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Sex and the Spellplague

By: srhammer8888



Lura had never seen such pain before. An epidemic had spread across the entire world, most often called the Spellplague due to its propensity to attack anything magical in nature. The region she lived in, the Silver Marches, had been mostly unaffected, with her home city Everlund and Silverymoon becoming bastions for victims all around. Initially, the gates of their respective cities had been thrown wide open, but now, with refugees overflowing into the streets, they had been shut. That had not stopped most, though. She was high up in the Dreaming Dragon, the tavern that had become as much a Festhall for Sune as a drinking hole, in a newly built third floor, and she could see over the tall walls of Everlund. Plumes of smoke, rising languidly from dozens of campfires all around the city, obscured the horizon. 

Her heart swelled for those people, suffering on the outside. Clerics from all the temples in Everlund had banded together to conjure food for the refugees, but with magic even of a divine nature not entirely reliable, there was not much they could do. She sighed. Even though her connection with Sune was relatively untouched by the Spellplague, the rest of her life was beginning to suffer. Mikhail had grown distant the more time she spent trying to aid those in need. Not that she could blame him; they had not lain together in almost a month, relegating them both to masturbation whenever the time was right. She was not the only one hard at work. Mikhail had taken up the call to aid, as well, and spent most of the daylight hours working kitchens, keeping order, and doing whatever else he could to maintain some semblance of order during this worldwide crisis. 

Lura sighed again, taking a few steps from her window to the thickly cushioned chair next to her and Mikhail's bed. Even now, the man was busy with Donnara and Benefast gathering foodstuffs and other necessary materials for the night's soup kitchen. She smiled as she thought of his return, even though she knew she would be leaving shortly thereafter. Lura's connection with Sune, being Lady Firehair's Chosen, made her the most powerful religious leader in the entire region. Therefore, she had the largest duty to those in need. She would spend sunset through midnight wading through the sea of refugees outside the city in an attempt to heal and mend those in need. 

But that did not quell the liquid heat building between her thighs. The drow, horny as she had ever been, would not let a global crisis keep her from climaxing. Without such pleasure, she feared, she might go insane. Her Red Robe, a gift from Sune herself, spread of its own volition. She was pleased that at least that had retained its magical properties. Her breasts, pert, obsidian mounds of generous heft, rested on her chest with a comfortable weight, capped with dark violet nipples and areolas that stood painfully (delightfully) rigid.

She closed her eyes, her mind focusing on the image she most desired. Mikhail stood before her, clad only in a thin cloth wrapped around his waist. The drow looked hungrily at the thick silhouette hanging underneath it. She willed her lover to remove the cloth, and she smiled to herself as her mind's eye saw his impressive shaft. It was thick, thicker than most drow's she had ever known, and hairless. She imagined her hand wrapping around it, her black skin contrasting with the unusually tanned flesh of the nearly erect cock. Lura knew the sensation, knew what the cock felt like in her hand, even though she could not physically touch it.

But to imagine it was not enough. Were this any other time, she would have conjured a phantasmal cock, warm and sadistic in its ability to please, but she simply could not do that anymore. She reached into a drawer between her and the bed and pulled out the next best thing. It was long, almost as long as her forearm, and thicker than Mikhail's cock. The rubbery phallus was warm in her hand, and she ran her fingers over the stylized veins, over the ridge of the cock head, to the cleft at the tip. One hand returning to the moistened snatch between her thighs, she slipped the head of the faux dick into her mouth, wetting it and rolling her tongue around it as if it were Mikhail's. As she slid a finger into her sodden canal, so too did she slide her tongue up and down the shaft. Indeed, her tongue slid all the way to a suction cup at the base of the shaft, wetting it before she slid down to her knees on the polished wooden floor, planting the cock there and letting the suction up do the work.

Held firmly in place, Lura hovered over the thick, long shaft. She had not lowered herself, and still the tip of the rubber cock rubbed at her lips, as if the object was seeking entrance of its own volition. She was quick to appease it; Lura spread her pussy with both hands and watched as her cunny swallowed the pale rubber cock. The sensation overwhelmed her, and she almost fell to all fours as her pussy was stretched and spread, and subsequently filled as she lowered herself slowly until the tip of the cock pressed against her cervix. She grimaced slightly, but let out a profound sigh of relief. She leaned forward slowly, planting one hand on the smooth wood while sliding her other between her thighs to tend to her aching clitoris. 

Her fingers rubbed furiously and she began to rock her hips violently on the rubber dick, stabilized by her other hand. She panted loudly, not wasting time in seeking out her own climax. The thickness of the cock inside her meant that her g-spot was never neglected. Her fingers on her clit provided firm, constant excitement, shooting like lightning up her spine. Molten heat spread through her limbs, through her blood and her gut seemed to curl in on itself as her liquid cunt contracted violently on the cock buried within. She grunted, as a beast in heat, then let out a long, low moan and felt warm moisture trickle down her thighs. Lura looked down to her quivering quim to see that she had squirted her essence around the fake cock and onto her thighs. There was a puddle on the ground. Shamelessly, she slid her fingers through the warm nectar and licked it clean, relishing in her own flavor.

Sighing contentedly, she slowly pulled herself off the floor, and plucked the dildo from the wood with a loud pop from the suction cup. With a minor cantrip, she had meant to dry the soaked shaft, but in her post-orgasmic bliss, her reasoning escaped her, and the cantrip misfired, instead spreading the moisture from the dildo all over her arm and hands. She sighed, not entirely upset by having her own nectar spread over her arms. Lura didn't bother attempting again, and placed the sodden toy in her drawer. She looked out to the sky, saw the sun high overhead, and let her Red Robe slip from her body. Naked and loving it, Lura slipped under the decadently soft covers of her bed for sleep before her nightly work began.

****

Cyra was genuinely exhausted. Her ruddy skin shone with a fine sheen of sweat, and she was certain there was a pool of the salty moisture hiding at the base of her heavy leather corset. It was nearly dusk now, and she had been patrolling the streets of Everlund with her human lover, Samon, since dawn. She wondered, not for the first time, why Samon, after inheriting his father's nobility, estate, and political station, insisted on doing the work that many of similar status would consider menial. 

Not that she was complaining. Cyra exulted in the thrill of martial combat and exercise; she felt like physical exertion of any kind only added tribute to her physical body. Only a few minutes ago, she had disarmed and crippled someone who was attempting to mug one of the refugees dwelling in the shantytown outside Everlund's walls. Samon had watched on with a smirk on his face as the voluptuous tiefling snapped both the mugger's wrists and sent him limping away.

But Cyra, for all her attributes and abilities, was no goddess, and she was absolutely ravenous. And not just for red meat, she realized when she felt Samon's hand press insistently against her lower back. She bit her lip as she felt the carnal desire heat her loins, but before she could enjoy her lover's thick meat, she needed the meat of a beast in her stomach. And it seemed, to her, that both of those things would have to wait. A very peculiar creature was approaching them with both wonder and fear in her eyes.

"Well met," Cyra said to the woman. As she and Samon neared, they realized that the creature wore a suit of scale mail and had a spear on her back. She also wore a deep green cloak with the cowl pulled over her head, but not enough to hide her face. "Well met," she said again, more insistently, when the woman did not acknowledge her. Then, the woman looked Cyra in her eyes, and the tiefling and Samon both paused and gasped. 

Glowing golden eyes stared at her. The face was smooth around the lips, nose, eyes, and ears, but had small, smooth black scales as well that descended sparsely down the long, elegant neck. They realized that much of her actual armor that they had thought to be scale mail, were actual dragon scales, human-sized and smooth, and seemed only to cover her shoulders, forearms, flanks, and shins. Even then, they were not very dense. Her legs were covered by adventurer's leather leggings that cut off at the knee and her torso by a form-fitting tunic with thin straps over the shoulders. Even the woman's chin jutted out strangely, with two small white horns poking out. 

Cyra reached up and pushed the woman's cowl from her head to reveal pointed ears, much like an elf's, but with tiny black scales on them. She had a long cascade of flowing black hair, shining even in the waning sunlight that descended in elegant waves to her shoulders. The woman smiled slightly, and showed twin fangs.

"What manner of creature are you?" she asked breathlessly, even as Samon put his hand closer to the hilt of his broadsword. 

"I am dragonborn, from Tymanther," the woman replied. "What are you?"

"I am a tiefling," Cyra responded, putting a calming hand on Samon's shoulder to put him at ease. 

"I know of your kind," she responded. "Kin of demons. I have seen some of your kin before."

"You're probably the strangest race this city's ever seen. And there are drow roaming these streets."

"Drow? Ah, the black-skinned elves, yes?" the dragonborn replied.

"You must be new to this plane," Cyra chuckled. The dragonborn merely cocked her head curiously. 

"Yes, actually. From what our leaders have deduced, our homeland was once on a planet called Abeir, a sister planet to this Toril that you inhabit. In fact, at one time, they were as one. Abeir-Toril. There is much lore on the matter, and I will not bore you with it. However, for whatever reason, the two have collided, though not entirely in a physical sense. My city was removed from Abeir and thrust onto this world, on top of what was once the realm of Unther. Many of my kind have left Tymanther to explore our neighbors. Some have met with great friends, others with dire enemies. I have only determined that this realm, this Luruar, is in dire straits."

"That's quite a story," Samon said. "But it is a bit far-fetched, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do," the dragonborn said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I am not sure if I believe it myself, yet here I am."

"She should see Lura," Cyra said. Then her appraising eye fell over the dragonborn. "What is your name?"

"I am called Ambrusia Blackscale," she said. "And I should clarify: I am not entirely dragonborn. My mother was elven, and loved my father, Lord Sharn Blackscale, very much."

"Good for you," Cyra said. "I have to say, you are quite the specimen of your species, even if you are not full-blooded."

"What do you mean?" Ambrusia asked. Cyra looked her up and down. Ambrusia stood six feet tall, and clearly was of solid build despite her half-elven heritage. She also was quite well-endowed, a feature that Cyra was noticing now that she was not being shocked by the unusual woman. Her hips flared out pleasingly, a solid base for fighting—and for lovemaking, Cyra mentally added. Her breasts, as well, were quite generous, and despite being the size of large melons, larger than the tiefling's even, seemed to hold themselves up quite well. Cyra found herself wondering if maybe there were scales beneath them to help in that regard.

"Hmm," Cyra said, licking her lips. "Never mind that. Let me get you to Lura, my dear, she will be quite pleased to meet you."

"She is someone in charge?" Ambrusia asked.

"Very much so. She is the Chosen of her goddess and has very much authority concerning all the refugees you see here," Cyra said.

"Then she is a woman of honor, and skill," Ambrusia said, a smile on her face. "My people look highly on these things."

"She is definitely those things, and more," Cyra said, smiling coyly. Even Samon had a chuckle as they both knew well Lura's skills and charms.

"Is she a warrior, then?" Ambrusia asked. "Certainly, to earn such favor from her goddess, she must have vanquished many mighty foes."

"Dragonborn look highly on such things, I suppose," Cyra said. Ambrusia nodded excitedly. 

"Our leaders are skilled generals as well as rulers, and many have had several dragon heads displayed in the Hall of Trophies," Ambrusia said enthusiastically.

"Well, Lura has never slain any dragons. In fact, I know not why Sune has Chosen her. I do not follow the goddess, but one of her allies, Sharess. One might say I, too, am my goddess's Chosen, but no such declaration has ever been made. Lura is simply a powerful individual and embodies all that Sune extols."

"Such as?" Ambrusia asked.

"Beauty, Love, Passion, Kindness," Cyra said. "As well as being a gifted lover. There are whispers that she has even coupled with the goddess," Cyra said with a conspiratorial giggle.

"These...these are not things that would make a great leader in Tymanther," Ambrusia said, a confused look on her face. 

"It is good you are not there, then," Samon said. He pointed ahead, where Lura was standing over several kneeling refugees. The drow's skin had a fine sheen of perspiration in the humid evening and shown with what was left of the dying sun. Her Red Robe clung to her body, hugging at her perfect form. Breasts not quite as large as Cyra's were pert and firm, and the robe plastered to them as Lura made motions with her arms and breathed deeply. Her hips swayed to and fro in a mesmerizing dance that made Cyra's mouth water.

She snapped herself out of her trance when Lura saw her approach. The drow raised her hand in friendly greeting even as her face affected an intrigued expression at the peculiar half-dragonborn walking beside the tiefling. She left the refugees she had been attending to meet her Cyra away from prying ears. "Cyra, Samon, good to lay eyes again," Lura said, leaning in and kissing the tiefling warmly on the lips, then kissed Samon in a similar fashion. "And who is this?"

"This is Ambrusia, from the dragonborn kingdom of Tymanther," Cyra said. 

"Dragonborn, yes," Lura said, extending her hand. Ambrusia responded in kind, surprised at the softness of the drow's hand. "I have seen one or two of your kind, but never knew of any kingdom."

"It is only recently that we have come to your world. Our sages believe that this 'Spellplague' your world is experiencing is the same that we also shared just before parts of our world violently merged with yours," Ambrusia said. She looked down at her hand when Lura withdrew hers; amazed that something so soft had ever been held within.

"Interesting," Lura said. Her mind was already a-whir with what could possibly be happing to Toril, and her communion with Sune had hinted at much. "What is it you seek here, Ambrusia?"

"Many of my kind have been sent out abroad to experience the cultures of this world. Those who earn renown and fame are heralded as heroes among my people. I am here to experience the realm of Luruar," she said.

"Luruar. It wasn't long ago that we were simply called the Silver Marches," Lura said. "A testament to how things have changed, I suppose. Very well. If you want experience, you will find it aplenty in Everlund tending to these refugees." 

The drow smiled, her pouty lips forming the shape of a cupid's bow. "Come with me, I will show you around."

Cyra looked longingly at Lura's perfect hips as she walked away, Ambrusia in tow. "You fancy her," Samon commented with a wry grin. 

"I've always fancied Lura," Cyra said, confused.

"I meant the dragon girl," Samon said, wrapping his strong arm around her narrow waist. "I saw how you appraised her like some piece of merchandise when you saw her up close."

"It is my nature," Cyra said defensively. "She does have quite a set of breasts, though. And her ass...strong hips...exotic. Fine, I fancy her, what of it?"

"I just want to know when you bed her, that's all," Samon said with a chuckle. 

"So you can spy on us?" Cyra asked, smirking as her hand grasped at his bottom. 

"Never," Samon said. "So I can join!"

Out of compulsion, Cyra grabbed Samon by the collar of his tunic and thrust him into an empty tent. She knew not what its use was, but at this point didn't care. She hooked a foot behind him and pushed him over it. They both fell hard on the ground, Cyra atop him and quickly mounting him. Her hands pressed hard against his shoulders, driving him into the ground as her lips ravaged his mouth. The tiefling plundered his mouth with her tongue and his own questing muscle simply wrapped around hers as it delved into her hot mouth. 

Samon offered no resistance as Cyra reached down between her thighs, where his rapidly growing cock was straining the seams of his cloth trousers. Her skilled fingers unbuckled the belt and undid the ties on his pants before thrusting hungrily underneath to pull the engorged member from its cloth prison. But the human was not idle. His hands had grasped at her bared, red thighs, sliding up slowly to the leather skirt she called armor. He delved beneath the black leather to the thick swell of her ass, grasping urgently and slipping his fingers into the cleft between her two perfect cheeks. Cyra never wore undergarments, a fact that had always pleased him. 

His fingers slid down her ass crack, down to the puckered, and somehow always clean, asshole, and began rubbing and poking. She bit his lip, hard, as his middle finger slid, unlubricated, into the tight orifice. She grunted as he plunged it in to the last knuckle and he felt blood dribble down his chin. Grinning, he quickly thrust with his hips, sending her off to the side. He followed, landing between her legs as she was stuck on her back, legs up high and spread around him. Her eyes smoldered, though whether with lust or infernal desire he could never be sure, as his cockhead pressed against the moist folds of her pussy. 

Without a word, Cyra conveyed her demands over Samon, and he reached down to grab his prick and ram it savagely into her sodden canal. She groaned aloud, fingernails digging through his cotton tunic and into his flesh. Samon was almost overwhelmed at the heat from her infernal loins, and the way her cunt squeezed ever so hard around his thick, hard shaft had, at times, been enough to give him instant orgasm. But he had been with Cyra enough times to be able to control his urges, and began to methodically thrust forcefully into her, breaching her deepest walls and sending as much pain as pleasure into the oft sadistic tiefling. He felt her tail curling around his leg and he knew he was doing his job perfectly.

Cyra bucked her hips into her human lover, meeting each of his savage thrusts with her needy cunt, drawing him deeper and deeper. The tiefling was adept at many styles of lovemaking, and she certainly enjoyed them all. But at this point, she needed to get off, she needed his cock plundering her cunny repeatedly, jarring her insides with his powerful strokes. She needed to feel her cunt clench and squeeze around his thick member and feel his virile seed flooding her channel. Cyra wrapped her arms, deceptively strong, around his neck, pulling his body tight against hers, feeling his chest against her leather-encased breasts, and bit his ear. "Cum in me, Samon. Fill me!"


Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 02



"High Lord Beresant," Lura said, bowing her head before the master of Everlund. "You summoned me?"

"Indeed, Lady Lura," the man responded. Lura had always viewed the man fondly. He was a seasoned man, formerly a skilled fighter by all accounts, and held himself like the military leader he had been. Standing straight as a board, his stiff navy jacket and crisp white shirt, bedecked with golden jewelry, matched his no-nonsense demeanor. He had a broad chest and narrow waist, and though not quite as large, he reminded her of Hammer, the handsome, massive barbarian she had known for a short time. In fact, had the High Lord been as tall and massive as the barbarian, she would have guessed the two from the same barbaric stock.

But the High Lord carried himself too differently for that. His shoulders back, hands clasped behind his back, hair neatly trimmed and a thick, graying goatee on his face demanded respect and declared him too civilized to be a barbarian. She was slightly comforted by that fact. Barbarians were unpredictable because they were noble, honorable people. They would do just what needed to be done to be noble, and that wasn't always what a conniving drow expected. Sure, they were easy to read, but their actions could be just as varied as the ideals of honor and nobility among the world. But a diplomat, a politician, that was something Lura knew. She had grown up among drow, the most notorious schemers above and below Faerun. Anything this man could think up was child's play among her people. 

She paid more attention to what he was saying and less on his physical appearance. It was just so hard for her these days to get past appearances. She had never been a wholly visual person, but with her libido severely malnourished, the smallest things were triggering her basest instincts. She noticed, not for the first time, the tightly packed bundle at the crotch of the High Lord's meticulously tailored pants, and couldn't help but imagine what would sprout out if she knelt down, reached in, grasped... 

"Lady Lura, are you listening to me?" he demanded when he noticed her glazed eyes. 

"Absolutely, High Lord, forgive me. The tribulations of the Spellplague seem to take a toll on us all," she said, affecting an exhausted tone even while her focus was crystal clear. It disarmed his ire and even seemed to relax him a little. 

"Of course, forgive me," he said. "I'm sure you understand; my nerves are simply on edge and, well—"

"You need to find some way to ease the stress," Lura said, purring a bit more than she had anticipated. He looked at her curiously as she quickly reigned in control of her body. Shrugging, he made his way over to an oak desk, whereupon sat crystal carafes and short, wide glasses. A brownish liquid was inside, she presumed some potent liquor. 

"Seems we are both in such need," he said. "Care for a drink?"

"Thank you, High Lord, but I must decline," Lura said demurely.

"Not much for the hard stuff, eh?" he asked. She was delighted in the less formal, more social tone his voice took. She imagined he spoke in such a manner in his youth, serving in the military. She smiled at him and shook her head, causing her long, luxuriant white hair to toss about. The red strand that marked her as Sune's Chosen fell coyly by her cheek. 

"I simply never found a taste for human liquor. Perhaps it is my drow tongue," she said. This time, she affected the perfect amount of purr to that last statement to give the High Lord pause, as if to question, "is she really coming on to me?"

"That is too bad," he said after clearing his throat. He sat on a large, overstuffed chair, and extended his empty hand to the adjacent seat. He sat his glass on a dark wooden stand between the two chairs. "You and your people have done an admirable job with the refugees," he said, crossing his ankle over his knee. Lura felt her gaze drawn to the bulge at his crotch, but resisted. She sat, crossing her legs in a ladylike manner, her Red Robe never betraying the bare mound that was unclad beneath. She wore it in a formal manner: The skirt long enough to be decent, yet not so much to be prudish, while her neckline plunged, but not so deep as to be whorish. A golden sash, not part of the robe, was tied around her waist, and she wore golden jewelry on her ears and neck, as well as wrists and fingers. 

"Thank you," she responded, dipping her head respectfully. She watched as he rolled his head from side to side, as it to stretch out tired muscles. That was her opening. A brief moment of doubt entered her mind: would she really seduce the High Lord of Everlund in his own meeting chamber? There was a resounding affirmation in her loins at the prospect. Could there ever be any doubt? She was no whore, but the last time she had a good lay was...well, it seemed a drow lifetime! And this man was clearly well seasoned, and more than likely knew his way around a pussy.

"But I need those refugees to move on," he said, promptly plucking her from her ruminations. She grit her teeth, but gave no outward appearance that she was distracted. "We simply cannot..."

The High Lord let a profound yawn and Lura seized her chance. She stood abruptly. "High Lord, relax," she said, walking around behind his chair. "I will handle the refugees, and I have friends that are able to deal with internal security and peacekeeping operations. You need to rest your weary mind from this business."

Lura slid her hands down to his shoulders, kneading and rubbing gently, attempting to lull him into a relaxed state. "Empty your mind," she whispered. "Relax; I am very skilled at this. I will ease your tension." Luckily for her, the back of the chair came up to shoulder level on the High Lord. Her fingers worked their way to the back of his neck, and she heard him sigh in relief as her hands dissolved all semblance of stress from his muscles. Smiling devilishly, she willed her Red Robe to change. The skirt shortened considerably, drawing up to mid-thigh. Her neckline all but vanished as her breasts almost spilled out of the scant fabric. She knew the coup de grace would be her chest, and knew exactly how to employ it.

Her hands descended down to his chest, rubbing outward to the shoulders, and in the process she leaned forward, her generous breasts rubbing lightly at the back of his head. Her skin felt like it was on fire at the touch of his short, bristly hair against her tender breast-flesh. But then her plan collapsed. The High Lord seized her hands and slowly stood, turning to face her. If drow could blush, she was certain that her face was a deep shade of purple. 

"Lady Lura, I appreciate what you are trying to do here," he began, "indeed, the entire church of Sune should be publicly praised for the relief it has given this city. But you simply cannot help me."

"I...I apologize, High Lord," she said, feeling very self-conscious. Her Red Robe shifted, covering her breasts more than she would normally allow, and the skirt descending all the way to the floor. It became formless and she wrapped her arms around her body defensively.

"Lura, please," High Lord Beresant said, coming forward quickly to put his hands on her shoulders, "I assure you, it has nothing to do with your charms. They would work perfectly on most other men, I am sure."

Then things started clicking in the drow's head. How could she not see it before? Even at the touch of her hands, there was no change in his pants. His eyes never once betrayed him by gazing longingly at her. He had never shown any outward signs of affection. "I see," she said. High Lord Beresant was gay. "Well, I apologize for being presumptuous," she said, almost laughing at herself.

"A mistake any could make," he said, smiling warmly at her and offering her a seat again. 

"No, no," she said adamantly, "not me. I've lived my whole life reading people. I've picked out the gay, the lesbian, the straight, and the curious, out of crowds of complete opposites. I used to pick out priestesses in my home city who secretly loved their male counterparts and would treat them as loved ones in private. Such a thing was forbidden, you know."

"The stress, then," the High Lord offered.

"No, it's not that," Lura said, letting out a profound sigh. "I haven't had any semblance of cock in so long that my pussy doesn't know left from right, up from down, gay from straight, hand from tongue...I could go on," she said. "I need to get fucked, and not by myself!"

"Don't I know," the High Lord said. "I don't remember the last time I was taken by anybody. I've almost forgotten the taste of cum!"

"And that's the worst part!" Lura declared, throwing her hands in the air with exasperation. Both laughed heartily. "And I never would have pegged you as the woman in the relationship, High Lord."

"Please, call me Andrei," he said. "But only in private, obviously. And yes, I love being ravished. Not that I'm opposed to taking one of the handsome men in my disposal, but nothing like feeling like a powerful man is behind you, filling...well, you know."

"I do," Lura said, smiling coyly. "Would that I had my own cock, our problems would be solved."

"Let me know if you grow one!" he said, laughing again. She was quite pleased that he was still a very manly man, and not flamboyant, or shy. In fact, had they not been talking about cock, she would have never known he was gay by his demeanor. She decided that if, indeed, she had a cock, or was a man, she would totally have jumped him. "Ah, Lura. I feel suddenly that we will have many fond talks together," he said. "But for now, I must return to business. Truly you have brightened my demeanor and the day will pass more quickly for your efforts."

"My pleasure," she said, standing and bowing. 

"Next time, perhaps I can arrange something for you," he said. "For us both, if we're lucky."

"Should Sune favor us," Lura said, winking over her shoulder as she let herself out. She was certainly in a better mood now, but her inflamed libido simply would not take a break. Everything she saw, from swords to halberds to pillars, reminded her of cock and how none of her tight holes had clenched one in so long. She made haste to her apartment at the Dreaming Dragon, hoping to catch Mikhail there.

*****

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

It could likely be heard from the Dragon's common room, but Mikhail didn't care. All he cared about was the tight, hot snatch slamming down on his rock hard prick. Greta, who had been working in the Dreaming Dragon as a serving girl during the days, and tending the temple of Sune underground when she wasn't sleeping or working, enthusiastically ground her plump sex on Mikhail's prick. She reached behind him, grabbing his balls in her hand as his hands ran over her generous curves. Greta was certainly no elf; such svelte beauty would likely never be attributed to the human.

And Mikhail loved it. Not that Lura's curves were in any way inferior, of course. Mikhail just enjoyed a change of pace. Greta had an ass that he could set two mugs of ale on, and tits that were heavier now than when she had come to Lura's care. Greta had put on a small amount of weight from healthy eating, and he would not deny the sensual benefits. Her areolas were broad, almost a whole thumb across, with nipples that stuck out quite far. He grabbed her ass, squeezing the generous flesh. He certainly would never call her fat, but she had thickness in all the areas that mattered. When he fucked her from behind or smacked her ass, it danced mesmerizingly for his eyes. She had more meat than Lura probably had ever eaten. 

Greta began to bounce joyously on his dick, making loud squelching noises when she slammed down. With his hands grasping and squeezing her plump ass, she grabbed her own breasts, squeezing them and letting her head roll back. "I'm going to cum," he said in a strained voice. Grinning eagerly, Greta climbed off his waist and knelt between his parted thighs. She took his cock in her hand and stroked it quickly, watching the glistening head. He grunted and groaned and thick ropes of cum shot out. Some landed on her face and extended tongue, some landed on his stomach and groin. When the torrent ended, she was quick to lap it all up and swallow. Grinning, she swallowed Mikhail's cock, making him groan even as he chuckled at her enthusiasm. 

"Greta, as always, you are much appreciated. Your service to the Dragon is impeccable," Mikhail said. "Did you find your own climax?"

"Several times over, don't you worry, stud," she said with a wink. There was a crash at the entrance to the apartment. Mikhail and Greta both scrambled to find clothing, but it was too late. Lura, her visage twisted in rage, stormed into the bedroom. Her Red Robe was parted down the middle, but it clung to her breasts. An eerie breeze whipped through the room, sending her hair out behind her as she snarled. 

"Leave, Greta," Lura growled. "I would have words with my lover."

Whimpering, Greta quickly left, clothes bundled in her arms and apologies flowing from her lips as freely as wine flowed downstairs. "Lura, my love, what is the matter?" Mikhail asked, backing away quickly with a confused look on his face. As far as he knew, they had never been wholly exclusive.

"The matter?" Lura roared. She thrust out her hand, channeling divine power in the form of a wave of force that slammed Mikhail into the wall behind him. "The matter is that I haven't been fucked in fucking months!" she roared. "I haven't had a single cock in any of my holes, I haven't had an orgasm inflicted by anybody but myself or that piece of garbage in my night stand, and here you are, merrily fucking the hired help as if the entire world hasn't fallen apart around us!

"I have come home to hopefully get MY lover to make love to me, to seduce and woo me, sweep me off my feet, and he is balls deep in fucking Greta!" She reached out for a vase and slammed it onto the floor. 

"Lura, my beloved, please be calm," Mikhail said, coming forward with his hands out. "This has always been our relationship, and you've never once said anything about deprivation. Had I known..."

"To the Hells with you, Mikhail!" she said, storming out. It was dusk, and it was time for her to find Ambrusia and help the refugees again. But that was the farthest thing from her mind.

*****

"Lady Lura," Ambrusia said tentatively when she saw Lura storming toward her. 

"Come with me," Lura growled. Ambrusia had no time to question the drow, she simply followed. She had dressed as ordered, though it went against her sensibilities. A plain white gown, thinly strapped over her strong shoulders and barely containing her bountiful breasts, hugged her body. Her hips were wide and powerful, and with every step her assets were made deliciously visible. Even her thighs, strong and powerful, were clearly defined even under the shroud of the opaque white gown. But Lura had told her it would mark her as a devotee and aide to the refugees, so she had complied. But the drow was clearly enraged at something and Ambrusia knew not what it was.

But the half-dragonborn, even being so new to this world, knew that Lura was in no position to help anybody. "Lura," she called out. The drow ignored her. Scowling at what she knew she had to do, Ambrusia dashed toward the drow, her powerful, long legs carrying her easily to the much shorter elf. Her strong hand seized the drow's shoulder and whipped her about. 

Lura went on the offensive immediately, lashing out with her hands at the dragonborn. Blinded by her rage at Mikhail, she did not stop to think that this militaristic woman would easily overpower her. And Ambrusia did with embarrassing ease. Lura ended up with her face pressed painfully against Everlund's stone wall and both arms held painfully behind her. Ambrusia had the presence of mind to pull Lura, a woman of status and high regard, into a darkened corner, away from prying eyes.

"If we are to help people tonight, then you must be of clearer mind, Lady Lura," Ambrusia said. "I may be the foreigner here, but I know when something is amiss, and I know when someone is in the right state to help others. You are not. So either take hold of your senses or I will carry you from this place."

"We will not be helping anybody tonight," Lura snarled. "I had no intention of doing anything of the sort."

"Then where were we heading?" Ambrusia asked, confused.

"Into the refugee camp." Ambrusia released Lura and the drow turned to face her. "I was going to round up several able-bodied men to fuck me senseless."

Ambrusia looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "What has happened?"

Lura sighed, then tears began to well in her eyes. She lunged at the dragonborn, arms wrapping around her strong, long neck and her face buried against the strong chest. She began weeping. Ambrusia looked down at the drow's head, confused. The dragonborn had never seen any of her kin cry, but took a step for the logical. She wrapped her arms around Lura, guessing that returning the gesture would help. And it did, much to the dragonborn's relief. Lura composed herself and backed away, again to Ambrusia's relief.

"Mikhail, my lover, was with another woman," Lura said. 

"Dishonorable dog!" she shouted, eyes going wide with thoughts of revenge. "I will bring him to justice immediately."

"Wait," Lura said before Ambrusia could turn away. "It's ok. He and I are not bonded and neither of us has ever pledged monogamy with one another. We are both free to lay with who we please, so long as we always return to each other."

"That is unheard of among my people," Ambrusia said. "We do not mate with those we do not intend to pledge ourselves to."

"Must be nice. I have insatiable appetite for sex, though, as well as Mikhail, and we know we cannot always be there for each other's cravings. I haven't had a cock in so long I am beginning to forget the feeling," Lura said, slowly sliding down the stone wall to sit in the soft grass. Ambrusia stood before her, staring down at her in disbelief. "What?" the drow asked.

"It is strange for me to see such a revered, powerful woman reduced to a weeping mass of useless flesh," Ambrusia said with what sounded like contempt.

"Excuse me?" Lura asked, standing very quickly. Fire had returned to her eyes.

"I said, you are acting as a hatchling does when it is too long from the teat," Ambrusia said, coming dangerously close to the drow.

Lura snarled, "Who do you think you're talking to?"

"I thought I was talking to Lura, Chosen of Sune, and a mighty goddess. I thought I was talking to someone powerful enough to simply take what she wants. Perhaps you need a lesson in such things." Ambrusia seized the drow by the back of her neck in a powerful hand, and with the other clasped the drow's fine-featured face, pressing her thick lips against Lura's. The drow thought to struggle, but warmth spread over her body immediately and she realized Ambrusia's meaning. Lura threw her arms around the dragonborn's neck, feeling soft scales on the back of her neck, and jumped up, her legs wrapping around the wide, strong hips. 

Ambrusia put her hands firmly on Lura's perfectly rounded ass, squeezing as the soft scales on her forearm rubbed exposed obsidian thighs. Lura's red robe draped down between her thighs, the only barrier covering her suddenly very wet loins. Ambrusia broke the savage kiss, sniffing deeply before her smoldering golden eyes locked with Lura's crimson orbs. "I can smell your cunt," she said. "Your scent is strong, powerful. In my culture, such an attribute invariably marks a very powerful woman. They are directly correlated. I will dine on your pussy and you will mark me as your charge."

Lura only nodded dumbly. She expected the dragonborn to drop her to the ground and kneel before her. But what she expected and what happened were quite different. The drow grabbed Ambrusia's muscular arms, feeling solid muscle and soft, sparse scales rippling as the dragonborn lifted her higher. Lura's legs draped over the dragonborn's strong shoulders, and she quickly pulled the drape of her Red Robe from between her legs. Ambrusia took a moment to admire the plump mound, taking in long wafts of the delicious odor before slipping her tongue into the perfect mound. 




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 02



The drow, so painfully deprived, cried out loudly as her inflamed sex was touched by something other than her hand or her toy. Her skin was on fire; sweet, delicious, painful fire that was going to be quenched by this strong woman's tongue. Lura ripped her dress to expose her black skin to the cold night air. It electrified her. She pinched and tweaked her nipples so hard it hurt, but in her desperate state, the pain, no matter how bad, only served to further her need. And Ambrusia's tongue was masterful, better than Mikhail's had ever been, as it danced and flicked over her folds and her clit. 

But Ambrusia had a surprised. Her dragonborn blood came with one advantage. Ambrusia pressed her tongue against Lura's fuckhole and slowly began to engorge. Lura gasped in shock, then cried out in pure bliss as the tongue expanded slightly and grew longer and longer inside her. It pressed against her cervix and halted. Then, to Lura's utter delight, the tongue began to undulate inside her, rippling and roiling inside her sodden snatch. She'd never been tonguefucked in such a way before, and her body quivered like gelatin. Lura grasped handfuls of Ambrusia's midnight hair, pressing the woman's face against her cunt while Ambrusia plundered her molten core with her amazing tongue. Lura couldn't, wouldn't wait. She quivered and shook, tears poured from her eyes in bliss, her voice was caught in her clenched throat and her screams took the form of choked gasps. Her orgasm hit her like a meteor storm. Her body jolted, spasmed. Her legs clenched on Ambrusia's head as if every muscle had tightened and she momentarily worried that she might crush the dragonborn's skull. Then everything went slack as a flood of her sexual nectar poured out of her cunt. Ambrusia locked her eyes on Lura, drinking in all of the nectar as it flooded and overflowed her mouth. It flooded down her neck and soaked her white gown so that the fabric clung to her powerful frame, making it invisible and exposing her massive tits. 

