?" he asked with a grin, as she began to pull his tunic and shirt up around his chest, fingernails lightly scraping against his skin.

"Longer than you know," she replied, her voice a growling purr, "much longer."

He wrestled free of his upper garments, tossing them to one side on the wide expanse of the bed, the red satin cool against his bare back. He pulled himself up onto his haunches, and kissed Zarenis again.

She responded eagerly, nails running down his back, hands pressing, kneading him, yet not scratching hard enough to draw blood... not quite, anyway. She seemed like a wild animal, released, desperately hungry. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he had ever met, although he hadn't been lying – she really was much more attractive than she gave herself credit for, and the horns and the strange coloured eyes weren't at all a drawback as far as he was concerned. But, right at the moment, she was certainly one of the most enthusiastic.

He reached for her belt, and she sharply batted his hand away, hissing as she gave him a sharp shove. The belt held her sword, and he guessed she didn't want him touching that. She undid it herself; tossing it far away from the bed, well beyond his reach. Her boots and knife followed, as he took the opportunity to remove his shoes.

He didn't have the chance to do more before she was on him again, hands roaming over his naked torso, teeth lightly griping his lower lip. Zarenis let out a low growl, more filled with wordless lust than aggression, and he ran his hand down the smooth curve of her leather-coated back. He gripped her buttocks, feeling their taut shape... there couldn't be an ounce of fat on her, he reflected; she was as athletic as any adventurer he had known.

She leaned back suddenly, yanking his hands away from her rear, and shaking her head – although what she meant by that, he had no idea. 

"No, no," she said, "let's see just how ready you are." 

She pulled his trews down around his knees, and her fingers grabbed the drawstring of his undershorts. He wriggled on the bed to make her task easier, raising his hips as she finally exposed him, the reality of his arousal now entirely clear.

"Hmm... you really do mean it," she said, gripping his shaft, and running her hand along the length, squeezing lightly as she did so. She let him go, but only to cup his balls instead, fingernails lightly scraping against his scrotum. "Yes..." she whispered, almost a hiss.

He reached for her, intending to try and remove some of the clothing that still hid her from him, but she was there first, pulling herself free of her tunic, even as his cock rubbed against the tight leather over her strong thighs. Perhaps she preferred to undress herself, part of her insistence on freedom at all costs, not submitting to others.

He just hoped that she got on with it.

Zarenis wore a short-sleeved cotton shirt underneath the tunic, revealing bare arms as well-muscled as he had expected, a tattoo of a dagger rising from a mass of thorns below her right shoulder. The hem of the shirt had just pulled free of her trews, and at last he had a chance to feel more of her, his hands reaching up underneath, caressing her belly and flanks.

She was athletic indeed, and he could feel firm muscles underneath warm skin that was surprisingly soft and smooth. Before he could pull her clothes up to reveal more, however, she had leaned forward, and they were embracing and kissing once more, she pressing her lips against his cheekbones and chin, her breathing harsh and full of desire.

He kissed her nose as she dipped lower, towards his throat, and then her forehead, blowing a strand of hair out of the way. On a whim, he moved his head slightly to one side, putting his lips into position, and then sucking one of her dainty horns into his mouth. His tongue ran over the rough surface, as his lips pressed at the skin around the base, and she let out a gasp of delighted surprise.

Grinning wider than ever before, she pulled herself free and kissed him passionately on the lips once more. His hands roved up under her shirt, hiking it up, feeling the expanse of her back, the warm and surprisingly supple skin beneath his fingertips.

"You want this, huh?" she growled, ending the kiss as she raised her arms and pulled her shirt off. 

Almandar grabbed onto her, pushing her back onto the bed, admiring the heave of her breasts as he leaned over her. They weren't bad for someone with such a toned body, pleasantly rounded, and just the right size, tipped with moderately large brown nipples.

He kissed her throat, running his mouth down to her cleavage, and then allowing his lips and hands to explore Zarenis's breasts, lightly squeezing them, kissing and sucking as she gasped in pleasure. His free hand ran down her side, gripping a buttock with the intention of moving round to undo her trews.

"No," she said sharply.

"No what?" he asked, puzzled, wondering what he'd done this time.

She was silent for a while, and then, "I'll do it."

He wasn't sure that was what she'd initially meant.

Nonetheless, she wriggled free of her trews, revealing a plain pair of cotton panties and deliciously strong looking thighs. 