And still, somehow, Ambrusia held Lura aloft, her tongue sliding out of her pussy only to jam right back in. It began to piston in and out of her. Lura felt as if all her needs had flown away as the thick, long tongue fucked her cunt the way no cock had ever fucked her before. Now she could cry out in bliss, scream in ecstasy. Her tear streaked face took on a maniacal expression as she cackled in glee. "Oh, by the Gods, fuck yes Ambrusia," Lura shouted down at her dragonborn lover. "Fuck, you dragonborn goddess, fuck my cunt with that wonderful tongue of yours. Oh!" Ambrusia thrust in particularly deep, touching the limit of Lura's capacity and causing her to lurch forward. Ambrusia simply pushed her back against the wall, looking up at the drow's face, even as Lura held her hair and stared down at her possessively. "Fuck my cunt," she demanded.

Ambrusia complied with gusto, a savage look on her face. She held Lura's hips and jerked her forward as her tongue jammed in, then pulled her away, against the wall, when it slithered out. This continued for an unknown amount of time, with Lura shouting down at Ambrusia wickedly sexy things and Ambrusia doing everything in her considerable strength to bring her drow mistress to another orgasm. She was rewarded promptly. Lura seized up again, and her pussy clenched harder than it had ever before. She let out one long, gravelly moan as her orgasm hit her again and again. She clenched repeatedly on the writhing tongue as her orgasm chained into two, three, four, and five orgasms. When her body finally relaxed, Ambrusia's tongue began to return to its normal size. She lowered Lura so that she cradled the drow in her strong arms. 

Lura purred, nuzzling her head against Ambrusia's shoulder. "Take me to where you are staying, my dear," Lura said. "I wish for you to hold me tonight and sleep with me."

"As you wish, Mistress," Ambrusia said.

*****

Mikhail found Greta sitting in her room, huddled up on her bed rocking back and forth, quietly weeping. He rushed to her side, sitting next to her and putting his arm around her as if to comfort her. She profusely muttered apologies to him, and he understood. Lura was clearly not acting herself, and even he was taken aback by her actions. The Lura he knew would have sidled up behind Greta and joined in the action. 

"It's ok, Greta," Mikhail said quietly. "Lura is just overworked and not herself. The stress of things has taken a great toll on her. You did nothing wrong, nothing Lura would not have done herself had she been in your shoes, and she knows that. I'll make sure she's ok in the morning, ok?"

"Ok," Greta said, wiping her face with her hands. "Will you stay with me tonight, Mikhail? I don't need sex or anything, I just want someone to lay with since Varla is with Iliara now. Nights have become...lonely."

Mikhail smiled, completely understanding. "Certainly, my dear," he said as they lay underneath thick covers. 

*****

Matron Margaret, the ranking cleric of Chauntea, goddess of home, hearth, and agriculture, was in a foul mood. Normally, she could count on Lura to aid her at nights when she went out to conjure food and drink for the hungry refugees, but the drow was not in sight. "Drow," she muttered under her breath as she moved to the next camp of refugees. "Typical."

She was not fat by any means, but her breasts were ample and had fed several children, her own and otherwise, and showed several decades of age, and her hips were wide from several childbirths. The cleric of Chauntea had other concerns greater than her physical appearance, unlike the seemingly flighty drow that called herself a cleric. She replaced her budding scowl with a warm smile as grateful refugees greeted her. She knelt with them, listened to their stories despite her limited time, and then conjured them a steaming bowl of soup. It was hardly bigger than the average bowl at the Dreaming Dragon and would be split between six people, one of which a rather hefty man. She was disheartened that she could do no more, told them such, and moved on.

The next camp, marked by a small campfire, was at least fifty paces away, and the light from the previous camp was diminished enough that she could see up to the sparsely clouded sky. She closed her eyes, falling to her knees, and began whispering to Chauntea, who she believed was listening to her. Her meditations were interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls and ragged breathing. She opened her eyes and cast them toward darkness, away from the city. Margaret could make out a humanoid figure, but not much else.

"Who goes there?" she asked. The figure dropped suddenly to one knee. She stood with haste and quickly walked over to him. The cleric had almost arrived when the figure stood tall, much taller than her. Almost seven feet tall. She fell back several steps and looked up at the firm jaw, unkempt black hair, and massive chest. "P-please, don't hurt me," she said. He was a barbarian, and likely Uthgardt, who have an anti-civilization attitude. Then the man fell to a knee again, and she could see in the scant moonlight a bright red splotch on white cloth wrapped tightly around the man's abdomen. He was bleeding profusely from his ribs. 

"I...I need Lura," he said in a ragged breath. 

Margaret glared at him and didn't respond for a moment, but his pleading gaze struck her motherly heart, and she knelt next to him. She whispered some words and put her hands to the man's ribs. What little divine power she had left in her stopped the bleeding, but only for the moment. 

"My thanks," he said, his voice sounding a bit more firm. He stood and Margaret led him toward the city proper. It caused many strange glances but none acted on it. They all knew Margaret hadn't finished her rounds, but this man looked like he was in dire straits. Unfortunately, such kindness was not universal. The barbarian leaned heavily on the sturdy woman, and even though she struggled mightily, she managed to assist his walk. Then several men, gaunt from hunger and depression, stepped in front of the duo. 

"What's he so special for?" one asked in an unskilled diction. "He ain't no better'n the rest of us, and we were here first off. Let him down and come feed us, yeah?"

"No," Margaret said firmly, as if scolding a younger child. "He requires medical attention and my powers are all but drained. All I have left is for food. Be patient, go back to your camps, and I will be with you sooner."

"Maybe ye send out the black girl," the man said with a leer. "She's got a purty little mouth and I'd like to have me a piece of her backside." His comrades, dullards to the last, cheered and made raunchy slurs at the drow. And this pricked the barbarian's ire. He stood fully away from the cleric, staring down all six men. Some started backing away, but their leader stopped them. "He's got his self stabbed good, he did. Ain't know way no man can take six with that kind of wound."

But no barbarian counted for any single, average men. Even their young could be counted as 2 men when enraged on the battlefield. And this barbarian was a titan among these men. They came at him in pairs, and his massive hands reached out, grabbed them by the skulls, and crushed them together. Two more flanked him and charged, attempting a "high-low" tackle, but they bounced off his solid frame. One landed on his feet, only to be crushed by a might right fist. The other was on his knees and fell slobbering and bleeding after the barbarian's knee dislocated his jaw. That left only the leader and his last crony. 

They began to back away, but two great strides put the barbarian right in front of them. He grabbed the leader by his neck and lifted him so that their faces were level. This was to say, the man was suspended by his neck two feet off the ground. "Lay eyes on the drow in any way other than grateful, and I will tear you limb from limb. I will cast your bones to the four winds. I will erase your existence from this world completely. Understand?"

The man nodded enthusiastically and was dropped unceremoniously to the ground in a heap. Then, a wooden rod of some sort slammed into his injured ribs. The pain would have sent a lesser man to his knees, but it only enraged the barbarian. He turned to the astonished attacker and lifted him from the ground by his legs and arms. He spun around, whipping the smaller man like a rag doll, and launched him a dozen feet into a throng of people. 

He looked at Margaret. "Lura?" he asked even as fresh blood began to drip down the side of his leg. Margaret nodded and hurried him along, unable to stop the bleeding this time. The barbarian began to feel light-headed and eventually began stumbling through the streets of Everlund, Margaret at her side, until they reached the front door of the Dreaming Dragon.

*****

It was late, even for Benefast. As the proprietor of his tavern, he was used to being up, sometimes until dawn, but he was exhausted now in the small hours of the night. Many of the patrons were retiring to their rented rooms, and the rest were slowly making their way to the exit, at the halfling's urging. The last serving girl bent down to kiss Benefast on the cheek with a smile (offering the tired, but eager, halfling an ample view of her magically augmented breasts) and dropped a leather pouch with his share of her tips into his palm. She turned to leave, almost reaching the door, before the massive barbarian fell through, blood pouring through his wrapping and out of his mouth. He crawled over to a booth and laid on the table. It creaked at his massive weight. 

Margaret grabbed the serving girl by her wrist and pointed to the kitchen. "As much clean cloth as you can find back there. Now, or this man dies in your tavern."

"What in the Nine Hells?" Benefast asked, shocked out of his fatigued state. He ran over to the fallen barbarian. "What are you doing bringing him here?"

"You serve Sune?" Margaret asked. He nodded. "I am Mother Margaret, High Cleric of Chauntea. Get me Lura at once, or this man dies in your tavern."

The order was delivered with such authority that Benefast simply obeyed without question. He darted off for the second floor of the tavern as the serving girl returned with giant rolls of white cloth. "Where did you get that?" Margaret asked. 

"It's the towels we use to clean," the girl said. "Just washed."

Margaret nodded. "What's your name, girl?"

"Marsys," she said quietly.

"Marsys, you've just become a nurse. Do exactly as I say, is that understood?" Margaret asked. Marsys nodded meekly. "Good, now go get a pitcher of water and a jar of salt. I have to disinfect the wound." Marsys nodded and darted off, her magical assets bouncing painfully in the process since she had neglected to wear any sort of support. She returned apace with the requested items just as Margaret pulled open the wrapping. Marsys felt lightheaded at the grievous wound and almost fainted. Margaret was at her side in a heartbeat, smacking her across the face. "Focus, girl," she shouted. "I need you, this man needs you. Now!"

Margaret grabbed the pitcher and jar and set it on a nearby table. She took a cloth and soaked it thoroughly, then sprinkled salt all over the cloth. 

"Isn't that going to..." Marsys began, but trailed off when she realized she was being ignored.

Margaret pressed the cloth firmly on the open wound, salt and water grinding into the wound and purging it of any brooding infection. If only it had been that simple. The barbarian, hitherto semiconscious, opened his eyes wide and roared out loud. Marsys yelped and clapped her palms over her ears. Then he got control of himself and settled. Margaret eyed the barbarian, and he nodded. She tossed the bloodied cloth to the floor, wet another and poured much more salt onto the wet fabric. She saw the barbarian steel himself, then pressed the salty cloth into the wound. He made no more than a grunt and grit his teeth, accepting the pain. Marsys watched in amazement as an almost serene look fell over his face. 

"Barbarians," Margaret said to Marsys. "They are unbelievably resilient. His wound has punctures his lung. He should be dead, and if he were any other man, he would be." Marsys simply looked on dumbfounded.

*****

"What in blazes," Mikhail said as he threw open Greta's door and stepped into the hall. He was still dressed in plain trousers and a loose tunic. Benefast was facing away from him but whirled on him.

"Where's Lura?" Benefast asked without answering.

"I don't know," Mikhail said. "What happened downstairs?"

"Better go see for yourself. I have to find Lura or someone's going to die," Benefast said.

Mikhail bolted down the stairs even as Greta began to ask what was happening. He was in the common room in an instant and saw Marsys and Margaret standing next to a giant of a man who was splayed out on a booth table. "By the gods," he said, and both women faced him. 

"What is it?" Margaret asked.

"I know this man."

*****

"Did you hear that?" Ambrusia asked, sitting bolt upright in her bed. She was not at the Dreaming Dragon. 

"Lay back down," Lura purred, her dexterous fingers gliding down Ambrusia's back. The dragonborn shivered but did not relent. "What's wrong?"

"A mighty roar," she replied. "From you tavern. It was a cry of pain; we must go quickly."

Lura sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her Red Robe had changed into a see-through camisole as thin as a wisp of wind. But Ambrusia was up and already putting on thick leather clothing and seemed to be preparing for a battle. Taking that cue, Lura shifted her robe into its traditional long, flowing form that covered and protected her. They both left quickly, making all haste to the Dragon. Ambrusia was taller and faster thanks to her long legs, and opened the door first. She gasped and slowly walked in. Lura followed a moment later. Her eyes immediately fell on the barbarian and tears welled in her eyes. She knew him well, yes, and still cared much for him. Mikhail was there, as well as Benefast and Donnara, the latter of which in her night clothes. 

"It's about time," Margaret said. "Wherever you've been, you were needed here. He is on his last breaths."

"No," Lura said, pushing everyone aside and kneeling on the bench next to the barbarian. Tears welled in her eyes as she examined the wound. Blood was everywhere, staining her robe, the wooden floor, Margaret's hands and clothing. She put her hands on the wound and closed her eyes, calling to Sune, but felt no response.

"Lura," the barbarian said. His voice was strained and choked with blood. "I wanted to help. To serve. I was led to you again by a vision. But I was attacked. My people did not look favorably on my decision." He laughed, holding up both hands. "Ten of them. Killed them all. But one got me, dishonorable dog." He coughed violently. Blood spurted onto his chest, and he looked down at it, at the people gathered around him. "This is it then? Am I coming to you, my love?" He was talking to nobody in the room. "Funny. I expected there would be more dead bodies around me when I..."

His last breath barely passed his lips. Then guilt fell on Lura and floored her. She sat in a pool of blood that wasn't her own. If she hadn't lost her temper, she would have been in the field instead of Margaret. She would have healed him on the spot. And why wouldn't Sune listen to her? A flood of emotion suffused her body. Then she heard the song of Sune in her mind. She stood up and put her hands on the barbarian, and radiant blue-white light erupted from her palms. There were gasps of shock. To everyone but Lura, the drow had taken on another image. Her eyes shone like twin beacons, swirling red and gold pools of magic. Her skin shone like polished obsidian and radiated such pure radiance that any malady those around her had was simply healed and gone as if it had never been there before. 

Power pulsed from Lura in palpable waves. The tavern shook and pure divine power flowed from Sune, through Lura, and into the barbarian. Then it ended abruptly, and Lura fell, momentarily blacked out, onto the barbarian. They both lay very still for a moment. Then, as one, they both stirred with life. The barbarian inhaled deeply, his massive chest lifting Lura's body almost a foot before settling again. The drow's eyes fluttered and she began to lift herself from the prone barbarian. His crystal blue eyes flickered open and locked with Lura's eyes, now swirling pools of radiant red and gold. She had undergone a transformation as Sune poured more of her power into the drow to resurrect the barbarian. 

"Lura," he whispered.

"Hammer," she responded, a smile as wide as any she had ever worn growing on her face. He sat up, flexed his shoulders and stretched his neck. 

"I have returned to your side, Lady Lura. The Red Knight has sent me to you yet again. It seems that no wound my people could land would deter me," he said. "Thanks to Sune and her Chosen."

"I was worried you had returned only to depart," Lura said, wrapping her arms around him. She realized that they had never been truly close to each other, but he had always been a good and loyal friend, and she welcomed him to her side.

"He should rest," Margaret said timidly. 

"I am fine, thank you Mother," Hammer said. "Your assistance made this all possible. Great deeds await us all. Mikhail," he said, standing fully and towering over the smaller man. "It is good to see you again, my friend. I see that Lura has put some muscle on you at last."

"In some areas more than others, I assure you," Mikhail said. He looked past the barbarian at Greta, who looked ashen and vanished to the second floor. 

"I regret my informal and messy introduction," Hammer said to the halfling, somehow able to pick halfling as owner. "It was not what I intended."




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 02



"Not a problem," Benefast said. "I am Benefast, proprietor and owner, and this is my half-sister Donnara. At your service."

Hammer nodded his thanks, then he noticed the barbaric looking woman standing somewhat to the back. His eyes locked with hers and immediately saw a kindred spirit. "I am Hammer," he said.

"I am Ambrusia," she replied. The clasped forearms and left it at that. For warriors everywhere, it seemed, less is more, as much seemed to pass between the two warriors during that simple greeting.

"I will speak with you soon, I wish to learn of your kind," Hammer said quietly. She nodded, her outward appearance perfectly masking her inner yearning for the massive, noble barbarian. Hidden to all, except Lura. The drow could see the dragonborn's desire as clearly as she could see the rise and fall of her breathing. She attributed it to remnants of Sune's power still lingering within her. Against her better judgment, she focused that vision on Mikhail. To her relief, her face was still firmly planted in his desires.

Lura smiled, feeling very much as if things were looking up for her and her friends. Hammer's return meant that she would have a much easier time dealing with inner city turmoil. And should the High Lord wish to enforce his desire to extricate the refugees, Hammer could help with that too. 

Lura smiled. They all moved to retire for the evening, except Hammer, who insisted on staying awake, that whatever magic Lura had used on him had completely reinvigorated him. She went upstairs, following Mikhail until he reached Greta's door. He explained that the woman was simply lonely, and Lura, having seen what was in Mikhail's heart, simply smiled, reassured, and went to bed. Ambrusia joined her after a moment, and they curled together in her huge bed.

She fell asleep and dreamt wonderful dreams.



Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 03



"Who is he?" Ambrusia asked. Lura didn't answer immediately, instead reflecting on the woman's unusual accent and savoring it like an aged glass of drow mushroom wine. Ambrusia was behind her, spooning her, with her strong, yet decidedly feminine hand resting on Lura's obsidian hip. Her Red Robe was nowhere to be seen.

"An old friend," the drow responded at length. "A year or so ago he parted ways with me and Cyra, as well as a few other close friends. I haven't heard from any of them since then, except, now, Hammer."

"He was always a warrior, then?" Ambrusia asked.

"More than that," Lura replied, a fond smile gracing her refined features. "He was a friend, a shoulder to cry on—assuming I ever had the need for it, a councilor and a companion. I laid with him scant few times when he was exploring the life Sune offered him."

"I see," Ambrusia said. "Was he always honorable?"

"The most honorable man I have ever known," Lura said. She shifted herself back against Ambrusia more tightly, and briefly imagined it was the massive barbarian. She couldn't, of course, because of the voluptuous, muscular curves that were absolutely womanly, but imagined what a single night with the barbarian would be like again. She realized that he might be too good for her. Too noble, too honorable. He would expect her to be faithful if anything grew out of their friendship, and she knew that, despite his generous assets, she'd never be able to simply because of her curiosity. A sigh escaped her lips. She loved Mikhail, certainly, but something about having so much muscle to climb on made her blood quicken. Thus she turned to face Ambrusia. 

The drow ran her fingertips over the woman's muscular shoulders and arms, admiring the marble-like tautness of her flesh. "You are excited by strength?" Ambrusia asked, noticing her focus.

"The size and feel is pleasing, whether it is on a woman or a man," Lura admitted. "A certain part of me adores such things, perhaps because it is a symbol of security and protection. Perhaps because muscles are just plain sexy."

"But your mate, Mikhail," Ambrusia said, her tone conveying her confusion, "is much smaller than me or Hammer. And by your admission is less honorable than Hammer or myself. Not to mention he has little skill in combat. Why do you wish to retain him as a mate?"

"There are other qualities that I desire in a man," Lura said. "Things here are not based around the protection a man can offer, or his base appearance. Those things help, of course: if he were not attractive, I would not enjoy making love to him or feeling his body against mine in any way. I would simply not be physically attracted to him even if I was emotionally attracted. Half of the relationship would be gone. He is handsome to me, and the muscle he does have pleases me greatly. He is also quite well endowed."

This made the stoic dragonborn giggle a little. "I believe that trait is universally viewed as a positive feature," she said, and Lura joined her giggle.

"You have eyes for the barbarian," Lura said, staring into the dragonborn's glinting golden eyes.

"He is...quite a man," she said, smiling shyly. "He seems to embody the things my people expect from great leaders."

"I could say something to him if you want," Lura offered, but Ambrusia seemed offended.

"That is not how my kind courts," she said in a flat tone. 

"Then how? Enlighten a curious drow," Lura purred, pressing her head against the larger woman's chest and closing her eyes.

"We see what we want, we reach out, and we take it," she said. "That is how the women handle it, at least. Men are similar, but have been known to brawl with each other over women. It is quite arousing to watch."

"I don't think you'll have that pleasure with Hammer. I've never seen anybody challenge him and last more than a few seconds," Lura said. 

"That is acceptable," she replied, smirking to herself. "He can fight me."

*****

Hammer had been near death many times in his life, but had never truly passed the threshold. Until a few hours ago. And it had been Lura's magic, or at least Sune working through the drow, that had brought him back. He realized he owed his life to the drow and her goddess, and didn't find that displeasing. The barbarian sat in the Dreaming Dragon, mulling these things over in his head, when Mikhail approached him.

"It is good to have you back, my large friend," he said, putting his hand on Hammer's massive shoulder. Standing next to the seated barbarian, he was only a head or so taller than the giant of a man. 

"It is good to have returned," he replied, his deep voice resonating in the tavern's common room. "I did not expect to see you out of Lura's bed this night."

"I was not sharing it with her," Mikhail said matter-of-factly.

"No? Something split you two?"

"Nothing like that," Mikhail said reassuringly, even if he was beginning to wonder if they were drifting apart. "A minor scuffle: she found me in bed with another woman, and became enraged, probably because of the stress of the Spellplague and the fact that she and I haven't been intimate with each other in quite a while now."

Hammer nodded. "She has very fond feelings for you. Some might call it love, Mikhail. I would advise against taking that for granted." His jaw clenched as recent memories surfaced and were subsequently quashed.

"Aye, but you know Lura: our relationship has always been open," Mikhail said.

"No relationship is ever truly open, Mikhail," Hammer said, standing suddenly. He began to pace back and forth, eyes fixed on nothing and mind cast into the recent past. "Eventually she will come to a point where she no longer wishes to share you because she will find that her heart is meant only for one other. She will expect and hope for the same."

Mikhail chuckled. "Speaking from experience, big guy?" Hammer turned a solemn look to Mikhail that sobered him.

"Shannara and I grew close, closer than I had anticipated. You know of my affection for the Red Knight, but a goddess is simply beyond my means until I pass from this life. I accepted that and turned wholly to the woman who travelled with me to my kin." Hammer stopped pacing and sat on a chair, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his thick thighs. "I allowed my heart to love her, Mikhail. She returned the gesture in act if not in truth. She and I were bonded by the ancient ways of my people. It is a bond that ought never be broken or betrayed. It was.

"I returned to my village one day after a long hunt, bearing a great bounty to share with my wife and my clan. She was not in my tent, though. I searched around, hoping for the best but knowing deep within that I would find the worst. She was in another man's tent...

*****

"Fill me," Shannara breathed desperately. The man before her was almost twice her size, yet even he was smaller than Hammer, in all areas. But she didn't seem to care. He grabbed his engorged cock and held it vertical, the tip pressing against her damp slit. His other hand was on her hip and pressed her down. His cock filled and split her and she grunted loudly, hands digging into his broad, hairy chest. She began to ride him quickly and hungrily, moaning like a whore as his cock stirred her insides. 

Her breasts were not large, certainly not as much as the barbarian women living in the village, but her body oozed sex and this barbarian was willing to chance dishonoring Hammer to give her pleasure she almost constantly craved. And he was succeeding mightily.

Still, Shannara thought, he was not Hammer and did not make her feel the way he did. Why her lover always insisted on going on these long hunts was beyond her. His sense of honor and loyalty went beyond her understanding, and she could not grasp that, in serving his clan, he was serving her. Sure, she felt guilty as this barbarian's cock plundered her most intimate depths, but she was able to push that aside and simply enjoy the physical pleasure she was receiving. 

Then the tent flap was torn open. Hammer's body was silhouetted against the setting sun, but she could see his rage flowing from his body despite his shadowed features. He entered the tent even as she dismounted and her unfortunate lover tried to cover his erection. Hammer grabbed her shoulder and tossed her away from the nameless barbarian. He reached down and grabbed him by the neck with both hands and hauled him from the ground, out of the tent. Barbarians young and old, male and female gathered around the central bonfire as Hammer tossed the naked barbarian like a ragdoll to the ground. 

"Stand you honorless dog!" he roared. The barbarian began to rise, but as soon as he gained his feet, Hammer was upon him, raining furious blows on his skull until he was beaten down to the ground. "STAND!" he roared again, walking away and prowling like a furious lion. 

"Hammer," the barbarian said weakly through swollen lips and shattered cheeks. "Please, have mercy."

"You deserve none," Hammer responded in a growl. The barbarian was on his feet again, and Hammer took three long strides and wrapped both hands around his skull. "You dishonor me. You dishonor my family. You are without honor and no longer deserve life." Shannara screamed at him from the tent, a fur wrapped around her naked body. He began to squeeze the man's skull, eliciting a horrifying scream of terror and pain. 

He relented though, just short of crushing the man's skull with his bare hands. "No. You will not die like this." He walked to his tent and retrieved an old sword. "You are still a barbarian. You will die like one."

"Hammer," the barbarian said. "I see my folly now. I was foolish in taking your wife. I am without honor and deserve death. I accept my fate and will see you in the afterlife. Please, my brother, find forgiveness for me before then."

"I will try," Hammer said. His heart wrenched when he placed the blade at his brother's throat. He pulled the sword back and swung down with abandon at his brother's neck. But the blade stopped just short of the skin. Two tears fell down his cheek and he dropped the sword. 

"It is our way," the village elder called, but Hammer shook his head. 

"It is not my way," Hammer said loudly, putting his hand on his brother's head, stroking his hair with remorse. "Forgive me, my brother."

"You have been dishonored and refused to take revenge," the elder said. "Thus the dishonor stains your body like the blood of the innocent. You are hereby banished from this clan and all Uthgardt. Do not return, on the pain of death. Your brother will be spared the dishonor, as your stay of execution has made his actions acceptable. Begone."

Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he looked down at his brother's bloody face. "Tend to her better than I did, Dariven," he said. "The gods know I was not meant to be here. I was born for other things. I will find my honor elsewhere."

Dariven stood, tears on his bloodied cheeks, and embraced Hammer. "I will find you one day, brother. Let there be nothing between us in your parting. I will tend her, but she will be outcast here for her actions. You know this." Hammer nodded. "May your enemies tremble before you, brother."

"And yours, brother," Hammer said, turning to leave. Shannara ran to him and latched on from behind.

"I am sorry, Hammer, so sorry," she said. 

"I know," Hammer replied. "I hope you find happiness somewhere, Shannara. It will not be with me. I return to Lura." 

She began weeping as he detached himself from her.

*****

"You will not realize how important she is until she is gone," Hammer said to Mikhail, who sat listening thoughtfully as he told the story. "Go to her in the morning and make amends. The rest is up to her."

"I will," Mikhail said. "Thank you, Hammer. Lura had always spoken of you as a wise person, and I see she was not mistaken. You are a valued member of our merry band; it would be a shame to see you go again."

Hammer smiled. "I do not intend to leave."

*****

The sunrise found Cyra curled happily against Samon. The fighter-turned-noble was awake, admiring the tiefling's sleeping visage while his fingers idly traced lines up and down her exposed flank. Her skin looked pale in the early morning light, but Samon had vivid memories of the red flesh sliding against him the night before. Her plump lips seemed to purse out and curl up into a smile when his fingertips slid over the side of her breast. Cyra's tail shifted underneath the sheets, drawing his attention. He watched the appendage as it seemed to have a mind of its own, shifting to and fro. 

Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to her round, firm bottom, and where his eyes went his fingers followed. Abandoning the idle tracings, he placed his hand fully on the swell of her hip. She shifted again, then turned so that her back was to him. When her ass settled fully against his hips, he knew he'd have her again before breakfast.

"Cyra?" he whispered. No response. He grinned devilishly and reached under the covers to this broad shaft, already half-mast as morning wood began to take hold. He spurred it on with slow, lengthy strokes, using the cleft of the tiefling's ass and her tail, attached at the top of that cleft for added sensation. Samon grabbed the soft appendage and rested it over his waist even as it started to curl around his wrist. Instead, it curled up under his leg, between them, and curled around his balls. He'd never experienced that before, and wondered if his lover was awake and had more control over her tail than she'd admitted. But he was far from complaining now. 

Samon pressed his hardened shaft against the cleft of the tiefling's ass and pressed firmly to slip it between her thighs and against her sex. He couldn't suppress a smile when he felt her slit was already moist. Cyra seemed as if she was always wet for him, a fact that pleased him greatly. He slid his shaft across her slit, lathering it in her juices and spreading them around his shaft with his hand. She stirred a little, whimpering pleasantly but seemingly still asleep. Samon pulled his dick away from her slit and pressed his head against her puckered asshole. Being asleep, Cyra was likely as relaxed as ever, and her asshole yielded for him readily. It stretched around his thick head and, while he was not longer than average, swallowed his entire length ever so slowly. She didn't so much as shift, but her tail constricted around his sack, squeezing his nuts to the point that he had to stop and let out a distinct groan of pleasure. This might not take as long as he had planned.

"Fuck, Samon," Cyra said suddenly, her voice loud. He grinned and she turned to glare at him. "I missed the entry, you fucking prick. Wake me up if you're going to stick your dick in my ass!"

"Shut up, bitch," he said, taking advantage before she could react. He rolled her onto her stomach and pressed her body hard into the bed. Straddling her hips, even as her tail squeezed his balls, he began to piston in and out of her asshole. She turned her head to him.

"Fuck, oh fuck," she grunted loudly. "Oh fuck, Samon, that's it. Fuck my ass. Use my asshole, you bastard. Plunder my dirty fucking ass. Get off in me. Use my fucking body you son of a bitch."

"I said shut up, you fucking half-breed slut," he growled. He seized her by her hair and pressed her face into the pillow. Her hands grabbed the sheets and began tearing them as she thrashed. His dick savaged her anus, plowing into it over and over again until he felt his release building. He didn't wait, he didn't even announce his orgasm, he simply plunged himself to the hilt and dumped his thick, hot seed into her rectum and released her head. 

Gasping for breath, Cyra turned and looked over her shoulder, eyes smoldering and lips wickedly grinning. "Good morning handsome," she purred. He leaned onto her, her hips cushioning him as he slid his hands along her arms until their fingers intertwined. He kissed her cheek, then her neck, then her lips.

"Good morning, beautiful," he breathed, enjoying the feeling of her warm body under him. "Perhaps you'd enjoy my tongue now?"

"No," she said. "I will take my pleasure from you unexpectedly, just as you have to me this morning."

"I look forward to the prospect," he said. 

*****

The tavern was barren, not even Benefast was awake yet, but the smell of cooking food still permeated the air. Hammer opened the door to exit the tavern and breathe in the morning air. He stepped outside, smoothing the large tunic that was tight around his shoulders and chest, and looked up at the sky. There were several clouds, but none blocking the warm morning sun. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation before the busy day he knew was coming. Then he heard a squeal and fast footsteps. He opened his eyes to see Cyra sprinting at him, her ample assets firmly secured in a leather corset, black and laced up the sides, and her legs clad in form-fitting leggings. Her boots, shin high and thick soled, were loud on the stone road. 

He smiled at the tiefling and barely shifted when she slammed into him, throwing her arms around him. A woman of great passion, Cyra grabbed him by the face and pressed her lips against his. But she wasn't satisfied with that. Her tongue broke through the barrier of his lips and delved deep into his mouth. He returned the kiss with pleasure, remembering fondly the times he had spent with Cyra. The tiefling pulled away, smiling broadly as a man stepped up beside her.

"Hammer, it is wonderful to see you again. What brought you back?" she asked.

"It is a long story," he said, "but rest assured I won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

"Good. Has Lura seen you?" Cyra asked.

"Indeed. Were it not for her, you'd be looking at a corpse right now," he said. "It was her hand that healed a grievous wound that got the better of me on arrival and brought me back to life."

"Wonderful," Cyra said. She turned to Samon and took his hand. "This is my lover, Samon. Samon, this is Hammer, the barbarian that was with us when we came to Everlund."

"I have heard much about you," Samon said, extending his hand. Hammer took it and smiled. He appraised Samon, feeling very much like the Hammer of the Dancing Rose, who looked over all of the girls' suitors. The barbarian had seen them all as his women, not necessarily in a carnal manner, but more like siblings, and he wouldn't let them be hurt. What he saw in Samon reassured him, though. He seemed a noble man.

"I look forward to hearing about you, then," Hammer said. 

"Is Lura awake yet?" Cyra asked. Hammer shrugged and opened the door for the tiefling and her human lover. He followed them in and saw that Lura had indeed risen and was sitting over a warm bowl of porridge, Ambrusia next to her, Mikhail across from her, and Greta beside Mikhail.

Cyra's footsteps were loud and called attention to their approach. Lura stood slowly, a warm smile on her face as she stepped out to greet the tiefling. They embraced and kissed. And kept kissing. Cyra, who hadn't seen much of Lura away from the refugee camps, wasn't willing to let the drow go, and their kiss became a heated tongue-dance. Realizing that all eyes were on them, they grinned and let each other go. "I've missed you," Cyra said quietly, biting her lip.

"Likewise, sister," Lura said affectionately. "We'll make up lost time soon, I'm certain." 

"How are you doing, Ambrusia?" Cyra asked when she finally diverted her attention from the stunning drow. 

"I am well," the dragonborn said. She smiled at the tiefling, but her gaze was pulled back to Hammer. He locked eyes with her and saw her intent clearly inside those golden orbs. Something stirred inside him, but he suppressed it. Instead, he offered her a warm smile, and turned his attention to Lura, who he realized had been watching him out of the corner of her eye. Something else stirred in him, and he feared that it might physically manifest if he did not occupy his mind. Yes, he had been a long time away from the Sunites, and he was beginning to appreciate their passionate nature. 




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 03



Mikhail sidled up next to the drow as idle conversation ensued. He was reminded why he needed to keep physical feelings for the drow to himself, thanks to his conversation with the man last night. So he simply leaned against a support beam, smiling as the idle chatter went on around him. He felt very much like he had back at the Dancing Rose as a shirtless, muscular bartender. Except now there were new people to meet, new names to learn, and a new life to lead.

"You're new," came a small, whisper of a voice from behind him. Slowly, he turned and saw an elf wrapped in leathers and bristling with blades. Her golden hair was tight against her head and her skin glistened in the morning light from what appeared to be perspiration.

"I am a friend of Lura's," he said in a deep, friendly voice. She merely cocked an eyebrow. A taller, elegant looking woman walked past the elf, and he could almost feel sexual tension between the two, as if they were near lunging at each other for physical release.

"I am Iliara. I do things for Sune that Sune doesn't want other people to know about," she said. 

"A delight," Hammer replied, smiling. She smirked at him.

"Perhaps. We'll find out later, I promise," she murmured. Hammer grinned as she breezed by him. "What? Two new faces? My, my, I've missed something. Why don't you fill me in, Lura?"

The drow smiled and put her hand on Iliara's shoulder. She pointed at the barbarian. "That is Hammer, the barbarian I told you about from Silverymoon. He has come back to aid us in any manner we need." She pointed to Ambrusia. "And this is Ambrusia, daughter of an elf and dragonborn, sent from the dragonborn kingdom of Tymanther. She's traveled over two thousand miles to learn about the Silver Marches, and has also decided to stay with us for hopefully a good long while." Lura felt her loins curl at the thought of sharing many more nights with the dragonborn and her amazing tongue.

"I'll have to have you two alone soon so I can learn a bit more about you," Iliara said. "How's tonight?"

"I have no plans," Hammer said. Ambrusia nodded her assent, excited to be alone with the barbarian, even if this smallish elf was going to be there.

"It is settled then," Iliara said. Hammer noticed that the elegant woman he'd seen earlier seemed to be gritting her teeth and realized that, perhaps, the girl had more invested in the elf than mere physical pleasure. She caught his eye and he watched her expression change in a heartbeat. She stood as conversation began anew, now that Iliara was out of the center of it, and walked toward him.

"I am Varla Armanov," she purred, pressing herself against his hip. "My house is a powerful one in this city. My brother, Samon over there, is Lord Armanov. Have you ever been with a noble?"

"Many," Hammer said. He saw his road splitting before him. He could be the barbarian he had always been and spurn her blatant advances, or he could be the suave, intriguing man Sune had taught him to be. "But none quite as intriguing as yourself."

"Hmm," she said. She couldn't quite reach his ear to whisper hotly into it, even on her tip toes, so she emphasized her point by placing her hand on his ass. "Follow me in five minutes. Pretend you are purchasing a room from Benefast first."

Hammer made no outward acknowledgement save for a subtle nod of his head. He noticed Ambrusia was not watching him at the moment, and he was glad for that. The barbarian needed some release, and he didn't want to ruin his chances with the impressive dragonborn in doing so. Five minutes passed in a blur and he felt his cock already responding to the impending rendezvous. It had been long weeks since he last laid with a woman. Oh yes, he needed this badly. He went over to the bar, where Benefast was busy wiping with a clean rag, and actually did buy a room. Something told him he'd need his own anyway. Then he excused himself, proclaiming the night had been long and he required rest. He noticed Varla was already gone and restrained a smile.

He hadn't reached the top of the stairs to the second floor before Varla spotted him and made for him. He was still a few steps from the top, which put his face level with hers, when she reached out and grabbed him by the collar and hungrily drover her tongue into his mouth. With lust fueling his blood, she looked like a being of pure sex with her golden skin and luxuriantly thick deep red hair. She had changed out of more conservative trousers and tunic and into a sensual, barely there gown with a neckline well below her cleavage. Her breasts weren't large compared to his hands, but he seized them and pressed his fingers in on them gently while his tongue danced with hers. 

Hammer made the last few stairs in one stride, grabbing Varla by the ass and lifting her so that her legs wrapped immediately around his waist. "Third on the left," she breathed between savagely attacking his mouth. She punctuated her arousal by biting him firmly on his lower lip. He grinned at her, eyes aflame with arousal as his cock strained his already tight breeches. What's more, he could feel her nectar soaking through his trousers to moisten his cock. They reached her room and he thrust the door open, dropping her lightly to her feet as they breached the entrance. He closed the door behind him and she pushed his chest so that his back was against the wooden door. 

"Let me see that big barbarian cock," she purred, unfastening his belt and untying his pants. She got down on her knees and slowly began to pull them down around the enormous bulge. His cock sprang out and almost hit her jaw. Not quite fully erect yet, the thick, veiny meat was bigger around than her wrist and longer than any of the toys she and Iliara had played with. Granted, they didn't have particularly huge toys, considering Iliara's smaller size and Varla's preference to having Iliara's hand than a toy. Still, she gasped at his meat and wrapped both hands around the cock. She began stroking it with both hands while he ran his strong hands through her thick hair. Varla nuzzled her face against his hand, smelling his masculine scent on his skin, then brought her face toward the meat in her hands. She breathed in the musk of his aroused manhood, heavy on the skin and neatly trimmed hairs at the base. 

Mouth watering uncontrollably, she kissed the head, down the length, all the way to his large sack where her tongue slid out to savor the salty flesh. A low groan rumbled in his throat and it was music to her ears. A smile spread across her face knowing her ministrations were pleasing him. And the groan wasn't the only clue: his cock was now fully extended, rock hard, and twitching at her every touch.

"How long has it been?" She asked, looking up at him as her tongue slid up the length of his shaft slowly. He looked down, locking eyes with her.

"Several weeks," he said in a husky voice. She held eye contact even as her lips caressed the tip. She tasted precum on her lips and swallowed it greedily. Still looking him deep in his eyes, her lips spread and mouth opened as the head passed her lips then broke contact as she began swallowing his member. His head was at her throat before she was halfway down, but Varla was a noble, and with being a noble one acquired certain skills to deal with stubborn rivals. At least, they did in her house. Her throat relaxed and she accepted the thick dick into her throat. She struggled mightily, half his cock in her mouth, and gagged, tears spilling from her eyes. She pulled away, looking back up at him with a smile as precum and spit left trails between her mouth and his cock.

"Again," he said. Her eyes widened for a moment and she immediately went into submissive mode, her pussy dampening more. Having this massive man taking complete control of her was going to be thrilling, she decided. She took his hands and pressed them against the back of her head, then put hers on his hips. He took the cue and, without hesitation, pressed her face down his penis. She gagged immediately but he did not relent. The barbarian forced more of his dick into her throat, watching as her neck bulged weirdly. Grinning, he relented and allowed her breath. 

"I want your fucking cum in my mouth," she demanded, taking hold of his dick. He smiled down at her.

"Then suck," he said with a bit of humor. She grinned wickedly and wrapped her two hands around his shaft before hungrily taking his dick into her mouth. Her hands twisted and stroked in pace with her mouth as she took half his cock in with every stroke. Her tongue whirled around the thick manhood, slobbering all over it. Spit mixed with precum and dripped from her lips, down her chin, onto her neck and breasts. He groaned, a deep rumbling sound in his rock hard stomach, and she responded in kind, moaning loudly on his dick. That was the coup de grace. The vibrations mixed with the swirling tongue, pumping hands, and hot mouth sent him over the edge. She felt his cock swell just before unbelievably large gouts of cum shot into her mouth. It splattered against her throat, her cheeks, the roof of her mouth, and her tongue. She took it all in, trying not to swallow, but losing some of his vast quantities out of the corners of her mouth in the process. When his cumshots abated, she pulled herself away and stood languidly. He looked down at her face, streaked with tears, spit, and cum, and she opened her mouth. He smiled at the thick, viscous cum filling her mouth like a goblet of wine, then laughed heartily when she threw her head back and swallowed with a groan of delight.

"You are quite a man," Varla said, collecting the fluids on her chin, neck and breasts with one hand, then sucking the digits clean. "I suspect our next encounter will be even more exciting."

Hammer grinned, running his hand through her hair and kissing her hard. "I seem to have noticed earlier a profound dampness between your thighs," he said. 

"Indeed, something I can handle myself," she said coyly.

"I am not finished with you," Hammer said, a grin spreading across his face.

"But...such a large load...you cannot possibly..." Varla said, then noticed his still throbbing, still erect member.

"You must understand, Varla Armanov," he said, grabbing the woman by her ass with both hands and pulling her toward him, "that barbarians are renowned worldwide for their stamina." 

"Oh my," she purred, grinning eagerly. "I'm not sure I've had such a large...anything inside me."

He scanned the room and took her to her bed. Hammer suspected that this woman, obviously a frequent lover of the elf, likely had some sort of lubricating oil, and he saw a flask of it on her nightstand, accompanied by several other toys. Grinning and laughing to himself, pushed her onto the bed. She fell backward, legs automatically spreading for him as she crawled backward to her pillows. He crawled toward her, shedding his shirt in the process.

"Are you going to fuck me, Hammer?" she asked in sultry voice.

"Without mercy," he responded with a grin.

"Then fuck me like a barbarian. Own me. Make it hurt, you giant of a man," she said lustfully. He seized the flimsy gown and literally tore it from her body, tossing the remnants away. Then he went for the flask beside the bed. He poured the warm liquid plentifully on his manhood, not minding the amount falling onto the sheets. Then he poured it on her sex and surrounding mound. He spread it generously and used one of his thick fingers to spread it inside her already soaked cunny. She moaned like a whore. 

Hammer seized his throbbing dick and pressed the fat head against her relatively tiny hole. She wanted to get fucked by a barbarian, and he gave it to her. Without warning, he jammed his massive prick into her cunt. She screamed in pain as her loins split and tore around his dick, but then began laughing, her eyes glazed over. 

"By the fucking gods!" she shouted, her fingernails gripping her own breasts, fingernails digging into her soft titflesh. He hooked her legs around his arms and leaned forward, bracing himself on his palms and began to fuck her cunt with brutal force. He pounded into her, the headboard of the bead cracking loudly against the wooden wall. Her cries melded into one long moan, turning to a short squeal every time his prick slammed into her, stretching her walls and slamming against her cervix. So much girth filled her, that the spongy tissue of her g-spot was constantly being rubbed and her orgasm hit her like a warhammer. She clenched on his dick and the tightness overwhelmed him. He stopped as her body spasmed beneath him, and she looked at him quizzically.

"Why did you stop?" she asked.

"Your pussy wouldn't let me move," he said, winking. Before she could respond he resumed his brutal pace, pounding into her as her arms wrapped around his neck. She was silent now, likely numb from an overload of pain and pleasure, and simply rode out his brutal dick as orgasm after orgasm rolled over her until, finally, she felt his hot spunk dumping into her loins. He grunted and growled like an animal as his climax took him, and she released him, lying on her bed like a quivering mass of over-sexed human. He smiled, pulling his cock out of her and letting it slowly return to a flaccid state.

"Oh, Hammer," she said. "I look forward to many, many more of these sessions. One day, I want that prick in my ass."

"I would be pleased to comply, Lady Armanov," he replied. "For now, though, I must retire to my room. I require sleep."

"Oh absolutely," she said. "I'll see you in a few hours, then, stud."

He smiled, gathering his clothing and walking, naked, to his new apartment. Iliara watched from the staircase, grinning as the naked barbarian walked away from her. She could see his dick hanging between his legs as he walked, and the muscles in his back and legs rippling with every movement. She was looking forward to tonight.

*****

"I have a duty to these people," Lura said firmly. Mikhail's shoulders slumped.

"Then what of us?" he asked plaintively.

"We will have to be patient," she said, "and take pleasure in what time we can have together." She came close to Mikhail, placing her palms on his chest. The drow closed her eyes, slipped her hands around to his back and pulled him close. She could hear his heartbeat, feel his breathing, and yet somehow felt detached, despite how much she wanted to feel close to him. She could not deny that she still felt betrayed by his actions with Greta.

"I will wait for you," he said quietly. He kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Hammer's words were still resonating in his skull, and he was hesitant to let the drow out of his embrace. He inhaled the scent of her freshly washed hair and tried to commit it to memory. "I will wait an eternity," he said again, his voice firm as he steeled his resolve. 

Lura pushed him away at his words and the strength in his voice. She looked in his eyes and saw his honesty. A smile could not be kept from her face, and Lura reached up to pull his face down for a kiss. She held him there, tasting his lips, his tongue, and his breath. Lura was tempted to postpone her duties for the people of Everlund, but she knew their needs were great.

But Lura was drow, and at least a small part of that heritage was still strong. She pushed him toward the bed, climbing on top of him and casting her robe to the floor. Mikhail never broke contact with her mouth even as she reached down to his trousers and untied the front. She reached down and grasped his cock, stroking it masterfully until it grew hard in her palm. Lura took a moment to appreciate the sensation of feeling a penis transitioning from flaccid to full erection inside her firm grip, and smiled as she kissed him. Her hand wrapped around his jaw, holding his face still and locking eyes with him. 

They didn't break eye contact as the head of his member slowly slipped into her moist snatch. Breaths held as it slowly slid into her, and when it finally bottomed out within her loins, they closed their eyes and let out a simultaneous groan of distinct, long awaited pleasure. She held him there for a moment, both hands on his face as she pressed her forehead against his. Lura clenched her jaw and tried to keep her eyes from rolling back as she slowly slid her hips back and forth, grinding his dick inside her generously moist cunny. Every shifting motion his dick made inside her rubbed against her spongy g-spot, sending bolts of pleasure up her spine and tingling her flesh all over. There was no hesitation in either of them, no need to prolong pleasure. 

Mikhail was the first to reach his release. His hands clasped at the back of her head, a veil of soft white hair surrounding their faces, he grunted quietly as he thrust his dick up into her. As soon as his first bolt of semen hit the walls of her pussy, she began grinding harder and faster on him, driving herself to her orgasm without hesitation. The combination of strand after strand of hot white cum in her loins, coupled with his generous cock stirring her insides, sent her over the edge and her entire body quaked and clenched. They tried to maintain eye contact, but failed as his eyes clenched shut and hers rolled into her skull. It was quiet and brief, gasps of urgent release and breathless grunts never escaped the veil of white hair surrounding them, and Lura collapsed atop him, nuzzling her face into his neck and breathing in his masculine scent. They breathed deeply, trying to absorb every scant second they had in this intimate moment before Lura, with tear-filled eyes, finally stirred and began to slide him out of her. 

He looked at her longingly and sat as she stood off the edge of the bed, bending to take her robe and equip it. But Mikhail knew he had her when he heard her sniffle and wipe her cheek. "I have to go," she said.

"I know," Mikhail said, a small smile on his face. She started walking away, but turned to face him when she reached the door. He was smiling as he stuffed his manhood back into his trousers and looked up at her. 

"Why are you smiling?" she asked, her voice quiet. Mikhail didn't answer; he simply walked over to her, put his hands on her cheeks and put his forehead against hers. He kissed her on her lips, then the tip of her nose, then her forehead. 

"Because I am in love with you, Lura," he said. Her eyes welled up instantly and she clasped her hands on his face, kissing him deeply. 

"Can you imagine a drow loving a man?" she asked in a whisper.

"I don't need to imagine it, do I?" he said, more than asked.

"No," she said, smiling and kissing him again. "You don't."

*****

Iliara's room was dark, just the way she liked it. Incense burned, filling the room with a heady aroma that excited her senses. She was nearly naked, clothed only in a thin white shift that covered her compact breasts and the top half of her athletic bottom. She knelt on the floor, knees spread apart and her wet sex graced only by scant breezes from her open window. 

Deep in meditation, the elf didn't notice the knocking on her door at first. When it did bring her from her thoughts, she didn't bother with clothing, the elf simply stood slowly and walked to the door. She opened it, and Hammer stood with Ambrusia, the two muscular warriors filling more than her door frame. She gazed at them, at Hammer's broad chest and Ambrusia's heroic bust, the barbarian's thick, corded arms and Ambrusia's generous, strong hips. 

"Enter," she said, her voice like silk. Hammer allowed the dragonborn to enter first and followed close behind her, a hand finding her hip. Ambrusia felt herself jump at his touch, but quickly became used to the strong hand on her. She smiled to herself as they followed Iliara into the bedroom. Both of them watched with eager anticipation the elf's athletic bottom bouncing merrily with each step.




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 03



While Ambrusia was admittedly more eager to experience Hammer in all his naked, masculine glory, she knew that there would be no small amount of pleasure coming from the petite elf, and as much as the dragonborn adored male parts, she loved pussy as well, and if Lura was any indication, Iliara would taste absolutely divine.

Hammer, for his part, tried to remain impartial with his feelings for the night. He knew he wanted the dragonborn on sheer principle of the fact that she was a might warrior. But that pleasure would have to be enjoyed fully later. He could handle them both at the same time just fine, but if Ambrusia managed to push the elf out of the picture, he knew he'd be hard pressed to please them both. If Ambrusia was like any barbarian woman, she would demand all of his attention.

But he sensed Iliara wouldn't let that happen. The rogue was strong in her own way and would be a formidable lover. She proved that when she climbed up on the bed, stood on her knees, and grabbed the barbarian by the neck into a passionate kiss. Betraying none of his surprise, he put one hand on her hip and the other at the back of her head. Before Ambrusia could react, the elf reached out and did the same, abandoning Hammer's mouth for Ambrusia's.

A plan rapidly formed in Hammer's head. While Ambrusia's tongue was locked with Iliara's, he went around behind her, sliding his hands around her hips to her stomach. She wore a thin velvet vest that barely contained her impressive breasts, and he began kissing her shoulders while his hands slid up her stomach, over her breasts, and began to unbutton the vest. She instinctively reached back and pressed her hand against his hip while at the same time running her hand through Iliara's golden mane.

Then, all of a sudden, the vest fell off, and the dragonborn's breasts were exposed to Iliara. The elf stifled a gasp as she broke the kiss for a look. They were massive, as big as her head, but perky and supple. Thin, rough scales graced the underside of the woman's breasts as well as her flanks. Iliara traced her fingers over them, and a soft sigh escaped the dragonborn's plump lips. She gasped shortly thereafter as Hammer's massive, bared torso pressed against her back. She felt his skin keenly against the scales over her shoulder blades and her lower back. While Iliara started kissing her neck and progressing down her body, Hammer's hands slid against her breasts, massaging them and tweaking the olive green nipples into an erect state. She groaned aloud when she felt Hammer's immense manhood straining against his breeches and pressing into her backside.

Iliara threw off her thin shift, but Ambrusia didn't get a chance to enjoy the view. The elf quickly lunged forward again at the dragonborn, kissing down her rippling stomach to the tight pants Ambrusia wore. Iliara's deft fingers untied the pants easily and before the dragonborn knew what was happening, the elf had her pants down around her ankles, her eager mouth suckling on the larger woman's sweet skin. Reflexively, Ambrusia lifted a leg up and placed it on the bed, exposing her sodden sex to the elf.

Iliara inhaled as the soft, damp folds were splayed apart before her. It was a scent unlike any she'd ever breathed, and it almost intoxicated her. Mouth salivating uncontrollably, she plunged her tongue into the damp folds. A strange sound issued forth from the dragonborn's throat, like a serpent's hiss and a dragon's growl. Iliara couldn't suppress a grin as strong hands entwined with her silky hair.

Hammer continued his attentions to the dragonborn's hefty, firm breasts while his erection continued to strain the confines of his pants. The strong woman began to buck her hips into Iliara's face, which in turn pressed her ass against his growing shaft delightfully. He worked himself into her groove, his shaft pressing into the cleft of her firm, thick bottom. It was surprisingly quick when her body began to quake and quiver as her orgasm shook her. It was a minor thing, as far as he could tell, but left her in more of an excited state than a daze. She turned quickly, her ass suddenly in Iliara's face, and pressed her mouth into Hammer's hungrily. The barbarian returned the kiss furiously, their tongues clashing like so many swords on a battlefield. 

Without hesitation, the dragonborn grabbed his trousers and simply sundered the ties in one swift tear, and suddenly his engorged prick was free of its cloth prison and stood straight out from his body, thick veins coursing along its length. Without any sort of prelude, Ambrusia grabbed the massive shaft and got down on her knees, her mouth wrapping around the head and swallowing it whole in one fell swoop. Hammer couldn't contain a groan at the sudden pleasure. He looked down and her exotic eyes were piercing into his skull, her desires and passions plain for his understanding. His heart pounded in his chest as his hands gripped her hair and began to piston in and out of her throat. She gurgled a little, but her throat stretched and relaxed to accommodate further penetration from his massive shaft.

"Oh my..." Iliara breathed as she watched. Hammer was a massive man, in every regard, and Ambrusia simply swallowed his arm-like cock as if it were so much fruit. So distracted was she by Ambrusia's bulging throat and drooling mouth that she didn't notice Hammer had released her hair. In fact, she hadn't realized anything had changed until she felt two powerful hands seize her by her waist and hoist her up into the air. Gasping, she quickly gathered her senses and wrapped her legs around Hammer's neck as his face buried in her soft elven snatch. A cute squeal issued from her lips as she felt his tongue hungrily stroking her slit. It delved deep into her canal, then licked all the way up to her gem-studded clit. The new piercing was still tender but she didn't let that stop his attentions. The pain only intensified the pleasure.

Ambrusia reluctantly spat out Hammer's massive prick and began stroking it with both hands. It was greased in a mixture of her throat mucus, saliva, and his pungent pre-cum. She lifted the cock vertical, stroking it and watching as his heavy sack bounced up and down. Her mouth latched onto those heavy orbs, sucking each into her mouth one by one and swirling her tongue around him. She heard Hammer's muffled groan, caused by her attentions, and smiled to herself. 

Iliara leaned back, her strong, lithe legs firmly wrapped around the barbarian's thick neck. Her stomach snapped taut, firm muscles rippling in the scant light as she held herself perfectly horizontal, riding Hammer's mouth as she began to buck her hips against him. Her hands grasped hungrily at her own breasts, pinching her nipples painfully and jerking them out so that her nipples distended into long nubs of pleasure. Then, she let herself fall all the way down, holding herself up by hooking her legs on Hammer's massive shoulders. Her face was level with his cock and Ambrusia's hungry mouth. The elf seized the dragonborn with one deceptively strong hand and pulled her face into a hungry, inverted kiss. They shared the taste of Hammer's crystalline precum and his pungent sack. Then Ambrusia fed the inverted elf the barbarian's enormous cock. 

Twisted weirdly as she hung upside down from Hammer's shoulders, the flexible elf managed to get a decent angle on the massive cock and used her body weight to impale her face on Hammer's cock. Using her strong legs and stomach, she bounced herself to and fro, her hands never leaving her breasts as she swallowed several inches of barbarian meat. She never could get the entire length, though, and she doubt it would be physically possible, but she enjoyed the blunt end of Hammer's cock pounding against the back of her throat nonetheless. Ambrusia started chuckling.

"What are you --mmph—laughing—mmph—at?" she asked between swallows of cock.

"You amuse me," Ambrusia said. "For such a small thing, you have much fire and strength."

Iliara placed her hands on Hammer's thighs to keep herself from running into his prick again. She looked at the dragonborn with a sly smile. "Surprised?"

"Yes," Ambrusia said, standing slowly as Iliara began to stroke the hefty meat by her head. Hammer hadn't stopped lapping at her sopping sex and her own dew had begun to drip from his chin onto her face and his cock. Of course, that was just what she wanted, and the added flavor of her own pussy made his cock irresistible. Ambrusia muttered something to Hammer, and the warrior turned her around so that she was fully facing him and his proud cock. She felt Ambrusia's body against her back and the elf draped her legs over the woman's shoulders.

Iliara was growing curious what the dragonborn warrior could be doing until she felt strong hands grip her taut bottom and spread the cheeks apart. A warm, wet tongue slid up the crack of her ass, all the way to her anus. It had to be Ambrusia, since Hammer's tongue was dancing circles around her engorged clit. She squealed with delight when she felt the dexterous tongue swirl around her rosebud, loosening it, and then penetrating it. "Sune's cunt," Iliara oathed, running her tongue up and down Hammer's cock as the two strong warriors ate her nethers out.

Then, to her amazement, Ambrusia's tongue slithered further into her anus. She gasped, eyes wide in shock as the tongue filled up her rectum and began undulating inside her asshole. She couldn't withstand the oral assault any longer, and the shock sent her into a sudden, powerful orgasm that shook her body as it hung upside down. She panted, feeling her own saliva drooling form her mouth and streaking her face.

Ambrusia looked Hammer in his eyes as she pulled her face away from Iliara's limp body. Her tongue slid from the elf's clenched asshole, and Hammer watched every inch pull away with a wolfish grin on his face. The dragonborn figured he was imagining the muscle wrapped around his meaty prick, and she had no doubt he would indeed experience that distinct pleasure. But not before he first savaged Iliara's cunt, and then her own. With practiced ease, the dragonborn gently lowered the elf to her wide bed, and crawled to lie next to her. As if by instinct, Iliara latched onto the dragonborn, kissing her softly on her lips, but Ambrusia merely pushed the elf away after a few ginger licks.

Iliara locked eyes with Hammer in the dim bedroom, then looked down at his glistening cock. She spread her legs tentatively, a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and fear in her eyes. "Relax," Ambrusia whispered in her distinct accent. "He will hurt you at first. Then you will like it."

Iliara's eyes sparked and a grin spread across her eyes. "You know nothing of pain," she purred as Hammer knee-walked toward her. Ambrusia simply smirked and watched the powerful meat approach its target. "At nights, when I served Shar," Iliara said, her voice a shadow among shadows, "I spent hours wracked in pain from a poisonous mushroom that filled my body with the purest agony. I came to enjoy it, and it brought me into the Shadowfell, where Shar's minions would rape me relentlessly until I was broken on my bedroom floor, often with unconscious lovers on the bed. This will be much like that, I think."

Ambrusia felt her body writhing in excitement as she imagined the elf's story reenacted here, by Hammer. His massive prick pressed against her snatch; his member's head was thick enough to eclipse a majority of her sex. He pressed against her canal, and at first she didn't make a sound. But he pushed in further, his head spreading her, stretching her, tearing her. A sudden, pain-filled scream shot through the night, but was quickly muffled by Ambrusia's mouth. Hammer continued in further, his cock flaring out at the middle and causing her to bleed slightly around his prick. Then he began to taper down as he neared hilting her. That was when his head touched her cervix. She looked at him with pleading eyes.

He almost stopped, mistaking her teary-eyed stare for agony and mercy. Then the kiss broke and she snarled at him. "Break my cunt!" she roared, sitting up suddenly, her fingers gripping his neck savagely. Ambrusia gasped, a smile on her face, and Hammer complied immediately, hilting himself and pushing his massive prick so far in her that she began to scream again, only to have her eyes roll back in her head momentarily and her body go limp. He paused, but she quickly regained her senses, tears streaming down her face, but a snarl of pure lust plastered over her face.

"Fuck me," she growled. "Break me with your cock!"

Ambrusia slithered under the elf, her legs spread for the elf to lie between and her hands pinching and tweaking the elf's nipples. Iliara reached with both hands for Hammer's neck, squeezing the corded muscle inside as he began to piston in and out of her. Blood, nectar, and small amounts of cum mingled inside her snatch and leaked onto the bed. The pungent brew filled the air with a coppery, heady, salty odor. Iliara's throat resonated constantly with a mixture of senseless cooing, throaty growling, and desperate groaning as Hammer's cock distended her fuckhole. 

The rogue lost herself in some semblance of her past life. In a way, she truly was reliving the savageries she experienced in the Shadowfell, but her senses were firmly rooted in the present, watching Hammer grit his teeth and his square jaw, feeling the thick muscles of his neck refusing to give way under her grip. His body, his massive frame corded in thick muscles, was sheathed in sweat from exertion. She lost track of time and knew not how long his mighty meat had been plundering her pussy and rearranging her insides. She didn't care. Iliara, the gold elf rogue and agent of Sune, was lost in a cocoon of pleasure and pain, neither greater than the other. All she knew was bliss.

"Cum on her," Ambrusia demanded, her hands gently mauling the elf's tits. "Our mighty barbarian must share with us his potent seed, yes?" she cooed quietly to Iliara. All the elf could manage was a hasty nod, and Hammer grinned like a tundra wolf. Iliara felt a slow molten burn flowing outward from her savaged cunt. She felt herself pissing slightly, her clear piss coating Hammer's cock only to be shoved back up into her. Then her orgasm shook her, softly at first. Any semblance of control vanished and her eyes rolled up into her head again as her body spasmed, clenched, and her orgasm flooded her body. She felt something squirting from her pussy but didn't know if it was piss or pearly nectar, and didn't care. She was breathless and limp, yet still shaking as Hammer continued to pummel her cervix.

His thrusts became urgent as he gripped the elf's narrow hips. The force of his cock increased, and Iliara howled in blissful agony as his cock flared for a brief moment inside her. He pulled it out quickly with an audible pop and grabbed himself as thick, viscous gouts of hot cream issued forth from his virile meat. Gobs and streaks of salty cum landed on Iliara's chest and stomach, and more jets shot over her shoulder to land on Ambrusia. When he had emptied his sack of his potent seed, he fell back to sit on his haunches, watching as Ambrusia scooped a gob of his seed from her shoulder to taste it. 

The dragonborn slithered out from under the elf, laying her gently down on the bed as the softly cooing elf slowly shifted here and there, lost in a daze of over exertion, over orgasm, and blissful pain. Ambrusia slithered her tongue out, letting it expand to a full ten inches as she ran the wet organ over Iliara's body, slurping up Hammer's sticky cum before it cooled off. Then her tongue slid down to the battered elf's savaged cunt. She didn't dare touch the no doubt painfully raw labia, but did gaze in wonder at the puddle of bodily fluids beneath her. Then her tongue wrapped around Hammer's shaft as she slowly rose to look him in the eyes.

"Too bad," she whispered as she embraced the warrior. Her hands traced lines over his taut, rippling back and her tongue slithered over his neck and to his ear as she brushed his dark hair back. "I was looking forward to you filling my ass. You and I were meant for each other, you know. I would not let you have my dragonheart in front of the elf, though. When you touch that with your mighty manhood, it will be in private, and in a place of my choosing so that it will be a pure, untainted union of two might warriors."

"I apologize," Hammer said tentatively, his hands on her back. His arms suddenly locked tight around her. "I apologize that your view of men has been tainted by weaklings. You must learn, Lady Ambrusia, that barbarians are more than men, more than dragonborn, more than mere warriors." He hefted the dragonborn as if she were no heavier than the elf and pushed her face down into the bed. His legs straddled her hips, his mighty cock, far from flaccid, pressing tight against her muscular bottom as he leaned his face down to her ear. "The next time you underestimate me, I will consider it an insult to my honor and we will settle our difference with combat. I'm sure you'd enjoy that."

Ambrusia couldn't contain a wide-eyed, surprised grin as Hammer simply controlled her as if she were a plaything. No man she had met in her travels, or even in Tymanther, had been able to so easily seize control over her. And none of them had certainly ever been able to fire off such a massive load and maintain his arousal! His cock head pressed against her asshole, and she felt the greased skin prying open that rosebud. She resisted, as was her nature, and was rewarded by no small amount of pain as he grinned, growled, and jammed his meat into her rectum. She grunted and moaned a throaty sound of pleasure as he trapped her legs between his and his hands pressed her back and face down into the cushioned bed. Oh, how she longed for the hard ground or stone of Tymanther for such treatment!

Hammer wasted no time. He knew her type, and knew that she wouldn't care overmuch for gentleness or prelude. The barbarian simply began to rail his cock into her rectum. Her muscular bottom flexed for him as she attempted to spread her legs, but he stood firm atop her, holding her just the way he wanted. Satisfied that she would not move at all, he turned his attention to the visual feast before him. Her back was wide and muscular, graced by shining scales here and there and rippling with exertion. Her arms, thick yet distinctly feminine in their shape, flexed and writhed as he plundered her asshole. Even her hair, obsidian and rooted in smaller scales, seemed strong. Grinning, he decided to test that as he gripped the long locks and jerked her head back. Not a single strand came loose, and moreover, she was grinning and laughing, moaning like a whore as he used her body and her asshole.

"Fuck me, my mighty barbarian," she roared. She punctuated the command with guttural grunts and he felt her body—and her asshole—clench beneath him. It was painful around his prick, but the stroking of her ribbed rectum did its job. Even he was surprised when his orgasm overtook him, thick strands of potent seed, undiminished from his previous climax, filled her rectum to overflowing, and when he slowly pulled himself out of her, again with an audible pop, white cream oozed from her hole.

Small, quiet gasps turned their attention to the lithe elf beside them, who was gazing at them, her hand buried in her crotch as her final orgasm overtook her. Hammer and Ambrusia laughed, and Iliara merely smiled coyly at them. "It was fucking hot," she said. "A giant barbarian dominating a giant warrioress is something I've never seen before. So much muscle and power...it is exhilarating." She punctuated that with a profound yawn. "I bid you both stay the night. We can share you, Hammer, as a manly pillow."

"I would be delighted," he said, and Ambrusia nodded eagerly. Exhausted, the three of them threw off the covers and found a thick fur under the bed to crawl under. Hammer laid on his back, Iliara to his right curled up tightly against his thick torso, Ambrusia to the left, her legs sliding against his as she rested her head against his shoulder. His arms wrapped around them both, resting gently on their backs as sleep took them individually.



Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 04



Greta had been sleeping soundly, for the most part. She had not been very happy the last several days, what with her trusted friend, Varla, spending most nights with her face buried either in that trollop Iliara's thighs, or a mound of dream dust. But still, after a few hours of self-loathing in bed, Greta found sleep easily enough. The loud slam of her apartment door roused her from that escape quickly, though. She slid out of bed, a silk shift the only thing covering her. The night was brisk in her apartment, alone in her bed, and her puffy nipples tented the soft fabric. 

Then she saw Varla stumbling around in the living area of her apartment. Immediately, the former servant rushed in, thin candles the only thing offering light. Varla fell into her embrace, and Greta stumbled to their couch, pulling the slim woman with her so that she could sit between her legs. Varla rested her head against Greta's voluptuous thigh, her crimson hair spilling over the creamy skin, but the plumper blonde gasped in horror when Varla finally looked up.

Dark rings lined her eyes and blood was caked below her nose and mouth. Bruises were dark around her neck, shaped like fingers, and Greta finally noticed that the woman's evening gown was torn to shreds around her thighs. "Varla," she breathed, "what happened?"

"Nothing, dear, don't worry about it," Varla croaked. Her voice was hoarse, likely from screaming, she figured. But Greta was worried, horrified, and terrified all at once for her former mistress. Varla had become her closest friend after they left the Armanov Estate, and now she was in her lap, bruised, broken and bloodied for unknown reasons. 

"Tell me," Greta demanded, voice choked with sobs and fresh tears running freely down her round face. Varla's eyes rolled back into her skull momentarily, her head falling back onto Greta's knee. She saw crystalline powder still coating the underside of her nose, and her heart fell a thousand feet. The crimson haired woman refocused.

"It was a fair trade," the woman said, then slipped into unconsciousness.

Greta, anger welling up in her breast, drug Varla to the bed, then donned more appropriate clothing for public and removed herself from Varla. She stormed out of the apartment and made her way down the hall to Lura's apartment. There were no sounds of passion coming from the other side, so she simply opened it. Mikhail was there, but he was alone, surprisingly enough, and asleep. She closed the door and left without awakening him. Greta walked back the way she came, toward the stairs that would lead her to the common room of the tavern, but heard the drow's voice coming from a room nearby.

Greta pushed open the door and saw Lura with Hammer. She didn't know what they were discussing, but both had alarmed expressions on their face, and the barbarian looked as if he was primed for battle. They both noticed Greta's frightful expression and rushed over to her.

"What's the matter, girl," Hammer said. His baritone voice was soothing to her bloodied heart. 

"It's Varla," she said, and she was overcome by sobs.

"She has been using the dust," Lura said. She'd known now for a while, but hadn't brought herself to council the Armanov scion. "Go, Hammer. See what you can get from her."

The barbarian rushed out and Greta could hear his heavy footfalls as he stormed down the hallway. "There are people preying on the refugees, Greta," Lura said. "Gangs have been sprouting up, even the High Lord doesn't know from where. We've been asked to get to the bottom of this while the rest of the Temple District helps the gathered masses outside the walls. We had just gotten word of a rap and possible murder very near this place. Let us pray to Sune that it wasn't Varla."

Hammer threw open Varla's door and saw her on her hands and knees, a pool of vomit beneath her and a shattered mirror on the bed above her. She had a shard of glass in her hand, squeezing it tightly even as blood began to seep from her palm. There was a small collection of sparkling dust on the floor in front of her face, and she seemed to be staring at it intently. Hammer didn't break stride as he walked over to her, wrapped his thick arms around her waist and heaved her off the ground like so many feathers. She began thrashing about immediately, muttering something about gold and begging for mercy. He dropped her on the bed, away from the broken mirror, and put his bear-like hands on her face.