He pressed himself into her, cock now resting against cotton instead of leather, nestling in the curve of her loins. He kissed her shoulder and neck, running up to ears, brushing her brown hair aside as he rolled her over onto her side.

Zarenis gave him a growling purr in response, and added "that's nice."

She moved over onto her front as he moved his kisses to her shoulder and then down to her back, moving ever lower. Suddenly she stiffened, a gasp that sounded a little like panic rising from her lips.

What's the problem?" he asked, concerned now. If he didn't know what he was doing wrong, how could he know what to stop?

"I don't want you to see," she managed, the words seemingly torn from her throat, as she tried to lever herself up again, against the weight of his body atop hers.

"See what?"

"I just don't..." the words trailed off, and she turned her head to look at him, garnet eyes wide with some sudden fear.

He levered himself up off her, and looked over her back. What was there to see? Then his eyes wandered lower, to the only part of her still covered, and a suspicion began to rise in his mind.

"Oh," he said.

"I told you I was deformed," she said, face dropping back into the sheets, shoulders slumping dejectedly, desire all but vanquished.

"And I told you," he said, "that you aren't. You're just different."

Gently, and as carefully as he could, he pulled the tiefling's panties down, and saw just what he'd expected.

Zarenis had a tail.

It was a tiny one, barely more than a stub, perhaps an inch and a half in length. It was black and covered with a rubbery skin at odds with the pink flesh of her buttocks. It flared slightly at the tip into a flattened diamond-shape, and was clearly useless, vestigial, too small to be apparent when she was clothed.

"It doesn't make you ugly," he said, "it really doesn't." She gripped the sheets, refusing to look at him. "More importantly, it changes nothing."

He kissed her in the middle of her back, and then continued his motion lower, towards the top of her ass. He kissed the tail, lightly, and was surprised when it twitched, jerking slightly at his touch.

"See?" he said, softly, "it doesn't matter," and kissed it again.

"You don't mind?" she said, surprised, rolling over onto her back again, leaving his face now inches from her crotch. "You still want to...?"

"Goddess, yes," he replied, and with a cry, she pulled his head away from her hips, and into another passionate kiss.

He was lying on top of her, hands roaming her toned body feeling the muscles of her arms, thighs, and belly, her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples unmistakably hard, firm points pressing into him. She was writhing beneath him, slowly and sensuously, legs wrapping around his, hands exploring his back, occasionally moving down to tightly grip his buttocks. As they kissed, mouths greedily pressed against each other, he felt the blunt tips of her horns rubbing against his forehead, a harshness contrasting with the texture of her skin that was only serving to further excite him.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 50



He dipped a hand between her legs, running through the short brown hair to feel damp lips clearly swollen with desire, There was nothing 'mutant' down there, nothing out of the ordinary, not even if he... she hissed slightly, breath warm against his chin... no, not even inside.

"Ready?" he asked, needlessly, perhaps, under the circumstances, but aware of how strongly she felt the need for autonomy.

She nodded, eyes locked on his, one hand around the back of his neck, the other on his hip. "Just get on with it, and..." She threw her head back, teeth bared as he thrust himself inside, a passionate growl in the back of her throat.

Zarenis' strong thighs gripped the half-elf's own as his hips began their rhythm, slowly grinding himself in and out. The tiefling's sex fit him like a glove, and the way she moved her body beneath him was enticing, delightful. One of his hands gripped the satin bed sheets, as another held her increasingly slick and sweaty flanks.

She pressed her lips against him, teeth brushing against his cheek, almost biting as he felt her warm breath coming in time with his thrusts. Her hands were gripping him, wandering over his body, toes rubbing against one shin as she wrapped her legs tightly about his own.

The tiefling pressed her head back down into the sheets again, throat bared so that he could kiss it, tongue savouring the taste of her.

"Harder, faster..." she demanded, her voice a growling purr, overwhelmed with the force of her lust.

He complied, smooth sheets rucking beneath her buttocks as their mutual pace increased. She responded by slapping his ass, her breath coming in hard gasps, barely suppressing her moans, garnet eyes wide, face flushed.

"Oh fuck..." she grunted, "it's been so long... harder..."

She arched her back, hips pressing into him, lips now pressed hard into his chest, horns pressed against his chin, fingers digging hard into his flesh. Almandar let himself go, pounding into her as hard as he could, his gasps of exertion drowning out her own muffled cries.