"Varla, Varla!" he shouted at her until she focused her eyes on his, and when she recognized the barbarian, she settled a little. "I'm here to help, Varla," he said quietly, and tears welled in her eyes. "Who did this to you?"

She whimpered and her broken lips trembled as she started looking around frantically. "They were in the alley," she said in a thin voice. "I don't remember their names...one of them calls himself Stick, I don't know why."

"Which alley?" Hammer asked, crystal blue eyes boiling with rage.

"Two streets down," she said, her eyes starting to roll around and her mouth hanging open weirdly. Hammer laid her head on the pillow, and her body on its side, then left, fists clenched. 

"Hammer," Ambrusia called from the bar when she saw Hammer cruising through a throng of people, several of them unceremoniously pushed out of his way. He stopped and let her approach. "You look like you're about to fight something."

"Hopefully," he said. "Stay here, I fear that the Dragon may need protection."

Ambrusia stiffened immediately. She had fallen out of the constant vigilance she normally maintained in light of the relaxed, easy-going nature of the Dreaming Dragon. Hammer's warning, though, brought that back to full force, and her keen eyes began scouring the throng of people already within. With a stiff nod of her head, Ambrusia watched Hammer plow through the main entrance.

The barbarian was more at home in the realm outside of city walls than within, but he was cunning, with an insight greater than one might attribute him. The scents and sounds around him told him much. Stale liquor, the pungent, albeit miniscule scent of vomit, and unwashed bodies was in the air, though he doubted many of the native Everlunians would notice it. There was a shattering of glass, distant laughter, and gruff voices. That wasn't his target, though. It was too far away.

Something prickled the skin at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw shadowed figures deep in an alley. He shifted his head only slightly to get a better view, but kept walking. Four men and another figure, hunched over, perhaps on their knees, were at the end of the alley, shrouded in shadow. A violent strike caused a loud crack of bone and slap of skin to echo down the alley. The distinct scent of pipeweed laced with some alchemical mixture told him this was his destination. As a good barbarian should, he simply turned into the alley and marched into the bleak darkness. 

They were completely oblivious to the barbarian until his massive bulk blocked out what little light lit the alley. He realized they all had their cocks out, and they were standing around a woman who was on her knees and appeared nearly unconscious. 

"What—" Hammer cut him off by clamping his massive hand over the man's face and slamming the back of his skull into the brick wall behind him. Gore splattered onto the wall as the force of the blow tore skin and shattered skull. One man turned to leave, but Hammer's fist caught him squarely on the side of his head, leaving him in a crumpled heap as he was propelled into the adjacent wall. The remaining two stood facing him, brandishing crude daggers. One stabbed at his expansive chest, but the barbarian grabbed the knife by the blade, drawing blood from his own hand, then turned it and its owner's wrist awkwardly to jam the dull knife up through his jaw, and subsequently his brain.

The last man standing dropped his knife and put his hands up in a placating gesture. Bloodlust pumping his veins, Hammer had a hard time staying a slaying blow. He grabbed the small man by his shoulders and shoved him into the wall, but not hard enough to break much. "Who are you? Who do you work for?" he roared.

"P-p-please," he said weekly in response, "I just work the streets, I don't know the boss." The stench of urine filled the alley but Hammer was heedless of it. 

"Who do you go to!"

"Man named Mask!" the doomed pusher said. "Please, I'm just doing what I'm told!"

Hammer nodded his head down at the void woman kneeling in a daze, beaten, broken and likely highly intoxicated. "Is that what your orders say?" Hammer asked, a threatening growl in his voice.

The man smiled nervously. "Hey, c'mon man," he said, his voice nervous. "She was willing, I swear to the gods!"

"I can smell your lies," Hammer said in a chilling calm. "And to double your damnation, you raped and beat my friend, Varla."

"That slut?" the man said, eyes flashing. "She had it coming, and if you're a friend of hers, then you know she likes it rough. Besides, she hasn't paid us in two tendays. We were told to make sure she doesn't forget her debts."

"Where can I find your boss," Hammer asked, releasing the man and turning to find something blunt and sturdy. He found a carpenter's hammer laying in a pile of rubbish and seized it, turning to face the horrified man. "You will save yourself a world of pain if you simply tell me know."

"D'you think you can hurt me any more than he can?" the man asked.

"No. But I will kill you quickly if you tell me," Hammer said, his grip on the mallet tightening. 

The man shivered in fear. "F-fine," he said. "He always meets in the temple district, an hour past midnight." He seemed to accept his fate then. "Just make it quick."

Hammer nodded and took the mallet in his hand. He broke off half of the hammer's handle and jammed it through the man's eye socket and into his brain. Blood spurted out onto his forearm as he held the twitching man aloft, then released and let the man fall to the ground. Scowling, he scooped up the battered woman and carried her away to the Dreaming Dragon.

*****

"It is as I feared," Lura said, sitting deep into the booth she, Mikhail, Cyra, and Hammer shared. She put her face in her smooth palms and ran her hands through her long hair. The crimson strands that marked her as Chosen of Sune hooked under her jaw line. A deep, ragged breath filled her lungs. "Why is it that mankind simply cannot come together in a time of need? Why must there always be those who wish to profit from others' misfortune, especially in such a crisis?"

Mikhail put a hand on her forearm and watched as moisture collected in her eyes. "What can we do?" Mikhail asked, looking to Cyra and Hammer.

"That depends," Hammer said, resting his massive forearms on the table and breathing out a deep breath. "How many casualties are you willing to risk?" He was only half serious.

"We have to meet with this fellows boss," Cyra said, "and Iliara is likely the best person for the job."

"No," Lura said, shaking her head. "Iliara was an assassin, not a spy, and she may be tied in too closely with these people. There was a time not too long ago where she partook in all manner of substances."

"Then who?" Mikhail asked. Lura's jaw clenched.

"Matron Mother Luriia Torvirr," Lura said. Her eyes darkened as she felt her past, something she'd thought long forgotten, well up into her psyche. 

"Lura, no," Cyra said, shaking her head. She pursed her plump lips and glared at the drow. "You left that life behind long ago, there's no sense in resurrecting it."

"There is no other choice," Lura said. "Who would gain more from a human city in discord than a matron mother from Menzoberranzan? Even a rogue house would capitalize on such a thing."

"A tiefling!" Cyra said, pushing herself past Hammer as she stood out of the booth. "Anything other than you!"

"Relax, my dear," Lura said, smiling from her seat. "I intend to have you at my side regardless. And a legion of drow mercenaries."

That perked up Mikhail and Hammer. "What in the Nine are you talking about?" Mikhail asked. "Where are you going to find an army of drow to serve you? You don't belong to them anymore?"

"My love," Lura said, "trust me. There are more drow in this city than you would ever want to believe, and what's more, most of them would be eager to join our cause."

"She is correct," Hammer said, realizing what she was insinuating. "My people have come across these so-called 'goodly drow.' They were servants of Eilistraee, but apparently something happened to their goddess and no longer like being called 'drow.'"

"Indeed?" Lura asked, unaware of this. "Do you know any?"

"Some," Hammer said. "I fought many of them, and several died at my hand. They were very quick to forgive my misunderstanding, though. I thought they were raiding an elven village and charged in to defend them. They simply were returning from a hunt."

"Some misunderstanding," Mikhail said. 

"Where is this village?" Lura asked. "Can you take me there?"

"It is not far from here; we can leave before noon and be there by midnight," Hammer said.

"Very good. Mikhail, I need you, Ambrusia, and Cyra to gather as many of the clerics and able fighters that Sune has here and keep a patrol. Recruit from the militia if you need to," Lura said.

"How am I to express authority over them?" he asked. Lura opened her hand, palm up, and showed it to Mikhail. She whispered a few words and a golden ring appeared with the High Lord's seal on it.

"Show this to them, and they will follow. All the militia, city guard, and conscripted army know that this ring only belongs to a few high-up individuals. They will do as you say," she said assuredly. He took the ring and looked at her with worry in his eyes.

"I still don't know about this, Lura," he said.

"It will be fine, love," she said, putting her hands on his face and pulling him in for a kiss. "Trust me," she whispered, smiling at him. "We will return on the morrow, hopefully with an army of dark elves in our shadows." Mikhail returned her smile, even if it was tempered slightly. 

Hammer and Lura left immediately and strode through the brisk early morning air toward a stable outside of the city. They had small packs slung over their shoulders for their brief jaunt, and were dressed for riding. Hammer wore thick leather leggings that tucked into fur-lined boots and a heavy wool tunic that clung obstinately to his arms, shoulders, and chest. He left the collar untied so that the heavy wool wouldn't choke him. His sword, a weapon he rarely used these days, was at home in a bear's fur sheath strapped to the horse. The barbarian, as always, kept his dark hair loose and unkempt, resting easily at his shoulders and never interfering with the piercing sapphire gaze of his eyes.

Lura, on the other hand, looked well-kept and pristinely cleansed, even for being dressed for the road. Her Red Robe of Sune took the form of a thick overcoat that hung down to her knees and covered her arms. Underneath, actual clothing guarded her body from the elements. Long black leggings extended down to her ankles beneath black, heavy leather boots that covered most of her shins. Covering her torso and her perfectly proportioned breasts was a thick, cream-colored blouse that was tied all the way up to her breasts. Lura wouldn't dare cover up her cleavage, no matter the elements. There were very simple spells she could use to keep herself comfortable, regardless. She saw no reason to keep her best features covered completely. Thus her breasts, solid handfuls for herself, but likely only big enough for Hammer's palm, glistened in the nearly noon sun. 

But the weather was not on their side. Menacing black and gray clouds loomed to the west, where Hammer said they were bound, and her elven eyes could see ribbons of water pouring from those towering clouds. 

"We will ride until we near the rain," Hammer said, "then make camp." A bolt of lightning shot between clouds, causing Lura to jump a little in her saddle. Several moments later, a rumble of thunder filled the sky. She looked back in the direction of Everlund and her slowly diminishing walls, fearful and aware of the refugees' plight. But Lura put it out of her mind. She had to. The drow put her trust in the temple district that they would care for the increasingly hopeless wanderers. She turned her eyes forward, at first to the storm clouds, then to Hammer's muscular frame. Sooner than she might have cared to admit, her mind was fully from the refugees and centered around the endless pleasures the barbarian could offer her. With the ride suddenly slowed and their need to make camp, perhaps...

Mikhail. She shook her head, trying to remove her thoughts of Hammer and replace them with her human lover. Sighing, she cast her eyes to the horse's head, doing everything in her power to keep her thoughts on anything but Hammer's chest, shoulders, arms, thighs, cock...

She sighed again. "It's going to be a long night," she muttered to herself, "and he's not going to make it easy. I think I'm already sodding wet."

With the wind whipping at her back, it never occurred to Lura that anything she said would be carried easily to the barbarian's ears. He smiled at himself, knowing full well that the drow wasn't thinking of the rain or the trials of sleeping on the road. He felt his own body respond to the thoughts that entered his mind, but with willpower only a barbarian could muster, he crushed those thoughts with others. The image of his former wife in bed with his brother entered his mind as well as Mikhail. He wouldn't let the man experience what he had. Sighing, he silently agreed with Lura. It would be a long night, indeed.

*****

The storm clouds had moved faster than Hammer had anticipated and their pace had not carried them to the shelter of trees quickly enough. Thus, he and Lura trudged on horseback through a steady downpour until the ground grew treacherous for the horses. They dismounted, and the dense mud sucked at their boots with every step, but the two remained stoic and silently trudged forward until a dense canopy of leaves protected them from a majority of the rainfall.

Hammer set his pack on the relatively dry ground and tied off both horses to a tree before beginning his search for some firewood. Lura pursed her lips as she watched the barbarian. His tunic clung to his massive torso like a second skin, and she could see the muscles rippling beneath. She shed her Red Robe and hung it from a tree branch. She needed only invoke the innate magic of the garment to dry it, but now her body was more exposed for Hammer's enjoyment. She wore no undergarments to support her breasts and the chill in her bones from the rain caused her nipples to stiffen painfully against the thick fabric of her blouse. And her robe had not completely protected her from the elements: some of the rain had seeped through and her black skin was barely visible through the translucent garment.

Hammer couldn't help but notice Lura even as he circled their campsite looking for kindling and larger pieces of wood for extended burning. His baser instincts were calling to him like a ravenous animal. He was starving, too, and to make things worse he knew that the two would have to sleep in close proximity to each other and the fire to conserve heat. The canopy did wonders to stall the downpour, but the rain would continue to fall throughout the night, albeit slowly. What's more, they'd have to be up intermittently throughout the night to make sure the rain didn't kill their only heat source. He sighed. Barbarians were known for their willpower and stubbornness, but they were also known for their recklessness, especially in battle. What few considered, though, was that that recklessness came from a heightened passionate state. They believed in throwing themselves fully into whatever it was they were doing with steadfast determination and little regard for anything else. 




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 04



He looked over his shoulder at Lura, who was facing him but bent over as she piled some dried leaves and twigs together. As she stood, he saw a delicious amount of her cleavage and her erect nipples through her damp, tented blouse. Groaning inwardly as his flaccid member twitched of its own volition within his trousers, he knew that after tonight, he'd have to find a way to apologize to Mikhail. She smiled warmly at him and slowly turned back to her pack, hanging from a low limb near her robe. He saw her bottom, firm and round in her tight black leggings and his mouth began to water. But Hammer grit his teeth and went about his task. Whatever happened would have to wait until camp was set and he was certain there was no lurking danger.

Hammer returned to the modest pile of dried debris Lura had acquired and placed his wood atop it, starting with smaller, thinner pieces and finishing with large pieces of felled timber. Lura knelt near an opening where she could see into the kindling and pointed a rune-inscribed twig at it. She whispered something Hammer couldn't understand, and the end began to glow. He could sense the heat building inside the pile of dried wood and leaves, then he saw it spark to life. She held the twig in their until she felt it was hot enough to keep a flame going. She sat back on the cold ground and watched as their fire slowly came to life.

"That's more like it," she said, smiling up at the barbarian, who had his hands on his hips and was smiling approvingly. 

"Magic does have its uses," he said in his deep voice as he sat next to her. "I suppose next you'll warm the ground and turn it into a big fluffy mattress?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no," she said with a chuckle. "I'm not wizard, Hammer, I just have a few tricks up my sleeve that I use when needed."

"Then allow me," he said, standing and going over to his pack. He produced from within a thick, wool blanket, wide enough for him and perhaps one other, albeit much smaller, person. He spread it onto the ground near the fire and sat. Lura, smiling, slowly rose and strode over to the barbarian. She stood in front of him, looking down at the blanket, then back up to the barbarian's crystalline eyes.

"Is this how a mighty barbarian seduces his prey?" she asked, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"We don't believe in seduction," the barbarian said, smiling back at her. Something about the way he spoke sent a thrill from Lura's throat to her loins, causing her heart to leap at the thoughts suddenly in her mind. But she simply gracefully sat down, and Hammer sat next to her, arms wrapping around his knees as he stared into the fire. There was a long silence between the two of them as they both stared into the fire, mesmerized by the dancing flame. Hammer could smell the drow's fragrance; the floral scent of her hair, while diminished from the rainstorm, was still an enticing scent. There was something on her skin, as well, a fragrance that was at once sensual and alluring. 

Likewise, Lura found herself entranced by the barbarian beside her. His skin was glimmering in the firelight and moisture of the rain. She could smell the virile barbarian mingled with the clean odor of fresh rain. She reached up and put her obsidian hand on his shoulder. Even under water-soaked cloth, she could feel the primal power, the iron strength under his skin. She shifted around behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, slowly kneading the knotted muscles up to his neck. She heard a profound sigh, like a mighty bellows fueling a furnace, and his body relaxed to putty in her hands. His head sank down as her skilled hands worked his mighty back all the way up to his neck. She parted the thick, dark strands of hair and kissed lightly on his thick neck.

"Is this how drow seduce their mates?" he asked, his voice low and airy. She felt his voice resonating within his entire body. 

"No," she purred into his ear. Raindrops splashed down on them. "Drow do not need to seduce. We simply command, and it is done." There was a pause and Lura slipped her hands over his shoulder to his chest, pulling herself against him. Her breasts pressed firmly into his back. "This is, however, how I seduce a mate."

Hammer tilted his head slightly and felt her lips grace the vulnerable flesh below his ear. Her tongue slid up to his damp ear lobe and he felt her warm breath caressing it like intangible silk. The barbarian's body responded swiftly: blood vessels dilated and virile blood pumped quickly into his muscles and into his tingling manhood. Her long, obsidian fingers grasped his strong, stubbly chin and pulled his face to meet hers in a kiss filled with long-subdued desire. Their tongues grappled with each other, but Hammer's invariably found its way into her mouth, and he relished the taste. Instead of the flavorless travel rations they had both shared, she tasted fruity, like some sort of exotic nectar. 

She pulled away for a moment, eyes shut as her tongue slowly licked her lips. He watched her with undivided attention, absorbing every movement the beautiful drow made. "I have wanted this for a long time," she breathed, opening her eyes. They were radiant to Hammer, like glowing garnets flecked with gold, shifting and swirling around her pupils. He suddenly felt inferior to her, unworthy to be in her presence. It was hard for him to remember this graceful, beautiful drow was the Chosen of Sune, a being infused with a shard of her deity's divine essence. 

Lura sensed his sudden emotions and kissed him again, hungrily and passionately. "I am still Lura, the drow you befriended in Silverymoon. Chosen or not, I will always be that person." He reached up to her face at those words, his palm resting against her jaw and his strong fingers pressing firmly under her ear, against her neck. Her slowly swirling irises danced mesmerizingly, entrancing him in her gaze. He wrapped a powerful arm around her waist and pulled her around to his lap, where she straddled him and kissed him hungrily. His hands stayed on her slim waist for a moment while hers buried themselves inside his hair. Between dancing tongues and hungry lips, Lura whimpered with desire, and Hammer's hands slid up her flanks, then to her back, pulling her smaller body tight against his broad frame. 

She raised up off her haunches, her breasts at his face, and his attention shifted to the wonderfully full orbs before him. He had known many women, many breasts, large and small, but couldn't help but feel a sense of perfection from Lura's chest. He kissed softly at her cleavage, his stubble scratching at the tender skin, much to her delight. He realized that the last time he had thought so highly of any woman's breasts was the last time he was with his own goddess, the Red Knight. Before Hammer could shift his attention, Lura's hands came to the interfering garment and slowly pulled the thin shoulder straps off, then the rest of the shirt, revealing her onyx-like breasts, capped with delicate, stiff nipples. It was like twin amethysts atop mounds of black stone, and when he pressed his hands into them, they were supple and firm, the skin taut with excitement. She made a small gasp, and then let a low, soft moan as his tongue swirled around one areola, teasing the nipple until his lips latched onto the pebble-like nub. Again, his coarse stubble scratched at her hypersensitive breast-flesh, eliciting a shiver of delight in the drow.

Lura reached down and grasped the wet shirt from Hammer's back and pulled it up over her head. As if sensing his wants, she also seized the hem of her own damp shirt and slowly pulled the garment over her head. But when Hammer saw her head enshrouded in the garment, he grabbed her arms, trapping them and blinding her. She gasped, but when she felt Hammer's seeking lips and tongue pressing hungrily against her neck, she let out a low moan rife with enjoyment and delight. Even Hammer had to grin at his sudden inspiration.

His lips quested slowly across her neck, then to her shoulders and down the expanse of her chest to the graceful, firm mounds of breast flesh that rested upon it. He kissed and nipped at them playfully, eliciting sexy giggles from the drow. She purred throatily when his mouth latched again on one nipple, then the other, and back again. He repeated this for some time, enjoying the feel of her hard nipples on his tongue, her soft breast flesh in his mouth, and delighting particularly in her cute, squeaking moans.

"Let me go," she said breathlessly after a particularly painful—and delightful—bite on her right nipple. Hammer did not relent, but brought himself face to face with the drow. He pressed his lips against hers through her shirt and he could fell her tongue pressing into the fabric in a feeble attempt to breach his mouth. He grinned at her.

"You are my prisoner, Chosen of Sune. You have to do as I say, don't you know that? There's no sense in resisting, though it might make things a bit more interesting," he said, a menacing growl in his voice. There was a brief outline of a smile on Lura's lips beneath her shirt, but that quickly vanished as she assumed her role. She grunted loudly and began to jerk in his grasp. It surprised him momentarily, but he quickly restrained the deceptively strong drow in his thick arms, grinning broadly as he turned her away from him.

With his hands gripping her upper arms tightly, he felt her muscles tense in his grip, but she struggled very little as he nosed her hair away from her neck. He kissed around the back of her neck, along the sides, and across her back, his stubbly beard teasing her soft flesh as his tongue left warm, wet trails. He jerked her arms back further, almost painfully so and bit down on her shoulder, eliciting a pained, yet delighted moan from the ravenous drow. He pushed her forward, brought her wrists to her back and held them with one hand and grabbed at her ass with his other hand. He massaged and squeezed it, his thumb sliding up the cleft between her magnificently formed cheeks. She moaned throatily, biting down onto her lip underneath the masking shirt.

Hammer removed the belt around his waist and wrapped it around her wrists, binding them at her back. The barbarian grabbed her tight pants and slowly slid them down, over the curve of her ass, until her crack and puckered rosebud were revealed to him. His tongue slid out and pressed against Lura's tight anus. She whimpered as he began to swirl his tongue around her asshole, then up the length of her crack. "Oh, Hammer," she moaned throatily.

He grinned like a tundra wolf, giving her anus another lick before he pressed the pad of his thumb against the rosebud. He massaged it while pulling her pants down to her knees, revealing the plump mound of her sex. The violet petals glinted with pearly nectar and gave off a strong feminine odor that at once intoxicated and aroused the barbarian. "Sune's cunt," he murmured, grinning. His tongue darted out and slid up and down her outer labia before tasting her inner lips. Lura moaned softly, anticipating the feel of his tongue parting her petals and pressing against her clit. 

Hammer wouldn't make her wait long. His tongue parted her loins, burrowing deep into her pussy. Lura's world exploded in a shower of ecstasy. The barbarian's tongue was more skilled than she had thought. The drow made an effort to never underestimate or judge based on any given trait, but for some reason she had an image of the barbarian being brutal and straightforward, as his kin was given to be. Therefore the agile curling and seeking of Hammer's tongue sent pleasure through her not simply from the physical sensations, but from surprised delight.

She reached down and her deft fingers found her slit soaking wet from Hammer's saliva and her own dewy nectar. Lura reached for her clit and was hardly surprised to feel the stiff bud escaped from its silky hood and protruded proudly, impudently. With only the tip of her finger, she drew light circles around her moist bud while Hammer's tongue mastered her canal. The drow could feel her orgasm slowly building, the pressure in her loins feeling much like a volcano just before eruption. Finally, it hit her. Instead of a soul-shaking, body-wracking orgasm, this climax felt like magma oozing over the brim of the volcano of her sex. Liquid heat washed over her in a long, drawn out orgasm. Her body quaked and went limp repeatedly before the creeping orgasm abated.

Hammer felt her relax and the storm within her die off some. He removed his face from her snatch and laid down beneath her, so that her dripping folds were above his face. With hands strengthened from a lifetime of swinging heavy weapons, he gripped her hips and slid her down so that her face was hovering over his. She looked him deep in his sapphire-like eyes, and the barbarian likewise found himself enraptured by her gaze. 

"I've wanted this for a long time, Hammer," she said. "For years."

"I know," he said. "I have as well, but it was never my place."

"You should have said something, Hammer," she breathed, felling the distinctive bulge in his trousers as she settled herself on him. She was aflame on the inside, and the prickling sensation of the cool, damp air on her skin felt like small shocks of electricity all over her naked body. 

"I could not; I never even let myself indulge the thought," he said. "You were a dear friend, and I would have protected you and the rest of the Dancing Rose with my life." He breathed a deep, ragged sigh, a mixture of surfacing sensations long suppressed and eagerness to be with this amazing drow.

"I would have never turned you away, even if you came unbidden to my bedchamber," she whispered, kissing him on his stubbly chin and cheeks. Hammer put his hands to her cheeks and pulled her away from her gentle kissing.

"What of Mikhail?" he asked. A shadow passed over her eyes for a very brief moment, and was quickly replaced with a smile.

"Mikhail and I will undoubtedly be bonded in the future. Or married, depending on which race's customs we choose to follow. But that's not now. Neither he nor I expect each other to be completely monogamous until that time, as long as we know who we're coming home to," Lura explained, never taking her swirling crimson and gold eyes from his. 

"I am not a plaything," Hammer said, but Lura was shushing him before he ever finished. 

"I would never take you for such," she responded. "I love you as dearly as I do Cyra, Hammer."

The big barbarian smiled, and Lura leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips. That kiss became more insistent, urgent, as the drow's tongue pressed past his lips. He returned the favor, their tongues grappling with each other as Lura's hands wandered the heroic expanse of his chest and shoulders. Fine, sparse dark hairs tickled the flesh of her hands, a sensation that she found quite enjoyable, since Mikhail was relatively hairless compared to the barbarian. 

Hammer slid his strong hands up her back, slick from the damp air, to her white mane of hair. The drow slowly began to kiss down his jaw line, down to his chest, and the taut flesh around his nipples. Her tongue swirled around them each in turn, causing the barbarian to gasp and tense. He felt one of her slender hands sliding down his stomach as her mouth continued pleasuring his chest and nipples. Long drow fingers wrapped around the distinct, haft-like bulge in his trousers, and he couldn't help but thrust his hips into her palm. She looked up at him, a grin on her face. "Eager, are we?" she asked, and he only grunted his affirmation. "Good."

She left his chest and nestled herself between his legs. Her deft fingers undid his trousers and reached in. Her breath caught in her throat when her fingers wrapped around his immense girth. In silence, she slowly pulled his semi-erect member from its cloth prison. She held it vertical from his body, gazing in awe at the length. Even half-engorged, the cock was impressive. With thick veins wrapping girding the broad meat and a length that hinted at a much more impressive size. Grinning, she started slowly stroking, looking up to catch Hammer's expectant gaze. She slid her hand down, pulling the skin of his mighty cock taut, and stuck out her tongue. The warm, wet organ slid against the underside of his shaft, eliciting a grin and a moan from the barbarian. When her tongue reached the top of his cock, her mouth opened wide and engulfed his cockhead. 

Lura fancied herself a masterful cocksucker, and she could deep throat most men, but Hammer was something completely different. Her jaw was as wide as it would possibly go, and while it accommodated his shaft, she couldn't hope to get his double-handspan length into her throat without injuring herself. So the drow improvised. With both hands wrapped around his cock and pressed against her mouth, she began bobbing her head swiftly, her hands stroking and twisting simultaneously, giving him the sensation of his entire cock being engulfed.

She heard his breathing pattern alter into an unsteady rhythm and felt his iron-hard shaft twitch against her tongue. Just a little bit more, she told herself. I don't want him to cum yet, but I want him close.

But she misjudged him, and before she could stop him, his cock expanded and the hefty sack underneath jerked. Thick, virile gouts of cum blasted against the back of her throat, and it was all she could do to swallow it before it choked her. She looked up at him with a smile that, while satisfied, was somewhat let down.

"You want something more," Hammer said knowingly. Lura nodded.

"It's ok, my dear, my skill got the better of you," the drow said, smirking. But Hammer grinned like a wolf as she started to climb off to his side. Grasping her hips, he pulled her back over top of him, straddling him. His cock was as hard as ever.  

"You underestimate me," he said. He reached down, grasped himself, and pressed the iron head of his cock against her damp folds. Her surprised expression evaporated into excitement as she, too, reached for his cock. Slowly, she pressed herself down, feeling his head pushing into her canal, stretching her agonizingly slowly. She gasped and clenched her eyes, bit her lip and clenched her hand atop Hammer's chest as the blissful pain burned through her pussy. They both held their breath, gazing deep into each others' eyes as her body slowly stretched to accommodate the giant cock attempting to fill her.

Slowly, agonizingly, the head breached her loins. She paused, taking deep, ragged breaths as she watched Hammer. His mouth was parted and he was taking shallow breaths, but he didn't dare take his eyes from her, even though her breasts were bared and taut in the cool night air.

"Do it," he whispered. "Fill yourself with my manhood."

Lura fixated on those words. Something about them spurred her on, drove her into a crimson haze of lust and sexual desire. She wanted that mighty prick buried as deep as it would go, she wanted herself impaled upon, split apart by its girth. Lura grit her teeth, both her hands on his chest, and thrust her hips downward. Hot agony pierced her to her core, jarring pain emanating from the very depths of her sex. A piercing howl tore from her throat, one wrought with passion, pain, lust, need, and agony. She was certain she was bleeding, but it was irrelevant to her. She laid atop Hammer, the pain weakening her for a moment as she stared at his eyes.

"Lura," Hammer whispered. Her eyes fluttered, and she propped herself up on his chest with her elbows. He was embedded in her, completely filling her, and she wondered if she would be able to muster the strength to ride him. She decided not.

"Take me, Hammer," Lura said quietly. The barbarian wrapped his arms around her and slowly rolled them until Lura's back was against the thick blanket and her legs were wrapped round his strong hips. Her hands grasped his face and he slowly began to rock his hips side to side. He wasn't sure if it would hurt her; he knew he must be against, or even beyond, the natural border of the drow's loins. Her eyes were intense, and he could see pain in them, but could tell all she wanted was for him to do as he pleased to her. He would be gentle, this time, he decided. She moaned, a sound that was a mixture of pain and pleasure, and bit her lip hard. Hammer changed his motions to straight back and forth, confident that his size would rub against every sensitive spot inside her.




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 04



Lura's world was shattering around her. The way he felt inside her, filling her so completely and absolutely that she couldn't move, was unlike anything she had ever felt. She was truly and wholly filled, and the pain was starting to subside, replaced with pleasure that gripped her and would not let her go. Her eyes came alive with golden and ruby flashes. Her hands dug into Hammer's thick mane and she began to buck his hips in time with his thrusts, taking him deeper, the magic of Sune keeping her body whole. In fact, it was the only thing keeping him from literally splitting her open with his massive prick. Her hands gripped at his massive muscles, nails digging in, sometimes painfully, but never so much that the barbarian offered more than a grin at the sensation. 

For his part, Hammer did manage to stay gentle. That is, until Lura began to show eagerness and gusto. He braced himself on his knees and began to thrust more forcefully into her. She started laughing a little, grinning wickedly as Hammer began ramming harder into her. He returned her grin, but that was replaced with an expression of shock as Lura managed to flip him over. So unexpected was the act, that he slipped out of her, his cock massive and glistening in the firelight. Lura wasted no time grabbing it and pushing herself down on it. Hammer thrust back up into her, meeting her halfway with a loud smack. Lura grinned and ground her hips down on him, her hands bracing herself on his chest. 

Lura rode him forcefully, slamming herself down on his mighty meat. They both grunted loudly from the exertion, Lura moaning wildly with pleasure as his cock mastered her. Her speed increased, his cock sliding in and out quickly and forcefully, and Lura felt her climax building quickly. Unlike the last time, her orgasm built with such speed and momentum that it took her by surprise. She came hard on Hammer's massive cock, squeezing it as hard as she could. Hammer grunted, his cock twitching and pulsing as even more cum than his first orgasm burst deep into her loins. She gasped and spasmed in his arms, her orgasm abating as quickly as it took her until finally she lay limp atop him.

"That was more than I could have ever hoped for," Lura whispered. 

Hammer smiled, gathering the drow up in his arms as he allowed sleep to creep into his body. "I am at your service, my Lady," he said with a smile. Lura whispered something the barbarian couldn't hear, but before he could ask her what she said, she nuzzled her head against his chest and shoulder and drifted off into her drow meditation state.

The morning found them in the same position as when sleep took the barbarian. His eyes fluttered open to sunlight piercing the dense canopy above them. Lura's body was warm against him, her bare breasts and thighs firm against his skin. The idea occurred to take her again before they found the rogue drow camp, but he thought better of it. Duty reminded him that time was of the essence. But a twitch of his manhood betrayed his sense of duty. He silently hoped that it would dissipate before the drow opened her eyes.

Of course, he had no such luck. As if she sensed his arousal, Lura's eyes fluttered open, already aimed at his growing manhood. With a soft giggle, she trailed her fingers down his chiseled stomach to the short, trimmed hairs above his shaft. He was hairless around the base and testicles, a fact she had failed to notice the previous night, somehow. She ran her fingernail around the base of his cock, slowly circling it, and bit her lip, smiling, as she saw his meat twitch. Lura placed her fingers around his cock with her palm up by his head. Resting lengthwise along the shaft, she slowly pulled the skin up around the head, then pushed it back down, slowly stroking him with only her fingers. She hid her satisfaction when she heard Hammer's breathing grow shallow; the drow knew that her massive lover was watching her hand's ever movement. 

Lura made a point to not take her eyes from her work, affording the barbarian a view only of the back of her head as she stroked him with her fingertips. It wasn't until Hammer's hammer was a full mast that Lura pulled her hand away. Hammer watched with rapt attention as she brought her palm to her hand, licking it generously until it glistened with her saliva. Still without offering him so much as a glance, she reached down and smeared her warm spit along his shaft. Lura repeated this several times, never quite having enough on her hand to grease his entire manhood.

By the time Lura felt like his cock was lathered in her saliva, pearly beads of precum were seeping from his cock, and she used it to help lather him up for her hand. Without preamble, she wrapped her comparatively small hand around his manhood and slowly stroked it up and down. Soft, slick noises came from her actions, and she grinned when the barbarian groaned in her ear. Lura bit her lip coyly as her hand slowly slid up and down the powerful shaft, feeling every detail, every thick vein, and feeling his slightly more viscous precum in her hand.

A mess of white hair, shot through with a single streak of garnet, splayed over Hammer's chest, and Lura couldn't help but grin at the short, fast rise and fall of the barbarian's massive chest as her hand slowly slid up and down. It wasn't very often that Lura felt so much arousal without a man—or woman for that matter—touching her. But laying here with the massive barbarian that had been a dear friend for so long, her hand wrapped around his massive cock slowly stroking with the sole intent of watching his seed spray over his skin and her hand, the drow couldn't help but feel her sex growing wetter by the second.

Lura licked her lips, the urge to taste his member suddenly rising in her mind, but she quashed it. She'd not given a pure hand job in a long, long time, and looking down at Hammer's prick, she knew this was the best time to rediscover the distinct pleasure. She knew that he was at her mercy. He would cum when she allowed it, no sooner and no later. And he would cum because she—her hand brought it forth. Her strokes came more quickly, traversing the impressive length of his shaft, her fingers not quite able to encircle his girth. Anticipation built in her, and she could feel the wetness spreading from her loins to dampen her thighs. 

She began to notice the telltale signs of orgasm. His cock stiffened and thickened, just barely, and his testicles contracted, drawing up closer to his body. His chest rose once and paused as his breath caught. His whole body tensed and Lura squeezed hard on his cock, just underneath his head, and she watched, waiting with baited breath for what she knew was to come. With a loud groan, Hammer released himself. Hot jets of white cum burst forth from his massive manhood in such a powerful jet that not only did it leave a long streak across her cheek and hair, but on the ground above Hammer's shoulder. The second one was almost as powerful, this one hitting her smiling lips. Several more burst forth, falling delightfully close to her face and leaving a large pool of the opalescent seed on his rippling stomach. The torrential cumshots ended, but more of his fragrant seed oozed from his cockhead, gracing her thumb as she continued to grip him relentlessly. She stroked upward firmly several times, trying to squeeze as much from his body as she could.