At last he exploded inside her, and felt the tiefling's body spasming against his, limbs going rigid, a drawn-out high-pitched cry subdued by his own flesh pressed against her mouth.

They both went limp, and Almandar gently withdrew himself, rolling onto his back beside her, chest heaving, satin sheets cool against the dampness of his skin. She had certainly been demanding, but he had happily risen to the challenge...

──◊──

Zarenis brushed a hand through her hair, sweeping it away from her horns. She had just regained her breath, and was currently delighting in the feel of the cool air against her naked skin. She glanced over to Almandar, who smiled back at her in response, his own skin glistening from their recent exertions.

That had been most unlike her.

It wasn't that she didn't like sex; she liked it as much as any other person, for all that she rarely got the opportunity to indulge. But, in a way, that was it: she didn't often get the chance, and she was more than capable of holding her desires in check. While she was on a mission, she was focussed on the goal, and the rest of the time she was usually too busy avoiding attention.

True, the mission was over now, for all that she did not truly want to think about what that implied or what the future held for her, But still, her reaction to Almandar kissing her had been as unexpected for her as it apparently had for him.

He was a handsome man, she couldn't deny that. But normally, she would just have slapped him, and then regretted it later. The fact that he didn't seem to be put off by her nature was a surprising one, and she had no doubt that, even in a different situation, she would probably have wanted to have sex with him. But to respond so quickly... she had been acting on her instinct, rather than on her usual calm thought processes.

She was glad that she had, no doubt about that. Almandar had turned out to be the best lover she had had... admittedly, not a long list, but still... Had she walked out, she would have kicked herself afterward, even not knowing how good it was going to be. But why hadn't she?

Sarlene, it had to be Sarlene. Almandar had claimed that the goddess of love had rescued her, and she no reason to doubt that. It fit all the facts, after all. Somehow, the goddess' magical embrace had removed her usual inhibitions, had given her an opportunity she normally never had.

She had never thought much about Sarlene. To be fair, she didn't worship any of the gods, seeing them as, at best, irrelevant to her life, and, for the most part, actively hostile to her very existence. But she could see, for example, the advantages of the god of knowledge, and even Pardror had an obvious relevance, even if only as an enemy of her kind. But Sarlene... what was the point of her?

She didn't need love, and had never experienced it in any case. She was a distraction, a source of weakness that didn't belong in the harsh world that even most of the other gods seemed to inhabit, Yet, apparently, she had just spared Zarenis' life, and had left her with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enjoy herself.

She wondered, briefly, if Sarlene had also affected her responses, but she decided that that probably wasn't the case. The warm feeling that had lingered after her deliverance had just put her in an unusual mood, that was all, stripping away some of her usual reluctance, allowing her to get closer to someone than she usually would.

The sex had been fantastic, but she felt confident that it would have been as good no matter what. Just the knowledge that Almandar wasn't repulsed by her, and didn't have some kinky obsession with demons was enough to give her a thrill. She had actually, for a while there, felt like a real, normal, woman. The way he had touched her, kissed her... that had been totally new to her. 

It was, she had to admit, the best sex she had ever had in her life. 

She realised that, while she had been reflecting on the situation, her right hand had crept between her legs, and she was absent-mindedly stroking herself. Her pussy tingled with desire, and she felt her nipples hardening in the cool air of the room. Damn, she was still horny.

Considering the force of the orgasm she had felt just minutes before, that was somewhat surprising. But it was also thrilling, and Zarenis had absolutely no intention of ignoring the returning desire in her loins.

The tiefling rolled over onto her side, and stretched her hand out to her partner's body, stroking his flat belly. He moved his head to one side, still lying on his back, and gave her another smile that she could not help but interpret as affectionate. He actually seemed to like her; it was such an unusual experience that she didn't quite know how to respond to it.

So, instead, she moved her hand lower, towards his groin. She ran her fingertips, with unusual tenderness, through the slight tangle of his pubic hair, and stroked his cock, still slightly damp with her juices. It was, she noted, quite flaccid, and didn't currently seem to be responding to her ministrations.

She tried to keep the disappointment from her face, but evidently failed, because the next thing he said was, "again? So soon?"

She nodded, mutely.

"You'll just have to wait a little longer," he said, and then flashed her a grin, "but not too much longer, I think."

She let out a grunt of frustration, and rolled over onto her back again, staring at the curtain draped over the top of the four poster bed.