Hammer breathed quickly, chest rising and falling with rapid succession, and Lura pushed herself off his body into a sitting position. The barbarian gazed at her form, her breasts hanging forward just barely as she sat cross-legged, licking her fingers clean of cum and precum. He watched her and almost thought he would grow hard again and be forced to take her on the ground next to the dead fire.

Lura was absolutely pleased with herself. She could have got herself off right then, but refrained, more interested in the cum slowly cooling on her face and Hammer's torso. She licked her lips, tasting the salty-sweet seed while she scooped the streak on her face into her mouth. The drow swallowed eagerly, then bent down over the barbarian, eagerly lapping up the copious amounts of the barbarian's cum. This cum tastes incredible, the drow mused. There was something powerful, something virile about Hammer's seed. It was as if it held untold strength and wisdom and simply drinking the barbarian semen was making her feel heady with power. Then again, she could be under the effects of a sexual power trip. Her hand had made him cum. Not his, not another's, but hers. Grinning, she turned to look at the barbarian. He reached up, his thumb sliding across her chin before pressing into her mouth. She tasted some cum that she had missed, and couldn't help but giggle at him.

"You enjoyed that far too much," Hammer said in a baritone purr. "I—"

The snap of a twig and a crackle of leaves pulled his gaze away from the beautiful drow, no small feat. He stood quickly, Lura behind him, and dropped into a crouch. Naked as they were, they must have been a humorous sight for whoever was watching them.

"Stop!" Lura shouted suddenly. Hammer jerked his head to the side to see a cloaked figure fiddling with Lura's Red Robe of Sune. The barbarian burst into action, bounding naked over the fire and to the tree where Lura's robe was being removed. Sensing danger, the cloaked figure turned to flee, robe in hand, but the barbarian was too fast. A massive, open hand slammed into the thief's back, sending it sprawling forward to the ground. Hammer was upon it, flipping the thief onto its back and throwing back the cowl. He stopped cold, though, when he saw the childlike face looking back at him. It could have been a halfling, he reasoned, but the innocent look in the child's eyes disputed that.

A thin blade pressed against his throat.

"Who are you, trespassing naked in these woods with a drow?" a masculine, melodic voice asked with more than a little venom. Hammer instinctively held his arms out. "Stand up."

Sighing, the barbarian stood and slowly turned. He towered above the elf, but the razor sharp sword now pressing very near to his heart was a pointed reminder that death was very close. "I am Hammer, and this is my companion, Lura, Chosen of Sune."

"Chosen of Sune?" the elf said incredulously. "Why in the world would I believe such a claim?"

"Because it is true," Lura stated. She was walking toward the elf, her naked body swaying like a willow in the breeze. Even as other elves emerged from their woodland cover to intercept her, the Red Robe of Sune disappeared from the thief and slowly materialized into a resplendent red silk gown, studded with rubies and laced with gold. Her eyes swam with scarlet and gold, and light seemed to radiate from them. "Hear my words and know they are true," Lura said, her voice laced with divine might. "I am the Chosen of Sune, her High Heartwarder and Favored Soul, and I have come to this realm seeking the assistance of the goodly dark elves, former servants of the Dark Lady Eilistraee."

The first elf, the leader of this scouting party Hammer assumed, blinked several times and then bent to one knee. His fellows followed suit. "Our apologies, Lady, we did not know," he said, his voice reverent. "It is unexpected for a divine agent to visit most people, please forgive our brusque attitude."

"Of course," Lura said, smiling. "Can you help us?"

The elf looked around at his comrades, then waved his hand in front of his face. The others did likewise, and their forms seemed to ripple in reality for a moment, then solidify again. Lura and Hammer were in the middle of a party of dark elves, their illusory disguises dissipated to reveal their true forms. "We will serve you, Lady Lura," the leader said. "I am Calafein Baensek, and these are my brethren. We call ourselves the Singing Swords. Our camp is not far, I will take you there. Please, follow me."

Lura and Hammer shared a glance: the drow smirking with satisfaction at the dark elves' cunning, the barbarian rolling his eyes at her. They walked in silence, though Lura clung closely to the barbarian. Hammer doubted it was out of any real fear, he knew the drow too well for that and felt the benevolence of these new dark elves keenly. No, he knew she clung to him out of sheer attraction and affection and that pleased the mighty barbarian. Lura hooked her arm around Hammer's, her hands playing with the hairs on his bicep and forearm. It was not long before they reached a very well hidden camp. Drow milled about, attending to everyday business, such as sharpening weapons, mending clothes, meditating, and the like.

Calafein nodded at several of his comrades, loosening his sword belt and unbuckling his leather and chain armor. "I will take you to the High Priestess," he said over his shoulder. The other scouts dispersed, leaving the two of them alone with Calafein as he led them through the wooded encampment. Narrow avenues were created by the tent-like structures , but Hammer and Lura were gazing at the large, forest green tent ahead of them. It reminded Hammer of the Mead Halls his barbarian kinsmen often made when all the clans came together to tell tales and drink in brotherhood.

"That is the Moon Hall," Calafein said. "It is where the High Priestess resides and holds court."

Hammer nodded absently. He was distracted, and rightfully so. The closer they got to the Moon Hall, the less males he saw, and more females wandered around. They were scant clothing: little more than wispy, gauzy white shifts, with long, curved swords at their waists. 

"Now that you've had one drow, you want them all?" Lura whispered to him, smiling coyly at him.

"That depends," he said in a low rumble. "Are you going to help me learn them?"

"Hmm," Lura said, smiling to herself. "That's not a terrible idea, my Hammer."

"We are not drow," Calafein said. 

"Oh?" Lura asked.

"It is a long story," he responded without turning. "When Eilistraee was murdered, Corellon freed us from Lolth's hold. I imagine it was the same for you, with Sune."

"Indeed," was all Lura said. She clung a little closer to Hammer, suddenly unsure if their plan would work.

Two halberd-wielding honor guards stood in front of the Moon Hall. The drow—dark elves, that is, were clad only in white, silk skirts, but even Hammer could sense powerful magic armoring them, even in their partial nudity. They opened the flap-doors for Calafein and the trio made their way within. Lura hadn't noticed it before, but as soon as they entered, powerful magic assaulted their senses, and the drow, particularly keen to such emanations, gasped. Then she gasped again, when she realized that the flaps didn't open into a large tent, but an expansive, roofless stone courtyard. Across a field of cobbled walkways, grasses, and shrubberies, a large seat rested on a raised dais, an elegantly clad dark elf maiden sitting with legs crossed atop it.

"Moon Maiden," Calafein said, "This is Lura, Chosen of Sune, and her companion Hammer."

"Hammer," the dark elf said, a smile suddenly gracing her face. She met the trio halfway and embraced the barbarian affectionately. "It has been too long."

"You know each other," Lura said. There was a hint of jealousy, but it was over-toned with surprise and delight.

"As I said," Hammer stated, "I have known these renegades before. This is Moon Maiden Celise Darkfallen, former High Priestess of Eilistraee. Moon Maiden, I give you Lura, Chosen of Sune."

The dark elf embraced Lura, then, to the drow's surprise, kissed her softly on the lips. "It is a pleasure, Lura. A Chosen of the Lady Firehair is welcome in my hall."

"My thanks, Moon Maiden," Lura said. Celise whispered something to Calafein and the scout left without a word. 

"Please, call me Celise," she said in a voice as smooth as silk. She was built like a traditional dark elf. She was shorter than Lura by a few inches, and unlike the drow, her breasts were smaller, more athletically shaped, but filled out her shining white gown magnificently. They were equally slim, but the Moon Maiden's hips were a bit more narrow than Lura's round swell. But her face was absolutely gorgeous. If Lura's eyes shone with the gold and scarlet of Sune's divinity, then this maiden's face radiated the subtle, soft intensity of the moon's light. Her eyes, pools of midnight around a black pupil, sucked Lura into them. Celise had a narrow chin, delicate jaw line, high, noble cheekbones, with a small, almost pointed nose, and lips that were gleaming violet cushions waiting for her own lips.

Celise's chuckle drew her from her mesmerized state. 

"She likes you," Hammer said, smiling. Lura felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

"I cannot help it," Lura said. "Passion runs deeply in my veins, apparently."

"Mine, as well," Celise said, a suggestive look on her face. Lura tucked that look away for future purposes.

"I must ask something of you and yours that you may not be comfortable with," Lura said tentatively, breaking the charged moment with a sigh. "I need you to act as drow. As a drow army, in fact. My drow army."

Lura spent several minutes explaining the plight of Everlund, the opportunistic, wicked gangs and clans that had set up shop to take advantage of the hopeless refuges of the Spellplague, and her plan to take them all down either by force, or by intimidation. Celise nodded throughout Lura's explanation. 

"I am with you," Celise said. "Calafein and his Singing Swords as well. I will put out a call to arms to the rest of my people and see what we can muster for your cause, Chosen of Sune. But on one condition."

Lura breathed a sigh of relief. 

Celise started out at once and met Calafein just outside of the tent. She gave him some orders, and he smiled a wicked grin, then ran off to round up his Swords. Lura stood behind her, Hammer to her side, as Celise spoke in a great voice that drew the attention of every dark elf in the forest. She explained the plight of Everlund and Lura's plan, and when she was finished, she called for volunteers. A dozen stepped forward, pledging themselves to Lura's cause, but many more dispersed, unwilling to sacrifice their seclusion to assist humans that would just as soon put a knife through their hearts. Neither Lura nor Hammer could blame them. 

Celise turned to face Lura. "We will meet you at the northern border of the forest on the morrow," Celise said. "We have not forgotten the drow ways, I assure you." The Moon Maiden gave a predatory grin, then set off into the throng of dark elves. Hammer and Lura watched her approach the Singing Swords, grab Calafein by his collar, and pull him into an empty tent. Grinning, the barbarian and the drow set off for the edge of the forest.

*****

"My lord," a thin, reedy voice said in the darkened room. "Four of our men were killed tonight."

"What?" a dignified voice said. He was hurried, though, as if this meeting ought not be taking place. His messenger had said it was an emergency, though. "By who?"

"One of our corner men said it was a giant of a man. Eight feet tall and wide as an ox cart!"

"Impossible," the noble man said. "You are mistaken."

"I brought their hands, my lord," the thin voice said. A sack dropped to the ground with a sickening, wet smack.

"Damn it all," the man said. "Have the cleric of Loviatar review their corpses. I have business. Tell our people to work in sixes now, and to arm themselves better. Do not trouble me with this again."

"Yes, my lord," the reedy voice said. He left the estate, his baggy clothing pressed against his thin frame by a chill breeze. Looking over his shoulder, he envied the mastermind behind the drug ring in Everlund. He had a large home in the middle of the wealthiest part of town, a retinue of servants beneath the estate that served his every cruel whim, and a cleric of Loviatar, Goddess of Pain, attending him and his cadre of thugs and drug dealers. Not to mention his rumored involvement with some sort of planetouched creature, a tiefling or somesuch. The man shook his head at his misfortune and trudged on into the night to perform his duties.



Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 05



"Playing with fire?"

The question distracted Cyra from her business. She looked over her shoulder, her pale shoulder-length hair flipping about at the quick action. Benefast stood in the doorway of a private room Cyra had acquired. The Dreaming Dragon had slowly been expanding, absorbing nearby buildings with an intricate system of elaborate bridgework, part wood, part magically-reinforced glasswork. The expansion had allowed Cyra and her comrades to expand their living arrangements to an extent. Cyra's room was small, almost cell-like, and only had a brazier for small fires to warm the room, a bed scarcely big enough for two people, and a window that afforded her a view over the southern city wall. 

A small fire currently occupied the brazier that she more often used for burning incense, and she sat in a wide wooden chair facing away from the doorway. The halfling leaned casually against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest.

"I like fire," she said, somewhat detached from reality.

"It's in your veins," the halfling said. "I was just wondering if you knew when Lura would be back. There are people asking after her downstairs, and I'm not entirely sure that she'd want to see them."

"A few days, perhaps more," Cyra said, turning to face the fire.

"Hmph," the halfling said at her dismissive response. "Well would you mind taking these people off my hands?"

"Certainly," the tiefling said, tossing a small smile with her pouty lips over her shoulder. The halfling almost melted at the cupid's bow shape her lips made when they smiled. Plump and soft, as if asking to slide over his thick, if not overly long...

"Let me finish here and I'll be right there," Cyra said.

The halfling gazed into the dark room, his keen eyes ignoring the disorienting, dancing shadows. For the first time, he realized that Cyra was naked, her firm, toned thighs slung over the arms of her chair, prehensile tail curling and swishing out the back of the wooden seat, and her toes curled in delight. He snickered to himself, shut the door, and went down stairs.

Closing her eyes, she put the halfling's words out of her mind. She opened them again and fixed her attention on the dancing flames. It was only recently that she had felt such affinity for the flame. The tiefling didn't question the gift, but embraced it. It still was hot to her, but it didn't burn her flesh. If anything, it tingled and sparked much like electricity, but distinctly different. Her hand slipped to her damp, fragrant folds, slowly sliding her index and middle finger up and down either side of her slit. As her fingers ascended to her clit, she pulled her nether lips apart, and as she slid down toward her anus she pressed them firmly together. It was an intentional, self-imposed torture. Dull pleasure pressed at her clit, not intense enough to elicit a curl of ecstasy in her gut, but enough to make her curse her own sadism. 

With her free hand, she traced her nails, feeling oddly sharp, up her taut stomach to her bountiful breasts. The ruddy orbs, capped with areola and nipples the color of cinnamon, and pinched her erect nipples. The heat from the small fire brought perspiration from her skin, and it shone like dragon scales in the firelight. Her fingers slid easy over her nipples, lubricated by her perspiration, and she repeatedly tugged her nipples out, only to have them slip delightfully from her fingers after they had been pulled to their fullest extent.

Cyra focused her will on the dancing flames. She watched with delight as the flickering flames slowed their dance and stood straight up, like a candle's undisturbed flame. With half-lidded eyes, she watched as they began to sway side to side, acquiescing her will. She slid her middle finger along her slit, feeling finally the spike of pleasure as her fingertip pressed firmly against her engorged clit. An audible moan escaped her lips from the delayed pleasure. 

But it was more than an act of self-gratification. She felt a semi-sentience coming from the flames before her, and her finger pressed firmly on her clit was also a request, an idea planted in the pseudo-intellect of the still fire. With both hands, she pulled apart her labia, exposing the glistening, almost steaming folds to the fire. There was a moment of disembodied eagerness, and the flames leaned toward her sex much the way plants grow ever upward, seeking the comfort and warmth of the sun. She imagined, if a tree felt distinct pleasure and eagerness whenever it saw the sun, the fire before her felt the same thing with her exposed sex. 

With eager anticipation, Cyra watched as the flame's tongues neared her sex. She held her breath as three distinct fiery appendages seemed to hover before her sex until, finally, the largest of the three stroked from about mid-slit up to her clitoris. "Oooooh," Cyra said in a husky voice. She closed her eyes and her head fell back onto the back of the chair. A burning, prickling sensation coursed up and down her slit as the other two tongues of fire lapped at her juicing slit.

At first, the flame's ministrations were clumsy, disorganized, and over-eager. It was pleasurable, there was no doubt in that; the sensations of having fire lapping at her slit were wholly unique and distinctively amazing. But Cyra knew what she wanted, and after the pet flames ate at her sex hungrily for a long moment, she focused her will onto the energetic tongues. Releasing her pussy, she brought her hands sliding up to her large breasts, squeezing at the slick flesh and pinching her nipples, all the while feeding the fire her wants. 

It took a moment, and there was a pause as the flames pulled away, as if communing with each other, before they dove in hungrily again. The longest tongue of fire poked into her clit and began to swirl around it quickly, as only fire could. It was like a jolt of pleasure shot straight from her clitoris, up her spine, and into her brain at the speed of light. The intensity of the sudden pleasure caused her body to lurch forward, eyes to shoot open, and a choke in a gasp. Pleasure knifed through her body with a razor edge from the first tongue's attention.

As soon as she grew accustomed to the keen pleasure at her clit, a smoldering heat filled her canal. She felt the second tongue of fire delving into her sex, spiraling around inside her as it explored, licking at the sensitive walls within. The intensity wasn't as great as the attention her clit was receiving, but it heated her core and filled her loins with molten need, the kind that was pervasive and insistent, that demanded satisfaction over and over and over again. If the pleasure at her clit was like so many lightning bolts jarring her pussy, the fire in her sex was like the swell of the tides, cresting and falling repeatedly until the waves broke down her walls of self-restraint.

Her fingers were pinching her nipples hard now. The sharpened fingernails were digging into her breast flesh, scratching it painfully, and she needed the pain to keep her mind from soaring away in orgasmic bliss. She squeezed and tugged, panting with wanton need, her toes curling into themselves. Then the third tongue of fire pressed itself against her puckered anus, coated in a delicious sheen of sweat and nectar. There was no metaphor for the sensations. While her body was busy taking in the pleasures from her clit and canal, the flame pressing into her anus drove her mind into oblivion. She could feel her rectum stretching from the incorporeal energy, and she felt the flame licking at her anal walls, exciting all the pleasure nodes within with burning, shocking delight.

And then her body couldn't handle anymore. With a sudden surge of need, her pussy and asshole clamped down on nothing, her body spasming uncontrollably even as the flames continued assaulting her nethers. Cyra gripped the armrests of the chair so hard that her fingers popped. One orgasm turned to two, then to three, as the flames forced more and more from her wracked body. Then, when she finally thought it was all over, a final sensation assaulted her body. As the flames withdrew and returned to their normal state in the brazier, pain knifed into her skull where her horns sat. It felt like twin lances had been thrust into her cranium, and she cried out in pain, eyes wide in shock and fear and mouth agape. There was a sound of bone grating against bone, then, as quickly as it started, it was over. 

Cyra sat in her chair, quivering from an overdose of both pleasure and pain, and her sweat turned cold despite the proximity of the fire. But then her body recovered from the shock. It was a strange sensation. The memory of intense pleasure followed by intense pain was there, but her body felt refreshed and renewed somehow. She brought her hands to her forehead to feel for anything, and her mouth opened in shock. Before, she had only had petite, brown horns, about the size of her thumbs, protruding from her forehead. Now, she had long, sweeping horns, thick at the base and curled back around the side of her head elegantly. They formed a crown, almost, not quite touching each other in the back. Looked at herself in the window, trying to make out a dim reflection, and saw that they were ruddy, streaked with black and brown, but smooth as they framed her skull. Her hair remained unaffected, still a lustrous pale blonde that hung around her shoulders.

She grasped for a reason as to why this transformation had happened, and then, as if the spark of knowledge had suddenly been kindled inside her, she knew. It was her birthday, though she couldn't put a finger on her age. Fifty, she reckoned. By human standards, she probably could have passed for an early twenties, though. "Hmph," she said. "Well, I'm sure this will cause a stir downstairs."

Cyra looked down at her nude form, grinning to herself. She knew that she could get away with strolling into the taproom wearing naught but her horns and a smile, but would just be asking to be raped. Not that she was afraid of attackers; she could handle herself just fine. She just didn't have the patience for it tonight. She turned to find her clothing, which consisted of one of her leather corset and leggings, and tall boots, but found she wasn't quite in the mood for that outfit. Cyra strode out of her small, private apartment in the nude and marched down the hall to Lura's room, sharing a smile and a greeting with a couple patrons before making her way in. She knew the drow wasn't quite as well endowed as she was, but figured she could make some of Lura's things work.

Feeling very much introverted at the moment, Cyra was pleased that there was nobody in the drow's room, namely Mikhail. Lately, the tiefling had found the human irksome and annoying, but she couldn't quite figure out why. Perhaps she was jealous of the growing feelings between the two. She shrugged, her breasts bouncing lightly with the act, and threw open the doors to Lura's wardrobe. It was almost instantaneous.

A daring evening gown stared at her from between other clothing. She immediately seized it and pulled it off its hanger to examine. Her eyes sparkled with excitement: there was a single shoulder to it, and the neckline cut down across the chest to wrap around to her back underneath her other shoulder. She examined its form and realized it would fit tight around her midsection and likely tighter around her breasts, considering her more generous proportion. It would be tight around her hips, too, but flared out around her thighs, which solved the issue of her tail holding the gown up and leaving her ass exposed. With a small grin, she pulled the silk gown over her head and let it settle on her magnificent frame. Her assumptions were correct. Her left breast, the one without a shoulder strap over it, was only barely covered. A careless lean would likely pop her breast right out. She smoothed the fabric and examined herself in one of Lura's tall mirrors, appreciating the way the fiery tones accented her ruddy, reddish skin. 

The skirt only came down to about mid-thigh, but her tail kept it from extending fully, and even though she made a conscious effort to keep the prehensile appendage from lifting up the thin fabric, it invariably did so. She accepted the loose skirt barely concealing the tops of her thighs. To finish off the look, she knelt down into Lura's wardrobe and found some elegant, black heels. Cyra admitted to herself that, were she a suitor, she'd fuck herself. "I do fuck myself," she said with a laugh. "Oh well, gorgeous. Duty calls." She left Lura's room and made for the taproom.

*****

"Doesn't feel right," Benefast said. "They have a bad look about them."

There was a dead zone in the Dreaming Dragon around a group of five people, three men and two women, in the front corner of the tavern. And to Benefast, a dead zone was a zone that wasn't making money. He wished Lura was here to deal with these unsavory types, but he figured the half-demon would be intimidating enough to make up for the lack of Lura's diplomacy. When he saw her walk down the stairs, though, he knew she'd be able to handle them. She seemed to shine with infernal beauty, especially with the inferno-like gown she wore. Then he noticed her new horns and his mouth fell open in surprise. He'd never seen such a thing before. The horns, while decidedly intimidating and menacing, were elegant and complimented her natural beauty. She glanced at him, and he pointed to the five in the corner. With a curt nod, Cyra marched right up to their table, put her hands on her hips, and began speaking, but Benefast couldn't hear a word. 

*****

"Who's looking for Lady Lura?" Cyra asked as she approached. Her tone was even but her eyes sparked with intensity that these five would not be quick to dismiss. A bald man stood. He was broad of shoulder, but not more so than Samon, and had a bit of a gut, likely from too much honey mead. He wore a plain tunic and rough breeches, and had black tattoos on his skull.

"We know she's been keeping a big man here, better part of seven feet tall and big as a brick shit house. He killed four o' our boys and we're wantin' satisfaction," the man said. His tone was gruff, but Cyra detected a bit of hesitance in his voice.  

"What say the rest of you?" Cyra asked.

The other four looked at each other, then nodded their agreement.

"Well, the Lady and the Barbarian are out for the better part of the tenday. You'd best return then. Bring some more people, though, if you're looking for a fight," Cyra said with a smirk. She turned to walk away, but one of the five, a woman, reached out and seized her arm. The tiefling turned slowly, leveling a smoldering gaze on the woman. She was slight, boyish even, with not much to speak of as far as breasts and ass went, but her face was definitely feminine. She shrunk away when the tiefling's sinister visage fully focused on her.

"We ain't done," the bald man said. He had a sneer on his face. "We lost some product, and we're needin' reimbursed. Since yer all throwed in with each other, we're thinking you can repay the loss."

"You're thinking wrong," Cyra said. "You're barking up the wrong tiefling."

The rest of the posse stood, throwing back cowls. The two other men were also bald, with similar tattoos on their skulls, and the second woman had modest breasts but a plump bottom. Her neck was bruised and her eyes were deadened. Cyra felt remorse for the woman, and decided that, if she had the opportunity, she would be certain the Dragon and Sune took her in. 

But that was neither here nor there. "We'll get our due, one way or another," the first bald man said, scowling. "Good night, demon girl."

Cyra grit her teeth, but mastered her emotions with great difficulty. She was given to brash actions with little thought to the consequences. Such was the way of Sharess, she mused, the goddess of debauchery and excess, among other things. Her favor with the goddess was likely bound to those tendencies in some way. The five left the Dreaming Dragon, and Cyra let out a profound sigh. She moved with purpose to Benefast, who was washing glasses while Branley, the rejuvenated half-elf from the cobbler's shop that used to be next door, tended bar. He gave her a broad grin, and she returned his expression with a wink. Briefly, she recalled the story Lura had shared with her, about how she met him and cast a spell that had turned back the years for the half-elf. Since then, he'd been the most enthusiastic employee and devotee of Sune in the Dreaming Dragon. He made a point to share his affections with all the pretty girls.

Benefast arched a thick brow at Cyra. "What was that about?" he asked.

"Apparently Hammer made waves in the underbelly of Everlund when he killed those peddlers," Cyra said dismissively. They thought to take payment from me and the rest of the Dragon, but I think they'll think twice before they do something like that," Cyra said. Benefast nodded his head.

"There's plenty of city guard about tonight, and I doubt they have that much sway over the city authority," Benefast said. "Good, then, that that's settled. Can I get you anything lovely?"

"A strong drink and a stiff dick," Cyra muttered.

"Speaking of stiff dick," Branley said, "Where's Samon tonight?"

"He spends more and more of his time at the Manor," she said with a sigh. "I hate going there. It's too big, too stuffy, and too dark. But since his father was killed, he's taken it upon himself to continue the family legacy."

"Well, I always have an empty spot in my bed," Branley said, winking at the tiefling. Cyra smirked at him.

"I don't think you've had an empty spot in your bed since you moved in, dear Branley," Cyra said. 

"A valid observation. You're as cunning of mind as you are beautiful," Branley said with a smile.

Cyra rolled her eyes, but gave him a kiss on the cheek. "One day, Branley."

The tiefling looked around the tavern, took note of the many people mingling, dancing, and drinking, and smiled. At the back of the tavern, against the wall, was a large, raised area. In some circles it would be a reserved area for high rollers and wealthy merchants. In the Dreaming Dragon, there were no such restrictions. As such, people walked to and fro from the circular booths, mingling and laughing and chatting with each other. The tiefling smiled and walked over to mingle. She recognized some of the people, but was more interested in meeting those she'd never seen before.

She spent several hours chatting, flirting, and even took one lucky young man to her private room for a brief fuck. He got off in torrents, and was modestly endowed—thick but not quite long—but it only left her wanting more. The hours of the morning were small, but she was still prowling. She had just set her sights on a particularly ravishing young woman, a brunette nearly as tall as the tiefling with perfect, palm-sized breasts that bounced freely whenever she giggled or walked. Cyra was about to make her move, her eyes locked on the slender, exposed legs and scarcely covered backside when the scent of smoke overwhelmed her. Her eyes narrowed and she felt fire nearby. It was strange for her; she'd spent time lately communing with small flames that she had started, but now she could simply feel a ravenous presence of fire emanating from the front of the building.

Then, several patrons cried out in frightened shock. Cyra turned her head to the front and saw smoke wafting in and flames dancing in the windows. Eyes ablaze, the tiefling stormed out the door, her infernal eyesight able to penetrate the obscuring fire to see the five hooligans from earlier, accompanied by several comrades, flaming flasks in hand. Rage burned in her breast.

Cyra reached her arms out to the side, feeling the fires burning the façade of the tavern behind her, and sent her will out to the flames licking around her arms. She strode forward, the arsonists noticing her as she began to peal the sheet of fire away from the tavern, encompassing herself in a flame wreath. A corona of flame enshroud her head, and fire-like spikes jutted from her horns like an infernal crown. The bald man that had addressed her earlier shouted commands, pointing at her. Arrows and crossbow quarrels flew at her, but tongues of flame leapt out from her fiery cocoon and incinerated them before they became a threat. In retaliation, Cyra threw out her arms straight out, crying out in a double-toned, feral shout. Gouts of fire erupted from her, blasting into her foes and knocking them to the ground while flames licked at their skin.




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 05



Those that were not touched by her assault gasped in horror, a couple of them turning and fleeing. The bald man glared at her and fired a bolt from his crossbow before her flames could return to shield her. She grunted when the quarrel hit her shoulder. Cyra glared at the offending object, then back at the bald man. Like some sort of hellspawn queen, fire spread out behind her in two massive wings, her horns burning menacingly as she began to levitate. In the blink of an eye, she shot forward, her hands sporting blackened talons that sank deep into the man's chest. He gasped, his eyes glossing over as blood spurted from his mouth. 

He crumpled to the ground in a limp heap. Fire wrapped around Cyra, hugging and caressing her like a lover, and slowly faded away. The last to fade was the crown above her horns, and the tiefling took in a long breath, savoring the suddenly cool air as it filled her lungs. She opened her eyes and turned back to the Dreaming Dragon, and several patrons lifted up a cheer for the tiefling, while others stared at her with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and outright terror. And there were a few that eyed her with simmering gazes. It took her a moment, but the cool air grazing her skin alerted her of her nudity. To her chagrin, Lura's fabulous gown had burnt away.

Pursing her lips in a half-smile, half-thoughtful expression, Cyra strode with a confident gait back into the tavern, her breasts bouncing merrily in their liberty. She elicited several gazes, gasps, and delighted expressions, but ignored them as she ascended to the second floor, where her and Samon's apartment was. She needed new clothes, after all.

*****

Cyra was wearing loose cotton pants, a pair she had taken from Samon's drawer, and her tail curled freely over the top of the waistband as she sat on their bed, tending her wound. She winced as she applied a cleansing agent and felt it burning away any trace of infection. The creak of the front door only barely pulled the bare-breasted tiefling's attention from her wound. She knew it was Samon, she could sense it somehow.

"I heard about the attack," Samon said, his voice low. "I'm sorry I was not here, Cyra."

"There was nothing you could do," she said curtly as the burn in her shoulder wound slowly died off. "I handled myself fine."

"Of that I have no doubt," Samon said, smiling as he approached. She offered him only a passing glance. He wore, as was norm of late, the finest clothing he could find. Such were the perks of nobility, she mused. Garbed in black, gray, and navy blue, with a finely groomed head of short hair and neatly trimmed goatee, Samon was certainly very handsome. But Cyra was hardly interested in him at the moment. He had been gone too much of late, and her fancy had faded thanks to that. She might fuck him later, sure, but he'd have to do some serious work to get there.

He sat next to her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder and looking at her wound. "That looks bad," he said, his fingers trailing from her shoulder to the back of her neck. "And what happened to your horns?"

"They grew," she said curtly, "and it's not that bad. Only a flesh wound and already on the mend. What are you doing back at the Dragon, don't you have business at the Manor?"

"Yes, but I came to check on you," he said. 

"A shame it took an assault on our home to get your attention," she said, seizing a loose white blouse and pulling it over her head. She stood and moved to the door before he could respond. "I have business downstairs. I'm meeting Ambrusia to discuss last night and what we're going to do about it."

"Perhaps you should let the authorities deal with it," Samon said.

"Haven't you heard?" Cyra asked, folding her arms under her breasts. "Lura was put in charge by High Lord Beresant. We are, effectively, the authorities." With that, she left, and Samon cursed under his breath.

*****

Loviatar, the cruel bitch of a goddess that she was, was well known as the Maiden of Pain. Samon was impassive as he watched her minion at work in the basement of the Armanov Mansion. Korina was pacing like a caged animal. Like the depictions of her goddess, the black-haired woman had pale skin, large breasts stuffed into a black bustier, and long, thick thighs that looked like they would suffocate a man. She was beautiful in a brutal, painful sort of way. Scars ran the length of her back and a ring of scars graced her left leg, several inches above her thigh. A product of her induction into Loviatar's church, no doubt. A whip trailed the ground behind her.

Stuffed into stocks for some punishment or another, Samon could honestly not remember what for, another woman silently accepted her fate. He recalled something about stealing, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. The whip cracked, there was a stifled groan, and Korina looked at Samon with a lust-fueled glare. She got off on her tasks, and he knew it. Even now, stuffed into her pussy, a pulsating, rubbery object was shifting about as she paced. A thin stream of pearly liquid was visible in the dim candlelight on her thigh. He held up her hand at the precise moment the Painbringer raised her whip for another strike. Pretending not to see it, she brought it down across the woman's back anyway. Samon stood and watched the long, angry red welt rise up on the woman's flesh.

"That is enough, Korina," Samon said. The raven-haired woman smiled at him like a predator. 

"Your turn?" she asked hopefully. He smirked, then waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, your loss." She stuffed her hand into the leather clad about her loins and removed the quivering mass that had been stuffed within. She walked over to him, the drenched phallus presented. He could smell her pungent odor, and while it was not the delightful aroma he was used to, the strong odor elicited that primal part of him...

He shook his head, then nodded to the side, where her expansive, underground chamber waited. She pursed her lips at him even as he moved toward the wench in stocks. The woman looked up at him with moist eyes, and smiled. He ran a hand over her smooth-shaven head, then unlocked the padlock that detained her. She slowly extricated herself, and Samon could hear her back popping. He'd lost track of how long he'd kept her down here. Then, to his surprise, the bald woman lunged at him. He noticed for the first time that she was naked, and her breasts, big enough for his palm to cradle, bounced as she fell to her knees. She was thin, waifish, but had a wiry beauty. If not for the fresh welts, some of them bleeding, he might consider her well enough to fuck.

But even before he could push her away, her hands were lunging for his trousers. "Damn it, Korina," he said. She'd given the captive lustvenom. It was a brew that his own alchemist had created as an aphrodisiac, but had proved too potent to distribute as a legal substance. Without delving on the details, he let the woman act out her strongest desire. She pulled out his cock, flaccid from disinterest, and sucked hungrily. Her hands grasped the base of his shaft, covering the small thatch of trimmed hair above his member.

He noticed several pinpricks, one of them with a fresh bead of blood, and cursed again. Korina had kept the thief doped up on the lustvenom since her arrival in the cellar-prison. There was no telling what sort of depraved things the painbringer had forced on the poor thief. A flash of pity, then nothing again. His cock was responding to the physical sensation of her hot mouth, and clumsy tongue and he could feel his slowly hardening member going deeper and deeper into her mouth. Her oral attack stuttered as the broad head of his cock slammed into the back of her throat, a couple finger-breadths of the shaft still exposed. She made another attempt, gagged, then finally forced his cock into her throat. He grinned malevolently as her neck bulged weirdly. 

Succumbing to his carnal desires, he pushed the bald woman away, pushed her back into the stocks, then slammed the wooden prison shut around her neck and wrists. But lust still burned in the woman's eyes and he complied by forcing his cock into her mouth. Without any way to stop him or control his movements, she simply accepted his manhood. He forced himself into her throat. It was painful at first, but eventually she relaxed herself enough that he was pressing against her esophagus without more than normal tribulation. Spit and precum oozed from her mouth, coating his hefty sack as it smacked against her narrow chin. 

He jerked himself out of her mouth, leaving her gasping and still prepared to accept him orally. Samon stalked around behind the woman and examined her backside and exposed nethers. She had certainly taken a beating from Korina, and not just from her whip. Her pussy was red and swollen, her fuckhole distended. She'd taken something huge, much bigger than his own prick. Her asshole was still plugged with something black and solid-looking. He touched the flat surface, felt it's metallic texture, and started sliding the object out. He subconsciously decided he needed to have a chat with Korina as he watched her asshole stretch beyond its limits. A howl that sounded like a mix of agony and ecstasy erupted from the woman's throat, and when he finally removed the object, he realized it was something akin to a horn's mute. The black metal gleamed with something viscous, slowly sliding down the narrow tip to the base of the object, which was as broad as Samon's fist. A narrow section connected it to the flat part, where he now held.

He stared at her anus, which was not quite ready to return to its puckered shape. So he took advantage of that, pressing the head of his phallus into her distended bowels. She hummed to herself as he took up a methodical pace. He didn't bother with any of the things he normally would have done for Cyra: he left her clitoris alone, didn't bother fondling her handful breasts, and certainly wasn't about to play with her hair. He simply fucked her ass and nothing else. Then her body went limp.

Samon sighed, pulling his shaft out of her ass. She slumped to the ground, pushing the unlocked stocks away and falling unceremoniously on her face. The worst part about lustvenom was its common side-effect of leaving its user unconscious at random intervals. The woman would likely awake and remove herself from his private dungeon. Scowling with unspent lust, Samon turned to Korina's private chambers.

Without bothering to knock, he forced the door open, his erect cock protruding plainly. She had been expecting him. Steel rings cinched around her long, rubbery nipples. He reckoned them about the size of a halfling's toe. Her thighs were spread and he could see red marks where she'd lashed herself with...something. Her pussy gleamed wet, and her anus was plugged with something that looked a lot like what he'd pulled out of the bald woman. A thick rod was in her hand, something made of quartz by the look of it, and she was tugging on her thick clitoris. Samon figured, not for the first time, that she had come from some sort of barbarian clan. She was thick of limb and her midsection was not svelte like Lura's or taut like Cyra's. It was strong, thick with muscle and a bit of fat. Her thighs were the same, and her breasts were bulbous things perched between broad shoulders and strong arms.

"It's about time," she snarled. She put the rod to her pussy and arcs of lightning shot into her flesh. She grunted and bit her lip so hard blood trickled down to her chin.

Samon decided his lecture could wait. He marched forward, seized her by the backs of her knees, and plowed his cock into her cunt. The piercing on the hood of her clit bounced as he slammed repeatedly into her. He took hold of the obsidian stud attached to a steel ring and jerked it upward, pulling her clit with it. She howled with delight, touching the quartz rod to her metal-encircled nipple. Lightning danced onto the steel and into her nipple, then bounced to the next nipple and its steel ring. She grunted and repeated the electrical surges over and over again, timing them with Samon's hungry thrusts. It wasn't long before her body seized up from a combination of electrical overload and orgasm, and she felt Samon's body tense similarly. He jerked his cock out of her pussy and spurted viscous cum onto her large breasts and stomach. Grinning, her orgasm was a small one but left her with a warm, contented sensation. 

Samon backed away, his rapidly softening member glistening with a mixture of viscous nectar and his own cum. Korina grinned up at him, pearly white cum starting to drip from her savaged canal. He scowled.

"Do not abuse my prisoners, Korina," he said. "I value my employees more than these trysts. If I find my peddlers injured anymore, it will be your hide."

"Yes, Lord Armanov," she said, idly scooping cum from her pussy to savor his flavor.

****

The gentle sway of Lura's buttocks had Calafein's attention. She and the barbarian, Hammer, had just left Celise and him alone. The moon was full and the sky was clear. He looked up at Selûne and her winking tears, but his gaze was inevitably drawn back to the translucent, almost gauzy backside of Lura's red robe. He could all but see the crack of her ass, and he was a man—a drow—that appreciated a good backside. Celise drew him from his mesmerized state by firmly gripping his own backside. 

"Keep your eyes on your lover," she purred, pressing herself against the leather-clad warrior. His sword belt hung on a low branch next to the small pool of water where the four had taken a late supper. There was nothing cinching his leather breeches tight, and thus nothing to keep her questing hand out of his trousers. Her nimble fingers, the fingers of a swordslady and a mage, grasped his cock as her soft lips left faint violet marks on his neck. Turning to face her, Calafein put a hand on her cheek and lifted her face to his, his tongue delving deep into her warm mouth. And just like that, Lura was a forgotten name in his mind. 

Celise's right hand stroked softly at his impressive member while her left buried itself in the white shock of hair that fell haphazardly about his shoulders. The seasoned warrior, a full two hundred years her senior, almost purred into her mouth as her fingers tickled his neck. Grinning wolfishly, he slid his strong hands to her slender shoulders. He slipped the thin straps that held her sheer white, form-hugging dress off her shoulders and, with naught more than a whisper, it pooled around her feet. She stood naked facing her lover, breasts taut and firm in the cool night air. Her nipples, onyx studs atop mounds of a slightly lighter black, were rigid and protruding. She looked into his crimson eyes, bit her lip and slowly stepped backward. Rough bark pressed into her soft back and a breeze that wasn't there before whipped around her gently, tossling her hair. 

Calafein's hands worked with practiced ease. His leather hauberk fell to the ground, followed shortly by the tunic he wore beneath it. Azure lines crossed here and there on his chest and chiseled abdomen, a gift from the Spellplague. His spellscar winked in the moonlight as his arousal continued to grow. A spark of azure flame danced along one particularly long scar from just below his left chest, all the way to his right shoulder. Celise watched him methodically approach, stalking her like a wolf. She could feel herself dampening at the sight. Moisture clung to her nether lips and spread to her closed thighs.

Her gaze hungrily devoured his body. He was a stunning figure of drow masculinity. With a strong jaw, rippling musculature, and the look of a seasoned warrior, he was the type of man that human women read about in novels and Matron Mothers commanded in the bedchamber. Celise, of course, had been neither. Her brief tenure as a High Priestess in Menzoberranzan ended abruptly a decade ago when she had been discovered consorting with spies from the surface. Her flight had been quick and she was never given an opportunity to gather any belongings or money. Celise's first few weeks on the inhospitable surface of the post-Spellplague world were destitute and hopeless. It wasn't until goodly drow found her that she found any sliver of hope. It was also then that she had met Calafein. 

She pushed the past out of her mind and focused on the drow in front of her. He had untied his breeches and she could see the clean-shaven expanse just above the hilt of his cock. Then she saw the bulging form straining at the leather prison. Silently thanking Tymora for smiling upon her, she licked her lips as Calafein stopped to thrust his breeches down. His cock sprang out, rigid and thick, shot through with veins, some of them glinting azure in the starlight. It was the first time she had encountered such a phenomenon, when she first gazed on his member. The way he told the story, the Spellplague touched him in the throes of love-making with a past lover. The blue fire shot through his chest, down his abdomen, and into his manhood. And thanks to this, what most considered a curse, Calafein considered a blessing. 

His cock curved slightly to the right and up at its most rigid state, something that had always pleased Celise beyond reckoning. Longer than the length of his hand and as thick as three of his strong fingers, he was easily the most well-hung drow she'd met in her comparatively short life. Recalling her days in Arach-Tinilith, where all drow females were sent to begin their training as a high priestess of Lolth, she'd known more than her fair share of cock, drow and otherwise. Calafein surpassed them all, not by size, but by skill and enjoyment. 

Then he was upon her, and Celise regretted that her mind had wandered so during his approach. His hands were cupping her face and hers were on his manhood, stroking slowly with both hands and feeling a distinct tingling sensation from his spellscar in the process. She lifted his cock vertical and pulled him close. When she had it flat against her slim stomach, she slowly knelt, her back sliding against the rough bark, to her knees. His cock was nestled between her breasts, and as if instinctually he began to thrust slowly between them. Excited by the sight, she pressed her breasts together. She knew she wasn't as well endowed as Lura was, but her girls were good enough at stroking Calafein's cock. Celise didn't spend too much time doing it though. Quickly enough, she abandoned stroking him with her breasts, wrapped both her hands around his cock, and began to kiss and lick up and down the length of his shaft.

Calafein put one hand on the tree behind his lover and the other at the back of her head, feeling her silky smooth, silvery hair caressing his calloused hands. Straight and smooth, her silver hair formed a pristine veil around her face, and he watched as her mouth opened and his prick slowly slid past the barrier of her lips. She looked up to him with joy in her eyes as they glinted in the moonlight, the head of his cock encased by her warm mouth. When she looked away, she immediately began to suck more of his shaft into her mouth, until his impressive member pressed against her throat. Looking back up to him, she relaxed her throat as she'd learned and slowly accepted his meaty cock further into her throat. He groaned, clenching his eyes and teeth as her lips pressed against his hilt. He even grunted aloud when her tongue slid out, just barely, to press against his heavily swaying sack.

She began to slowly, methodically slide her head back and forth, her tongue sliding back and forth across the underside of his cock while she repeatedly throated him. Calafein's breath shortened into quick gasps as Celise's tongue worked magic along the thick, spellscarred shaft in her mouth. He could feel a pleasant tingling in his loins, and felt his cock vibrating slightly against her tongue. She began to hum as her head bobbed back and forth, making a blissful melody that tickled at his sensitive underside.




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 05



The irresistible urge to taste her dark, velvety sex overwhelmed him at the first scent of her arousal. Her put his palms to her cheeks and gently urged her head away from his rigid member. He lamented only briefly as a cool breeze danced across his lathered cock. She slowly stood, kissing his chiseled abdomen and broad chest. She gripped his cheeks and kissed him deeply, her tongue dancing around his own, before he pushed her back against the tree. Biting her lip, she anticipated his every move as his lips and tongue danced down her slender neck, down to her pert, supple breasts, and around her stiff nipples. Her hands dug into his thick mane of hair as his tongue and teeth sent pleasure through her nipples, straight to her loins. 

She whimpered when his mouth left her breasts and moved down her slender stomach to the small thatch of white hair above her slit. His breath tickled her thin patch, which made her pussy clench on itself in anticipation. Then her world turned to molten heat as his mouth clamped down on her waiting, moist vulva. A ragged, drawn out moan escaped her throat, and she lifted her leg up and planted her foot on his shoulder, her hands gripping handfuls of his hair as she jerked his face tight up against her sex.

Calafein's tongue slid up and down her slit rapidly, dancing about her clit and diving into her honeyed canal. Celise's breathing turned to shallow, short little gasps, and she felt his finger slide up her inner thigh, pressing against her virgin anus. It clenched and he didn't attempt to press the matter, but he did massage that tight little rosebud, and she groaned with delight at the sensation. She'd never let him put anything into her asshole, but she certainly enjoyed the sensation of the anal massage. 

"Fuck me," she breathed. "Fuck me, Calafein."

He grinned against her cunny, but hesitated. The seasoned warrior wanted to hear his youthful priestess beg.

"Calafein!" she said, finally giving voice to her panting. "Fuck me, now, please!" 

He slowly stood, her leg stretching up easily to stay on his shoulder, sliding his nectar-slick tongue up her stomach, between her breasts, and to her mouth. She sucked on his tongue, licked about his mouth, just to taste her own juice as her hands gripped his rigid cock. With one leg straight up and pressed close to her breast, she had an easy time of pulling his enflamed member into her bared, exposed cunny. Calafein put his forehead against hers, gazing deep into her eyes as he thrusted slowly, methodically into her. She gasped and squeaked cutely every time his cock spread open her canal and burrowed forcefully into her sex.

Celise reflected on her drow upbringing momentarily as her warrior fucked her with authority. Despite the hedonistic nature of the drow, and her experiences, she knew that she had not had her share of sex in her short life among the drow. Sure, she'd taken several lovers, but they had all been youthful, some not even students in the Academy yet. She'd never taken a lover as powerful, as skilled, or as much her senior as Calafein was. She'd never been taken by such a powerful cock, and felt her world split apart under its assault. And though several of her sisters had tried to get her to enjoy anything anal, she'd never attempted it, and now that her only lover was so thickly endowed, she feared the pain she knew it would bring. 

Calafein brought her mind searing back to the present as his cock slammed into her cervix. She cried out, somewhat in pain, but also in pleasure. The drow warrior had certainly taught her to turn pain into pleasure since she'd known him. He reached down and lifted her other leg up to hook her knee over his elbow. Her already elevated leg slid down his arm and rested likewise. The position was more relaxed, but also left her canal more accessible for his deep, powerful strokes. And he knew it.

His thrusting grew more urgent, more insistent, and she knew what was coming by the look in his eyes. It was just that look that fueled her lust and enflamed her loins further. Molten heat spread from her loins, up her spine, to the base of her mind, where her mental floodgates broke. Commands of uncontrollable spasms issued from her brain to every muscle fiber in her body. Searing heat shot back down her spine and into her cunny. A surge of nectar overflowed her pussy and a torrent of the cloyed juice spattered against his invading cock, the neatly trimmed thatch of silvery hair above it, and his thighs. Her sex clenched down viciously as he gave her one final, forceful thrust, hilting his cock deep inside her much smaller canal. Stretched nearly to tearing, her body wrapped around him, clenching him tight, as her cunt squeezed around his iron-hard shaft. 

Then his own molten seed burst forth. Overfilled with cock and nectar, the influx of Calafein's semen made her feel full, distended, until it, along with her own juices, found tiny paths out around his cock. Some of his seed flowed deep into her, and she could feel the foreign heat spreading throughout her deepest chambers even as hot, sticky juices began to seep slowly from their joining. Panting nigh uncontrollably, Calafein pulled her from the tree, slowly went to his knees, and gently laid her down on her back, his bulk firmly atop hers, but not in a way that made her feel smothered. His muscular mass, built from centuries of swordplay, felt like a thick blanket atop her, heavy but not oppressive, and delightful in the way the heat mingled with her own in the tender embrace. 

His shaft remained embedded within until, very slowly and a long while later, it began to flag and slip out. She whimpered audibly, sucking in a deep breath when she felt the firm head slip free of her passage. Ever so slowly, her pussy had been shrinking as his member waned within her, but now that it had slipped out, it felt as though her tight canal had been cinched shut and she desperately wanted him back inside her. There was nothing for it, though, and she replaced that joined, filled sensation by wrapping herself even tighter around him than before, as though she could not quite get close enough to his naked body in the cool night. 

Sleep took them shortly thereafter.

*****

Ambrusia sat naked with Cyra in a makeshift sauna room. At the tiefling's behest, the dragonborn warrior followed her down into a basement area of the Dreaming Dragon that was under construction. By Ambrusia's estimation, the tiefling seemed stressed, as if she was about to leap from her own skin, but she didn't make any assertion directly to Cyra. Instead, she quietly followed while the red-skinned woman led her to a partitioned room with heavy curtains and low-burning torches. Smiling at the scent of fire and smoke, Cyra pointed inside the room, indicating that Ambrusia should go first. 

Smiling, her mouthful of sharp teeth gleaming at the tiefling, Ambrusia complied. The heat was intense and coupled with humidity that made Ambrusia tug at her simple white gown repeatedly to keep it from sticking to her smooth, scaly hide. In the center of the room was a large depression filled with water, and at the center was a podium with rocks at the top. Though the color of her scales were not red, fire burned in her veins, and with it an affinity for fire. And Ambrusia could sense intense heat within the column of that podium, as well as the heat inside the stones atop it. Ambrusia was not altogether familiar with the traditions of Everlunians, but she did know a sauna when she entered one. Turning to Cyra to get confirmation, her answer was given in the form of a naked, voluptuous tiefling, sitting on smoothed wooden planks atop the stone benches, sweat and moisture already beading on her skin. Delighted by the sight, Ambrusia shed her gown and tossed it out of the sauna, then sat across from the tiefling.

She admired the curves of the tiefling's body, but detected something she hadn't quite expected. "Your breasts are magical?" Ambrusia asked. Cyra opened one eye, only barely, and smiled with her pouty lips.

"No," she replied. "They are all real. I only use magic to augment their appearance. It keeps them firm, high on my chest. Men like it."

"Do they?" Ambrusia asked.

"I've had no complaints," the tiefling said, opening both eyes and staring at the big dragonborn warrior. "Why?"

"It would seem that men would instinctively enjoy something more naturally occurring," Ambrusia said. "Such augmentation is not unheard of in Tymanther, of course, but it is usually reserved for great warriors who might have lost a breast in a particularly vicious battle." 

"Ouch."

"Indeed. Feel my breasts."

Cyra arched a brow, but was never one to refuse such an order. Her hands, skillful as they were, caressed and massaged Ambrusia's breasts, felt their suppleness and realized that, though they were not as firm or as perky as her own, were indeed favorable to her tastes. She finished her sampling by running her thumbnails over the rubbery nipples and around her areola, one of the few places that weren't completely covered by dragon scales. Ambrusia gave a cute gasp, and Cyra grinned like a fiend as she leaned back against the bench. 

"Very well, let's have an experiment," Cyra said. She spoke a short couplet, her fingers tracing over her breasts throughout. Ambrusia watched as the perfect half-globes drooped just a little, her areolas prickling a little and her nipples hardening. The tiefling stood and presented her form to the dragonborn, and Ambrusia felt herself salivating both in her mouth, and betwixt her thighs. 

Cyra's breasts hadn't changed as much as she'd anticipated, but it was a noticeable change. The globes now hung a little lower on her chest, a more natural look, and a more pleasing look to the dragonborn. Her hands reached out to the tiefling, squeezing and rubbing the soft breasts. The firmness was still there, but they were softer, more supple than before, and thus more pleasing to her touch. Cyra moaned with surprise, putting her hands on Ambrusia's face.

"It seems that the magic had inhibited the tactile senses of my breasts," Cyra said breathlessly. "By the Hells, Ambrusia, don't stop what you're doing."

Ambrusia smirked at the tiefling and continued fondling her generous breasts. They weren't as big as her own, but then again, dragonborn were not well known for their small stature. Cyra seemed to notice this again and reached out to grip the thick, heavy orbs just as Ambrusia ran her thumb over Cyra's brownish-red nipples. 

"Lura says delightful things about you," Cyra breathed just as Ambrusia sat back down, pulling the tiefling's breasts to her face. Grinning, her tongue snaked out from her mouth and left long, wet spirals around and upon Cyra's nipples. "I see she was not exaggerating," the tiefling moaned, then threw her head back and exhaled with excitement.

Ambrusia elected not to break her building momentum by offering a response. Instead, she slid her smooth-scaled hand down Cyra's taut abdomen to the nexus of the tiefling's magmatic thighs. Her fingers pressed against Cyra's molten sex, pearly hot nectar clinging to her smooth fingers. Cyra leaned back against the pedestal in the middle of the sauna, her hands grasping the heated rocks and reveling in the sensation they burned into her palms. Her thighs spread wide for the dragonborn, eagerly awaiting Ambrusia's amazing tongue.

Ambrusia knew the gesture for what it was. Grinning, she knelt and inhaled Cyra's exotic aroma. It was heady and intoxicating, and the dragonborn craved the hot snatch before her. Her mouth latched onto Cyra's sex, sucking hard on the tiefling's clit immediately, her tongue running frantic circles around the hard little nub. But Cyra wanted something else, and Ambrusia knew it, for she, too, wanted her tongue deep in the tiefling trollop's fuckhole.

With little prodding from the tiefling, Ambrusia separated herself from the spicy, honeyed clit, and pressed her tongue into the entrance of Cyra's canal. Cyra braced herself, her hands gripping the rim of the stones' pedestal. Slowly, she felt the muscle barely penetrating her canal begin to expand and lengthen. Cyra whimpered in anticipation for the full extent of Ambrusia's tongue, but did little more, even though her legs were already beginning to quiver. Her tongue was hot, and Cyra could feel the every little bump and detail on the hot muscle as it slithered deeper inside her, expanding as it delved deeper in. 

Her fuckhole stretched, the sensation delightful and forcing a small moan of pleasure from Cyra. Finally, the tongue stopped growing inside her and she felt it stretching her entire canal even as the tip prodded close to her cervix. It began undulating, stroking her canal and leaving nothing untouched. Ambrusia's tongue trilled and wiggled, plunged in and out, twisted and caressed every part of Cyra's burning cunt, and before she knew what hit her, an orgasm shook her body relentlessly. Her toes curled, digging against the stone floor, and her legs shook violently around Ambrusia's face. When it all finally subsided, the tiefling began to whimper, both at the lack of response from her body, and the slowly retreating tongue.

Ambrusia stood before her, pearly nectar staining her cheeks and face and chest, a grin spread wide at Cyra's expense. When the tiefling finally regained control of her senses, she glared at the dragonborn. "That is a devilish tongue," she said, grinning. "But I have something for you, as well."

"Oh?" Ambrusia responded, suddenly aware of a tingling need in her breasts, pussy, and ass.

"Bend over, put your hands on the bench," Cyra said, her tone suddenly commanding, and Ambrusia had complied before she'd registered the movement. Cyra whispered something, something laced with power, and Ambrusia thought she heard the tiefling's voice gain a second, lower tone to accompany the higher, normal one.

She looked over her shoulder in time to see a long black phallus, attached to a harness that strapped onto the tiefling's shapely hips, materialize out of thin air. Grinning, she bit her lower lip and put her eyes on the bench before her. "Just relax and enjoy," Cyra said, and Ambrusia was certain that she was speaking with a double-tone. Before she could question it, though, the fat head of the impromptu cock pressed against her sopping wet cunny.

Then, without warning, the phallus, bigger than it had looked, plunged deep into Ambrusia's pussy. It stretched her wide, wider than she had thought it would, and she cried out in shock, pleasure, pain, and delight. The dragonborn pushed her hips back against Cyra, as if begging her to simply pound mercilessly into her. Grinning like the half-fiend she was, Cyra complied. 

The tiefling thrusted her hips powerfully against the much taller, much thicker dragonborn. Ambrusia, over six feet of muscle and womanly curves, grunted and thrust her ass back into the tiefling. Cyra gripped Ambrusia's hips for leverage and pummeled against the warrior's cervix, driving Ambrusia into chaotic ecstasy. Firm muscle flexed and rippled, breasts and ass cheeks bounced and wriggled under the assault, and through it all, Cyra and Ambrusia grunted like rutting animals.

It was an amazing sensation, Ambrusia thought through the haze of passion clouding her mind. To be so dominated and internally pulverized by the powerful tiefling drove her wild with glee and sent molten heat from her cunny up her spine. The big black dick pushed in and out of her faster and faster, grunting from both women accompanying it's wet squelching noises as it drove home repeatedly, roughly. She longed for that big cock in her asshole, but before either of them could acquiesce that desire, the big fake meat pulsed once, twice, then shot forth hot liquid into Ambrusia's womb. 

Warmth and soothing energy spread throughout Ambrusia's body as the liquid heat filled her womb and vaginal canal. It leaked out, so copious was the emission, and splattered into a small puddle on the ground. Ambrusia's mind spun and her world melted. Her knees weakened and she found herself sitting on the bench without feeling the conjured cock leaving her sex. She looked at Cyra, who had a far off expression on her face and breathed shallowly. Her knees weakened as well and she spun to lay across Ambrusia's lap. The dragonborn traced her fingers over Cyra's naturally plump breasts, resting easily on her chest and spilling off the tiefling's body to press against Ambrusia's muscular abdomen. Both women fell asleep in the sauna.



Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 06



Lura panted heavily.

Her black hands refused to budge from Hammer's expansive chest. She gazed down at his handsome features, the strong jaw, stubbled with several days worth of growth, his lips that glistened in moonlight, and his ever-intense eyes. They bored into her own, like a beholder's eye beam searing into her soul. Her heart pounded in her chest, and not just from the methodical, rough way she ground her hips into the big man. Nor was it solely from the feeling of her loins shattering and stirring over and over again from his thick length.

Thick, calloused hands slid up her flanks, tickling the thin skin around her ribs, and moved to her breasts, swaying heavily between the two lovers. He pressed them tight against her torso, the pads of his thumbs sliding roughly over her hard, violet nipples. She gasped at the sensation, and then again as his index fingers pressed her turgid buds against his thumbs, rolling them around delightfully. 

Lura slid one of her soft hands to his neck, over the stubble on his face, and through his long, dark hair. She felt sweat underneath the dry surface of his mane, and relished in the warm, moist feeling. She rocked her hips harder against him. His member did not slide in and out so much as it slid back and forth within her hot chamber. Her loins stroked him, using her masterful control over those intimate muscles to squeeze as she ground against him. She wanted his pleasure, to see it on his face. The side-effect of milking him was a more intense pleasure from his every movement. Soon, her climax was upon her, but the barbarian showed no sign of slowing. 

Lura put her hands on either side of his head, laying her body atop his full and forcing his hands to roam her back and bottom.

"I want you to release in me, Hammer," she said, her voice husky and ragged. "Do not leave any for a second go. Give it all to me, my big man. I want the full power of the North filling my loins. Give it to me...Ah, yes! Give it to me!"

Caught off guard by her wanton words, Hammer found himself complying without a thought. He gripped her back, pressing her lithe body fully against his massive bulk. Hammer held her tight, his arms and shoulders tensing as he squeezed her tight. He began thrusting his hips up into her, meeting the backward glide of her hips with a forceful thrust from his own. She grunted loudly, one might say whorishly, into his ear. It was a growling, almost feral sound. 

"Harder, Hammer," she said, her voice breaking with every bone-jarring thrust. "Give it all to me, I need it. All of it! I'm cumming, my love, I'm cumming! Cum with me!"

His sack clenched up against his body, his cock suddenly inflaming as mighty, potent torrents of virile seed poured into her canal. 

Lura felt her entire body opened up as her orgasm shook her. She buried her face in his neck and shoulder, her grunts and moans muffled by his damp skin. Again and again, heavy, hot cum spurted deep into her, splattering against her walls, filling her deepest, most intimate recesses.

And as quickly as it came, it was over. She almost wept, and felt tears in her eyes, though she knew not why. It had been so powerful and body-shattering, yet so quick that she scarcely felt she had a chance to enjoy it. It imprinted on her mind though, a moment she knew she'd remember until her several-century life ended.

She stayed there, unwilling to remove herself from the barbarian's lightly-haired, glistening torso. The drow also doubted that she could manage to lift herself off the barbarian's as of yet unflagging member. The great length and girth impaled her deeply, and her legs were a-quiver and unsteady. She knew, though, that Celise and Calafein would be arriving soon. This was the designated location for their meeting, and the appointed time was near.

It was irrelevant to her, though. Basking in the warmth and power of Hammer's gentle embrace, she couldn't think of any other place in the world she'd want to be...

Mikhail came soaring back into her mind like a meteorite. The man she had confessed her love for, and vice versa, was back in Everlund, with her friends, likely caring for Varla, who had suffered greatly. Hammer and she had left on a far-fetched mission to recruit a group of dark elves encamped in the nearby forest to pose as a drow army from Menzoberranzan seeking to take Everlund as a puppet state. In doing so, she hoped to find the mastermind of the corruption running rampant in the fair city.

And here she was, the fate of her friends, of goodly citizens in her and Hammer's capable hands, frolicking in the ground with Hammer, and not even for the first time!

Guilt weighed heavily on her heart, and Hammer felt her sudden change of mood.

"What bothers you?" he asked. "Certainly you are satisfied by our exertions." A grin was on his face, but when Lura propped herself up on her chest, crossing her arms and resting her chin on her wrists, the expression on her face wiped the grin away.

"The situation in Everlund is dire," she said, though there wasn't as much conviction in her voice as there should have been.

"And you feel as though you are betraying...Everlund," he said. He didn't doubt her dedication to the city's plight, but had a feeling there was more underlying.

"Perhaps," she said, blinking.

"As far as Everlund goes," he said, running his strong hands through her soft, white mane. He continued stroking her hair as he spoke, "we are doing everything in our power. There is down time while we wait for our new allies, and we are taking advantage of it. As far as Mikhail is concerned, you were quite convinced that he would understand the first time you laid with me."

He hit the nail on the head.

"That is not what gives me pause," she said. "I fear--"

"I hope we're not interrupting," a melodious, accented voice said. 

Hammer and Lura glanced over to see Celise, gloriously clad in splendid vestments of spidersilk and gold, intricate lacework resembling spider webs decorated the gown and did little to leave her feminine physique to the imagination. A mace hung from a strong belt that cinched the spidersilk gown around her waist, and several wands were strapped about her thighs. A golden circlet, a large amethyst in the center, adorned her head, holding her web-styled hair back. 

Beside her, Calafein, looking very much like the young priestess's champion, wore supple black mesh armor, twin longswords at his hips and his hands resting easily on their hilts. His white hair was slicked back by some oily substance and was cut to shoulder length. He had a grim expression on his face. Filtering through the shadows, forms flitted in Lura's darkvision. Her drow army had been assembled.

Glancing down at Hammer, she kissed him, a new smile on her face. She stood, still somewhat unsteady, and pulled her red robe down from a low branch. Hammer picked himself up as well, drawing up his leather breeches and a sleeveless tunic. He slowly went about tying it up the middle, but left it open at the chest. His body was still overheated.

Lura pulled on her red robe, and it fitted her to her whim. Celise found herself watching in envy as its shade darkened to a deep crimson, as much of the fabric became translucent and wove a spider web appearance. The lines crossed strategically, covering her breasts and other intimate parts. It rested slimly on her drow frame, tight around her moderate breasts, slightly looser about her slender waist, and hugging her supple hips. The ankle length gown looked very much like a drow matron's garb, and Celise narrowed her eyes in envy.

"How do I get a garment like that?" Celise asked.

"Find your goddess," Lura said, "and make sweet, passionate love to her."

Celise chuckled. "A fine tailor, then," she said.

"No," Lura said. "That wasn't a metaphor." She grinned widely, winking at the blushing drow. 

"I believe the two of you can discuss the finer points of fashion at a later date," Calafein said, smirking at Hammer. "We have a job to do."

*****

Varla groaned. It was much too early. Or late? The woman couldn't be certain. There was something warm next to her, nudging her. She blinked her eyes open, but couldn't make anything out past her blurred vision. A film of mucus covered her eyes, blinding her. She closed and rubbed them, then opened again. There was light, after all, an early morning, blinding radiance that lit the room with vision-stealing fire. The woman promptly planted her face in her bed again. 

The stench of days old sweat forced her away, though. She rolled clumsily out of bed, and hands were on her shoulders, stabilizing her as her head spun wildly. Her stomach roared.

"How long have I been in bed?" she asked. She turned toward the hands on her shoulders and saw Mikhail there.

"Several days," he said softly, smiling at her.

She started to yawn, but a throbbing pain as her jaw opened wide blurred her vision. "What happened to me?"

"It is a long story, but I will make it short for you. You got caught up in some bad stuff, Varla. I don't know what kind of narcotics you were feeding yourself, but when we all saw you beaten, raped, and bloodied, Hammer went into a frenzy, hunted down whoever did it, and killed them all. Now he and Lura are out hunting for a way to dissolve the corruption breeding in Everlund before it spreads."

Varla's eyes were downcast. "You took care of me?" she asked.

He smiled. "Myself, Cyra for a time, Lura, Hammer...Greta was here just as much as me, though."

"And Samon?" she asked. A shadow crossed Mikhail's face, and that was all the answer she needed. "Well, I cannot think you all enough," she said. She put a long-fingered hand on his cheek and reached up to kiss him. When he didn't immediately return the gesture, she kissed him again, and again, until she felt him respond. Her hand, almost instinctively, went to the waist of his pants, but was seized an instant later by his own.

"You are not well," he said. "I do not want to inflict any more pain on you than you've already endured."

"I've rested for days," she said softly. "My body has healed, and I have not felt the touch of another in a long while. Not a friendly one, at least. Please, Mikhail, I'm not asking for much."

It could have been the fact that her slender, noble form, if slightly on the hungry side, was covered only by a thin, short chemise. It could have been the way her hand eagerly snaked into his trousers. And it could have been the pleading look in her eyes, begging to feel love on her body for the first time in who knows how long. Whatever the reason, Mikhail felt his body favoring her before his mind had a chance to consider the actions.

She kissed him deeply, her lips, dry and cracked, absorbing his saliva. He tasted several days worth of sleep in her mouth, but pushed past it. Indeed, his mouth moved from her lips to her cheek and skin, which was a slightly more pleasant, salty taste. "Wait," he said, and she barely hesitated as her hand reached his growing member. "You need to bathe."

Blushing, the tall woman stopped. "I'm sorry," she said, feeling very self-conscious. Smiling, Mikhail put his arm around her, her hand slipping out of his breeches as he led her to a large, oblong tub. Benefast had been kind to Lura and all her friends by hiring an ingenious gnome engineer. Mikhail turned a knob and water flowed freely from a spigot. It quickly warmed to a pleasant temperature, and Mikhail helped Varla remove her chemise, baring her stiff body. Holding his hand, the scarlet-haired woman climbed into the wide tub, and Mikhail pulled up a stool as well as a small basket filled with cleansing materials. 

She laid in the tub, watching as Mikhail poured a fragrant oil into the water. The rapidly moving water excited the oil, and thick suds formed around the top, shrouding her naked body from sight. The water tingled around her as that sudsy oil began to clean the surface of her skin. She let out a long, soft sigh and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

Mikhail moved the stool around to the head of the tub and began to gently rub water into her hair and scalp, massaging her cranium as he went. He pulled the stopper out of a crystal vial and immediately a sinus-cleansing mint scent assaulted them both. She giggled a little as it tickled her senses, but then sighed as an overwhelming relaxation fell over her. Mikhail began to gently massage the mint oil into her cheeks, forehead, and over her sinus cavities. When he finished, he rubbed the excess oil down her neck and over her shoulders, his fingers barely dipping into the sudsy, warm water.

Varla heard the rustle of a towel as Mikhail wiped his hands, then the tinkling of glass and the pop of cork coming loose. She could smell jasmine and a mingling of other floral scents, then felt the cool, thick liquid drizzling into her scarlet hair. Mikhail replaced the stopper and began to gently rub the cleaning agent into her hair, again massaging her scalp as he lathered up the long locks. She let out a small sigh, smiling a small smile. His hands slid down the lengths of her hair, making sure to leave no inch unclean.

"You are very thorough," she breathed, still purring slightly.

"I take pride in my work," he said.

Varla felt very much at ease, as if every fiber in her body had gone slack with much-needed relaxation. The tingling, soapy water reached into her deepest parts, and throughout the entire session with Mikhail's hands, she'd been nursing her tingling arousal. She watched as he reached in front of her with a glass pitcher, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and leaving his sinewy forearms, laced with blue vines, exposed. She felt a cascade of warm, tingling water crash down on her head, rinsing the cleansing oils from her face and hair. She twisted, almost serpentine, in the tub and pushed herself up, one hand grasping Mikhail's face and pulling him down into a wet kiss. Her trunk was fully out of the tub, and water ran in thick rivulets down her neck and chest and dripped onto the floor from her body. Her nipples grew turgid in the air outside the warm bathwater, and served as foci for the falling water to fall from.

"Join me," she said, slowly letting herself slip back into the comfortable water. "The tub is large enough. You can clean me thoroughly."