"On the other hand," he said hastily, "I'm sure there's something I can do while we're waiting."

He leaned up on one elbow, and bent over her, pressing his lips to her exposed throat. Normally, she would have flinched or struck out if someone came close to such a vulnerable area, but right now, it just felt good, and she let out a light sigh of pleasure as he began to move down over the top of her breastbone.

Almandar's kisses moved to the top of her cleavage, and then began to move up the soft swell of her right breast. His free hand slid over her ribs, and up towards the breast on the other side. Zarenis felt her nipples hardening further in anticipation, and her breath caught in her mouth.

Hand and mouth reached their respective sides simultaneously. The half-elf's tongue lashed over her right nipple, as he caught her left between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it gently. Zarenis moved her legs against the sheets, pressing her thighs together, as she lifted a hand to run through his hair, trailing along the slight points of his ears.

He sucked and tweaked, and Zarenis had to bite her lip to stop herself crying out. Loud signs of emotion were not her style, but if he began to take her again the way he had previously, she wasn't sure that she could hold out so well a second time.

Almandar released her breasts, but only to move lower, lips and tongue sliding against her abdomen. Her breath was coming harder now, and she closed her eyes, trying to steady it. She could feel him moving lower still, one hand now caressing a raised thigh, the hair of her mound brushing against his mouth.

She moved her legs slightly apart, wondering if he was as good with his fingers as he was with his cock, and she felt him press soft lips against her most intimate areas. Then, not his finger, but his tongue, lapped slowly along the whole length of her pussy, barely parting her hot and yearning folds.

She knew about it, of course, but had never personally experienced it. But then, nobody had ever spent this degree of attention on her. She clamped her jaw shut as a whimper threatened to burst from her throat as Almandar pushed his tongue deeper, lapping at her juices.

She snapped her eyes open, glanced down, to see his head pressed into her groin, tongue probing her, driving her to new heights. Zarenis grasped her breasts in both hands, tweaking her own nipples as she spread her legs as far as she could.

Almandar reached her clit, and the tiefling bit her lip as she growled with lust. She pushed her lips back against his face as he continued to pleasure her, and felt the satin sheets sliding against her buttocks. Her tail jerked at the sensation, and she released one of her breasts, to press her hand against the back of her lover's head, guiding him on.

"Oh, fuck..." she whispered. She was almost starting to believe in the power of the goddess now, this felt so good. 

She was positive that the half-elven adventurer could have driven her to climax with his tongue alone, but it seemed he had other ideas. After what seemed an eternity of undiluted pleasure, he levered himself free, and moved up beside her, to press a kiss on her lips.

Zarenis grabbed his crotch, finding him no longer at all soft down there. She grasped his shoulder with her other hand, kissing him harshly on the mouth, pressing her body tightly into his. As he finally pulled back for air, she saw two red marks on his forehead, where her blunt little horns had dug into him. She had marked him; she liked the thought of that.

She ran her hands over his chest, rough hair against her fingers, and gently flicked one of his nipples. She ran her hand along the length of his cock, even as he placed one on her hip, stroking her rounded buttock.

"Still exhausted?" she teased.

"Not really."

"Not even a little bit?"

"Well..."

"Then just lay back," she commanded, "because I'm not in the slightest."

She gave him a hard push, and he twisted in the sheets, so that the red satin wrapped around his lower legs, and then jumped on top of him, thighs straddling his hips, his balls nestled against her mound. She growled, knowing that, what matter what else was the case, demon blood still ran through her veins, and raked her hands across his torso.

"Want to fuck a tiefling?" she asked, "want to fuck someone with demon blood?"

She growled again, longer this time, intending it to sound menacing, although it actually came out more of a purr. Almandar's face looked enrapt, his eyes locked on hers, mouth slightly parted, and she heard his breath coming harder. She reached down and found him still hard as he rubbed his cock against her inner thigh.

Zarenis raised herself up, legs spread, and pressed the tip of his erection against her pussy.

"I'm waiting for a 'yes'," she told him, with a playful snarl.

"Yes!" he said hurriedly, "absolutely yes!"

She pushed herself down over him, feeling his hard cock plunging into her, and had to press her lips firmly together to stop herself crying out with wild abandon. As it was, a muted groan rose in her throat, easily loud enough for him to hear.