Unable to turn such an offer down, Mikhail slowly stood from his stool, pulling his loose tunic over his head and pushing his breeches down so that he could step out of them. Varla's gaze glued to his semi-erect member and she licked her lips subconsciously. Mikhail lowered himself into the pool of water, feeling the cleansing suds clinging to his body and tingling on his skin. He slid his legs underneath Varla's, spread to either side of her hips, and she slid forward, her own long limbs wrapping around his waist. She kissed his cheek, her hands sliding down his lithely muscular arms to his hands. The woman pulled them to her waist and slid them up to her pert, nobly compact breasts. He pressed into them firmly, massaging them and running his thumbs over her small, turgid nipples.

She gasped, her hands moving to his face as she rose up on her knees. Her mouth was agape and his gaze locked with hers. The deeply tanned buds of her nipples had a raw sensation, almost oversensitive as his fingers ran over them, but the feeling made her insides melt. She could scarcely breathe, much less speak, and the way her insides twitched at his ministrations made her need only increase. As if knowing her needs, his hands slid down to her hips, one remaining at the junction of her slender thigh and hip while the other curled down into the small cleft of her snatch.

Varla gasped, her eyes going wide, she let out a long sigh, her lips curling into a smile as her eyes closed. She fell forward, her chest against Mikhail's face, and he took advantage of that by kissing and suckling on her breast flesh. She felt his invading fingers sliding over her slit, which was hot and wet even immersed in water. Her lips draped over his fingers, spreading beneath them like a cloyed, hot cocoon. When one of his slender digits slid into her canal, though, she winced and grunted in pain, clutching Mikhail's hair to steady herself. He had not lied about her being raped, she realized. She didn't want to think about that, though. Didn't want to think about the damage done to her insides by whoever she had been with, willingly or otherwise. 

"There's blood," Mikhail said to her. She shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said. "Please, Mikhail..."

He nuzzled against her again, suckling at her soft skin. It was clean, and he enjoyed her taste. His finger slowly slid deeper into her, even though her body felt rigid as a board. She clung to him, almost painfully at times, as he began to curl his finger inside her, gently stroking the bundle of nerves at the roof of her canal. She whimpered and relaxed a little, as if it was some sort of master lock that controlled all the tension in her body. If he would have thought more on that idea, he likely would have believed it was true of nearly every woman.

She began to ease herself off him, releasing the bundle of hair she'd clung to and letting her hips sink down deeper into the water until she bumped against his rigid length. Her breath caught in her throat and she found herself staring Mikhail in his eyes. He offered nothing, but she could tell by the way he held his breath in anticipation that he wasn't going to stop her. Reaching down tentatively, she took his length in her hand, finding that she appreciated the size, and pressed its head against her entrance. She let out a slow exhale as she gently slid herself down his rigid length.

Tingling water and hard flesh filled her loins, and she felt both keenly as they pushed past her bruised insides. She winced again, her face a grimace as the pain shot through her canal and caused her body to shake in Mikhail's arms. When finally her hips locked against his, he held her trembling body there. Slowly, she calmed, and he attributed it to the soothing properties of the tingling water. She began gently rocking her hips back and forth. Her breathing quickly became ragged as her movements became sharper, more insistent and greedy.

She gasped as his cock rocked back and forth inside her, the tingling water exciting her canal beyond measure. Whimpers sounded from her lips, and Mikhail found his eyes riveted to her slender face. Water sloshed about them, much of the sudsy liquid splattering on the ground. Mikhail slid his hands down her back, feeling her soft, rounded bottom, then spread warm, tingling water up her back to her neck. He buried his hands in her wet hair, which looked almost black in its wet state.

Varla's hands clasped his cheeks, holding his face as her forehead pressed against his. She kissed him frequently, soft lip-kisses, her tongue occasionally darting out to taste his lips or his skin. The feeling of his rigid manhood stirring her canal, though bruised and battered from several days ago, sent molten fire up her spine, something she hadn't felt in a long time, not genuinely and not sober, at least. Tears formed in her eyes, a mixture of pain and affection welling up inside her into a potent brew of emotion.

Losing herself in the moment, Varla didn't bother moderating the approach of her climax. She simply let what happened, happen. Mikhail sat up straight, bending her back slightly, and slid a hand down to her pert bottom. He squeezed it, a sensation that drove the woman wild with pleasure. His mouth ravaged her neck, suckling and licking, gently nibbling here and there. She felt his fingers reaching into the cleft of her bottom, sliding up and down the length. She clenched her hands on his back, mouth open wide as she panted and jerked her hips back and forth. Quiet, squeak-like moans escaped her throat, echoing in the small bathing chamber, which was much like a recess in her bedroom wall. She felt a finger, still somehow thinly veiled by a sheath of oil, pressing against her tight nether portal. She'd not felt any damage to that part of her body, but knew that it had surely been savaged repeatedly during her drug induced haze, several days ago. Regret welled up in her throat, but Mikhail's loving, oral caresses against her neck washed it away. A finger tip pressed into her anus.




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 06



Her moaning caught in her throat by a sudden intake of breath. Her fingers dug into his flesh, and her hips faltered. She winced, feeling the bruises and other injuries inside her rectum stinging and pulsing at the sudden intrusion. But the water, tingling and cleansing, seemed to be regenerating all her other internal injuries. Despite the pain, she wanted his finger in deeper, if for no other reason than to let a little of the rejuvenating water into her tightly sealed passage. He acquiesced, as she knew he would. His finger slid slowly, gently into her rectum, and when he pressed it to one side, warm water sucked up into the passage. 

The sensation sent her over the edge. Her whole body tensed and shuddered. It was not the climactic, earth-shattering orgasm she'd known in the past, but it was soothing, pleasant, and released a lot of the tension still lingering in her weary body. She collapsed on him, but didn't feel any sort of release from the man beneath her.

"You can cum in me," she said softly, her lips kissing and nipping at his ear. 

"Varla," he whispered, but she was already sliding off. Her hands wrapped around his manhood, slowly stroking him beneath the sudsy water, staring intently in his eyes. Smiling, he didn't want to hurt her canal anymore than it already had been by their coupling. She stroked methodically, and soon his eyes fluttered closed and his body tensed. He had been close, and it had indeed been an act of the gods to keep him from releasing inside of her much earlier. His cock thickened, swelled with a last surge, and she felt the cum rocketing up his length to spurt into the water, forming a milky-white cloud of cum above his head. It quickly twisted and wrapped around her hands and wrists as she slowed her stroking, and leaned into his body, laying against him as he rested against the tub. 

"Thank you," she said, "for everything. I know this doesn't make up for the person I've been and the things you all have done for me."

"It's a good start," he said, "but in truth, you have never owed us. We are your friends, Varla. We tend you out of love and caring, not out of an expectation of repayment. You're safe here."

She wrapped her arms around his slender waist and nuzzled his sparsely haired chest, cooing softly as he stroked her hair.

*****

"Cyra sent you, you say?" the middle aged woman asked, eyeing the elven frame before her with blatant hunger. 

"Indeed, and I am fortunate that you are open so late," the gold elf purred. Iliara had heard every bit of the tail Cyra told of this particular woman. Alluva Dunnan, proprietor of the Wyrm's Hide. Around her, an array of vests, harnesses, breastplates, cuirasses, corsets, bodices, and other, stranger things adorned manikins and armor stands in display. Iliara would have to thank the tiefling properly after she finished her business.

"Well tell me, what can I do for a friend of good Cyra?"

"I seek a change," Iliara said. She indicated the leather jerkin she wore, blackened and resting on bare skin and the tight leather leggings she wore down to knee high boots. "This is the armor of a past life, one of darkness and murder. I wish to procure a new set, one befitting a servant of Sune. You know of whom I speak?"

"Quite well, quite well," Alluva said. She grinned and circled the elf, running her fingers over her svelte figure as if to measure. The dulled black armor hugged her form but did not accentuate her femininity. That would be her first priority. "Perhaps a vest," she said. "You are clearly made for sneaking and skulking about, so we will stick with black as a base color, but you want your goddess to be pleased with your appearance. Hmm."

Iliara would have felt self-conscious at the woman's probing gaze, but she had learned more than a century ago that her body was something to be loved and appreciated. She did not shy away from the looks of others any longer. In fact, knowing this woman's predilections, she was a little turned on by her gaze. 

"I have an idea, my dear," Alluva said, finally standing in front of Iliara again. The elf arched an angular brow at the woman. "A vest, black of course, but with red trim and gold detailing. A low-cut neckline, something to pay homage to your magnificently sculpted breasts, and with vents up the flanks to allow your delicate skin to breathe."

"I am not so delicate," the elf said in a voice that left no room to argue.

"Good," was all the woman said. "As for leggings, we'll have a similar color scheme and vents along the sides again. I can attach hiding places for whatever weaponry you desire after we've had a fitting, aye?"

Iliara nodded.

"Very good. Are you satisfied with your footwear, my dear? A lady can never have enough shoes, especially when it comes to knee-high leather boots. I happen to know several men who would find themselves falling all over you simply to worship your feet in them."

"As interesting a prospect as that is, my male lovers are few and far between," she said. "I can think only of two I would be remotely interested in at this time."

"Suit yourself, then," Alluva said, pouting a bit. "But I know several women that would, as well." The woman's wink elicited a smile on the elf's face. "Give me a moment, and I will get to work right away. You may browse, if you like, or explore any of the siderooms you wish."

"This will not take you days?" she asked.

"My dear, leather answers to me as readily as the Weave answers to Elminster himself. Trust me and my enchanted tools." With that, Alluva blew her a kiss and walked away.

Iliara shrugged, then started looking around. Many of the things she viewed were functional pieces, but she inevitably found herself moving to what many might consider fetish-wear. Corsets and bodices, some of them with spikes jutting from their joints, evoked thoughts of domination and bloodletting. Others simply resurrected memories of the rare orgy with Sharran clergy. She'd never hung around those folk often, but when she did, her mere presence tended to set them afire with lust.

A wet-sounding slap followed by a muffled grunt grabbed her attention. Her pulse quickened, hands sliding close to hidden daggers as she moved silently toward the sound. There was a crack, something that sounded like a riding crop on bare skin, Iliara thought. There was a powerful, intoxicating scent...

Iliara came to a closed wooden door and pressed her sensitive ear to the portal. There was another crack, some harsh language, and whimpering. Eyes narrowing, she drew a dagger from a hidden sheath at her forearm and pried open the locked door. It popped open noiselessly and Iliara cracked it just enough to see inside...

The gold elf barely managed to stifle a gasp of surprise. Bent over and tied to a wooden desk, a moon elf that she'd never seen before was wrapped around the waist with oiled leather and bit down hard on a leather-wrapped wooden rod. Deep red marks lined both cheeks of her pert, small bottom and firmly toned thighs. Standing behind her, a woman with a figure much like Alluva's, if a bit younger, and with significantly smaller breasts, stood wearing a very small-looking black corset, thigh-high leather "stockings" and a leather thong that twinned the thick globes of her ass.

The door creaked loudly as Iliara attempted to push it open just a hair more. Turning quickly, the young woman whipping the elf gave Iliara a fine view of an intricately designed dragon, curling around her chest and with claws that clearly reached down as if holding her "second-tier" sized breasts, and a tail that extended down underneath the corset hiding those breasts.

"Who in the Nine bloody Hells are you?" she snapped at Iliara. The former assassin stepped into the small room, which appeared to be a counting room of sorts, and gave the mistress a better view of her leathers, hoping that might speak for itself.

"Who do I look like?" Iliara asked, her melodious voice demanding the submissive elf's attention. Iliara thought she saw a smile on her face behind the bit in her mouth. The young woman smiled at her.

"You look like a woman who knows her way around a whip," she said. Then she noticed that her elven submissive had turned to look. The crack of leather on flesh echoed in the room. Immediately, the elf's head slumped down beneath the desk, revealing a red and gold marking on the back of her neck, the only mark on her porcelain skin other than the whip-marks on her ass and thighs. "My name is Lidia," the young woman said. "My mother is Alluva, the proprietor of this shop. My apologies if that one made too much noise."

"It was not that," she lied. "I could smell her sex. Keen elven senses, you know. I immediately grew hungry, if you take my meaning."

A devilish smile was her response. "Would you take whip, or do you simply wish to dine on my pet?"

"I shall dine, and a bit more, if you will allow, mistress."

"Certainly, but I require something of you if you are to enjoy my property. Consider it a payment, of sorts," she said.

"Indeed?"

"In the circles I run in, I am called the Dragon Mistress, or Lady Drake to some. I have abandoned my surname in favor of Lovedrake. Would you like to see why?"

Iliara nodded. Reaching back, Iliara could hear her unbuckling her corset, and when she finished, she pulled it away, revealing the tattoo on her chest in all its splendor. Lidia Lovedrake bore a tattoo the likes of which Iliara had never seen: the drake's body was long, the width of her chest, and the big, spiked head arced down one side of her breast, all the way down underneath it as if it were at once gazing at the viewer and deep into her own heart all at once. The feet of the expansive beast were wrapped fully around her breasts, the forelegs around her right breast, framing it with its talons, and the hind legs around the left in a similar fashion. The beasts tail, bearing long spikes from its topside, curled around over her ribs and under her breast, arcing up into her cleavage where it continued to curl around her left breast so that the tip curled halfway around her strawberry hued areola. 

The elf gasped, awed by the image before her. The woman was not nearly as lithe as an elf, with her wide, child-bearing hips, soft stomach and breasts that, while not large, were certainly a handful for Iliara. She was not muscular by any means, though there was distinct tone in her arms and thighs, likely from both work and pleasure. Her face was her mother's, though, and oozed a harsh sensuality. Her hair, raven black and cut short, was slicked back with some sort of fragrant oil, adding to the harsh sexuality about the woman. And all these features were only enhanced by the art upon her chest and breasts, as well as other inkings around her navel that her corset had hidden. A circle of interlacing lines were...no, not lines, Iliara realized. It was script written in Draconic, and even though Iliara couldn't read the language, she certainly recognized it. On either side of her navel, down where her stomach formed a V leading to her sex, were two reptilian eyes, golden, and gazing ever outward. The faint outline of scales could be seen around them. Iliara was immediately enamored by this Lady Lovedrake.

"Your price is paying homage to the Dragon," Lidia said firmly. Iliara instinctively knew what she meant. She came forward, undoing the straps and buckles that held her leather jerkin to her chest. It fell open just before she stepped in front of Lidia, revealing her athletic breasts and lightly chiseled abdominals. Iliara put her palms on Lidia's flanks, sliding them up to her dragon-cradled breasts and began to massage them. Her thumbs grazed over nipples that were long and rubbery and...pierced, she realized, wondering how she'd managed to overlook that to begin with.

A steel hoop centered with a tiny, cut topaz hung from each nipple, and Iliara abandoned her idle thumbing of the turgid nubs in favor of tugging and twisting those hoops. She watched with satisfaction as Lidia's eyes rolled back into her head at the sensations. Iliara lowered her face to the orbs in her hands, kissing and lightly suckling on the tender flesh of her breasts, taking care to stay away from Lidia's nipples as she spiraled around them. She felt the young woman's hands on her shoulders, then sliding up her neck to dig deep into the elf's golden hair. Lidia whimpered, and that whimper was immediately followed by a gasp as Iliara unexpectedly latched onto her nipples with her lips, sucking them hard into her mouth and tonguing the thick steel hoops. She alternated back and forth, paying special heed to each one until, to her surprise, a thick liquid began to seep from the engorged nipples. White and sweet, Iliara suckled and savored the breast milk that, according to what she knew, simply shouldn't have been there. She assumed the young woman was pregnant, or had been recently, and didn't question her fortune. Then Lidia pushed her head away, a smile on her face.

"You have pleased the dragon, and her bounty has graced your tongue. You may enjoy my elf, now," Lidia said. Iliara didn't bother questioning the strange words, and turned to the elf bent and tied to the desk.

She put her hands on the elf's reddened ass and thighs, running her nails over them and making the moon elf whimper into her gag. Grinning, Iliara looked over her shoulder and saw that Lidia had taken a seat, removed her leather thong, and procured a long, black dildo that looked very much bestial at the head with its sharp shape. Rough ridges coursed its length and Iliara figured it an approximation of a dragon's cock, given Lidia's tastes. She was rubbing it over her slit when Iliara turned back to the elven snatch before her. It was glistening and adorned with only short, well kept black curls on the ivory mound.

Iliara spread the small mound open, gazing upon the pink petals before her, glistening in the light of the room. So close, she could smell the elf so keenly that she could tell the moon elf was in heat, and had potent male seed invaded her, she'd likely conceive. With that knowledge, she knew that the elf would be much sweeter and potent. Her tongue pressed firmly against the moon elf's cunny, tasting the powerful arousal in liquid form and drinking deeply. The bound elf moaned softly as Iliara's tongue ran up and down her slit, glancing teasingly at her clit, which stuck out impudently from its hood. Iliara could feel her body tensing whenever her tongue glanced across stiff clit, and she knew what the moon elf wanted.

Her lips latched onto the stiff clit, sucking it hard into her mouth and swirling her tongue rapidly around it. The moon elf moaned loudly against her wooden bit.

Lidia watched with undivided attention as the athletic gold elf buried her face into the exposed sex of her moon elf pet. She'd never seen two elves mate with each other, and found the sight very erotic and visual stimulating. Nevermind the fact that her stronger-than-the-average-human's sense of smell could pick up the pheromones of both highly aroused and heated elves. She wished that her father were here to fuck both of them and plant his seed. Sighing at the thought, she slid the thick head of her dildo against her slit, getting it nice and wet with her own juices before pressing it in. She felt herself slowly stretching to accommodate the sleek head, then, once she'd taken the whole head in, she felt the first ridges and rubbery nubs against her canal. She let out a loud moan as she began sliding the ridged dildo deep into her cunt.

With a hand on either side of the moon elf's sex, Iliara sucked harder on her clit while she pressed her two index fingers into her canal, spreading it wide open, as far as it could go so that she could see in. She slid her tongue up and slithered it into the moon elf's canal, licking her out as her fingers massaged her walls. Then, her tongue slid up to the tight little rosebud of her anus, swirling her tongue around it before sliding all the way up the cleft of her ass. She stood, thrusting two fingers into her canal and moving them in and out. Then she added a third finger, positioning herself so that her hand jutted from below her navel as it thrust in and out of the elf before her. Then a fourth finger was spreading open the elf's cunny, and loud grunts came from behind the leather and wood bit. When Iliara coned her fingers, tucking her thumb between them, the moon elf knew what was coming, her whimpering moans a plea for it to happen. Letting the elf's nectar coat her hand, Iliara slowly thrust in, her hips and ass flexing as she pushed with her whole body. The moon elf's pussy gaped around her slender hand, taking her in to the knuckles, then further, until it had swallowed her hand down to the wrist. 

Lidia was riding the dragon-dildo, pumping it in and out of her rapidly as she watched Iliara fist-fuck her moon elf slave. She was near to cumming already, the ridges and nubs all along the dildo stroking every sensitive spot within her cunt. She watched as the moon elf convulsed and thin trail of pearlescent nectar dribbled down to the floor. Lidia came loudly, grunting and growling as she squeezed down on the flexible dildo. 

Then the door opened, and Alluva entered, a fine leather vest and matching pants hanging from a hanger in her hand. Iliara slowly withdrew her hand from the moon elf, then turned to look at Alluva with a helpless expression on her face...but not before noticing the symbol of Sune that was tattooed on the back of the moon elf's neck.

"I see you met my daughter," Alluva said, a smile on her face. "She knows how to make patrons feel welcome."

"Very much so," Iliara said with a smile. "Is that..." her eyes locked on the leathers in her hand with wonder. The vest had a plunging neckline indeed, and the leather along the neckline was dyed crimson. The metal work was gold-plated steel, and crisscrossed along the red neckline, as well as forming the buckles that held it together. The pants were similar, with hems of red and gold, and gold studs along the sides, on either sides of the vents.

"It's beautiful," Iliara said.

"A fitting vestment for a servant of Sune, yes?" Alluva asked. The moon elf perked up at that, drawing Iliara's attention. An idea formed in her mind...

"I could pay you in gold," Iliara said, "but I have a better idea. Why don't you and your daughter, and her elf, come to the Dreaming Dragon to eat with myself, Cyra, and our friends?"

Alluva glanced at Lidia, who was licking her own essence from the large dildo. Admiring her daughter's naked form, her own legacy, she nodded. "We would be honored. Tonight, then?"

"Certainly," Iliara said, glancing at the moon elf, who eyed her suspiciously. "I will go and make arrangements now."

"We cannot wait," Alluva grinned.

*****

"When do Lura and Hammer return?" Iliara asked Cyra when she sat in the Dreaming Dragon's taproom. It was early in the morning, and no patrons were present to distract them. 

"Likely by nightfall," Cyra replied, stirring a bowl of porridge with a wooden spoon. She examined the gold elf appreciatively. "I trust Alluva treated you well? That is an exquisite vest."

"She did," Iliara said. "As did her daughter."

"Oh?" Cyra asked. "Do tell!"

"Later," Iliara said. "In fact, I intend to show you what she treated me with. I invited Alluva and her daughter, Lidia Lovedrake, to dinner in one of the Dragon's private rooms. Lidia will, in fact, be bringing my tasty treat with her."

"Oh my," Cyra said, her attention fully drawn from her hot porridge. "Well that is certainly something to look forward to! We need to be certain the cooks know to fix something fine for us...We should go to the Bell Market and get the finest meats and vegetables and--"

"I have taken care of it, Cyra," Iliara said. Her tone demanded the tiefling's attention. "But there is something that has not yet been taken care of."




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 06



"What..." 

The tiefling's question trailed off as Iliara stood, showing off her fine leather leggings, trimmed with red and gold, and hastily unfastened her belt before untying her crotch. The scent of her arousal dominated the warm porridge in front of Cyra. "Up for it?"

Never one to turn down a warm snatch, Cyra nodded, rising from her seat and pushing the elf so that her leather-clad ass was against the table. She squatted down, and the knee-length morning gown she was wearing rode high up her thighs. Iliara could look down at the ruddy cleavage, a grin on her face as she appreciated the heavy orbs. "Cyra, your breasts look different...in shape, that is."

"They are," she said. She hooked her fingers over the waistband of the leather leggings and began to tug. "Ambrusia convinced me to release the enchantment holding them so firmly in place. In effect, they are more natural now, not quite as perky...though, if I do say so myself, they're still quite supple for a being of my age."

"Indeed," Iliara said. "They call to me regardless. Perhaps I'll repay you later by worshiping them?"

"You'd better," Cyra responded, sliding the tough leather down the elf's athletic legs. Her snatch was bare save for a golden strip of hair, short and soft, above her slit. Grinning, Cyra pressed one black-nailed finger against the hardened nub sticking out from her sex. She was wet and ripe, more than ready, and the tiefling knew that the elf wouldn't take long. Iliara gasped as she pressed firmly, pushing the bud in short circles before sliding that digit down the slit. Her cloyed nectar clung to the red finger, and Cyra couldn't help herself but to lick and taste that delicious honey. 

Iliara's hands slid through Cyra's pale hair, her thumbs gliding affectionately across her petite brown horns. The tiefling pressed her face in, squeezing it between thighs that could hardly part wide enough for the leathers around her knees. But regardless, Cyra had her mouth against the elf's sex easily enough, and though it made it hard for her to breathe, she relished in the feeling of her soft skin against her face, thighs pressing tight against her cheeks and sex upon her face. Using her upper lip to press against the elf's impudent clitoris, her tongue lavished the length of her slit with long, sensual licks, then found its way to her sodden canal. She worked her dexterous tongue into the opening, rimming it for a good while, then sliding it in as far as it would go. She curled it inside the elf repeatedly, stroking her "Hanali's heart," as she'd heard elves call it. 

Iliara grunted and groaned, her hands flexing at the back of Cyra's head. She knew it wouldn't take the tiefling long to bring her off, as skilled as Cyra was. And when her lips latched on her clit and sucked it tight into her mouth, accompanied by two invading fingers burrowing into her passage, curling against her Heart, she knew her end was nigh. She didn't bother holding back; her orgasm tore through her like fire from her breast. She grunted quickly, quietly, hands pushing the tiefling's face tight against her cunny as she rode her orgasm to completion. When she finished, Cyra pulled away slowly, glistening strands of saliva and nectar hanging between her face and Iliara's sex. The tiefling slowly stood, gathered her spoon, licking the porridge clean from it, then pressing it against Iliara's sex. When she withdrew it, it bore a glistening pool of the cloyed, sweet nectar. She poured it into her porridge, stirred briefly, and took a bite.

"Just what it needed," Cyra said as Iliara drew up her leggings and tied off her belt. "If I were more generous, I would consider it payment enough"

"But you aren't," Iliara said knowingly. "And that's what makes you so delightful Cyra."

"Well, that and everything else about me," Cyra said, an arrogant, superior look on her face. 

"Of course!" Iliara said, knowing false bravado when she saw it. Even if Cyra wasn't exactly off base. "Enjoy your breakfast, my dear. I'll be in my quarters washing and resting for tonight."

"Goodnight, my nocturnal beauty," Cyra said, returning to her flavored porridge.

*****

"She could smell it?" Alluva asked.

Lidia nodded. "Elven senses, I suppose."

"You should be more careful, daughter. Not all of my patrons are as depraved as we are, you know," Alluva said. She'd meant that as a reprimand, but couldn't contain a smile. The elf her daughter had hired was dressing herself in a white gown with a plunging, gold lace neckline and a daring slit up one side, revealing all but her shapely hip.

"Are you certain your mistress won't mind you joining us?" Lidia asked the moon elf. The woman glanced at her, a slight smirk on her face as she pulled her wavy black hair from her face.

"She will be fine," the elf said. "I will go see her at once to inform her of our extended contract. I'm certain the arrangement will be met with agreement."

"Very good," Alluva said, grinning at the elf. "My daughter does so enjoy your company."

"And I, hers. More so if she'd let me turn the tables and tame that impertinent bottom of hers!" The elf grinned wide, coming close to the peculiar daughter and kissing her cheek. "I'll see you shortly, milady."

"Don't make me wait too long," Lidia said, a smirk on her face. And then the elf was gone, leaving mother and daughter alone. "Does it ever bother you, mother? A normal mother-daughter relationship generally wouldn't consist of said mother enjoying her daughter's sexual conquests."

"We're hardly a typical mother and daughter, Lidia," Alluva said. 

To emphasize the point, Lidia closed her eyes, then reopened them, except instead of human eyes, they were golden orbs with black slits: the eyes of a dragon. She shrugged, rolling her neck and whispering to herself. There was a crackling and snapping chorus as bones broke and flesh tore, and leathery silver wings sprouted from her back. Scales of a similar hue, tinged with blue and green, appeared on her arms and legs, down her flanks, and around her neck and the roots of her wings. The skin of her breasts, stomach, chest, face, feet and hands were left plain and unchanged. She was only half-dragon, after all.

"I suppose father was good for something," Lidia said, grinning. Her voice changed to gain a rasp and reptilian lisp, accompanying her human voice. Alluva walked around behind her daughter, running her fingers over her daughter's leathery wings. She watched a shiver run up Lidia's spine at the sensation.

"You should let your wings breathe more often my love," Alluva said. "They look cramped and dull."

"I agree," her daughter said, "but it isn't as if all of Everlund will enjoy seeing a half dragon prancing and gliding throughout the city."

Alluva sighed, sharing her daughter's sentiment. With a wave of her hand, she locked the front door of her shop, closed the drapes and raised iron bars in the windows. A second gesture conjured small flames around the walls, on metal sconces, that did not consume fuel but shed warmth and light . Smiling, Alluva, the powerful sorceress and wizard, wiggled her fingers and her common clothing vanished, replaced by a resplendent, shimmering scale robe, crafted from the hide of a purple dragon and lined with the finest black silk she could buy. Or, more appropriately, steal. 

"Go and rest, my daughter. I can conjure a portal for you, to the wilds, where you can stretch and exercise your true form however you wish, if you like," Alluva said. 

"I can find my own way," Lidia said. "I should return before the sun gets too low."

Alluva watched as Lidia resumed her human form, sighing a little at the uncomfortable sensation. They embraced, and Alluva kissed her daughter on the cheek, before the young half-dragon left out the rear entrance. Alluva breathed a deep sigh, manually untying the sash cinching her robe together. She wore nothing under her robe, and even cinched with her shimmering sash, much of her cleavage and stomach could be seen, and her proud stride often revealed her strong, supple thighs. Her skin, only lightly tanned, was rich and healthy.

Alluva removed herself from her showroom, wanting to be in the comfort of her private chambers. In the counting room, where not long ago her daughter had watched a gold elf fuck a moon elf while plunging a rubber cock shaped like a dragon's, Alluva stood in the exact center and pointed her palms at the floor. She spoke a secret word that no other mortal could possibly know and the floor shifted into a pseudo-liquid, allowing her to pass through slowly enough to not harm her when she dropped to the stone floor below, while not soiling her skin or clothing.

She fell lightly on her bare feet, the cool stone unable to put a chill in her as she strode three steps forward to an ornate wooden door. The sorceress put her bare hand against the door, now bedecked with gemmed and golden rings and bracelets, and she felt a prick at her palm. A tiny droplet of blood was absorbed by the door, and that was her key. Latches were opened from the inside and the door glided soundlessly in. Alluva walked in, breathing deeply the familiar, comforting scents of incense, fragrant oils, and cured leather. She had not lied about her familiarity with animal hides and leathers: part of her magical repertoire involved the manipulation of fabrics and materials, clothing and light armors. Her robe was a product of that, and there were a great many dead creatures to attest to her skill at slaying as well as crafting.

Ahead of her, across from the doorway, a large, overstuffed satin couch beckoned to her. Alluva resisted, though, and instead went to a large desk where a thick tome and an everlasting inkwell waited for her. She sat, whispering the words that would unlock the tome. Without them, it would never open. Automatically, it turned to the most recent page. A message was waiting for her, and she grinned. 

"Such a wonderful device," she said. The tome was a messenger book, and she had given a page to each of her lovers over the past hundred years which would allow them to write directly into her tome. She thanked the deities of magic for that gift. The woman had no use for necromancy and lichdom did not appeal to her. She enjoyed physical pleasure far too much for such things. Instead, she had simply used magic to prolong her life, keeping her from aging quite as quickly. She aged now only slightly more quickly than an elf, and expected to live almost as long as one. She'd given up her adventurous lifestyle years ago, after the birth of her daughter, and though the close brushes with death had been exciting and invigorating, she had found other things to excite herself with. 

"Ah, Master Flurolet," she said, examining the ornate script. A wealthy merchant, this one was, and she read his message with a grin on her face. There were many compliments, meticulously worded and very vivid. He described his affections for her and her "supreme beauty." Finally, he came to his point: he wanted to meet with her again, but in some very out of the way location. She settled back into her chair, wondering about her affair with Master Flurolet. His wife would likely slay herself if she found out he was consorting with another woman.

She read the last phrase: Meet me, my beautiful Lady, a tenday hence, in my villa on the Sea of Fallen Stars. I trust you can use your remarkable talents to divine the exact location. It is my heart's greatest longing to lay beside you again and again, my beloved. Please, I will await your arrival with great anticipation. Devotedly, Flurolet.

Smirking, Alluva closed the tome. Indeed, a vial of his seed that she kept locked away with every other memorable lay she'd had since her adventuring days would allow her to divine his exact location whenever she wished. 

"Not this time, my dear," she said. "You've grown old and fat. I have other interests."

She thought to respond to him, knowing that her message would vanish, as every sent or received message did, once he read it. Alluva pushed the tome away, putting him from her mind completely, and rose. She walked around her private chamber, examining the many vials of components on a very tall and wide set of shelves, running her finely manicured fingers, the nails painted a metallic violet color that matched her robe. Then she came to a small desk next to her plush couch. A smile on her face, she pulled open the drawer. Within, a block of wood had been carved with precise cutouts, then covered in black satin. Within those depressions, some of her favorite "wands" rested. She ran her fingers over them, six in all.

The first was crystalline and clear as ice. It was long and about as wide as two of her fingers, and it had ridges running the length of it, all the way to the flanged base. Secondly, a black wand gave a tremor at her touch, part of its magic. It was thicker than the last, but just as long, and was perfectly smooth. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment longer before moving to the third wand. This one was the longest, made of glass with a thick ball on one end, and a ring on the opposite end. It curved severely, an arc half-way between perpendicular and perfectly straight, and was relatively thin between it's two ends. Her sex veritably pulsed at the thought of it penetrating her.

Alluva stifled her urge to pluck it from it's resting place and go to work immediately. Her fingernails tapped against it, then moved to the fourth and fifth wand. They were similar to each other in that they were the color of darkly tanned flesh, as well as being thick, animated clay that she had enchanted to remain soft and pliant, yet hold its form and never crumble. They would always serve her purposes, but she had enchanted them with a limited charge: each one could ejaculate a warm, sticky liquid that emulated human semen. Moreover, they had unique shapes: the first one, the color of sun-tanned skin, had the look of a human cock, with it's mushroom shaped head and thick veins running the length. The second one, though, was much more deviant: It was a very dark brown, much like a Turmish man's skin, but the end was blunted with a broad opening in the middle. She'd never debased herself so much as to mate with a horse, but her curiosity had led her to create this wand so that she might feel a different type of penetration.

The sixth and final wand was the most unique. Instead of being one long shape mimicking, if not wholly representing, a penis, it was a series of solid crystal bulbs, perfectly round, one progressively larger than the previous, and attached by firm, slightly flexible leather strips. The first was the size of a marble, the kind she'd seen children playing with in the streets. In fact, that very scene had led to her idea of creating this particularly devious device. The bulbs were progressively larger until the eighth and last bulb. This one was just a hair larger than a halfling's fist. Each bulb was connected by flexible leather, and sticking out the end of the largest bulb was a strip of leather ending in a loop that she could fit her finger through. After nearly losing her first version of this particular toy in her rectum, she decided to add that little feature. 

Breathing out a ragged breath and feeling a tingle between her thighs, she removed the curved glass rod and the crystal beads. Alluva laid down on the soft couch, propping one leg up on the cushion and leaving the other to hang off the side, resting on the ground. Closing her eyes, she moved the glass rod down, letting it glide between her breasts and over her stomach, moving ever closer to her...

A chime sounded from her doorway. Someone was standing at the entrance of her store. She cursed, wanting very much to ignore whoever was there, but knowing nobody would be there at this early morning hour unless it was vitally important. She kissed her toys and stood, promising them she would return as quickly as sorcerously possible.

*****

Two bald armsmen intercepted the prostitute when she returned to the brothel from Lidia's residence.

"You're late," one said, wearing a thick salt-and-pepper goatee. The elf glared at him. "Mistress is waiting for you." He stepped out of the way, and she let herself in.

The inside of the otherwise plain-looking building was opulent beyond measure. She knew why. Barely clad in elegant, flimsy gowns, women meandered to and fro in the main foyer, across soft, gold-traced red carpet. Some leaned against pristinely sanded and shined wooden walls or opulent oaken desks. There were no patrons about right now, the elf noted. Probably fucking their whores in a rented, private room. She saw a young woman, likely barely into adulthood, that looked frightened as an older woman led her around, pointing and explaining. The elf wondered what had brought the young woman to the brothel's employ, then dismissed it as her mistress appeared at the top of the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer.

"Come," she said in an imperial voice, then turned around and pushed open the double doors behind her. The elf climbed the stairs with haste, and she heard a man enter the brothel and whistle at her ass as it danced beneath the white gown. She wanted to seize a longsword and run him through.