Almandar was large, larger than anyone else she had known. Yet not unpleasantly so, and the truth was they seemed to fit together as perfectly as it was possible for two people to do. He filled her, spreading her lips, his wonderful cock pressing deep insider her cunt as she pushed her hips as far down onto him as she could, his balls squeezing against her buttocks.

She grabbed onto his chest to steady herself, and her thighs and hips began working as she continued to ride him. His cock plunged in and out, and there was no need for her to beg him to go faster or harder, for she controlled all the motion.

At first, to her later surprise, she began to enjoy him slowly, riding up until his cock almost popped loose, then thrusting herself back down on him again, inching back inside. It actually felt wonderful, just taking her time, and they were both panting with pleasure, his eyes wide, drinking in every inch of her naked, heaving body.

She began to increase the tempo, feeling his hips pushing back against hers as he met her rhythm, striving to get himself deeper insider her still. The sensations flooding through her body were unbelievable, every inch of her shuddering with passion. He grabbed her ass, close to her tail, and she didn't care, just wanted to continue fucking him over and over, wanted his cock to continue thrusting inside her.

His other hand reached for one of her breasts, first cupping it, and then tweaking the nipple. She let out an involuntary growl of pleasure, and gripping onto him as hared as she could, began to move back against him even faster than before.

Zarenis closed her eyes, finding the pleasure almost unbearable, her mouth clamped hard shut to hold back the abandon she was so close to surrendering to. Her buttocks slapped against his flesh, his cock pounding into her over and over, his hand squeezing a breast suddenly sensitive to his every touch.

What the fuck... she didn't care any more!

Zarenis let out a full-throated moan of deep passion, surprising herself with its volume. Still she continued to grind against him, harder than ever. She groaned, swore, cried out over and over, giving full reign to every sensation. He was doing the same, but she could barely hear him, and she knew that she couldn't last much longer like this.

"Oh fuck..." she cried, "oh fuck... oh goddess..." it was the first time in her life she had ever used those words, "fuck... rrraghh!... yes, yes... fuck... YES!"

It felt like an explosion; a yell ripped from her mouth as she climaxed for the second time that day. Zarenis almost wept with delight as Almandar followed suit, pumping her full of his juices again as his cry mingled with hers.

She remained on top of him for a few moments, stunned at the intensity of it, at her own surrender to the passion. She was flushed, hot, covered in slick sweat, her breasts heaving as she rolled off him, and collapsed at his side on the bed.

Almandar tried to say something, but couldn't find enough breath to do so. She waved a hand at him dismissively, equally incapable of speech, and relaxed her aching body against the bed. This time, even she needed a rest.

For a while at least.

──◊──

Almandar was kneeling on the bed, hands gripping Zarenis' waist, as she squatted before him on all fours, her hands tightly gripping the sheets, already stained with the fruits of their passion. Amloth, he suspected, must have spent a lot of time keeping them clean, since satin was hardly ideal for such purposes, no matter how good it felt against the skin.

Slowly, yet firmly, he thrust himself in and out of the tiefling's eager cunt. The sheets were bunching under their knees, sliding against the mattress with the force of their mutual motion. Her breasts swayed in time with the little grunts of pleasure that she let out as he continued moving inside her.

They had woken to find the sun set, and the moons rising into the sky, flooding the room with more than enough light to see each other by. Almost immediately, their hands had been all over each other, savouring every crease, every curve of each others willing bodies. Now, here he was, taking her from behind, less urgently than before, but still overcome with passion, still excited by the feel of her body against his, of her cunt enfolding his thrusting cock.

There was no doubt in his mind that Sarlene had a hand in this, giving them both a reward for a job well done. It had been a long time since he had felt youthful enough to make love three times in such a short span. Yet he was as eager and ready now as he had been when they started, and she was evidently the same.

How long had it been since they had woken, even? The moons had noticeably risen in the sky, and, yet they continued, both overwhelmed with desire, yet, on this occasion, simply taking delight in the experience, with no desperation to near another climax. He recalled the time he had been with Davnait, and the spell she had used; this was somewhat like that, yet feeling entirely natural, despite the fact that, logically, he knew they should both be exhausted by now.

Zarenis turned her head towards him, looking over her shoulder to whisper encouragement. Not that he needed any. Her thighs pressed against his, her buttocks pumping against his hips as he continued his actions. He moved his hand back to rub the base of her little tail, making it jerk, and coaxing another whimper from his lover.

It seemed an eternity later that he finally pulled out, neither of them yet spent. She moved around in the bed, pushing herself into his arms as he lowered himself onto his haunches. They kissed, for what felt like the hundredth time... and possibly was. Their hands roamed each others' bodies, his caressing her breasts, shoulders, ass and thighs, hers seemingly everywhere at once.

Zarenis lowered her head, and he rained kisses across her nose and forehead as her hands began exploring his belly and buttocks. She dipped lower, hair ruffling against his lips, then ducking to kiss his chest, licking his nipples, then lower still, to his navel.

Almandar sighed with pleasure as the tiefling wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. He actually hadn't thought she would do that – she didn't seem the type. But, if not she was learning fast, and he gasped out loud as she pushed him further inside, tongue enfolding him, horns pressing against his loins.

He ran a hand through her hair, holding her head in place as she continued to suck. All too soon, she pulled herself free, gasping for air, a trace of her spittle falling back onto the sheets. They kissed again, fiercely, his own taste in her mouth, as surely hers must have been on the source of her attention just moments before.

Zarenis lay down on her back, moonlight casting its shadow across her body, legs held apart. Still on his knees, he shuffled up to her, taking one athletically muscled leg in his hand. He bent down, blowing cool air across her damp groin, then straightened up again, moving her onto her side, her leg held high.

Once again, he thrust into her, and the tiefling let out a small moan of satisfaction as he did so. From this angle he could push deep inside her, but he kept his motions slow and languid, knowing that neither of them wanted this to end soon.




Sarlene's Touch Ch. 50



The room was filled with the sound of his panting, her surprisingly soft moans, and the gentle slap of flesh on flesh. Zarenis raised an arm over her head, brushing her hair aside as her hips continued to move against his. Her cries were wordless as he moved his hand to caress her body, watching the way her breasts moved, the way the moonlight dappled against her skin.

He released her, eventually, and they were kissing again, bodies pressed close together, both kneeling. He brushed his hand through her hair, cradling her cheek, as he gazed into her eyes.

"It's time," she whispered, her voice husky.

"Time?"

"To end this. So we can go our separate ways. As you know that we must."

He nodded, it had been a blissful experience, but they both knew it could not continue forever. He would always hold the memory in his mind – how could he ever forget it – but it wasn't something permanent. In the end, they were too different to make any more of it than this, two strangers colliding in the night.

Zarenis shifted against him, her arms still around his back, moving her hips up, then sliding back in to his lap so that he could impale her once more. She gasped, whispering encouragement to him as she slid up and down his length. 

Almandar gave a silent prayer to the goddess, thanking her with every fibre of his being for the experience of this night, for everything she had done for him over the previous few weeks. He remembered all of them, offering the name of each to Sarlene in his supplication.

Helsa. Lyrette. Ostrid. Ansreal. Ashabi. Jiranda. Ravette. Skirina. Davnait. Nariti. Gut'rul. Kara. Yarai. 

And, most of all, especially now: Zarenis.

Her body was slick against his, her back smooth against his hands, her breasts sliding against his chest, thighs tightly gripping his hips. He teased her tail again with the tip of one finger, feeling it move in response. Her hips were grinding against his, her moans quickening as they held each other, eyes locked, breath in perfect synchrony.

Almandar pressed his lips against his lover's ear and whispered her name. Seconds later, he let out a long wordless groan as he came inside her for the third, and final time. Zarenis writhed against him, crying out again and again as she was swept up in the throws of what was evidently an incredible, all-consuming multiple orgasm.

And then, blissfully, it was over.

──◊──

Four years later.

Zarenis leaned back on the makeshift couch, trailing one hand in the hot sand behind her. She glanced down the beach, watching the solitary white cloud, off on the horizon, drifting lazily against the bright blue of the sky. The sun beat down on her, warming her bare arms and legs, the long brim of her hat shading her face from the brightness.

She had come north, away from the dust and emptiness of Haredil, its cobbled streets and marbled domes that held nothing for her. Here, on the island, she had found people who venerated her appearance as a sign of divine grace, not as a hideous mutation. She was their leader now, of sorts, although she passed few judgements, preferring to let them do as they would.

She had power, but no real need to exercise it, most of the time. She had a home that was near paradise... yes, an actual home, somewhere she felt that she could, at long last, call by that name. They thought her beautiful, and tended to her every need. Delicious food, fine drink, a feather mattress of remarkable softness. Who could possibly want more?

The sex was pretty good, too.

THE END