Stifling her anger, she plastered a smile on her face and entered the double doors. Her mistress, a tall blonde with larger than natural breasts and a magically augmented hourglass figure, sat behind an opulent desk littered with parchments and inkwells. Standing to the side was a man she'd never seen before, but instinctively knew him as the benefactor for Mistress Bliss's brothel. He was also the one that kept the authorities from coming down on their prostitution ring. Funny, she thought, that he was probably twenty years younger than the seasoned Mistress. 

Not that she could tell the woman's age by looking at her. Alchemy and gifts from the Lord Armanov kept her looking no older than her mid-thirties. The elf suppressed a scowl. She loathed the unnatural things women went through to augment their bodies...as if the gods hadn't done it right the first time. 

"Why are you so late returning to us?" Mistress Bliss asked.

"My client needed more time," the elf said. She tossed an overfull purse onto the woman's desk, and coins spilled out, sliding across the wood onto her lap. "She paid for it. And for another date with me. Tonight."

Bliss looked to the side, at Lord Armanov as he studied the elf. "Their names?" he asked. His voice was like silk to her ears.

"Alluva Dunnan and Lidia Lovedrake," the elf said. 

"Send a message with her," Armanov said to Bliss, "and inform them that she'll be extra for tonight. Explain that she is in high demand and will cost more because of that."

"Of course, Lord Armanov," Bliss said. She ran a hand over her tube-like wrapping that did little to conceal her massive bust. She looked at the pale elf. "Service our benefactor," she said. 

"Apologies, Mistress, Lord Armanov, but I must prepare myself for tonight if I--"

"It's quite alright," Armanov said. "Business before pleasure. Perhaps next time." He smiled warmly at her, but she felt nothing but glacial cold. 

Bliss looked flushed, embarrassed. "Of course," she said, "you are dismissed."

She turned on her heal, but heard a rustling of clothes. She pulled the door open and looked over her shoulder just as Samon removed his thick manhood and thrust it into Bliss's waiting mouth. Silently, the elf hoped Samon would thoroughly abuse her.

*****

Lidia made her way out of Everlund, smiling fondly at the guards, who simply grinned nervously at her passing. She was the type of woman, the way she was dressed, that would be barracks talk for a week. Wearing only a slinky black gown, slit high up both shapely thighs. A halter wrapped around her neck, the only thing holding it up, and it had an open back all the way down, so far that if she leaned back just right, anybody standing near her backside would see her cleft bottom. Smirking to herself, she strode with confidence out the gate, gazing upon the forest not far away. 




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 07



She had smiled throughout the walk. Her clients were both kind women, well-versed in the arts of lovemaking, and nearly overly attractive to the elf. They'd shared many flirtations, grins, and a grope here and there throughout their journey from the Wyrm's Hide to the Dreaming Dragon. If she were to be honest to herself, Miria would have felt an almost sisterly love from the two women, though one was nearly as old as she was, and the other barely a fifth her age. 

All of that vanished when she entered the Dreaming Dragon, wearing her finest silk and gems. A past she had forced herself to forget slapped her back in the face in the form of a red-clad drow, mouth agape and eyes--those eyes!--wide. And Lura wasn't the only one staring back at her in utter shock. Cyra was there, looking very much like she remembered the sultry, often dominating tiefling in a scandalously short black gown with a wide, deep neckline, and a glistening black corset around her waist. Her short, pale hair was swept back to match her brownish horns, which seemed to have grown since last she saw them. 

Mikhail was there too, wearing a fine, black and silver doublet and matching breeches. He wore shiny ankle boots and his dark hair was wavy, but neatly held back behind his ears. He seemed more fit than the last time she'd seen him, and she figured he was getting plenty of exercise with Lura and whoever else he wished. She remembered the first time she'd met him, and recalled his scrawny, wiry physique and anxious attitude. He'd clearly grown out of that shell quite nicely.

Then there was Hammer. She remembered him well, for how could one forget such a monumental man? She knew that he had departed their troupe upon arrival in Everlund, but despite her network of clientele, had heard no word of an enormous barbarian returning. He stood staring at her, but despite his surprise, he affected a warm smile, nodding as if all was as it should be. And indeed, she certainly felt her comradery with her sisters and brothers keenly, even if she was far removed from their faith. Hammer hooked his thumbs on his black belt, and though no sword rested upon it she knew he was well armed. His breeches, dark leathers that were wholly informal, spoke to his barbaric heritage, as did the thick, scuffed boots on his feet. His tunic was deep blue, much like the tundra sky, and was untied at the collar, letting his expansive chest breath, even though the garment was quite snug around his chest, shoulders, and arms.

But Lura...how could she even begin to look at her distant companion? The drow's shocked expression began to fade, moisture rimming her eyes and a warm smile coming to her black, chiseled face. She didn't approach, and Miria was glad for that; she feared that any sudden movements might break the awkwardly peaceful silence over them all. So Miria stared at the drow, examining her with a longing she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She was resplendent, her pristine white hair hanging freely, yet seductively wavy, about her face and shoulders and down to the middle of her back. A distinct red shock of that silky hair hung in a curl that framed her elven face. Her gown seemed to shift of it's own accord, as if there were a breeze when there was not. The fine red velvet hung on her shoulders, identical golden brooches attached to the fabric as it led down to her breasts to cinch them into a narrow strip over her black, delicate shoulders. The neckline swooped low but was surprisingly tasteful, covering her firm breasts and exposing very little cleavage. It was, on the drow, unusually alluring. The gown swept down to mid-shin, then cut up sharply to just under mid-thigh, the skirt-length wavy and loose, then growing tight just above her alluring hips.

But those eyes. Miria couldn't tear her gaze away from them. Twin pools of swirling scarlet and gold gleamed at her, no doubt another symbol of Sune's divinity within the drow. Miria felt her legs weaken and her lip tremble. For the first time, she keenly felt her fall from Sune's grace. The narcotics were first, and though she never used them to a great extent like many of the girls she had come to know, they eventually led her to prostitution. She looked down at her pale skin, feeling very filthy with the life she had chosen. 

But then Lura rushed forward, wrapping her slender arms around Miria, and the elf began sobbing uncontrollably into the drow's shoulder. Lura held her, whispering to her softly in High Drow, a language the elf could not understand, and was rarely used for soothing purposes. Miria realized that Lura was singing to her, so softly only she could hear it, and felt a warmth flowing through her. For Lura, before she had come to the surface, had been a bard...of a sort. Generally, when drow took up the bardic path, it was more to the detriment of those they encountered, and less to bolster their allies. She'd been a dirge, and quite good, but it was not long into that path that she had learned for herself the beneficial aspects of bardic magic. She sang now, softly, in her native tongue, and used that magic, calling it up from the deep, dark corners of her self to soothe her wayward sister.

*****

Lidia watched the spectacle of surprise with curiosity. She didn't understand what was going on, but she figured that her Miria had known some of these people in the past. The half-dragon, in her human skin, wasn't about to interrupt, but when the drow, Lura she supposed, embraced the elf and began whispering to her, she bristled, feeling more than a little jealous. She'd paid well for Miria's company, and what's more, she had grown accustomed and quite fond of the elf. Some might say that she'd developed feelings for her, but she wasn't quite ready to admit that.

She was about to intervene somehow, but her mother put a hand on her shoulder. Lidia looked at Alluva, who nodded toward Hammer, Cyra, and Mikhail as all three were approaching Miria. She held back, realizing this was, indeed, an emotional reunion as Lura released the elf, her soothing whispers having done their work. Miria went to Hammer, her arms barely reaching around the big barbarian, who was head and shoulders taller than her. Then Cyra replaced Hammer, embracing her former leader fondly. Mikhail was last, though their hug was brief.

*****

Lura watched the elf, still beautiful, hug her former comrades.

"Miria, it has been far too long," Lura said, when the elf returned to her. She took her hands, kissed them, and smiled. "Where have you been?"

"That is a long story," Miria said, smiling despite the sickened feeling in her stomach. She dreaded the thought of telling her fellow Sunites of her fall into prostitution and other depravities. "But I believe there is a meal to be had tonight."

Lura grinned widely, embracing the elf and kissing her cheek. "Indeed! Benefast, are things prepared?"

"The dining room is ready and the table is set, Lady Lura," he said, bowing. He and Donnara had put on their finest and closed the tavern for the evening's event. "Dinner will be served shortly."

Lura lead all her friends, Alluva and Lidia included, into a private, separate dining area. They sat and chatted for several hours, dined on roasted venison and vegetables, and shared wine until there were a dozen bottles emptied on the table. And after a long while, after all the wine and food had settled, the congregated friends, old and new, splintered off into private conversations. Lidia entertained Iliara and Cyra, while Alluva dallied with Hammer and Varla, who wore a black velvet gown that hugged her sleek, feline-like physique. Mikhail leaned in a corner with Greta, smiling and chatting while appraising her pale green dress that hung loose from her generous bust. Meanwhile, Lura took Miria for herself, sitting and chatting with her, grinning and laughing as they reminisced.

"Lura, I need to confess something to you," Miria said, and Lura saw a dark cloud pass behind the elf's eyes. She put her hand on her forearm, inching closer to her.

"You can tell me anything, dear sister," she said.

Miria closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I have gone against Sune, and fallen far from where I used to be. I've taken up prostitution, and I have been doing that most of the time since our arrival. You remember Anliva? Our cleric? I sent her away, and last I knew she was going back to Silverymoon."

Lura smiled and put her arm around Miria, hugging her close, and the elf started to sob against Lura's shoulder.

"What have I done to myself..." she whispered against the soft, black skin. 

Lura rubbed Miria's back, whispering softly to her again in High Drow. "Sune still loves you, Miria," she said softly, her eyes glinting with golden divinity. Miria continued sobbing, her arms squeezing tight around the taller drow's waist. "It's ok..."

"How can it be ok?" She asked suddenly, pushing herself away from Lura. "The things I've done...I've gone as far from Sune as I possibly could have!"

"Not far enough," Lura said, and her eyes, pools of radiant gold and shimmering crimson, spoke volumes of her knowledge on Sune's feelings. Miria began weeping again, but couldn't pull herself from Lura's penetrating, knowing gaze. Her lip quivered and tears flowed freely down her face, even as Lura's delicate, black finger stroked them away. Eyes glowing, Lura leaned forward, her dark lips, tinged with deep violet, pressed against Miria's gold-flecked lips. The kiss sealed, moist lips pressing firmly together, and Miria felt her body quivering as Lura's hands slid down her shoulders, the backs of her arms, and then to the small of her bare back, just above the extremely low cut of her gown.

"Lura..." she whispered as the drow broke the kiss, dark lips dancing along her jaw line to her delicately pointed ear. The drow made not a sound, though, instead pulling her into a sturdy chair. She pulled Mira into her lap, the elf sitting with both legs dangling off one side, her arms around the drow's shoulder as she leaned into Lura's body. She was silent, her eyes closed and lower lip gently bit between her pearly teeth. 

Miria sighed gently, resting her forehead against Lura's shoulder as deft drow fingertips ran lightly, up and down her spine, sending shivers all along her body and igniting a flame within her she had thought extinguished for good. She felt her body filling with inspiration, a warmth both liquid and blazing, and pressed her lips against the drow's soft, warm skin. Her tongue slipped out meekly, but the taste of the drow's skin, so sweet and welcoming, made her giddy with excitement. She pulled away, her delicate hands, perfectly manicured and bedecked with gold, placed on either side of Lura's polished obsidian face. They locked eyes, Miria's emerald orbs penetrating deep into the swirling garnet-and-gold pools of Lura's. Then she pushed forward, her lips locking with the drow in a passionate kiss, her tongue pressing insistently into purple-tinged lips until they parted, and then danced furiously with Lura's agile oral muscle.

Lura responded wholeheartedly to the kiss, her tongue fencing with Miria's as one arm slid around to her taut, narrow stomach, playing along the soft fabric before curling around her hip. Her other, left hand stays at Miria's back, stroking it slowly, affectionately. The drow instantly knew what she wanted, what Miria needed, and how she would give it to her. But before she could enact that plan, Mira took the initiative, desperation evident in her every gesture. 

Her hands were shaking as Miria slid them from Lura's face, down her neck, to her shoulders, unsteadily pushing the fabric outward, to let the gown fall free of the delicate, yet strong drow shoulders. But Lura's hands came up to grasp her wrists. "No," she whispered, though her voice was tight with need and urgency. "Not here, Miria. Come with me."

*****

Broad and tall, Hammer well enough towered over Alluva and Varla, and was as wide as the two lithe women standing side-by-side. Hammer had commented on Alluva's attire, as the matronly woman was still clad in only her purple dragon scale robe. She ran her fingers over her sash, then up the inside edge of the robe. Hammer, of course, watched with rapt attention as her actions only made the pale, soft skin revealed by her fairly open robe stand out that much more. Her breasts, while comparable to Lura's had a bit more sag, but in a manner that only bespoke maturity and health. Something the barbarian held in very high esteem. She explained her nature, that of a near ageless sorceress, and the nature of her robe. He nodded in appreciation, despite his people's aversion to magic, and applauded her spellslaying of the purple wyrm. She made a curtsy at his applause, smiling warmly at him, and turning to Varla. 

"You are a pretty girl," she said, her delicate, bejeweled hand reaching out to the slender woman's shoulder. Varla's eyes sparkled, but she laughed a short little laugh.

"I'm hardly a girl, my Lady," she says, licking her crimson-painted lips.

"When you've lived a hundred years, even one like you is a girl," she countered, offering her own curt laugh.

"You jest," Varla said, her look shifting to a coy smile. "You look not a day over forty winters!"

Alluva feigned injury. "My dear, you hurt me! I had thought surely I looked closer to thirty."

Hammer intervened. "Suffice it to say, young or mature, you are both exquisite specimens," he said, putting a big, calloused hand on their delicate shoulders.

"And you, large goodsir, are a charmer," Alluva said, looking at him sidelong. "Perhaps too much so. I fear your subtle charisma is having a heated effect on my loins."

"Not one for subtlety, are you," Varla said, smirking.

"I've slain more dragons than I care to remember and, as I previously pointed out, lived a hundred years. I've gone beyond subtlety," she said, laughter in her voice. "When I see something I want, I rarely waste time in the procuring." With that, she put a hand on Hammer's broad chest and the other on Varla's face, coming forward smoothly to press her pinkish lips against Varla's darkly painted mouth.

Hammer's eyes widened only for an instant, but he grinned mischievously. Varla lost herself in the all-too-skilled kiss, her hands coming to Alluva's slightly rounder face. They kissed a good long while, Hammer sliding his hands down their backs throughout, and he watched with rapt interest as he caught glimpses of their tongues fencing with each other. And when Alluva abruptly broke the kiss, grabbed a handful of Hammer's mane and yanked his face down for a kiss of his own, he couldn't help but remove his hand from Varla that he might claim Alluva's soft cheek.

"Someplace private," Varla said, suddenly latching on to Hammer's flank, a leg stroking his thick thigh as she kissed at his bared upper arm. 

Alluva relented and glanced around. More than a few gazes were upon them, and while she wouldn't normally mind, she decided a private setting, where they might all shed their inhibitions, would be preferable. "You know one?"

"My private room, of course," Varla said, grinning superiorly at the woman. With a nod, she led them both out of the private dining hall and up to the rooms that, while once served as a night's lodging for weary adventurers, had grown into modest apartments to those that had earned them. Varla pushed open the door to her apartment, dimly lit by fragrant candles, and closed the door behind her two guests. Before she had turned around to face them, Alluva snapped her fingers and her robe, glimmering violet scale and all, simply vanished with a wink. She stood, gloriously naked, facing Hammer, giving him a full view of her supple breasts, soft and pliant, and modestly tapered stomach. Varla couldn't see her front, but found her eyes glued to her wide hips and soft, only barely dimpled posterior. She walked slowly, as if in a trance, her hands out to feel those twin, rear globes.

*****

Greta had insisted on joining Cyra, Lidia, and Iliara, and Mikhail was not willing to disagree with her. Surrounded by four women, Mikhail felt himself distinctly amused, but it wasn't long before Iliara had lured Greta away from the suddenly clashing Lidia and Cyra. The contest was in jest, the two sultry women laughing merrily between dirty jabs and tongue-fencing. Iliara, the rogue that she was, used her silver tongue to convince Greta that the thicker girl would be better served following, leaving Mikhail with the two delicious, sex-oozing women.

Mikhail had at first been amused at the seeming competition Cyra and Lidia were having. The tiefling had sensed something peculiar about her, and was prodding, while Lidia simply evaded the questions. It was a game of cat and mouse, if ever he had seen one. All that left, though, when he caught Varla's actions out of the corner of his eye. He saw her entangled with the older woman, Hammer silently watching, grinning. Then he saw her cling to the big barbarian, and a very unseemly pang of jealousy erupted in his gut. When she pulled both away, he felt his brow furrow, and didn't even realize he was staring at them.

"Mikhail," Cyra said, eyes scrutinizing the man. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said curtly. "Excuse me, I need fresh air."

He turned on his heel and left. Lidia scoffed. "Well, that was rude. You don't think we scared him off, do you?" she asked.

"No, something else," Cyra said, but put it out of her mind, turning back to Alluva's lovely daughter. "Good enough, though. I had hoped to get some alone time with lovely Alluva's daughter."

"Likewise," Lidia purred. "I've heard much about you, tiefling."

"All bad, I pray," Cyra returned, and would have blushed at the wholly cliché phrase if she had any shame at present.

Lidia made an affirmative-sounding hum and pushed forward, her bosom pressing into Cyra's as her hands grasped the tiefling's strong shoulders, pushing her back into the wall. Cyra made no move to resist, even brought her ruddy-skinned hands to the woman's shapely hips. They slipped down, feeling her soft flesh beneath her slit-to-the-waist gown, and was tempted to simply reach underneath to squeeze that firm rear. She resisted, figuring a little teasing would heat the girl enough...for now.

Lidia's kiss was surprisingly warm, her lips soft on Cyra's and her tongue sweetly licking, tantalizing Cyra's mouth at its plump entrance. The tiefling instinctively slipped one of her shapely legs between Lidia's thighs, in turn straddling the seductive "woman."

"I have something to show you," Lidia whispered hotly into Cyra's ear. That declaration was quickly followed by a light nibble that stung quite a bit more than it should. Of course, to Cyra, that was hardly anything to complain over. 

"Show me," she breathed, her voice almost guttural sounding as her pupils began to warp within the irises, threatening to expand and cover both eyes with blackness.

"Not here," Lidia said, her voice a bit more solid.

"Here," Cyra demanded, her voice smoldering, a bit of fire dancing across her brow before disappearing again. 

Intrigued and wholly excited, Lidia nodded, but did not back away, despite the sudden crackling of bones and bloodless tearing of skin. Cyra watched in rapt attention as her wings shifted beneath the woman's skin. Then, suddenly, the leathery, broad wingspan revealed itself to her, and Lidia let out a sigh of exultation. Cyra's eyes were wide throughout the transformation, a grin on her face as she licked her lips. When it finished, Lidia stood before her in her half-dragon glory, hips tilted askew and lips pursed. "It pleases you," she says, her voice deliciously deep now.

Cyra laughed, eyes suddenly ablaze with living fire. She lunged forward, a tingle going from her tail to her tongue as it delved into Lidia's mouth.




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 07



*****

Miria's face burned. The elf's lips were moist, but her mouth was dry as the Anauroch desert. Her black hair, shimmering so deep as to be nigh blue, was gently brushed behind her elegantly pointed ear by black, long fingers, each digit as long and graceful as the drow that worked them. She could feel the heat coming from the drow's chest, and her eyelids fluttered as she breathed in the erotic, exotic fragrance about the drow.

And they'd barely crested the stairs leading to Lura's room.

The drow had stopped them, turned quickly to face Miria. Dim lamplight danced across the moon elf's fair, angular face, and Lura couldn't help but reach out and touch that silky hair. Her chest rose and fell with heated breath, but she turned and moved on quickly, eyes locking on the ornate door that marked her private room in the Dreaming Dragon. Miria's light footfalls were close behind her, and Lura's keen hearing could detect her shallow, urgent breathing as they moved hurriedly.

They reached the door, inlaid with small gold etchings and a bust of Sune decorating the center of the portal, her porcelain face smiling, silver eyes glimmering as if in approval of the two. Miria ran her fingers over the surprisingly warm surface, as well as the corona of red marble that formed Sune's hair, as Lura led her into her room. The door closed with a wave of the drow's hand, and she turned to face Miria, lips parted and chest swelling with ragged breath. 

Lura's room was low lit with darkfire, purplish flames dancing in sconces placed intermittently around the walls, and also in dark-hued candelabras. With a blink of her eyes, the flames shifted in hue to a mix of gold and red, accenting the Sunite décor of luxuriously cushioned seats, a large four-post bed draped in red shimmerweave and cloth-of-gold sashes. Everything about the room, to Miria, was rich with Sune's influence, and accented by drow tastes.

The emotion that burst forth from Miria's heart had slowed from a pyroclastic torrent to a steady flow of need and desire for the drow and for Sune. She came forward, slowly despite her urgency, and brought her hands, pale as opal, up to Lura's gleaming obsidian-skinned face. The contrast of their two skins excited Miria's eyes nearly as much as the warm, electric touch of drow-flesh. Lura's hands danced to her hips, and suddenly the moon elf was yanked forward, soft violet lips mashing against her own mouth, a warm, delicious tongue beckoning entrance. Miria's soft moan was muffled by Lura, elicited by the drow's hands slipping around to the low of her back, then lower to the swell of her shapely bottom, not quite as hard as it had been in her fighting days.

Lura also moaned, a grin fighting her pursed, tongue-parted lips as the soft flesh was pressed beneath her fingers like so much soft bread, wrapped in white silk. She felt Miria's hands slide from her cheeks, down her neck and under her hair. They slid to the bunched up straps of her gown and slowly pushed them toward her shoulders until they simply fell off. The scarlet garment dropped a bit until the cloth caught on Lura's bent arms. Her breasts, the upper portions of them at least, were exposed, and Miria found herself breaking their kiss that she may gaze upon the supple, soft orbs. Dark areolas peeked out from under the gown, hiding suddenly hardened nipples from Miria's sight, though they tented the fabric fiercely.

"Lura..." the moon elf said breathlessly.

"I am yours, Miria," the drow responded, a smile growing on her face. She backed away two small paces, her hands falling by her side. The gown fell into a pool around her feet, baring her naked drow body. Her breasts were everything Miria remembered: well over an elven handful, supple and round, and capped with turgid, dark nipples that simply demanded suckling. Her eyes traversed downward, over her trim waist to the flare of her hips. A neat little tuft of pristine white hair was nestled just above her sex in a narrow strip, and Miria felt her eyes stick to that feature, along with the swell of her sex, hidden between her closed thighs.

Suddenly, gentle fingers were on her chin, lifting her face to look deep into swirling pools of garnet and gold. Black fingertips slid down her throat, a painted nail dragging over the hollow of her throat as it descended lower. Her skin quivered and her body quaked, but her eyes remain enraptured by Lura's swirling orbs. Lura slid her three middle fingers down Miria's chest, down into her cleavage. She felt the cleavage of the lithe elf's breasts against her fingers' lengths even as she hooked the garment in her fingers. Before Miria knew it, her gown was slipping down her body, exposing her pale, thin frame to the warm, fragrant air of Lura's room. Her breasts, high and noble, were capped with pink, hard nipples that stood out impudently from the soft swells. Though she was softer than last she had been with Lura, she retained the sleek, elven physique, svelte and demure. 

Lura's hands slid around to her back, the larger drow breasts pressing against Miria's as their warmth mingled. That sensation, the touching of bodies and the clash of heat and desire, ignited both their passions. They kissed with heated desire, tongues slashing at each other as their eager hands roamed soft, tapered backs. It was Lura, though, he took the initiative. She put her hands on Miria's shoulders and pushed her back, not roughly, but insistently, until the moon elf was against the door. She pushed on her forehead, holding her head back even as her face moved to the pale, vulnerable neck. Miria's throat leapt and flexed as Lura's lips and tongue danced over it. Lura drug her fingernails up Miria's pale thigh, nearing the clean-shaven mound of sex atop it, and grinned as the elf's throat hummed with a coarse moan when her fingers pressed into that mound.

The drow pulled away from Miria's neck, leaving the elf gasping as she stared back. Lura worked her fingers along the elf's slit, and Miria found her thighs parting in eager response. Slowly kneeling, Lura's lips dance over the soft breast-flesh and latch onto the turgid, pink nipples. She closes her eyes, suckling gently on them as her fingers slid slowly over the elf's soft slit, spreading the nectar around her mound before pushing back, toward her canal, and then into it.

"Oh...Lura!"

*****

Alluva's throat rumbled but the only sound that escaped her mouth as soft, wet noise. Buried in the generous globes of her bottom, Varla's face shifted back and forth, her tongue dutifully lapping and poking at her puckered, pliable anus. The lithe, sultry woman moaned into the pristine hole, throwing herself into the desirable task of rimming the mature woman with gusto. Varla pushed her tongue hard into the hole, spreading it apart around her tongue as she slithered it as deep as possible, even going so far as to push her saliva into the quivering hole.

Her hands were, regrettably, occupied kneading the supple globes of Alluva's ass, squeezing and massaging the soft mounds of flesh while her tongue did its work. The musk of Alluva's sopping cunt, lathered in her own nectar and Varla's saliva, called to her, begged her to dive face first into it and suck every drop of her juice down. Alluva's asshole suddenly clenched on her tongue, and the woman shivered in an anally induced orgasm. Varla grinned at the luxuriant taste of the woman's anus.

As for the sorceress, she had her hands full with Hammer. Hands, and mouth, that is, as her face thrust forward quickly, cheeks bulging slightly as the barbarians heroic manhood pushed against the back of her throat. One of her hands held onto his hip for stability, but the other gripped his virile sack firmly, squeezing subtly on the heavy orbs as she slid her lips, tongue, and whole mouth all along his shaft, inhaling the meat to the barrier of his throat or sliding her lips and tongue along its flanks, alternating.

Her eyes, glinting and half-lidded, gazed up at the square-jawed face looking down at her. His hand, thick and strong, was buried in her luxuriant, thick hair, guiding her head back and forth despite the fact that she had his cock well in hand. Sweat glistened over his body, and he knew that his sack, swollen with virile, barbarian seed, was ready to burst. So he pulled out of her mouth, holding her eager face back with one hand, and let his orgasm surge through his shaft, coating her face with his pristine pearly semen. It splattered into her hair, her forehead, over her cheeks, and on her lips, which she licked eagerly, a grin on her face.

"It seems I've not lost my touch to make a mighty man like yourself burst so quickly," she said, her voice low and husky as Varla continued eating her anus. But then she stopped, standing to show off her slender, seductive body. Alluva looked over her shoulder at the woman's knowing smile. 

"First barbarian?" she asked, and Alluva only arched her brow. That is, until mighty Hammer lifted her in his arms and turned her about, placing her on her hands and knees before him, ass propped up before him. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking over her shoulder again, this time to look up at Hammer's grinning face, then down to his throbbing, stubborn manhood. It was wet with saliva, and she watched as the glistening head slipped between the cheeks of her ass. His fat cockhead pushed against her anus, and her eyes rolled back into her head, laughing with glee as she felt her rectum parted and filled with generous man-meat.

Varla grinned, brushing some of her hair out of her face as she knelt in front of Alluva. Her hands clasped the woman's face and she branded her lips with a searing kiss before twisting herself and worming her way underneath the large-breasted woman. Before Alluva knew what was happening to her, Varla was sucking and lapping at her pussy while Hammer thrust deeper and deeper into her pliant anus, stretching her inner anal walls with his massive prick. She grunted and moaned aloud, but Hammer put his hand on the back of her head and pushed it down into Varla's waiting snatch. Without hesitation, the sorceress put her mouth to work returning the favor the young woman was giving her, even going so far as to finger her anus and pussy while simultaneously sucking the girl's clitoris.

The older woman's body veritably thrummed around his thick, meaty prick. Hammer positioned himself for a long haul, his hips just above hers, his cock angled down into her anus slightly as he plowed deeper with each thrust until he was fully hilted each time he burrowed into her. He assumed a steady, forceful rhythm, her plump rear jiggling against his hips with each thrust even as her moaning jolted. He could feel Varla's face against his pendulous sack repeatedly, and even felt her tongue lapping at his greased shaft and sack at times.

And Varla couldn't have been happier. The dragon slayer's cunt was gushing fluids over her face; she even thought that the woman had cum a few times, squirting such an amount of fluid onto her face that she had to take a breath and swallow deeply before continuing her oral assault. The smooth, thin-haired sack swinging just above her forehead, slapping noisily into Alluva's mound, was too tempting a target also. She broke from the sopping cunt to savor the salty flesh of Hammer's manhood and Alluva's rectum on his shaft as he withdrew.

*****

Neither Lidia nor Cyra were for subtlety. Many of the gathered guests had left the banquet room, but those that remained were enjoying themselves thoroughly. After all, a half-dragon and a tiefling were stark naked, clad only in dripping sweat and burgundy wine.

Lidia lay on her back on the table, random bits of food and empty dishes under her body and her full-spread wings. Her legs were splayed wide apart, her hands mauling at her own heavy breasts. Cyra stood at the edge of the table, a magically conjured prosthetic firmly rooted in her own cunny to provide leverage as the tiefling pounded fiercely into the half-dragon's cunt. Her breasts heaved and bounced as her body rammed into Lady Drake's body.

"Gods, you're an animal," Lidia grunted, her long nails digging into the soft flesh of her breasts. The molded around her fingers, her hard nipples bulging outward as they bulged. Her leathery wings fluttered, knocking dishes to the ground. Fire crossed over Cyra's brow again, her petite horns flickering as well. Lidia watched in fascination as they began to grow, fire dancing over the bony protuberances and forming a burning halo above them as the curled back along her scalp, then up slightly. Her pupils dilated to consume her irises and, finally, the whites of her eyes. The tiefling leaned down. Lidia's legs pulled up, heels digging into a burnished red ass. Her pale skin clashed with Cyra's reddish skin.

There were murmurs around the room, but Cyra nor Lidia heard them. The half-dragon was lost in Cyra's gaze, her eyes swimming in the black expanse of Cyra's. Flames danced from Cyra's hands, igniting the table under Lidia, then dying away just as quickly. Fire flared at Cyra's crown, in her eyes. Fire dripped like sweat from her pores. It fell on Lidia's pale skin. She howled, but embraced the burn. Her hands gripped Cyra's back, her fingers digging deep into the tiefling's toned back. Lidia's eyes opened wide, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in Cyra's scent.

"Who is your father," she asked as her vagina received such a brutal pounding that she wasn't certain she would be bruised from within. Cyra ignored her, grunting in a voice that was at once deep and ancient, undertoning her normal, sultry voice. Lidia grasped her by her horns, ignoring the burn from her crown of flame, and yanked her down, eliciting a growl and moan from Cyra.

"Who is your father!"

Fire ignited along Cyra's back, dancing intricate weaves. Her tail thickened and pulsed, curling upward as fire caressed the appendage. Her breasts ground into Lidia's. Her mouth was a snarl, fire flickering behind her pearly teeth, seeming sharper now than before.

"Who is your father, Cyra!"

"Vulcanustus!" she roared, and fire blazed bright both within her breast and along her back. The proclamation brought with it a momentous orgasm, her cunny pouring a deluge of molten hot nectar down her thighs. Her release evoked a psychic emanation that filled the room, expanding outward from Cyra's burning person. It hit Lidia the hardest, her wings tensing and flapping violently against the table and the coupled pair as her entire body racked in orgasms. She spurted creamy fluid all over Cyra's stomach and thighs, mingling and steaming with Cyra's much hotter discharge. Around the room, serving girls and boys, as well as Benefast and Donnara experienced their own sexual release, though diminished from Cyra and Lidia's.

When all was done, the fire shrouding Cyra was gone, but her horns and her eyes remained the same, save for the oblong, vertical pupils, a smoldering orange shade now. "Wh-what was that?" she asked, and despite her appearance, her voice was its normal sultry timbre.

"You are not a tiefling," Lidia said, stroking her feet up the woman's back, her arms wrapping around her lovingly. "You are half dragon. Your father is a young red. And we are sisters."

*****

"Come now, big Hammer," Alluva said, curled up against Varla's back. The younger woman was stroking his cock rapidly, licking her lips as her hand ground into his slick cockflesh. He was grinning down at both women, eyeing their breasts: Alluva's large mounds were pressed firmly into Varla's back, the orbs bulging out to the sides. Varla's body was more lithe, slender, her breasts more compact, though no less desirous. He manhandled them, growling in his throat as his cock pulsed in Varla's hand.

"The girl isn't doing it well enough, I see," Alluva said, smirking. Varla growled, but quivered as Alluva slithered one hand between the two women, finding the younger woman's ass crack, and digging in toward her anus, rubbing the rosebud with her middle finger. She maneuvered so that Varla was on her stomach, Alluva atop her with her breasts smashed into Varla's back. She grabbed Hammer's cock with her broad lips and open mouth. Her hand shot out at his sack and yanked him forward, filling her throat with thick, virile mancock.

Hammer took the cue, grabbing hold of the sorceress's hair, drawing out of her throat, and shoving his cock forcefully into her throat. He didn't waste time warming her up; the woman knew her way around big meat. He fucked her throat remorselessly, and her eyes, tearing up, showed her enjoyment at the abuse.

The gurgling, wet sounds coming from her mouth echoed in the empty room and Varla purred at the music. The thinner woman slithered around under the dragonslayer, twisting so that her breasts mashed against Alluva's. She nipped and licked at the woman's throat, and soon she was feeling the crown of Hammer's cock bulging the neck slightly, eliciting a grin. Then she noticed the heavy sack, lightly dusted with soft curls, bounding back and forth as he thrust powerfully into Alluva's mouth. Her saliva dripped down his shaft and onto his balls, then dripped off onto her forehead. She let out a small gasp of amusement, then moved her tongue to lash at the big man's swaying sack.

When finally the barbarian pulled his mighty meat out of the woman's throat, saliva and throat mucus coated his meat and hung in thick ropes from the meat, which drooped down onto Varla's face. She laughed in glee, licking her lips and, before she could bring Alluva's face into a kiss, Hammer's cockhead pushed past her lips. Reacting with practiced ease of throat-fucking, Varla accepted the cock into her mouth, her throat instinctively closing as the blunt head shoved against it. 

Then, she opened up for him, felt herself gag, almost wretch, before the shaft plunged in deeply, stretching her throat. She couldn't breathe, but the meat in her throat was worth the discomfort. 

"Ah, the girl can suck cock after all," she moaned, bending down to lash the girl's neck with her tongue and teeth in much the same way Varla had just done. 

The barbarian grunted, a grin on his face, then suddenly pulled his cock away from Varla's face. Before either woman could respond, he let forth a long, flowing arc of pearly white cum, splashing onto Alluva's face and dripping down onto Varla's face. The women giggled and kissed at each other as the barbarian backed away. 

"I am surprised a barbarian would expire so quickly," Alluva said, purring as she licked up a puddle of white cum from Varla's forehead. 

Rumbling laughter sounded from behind the dragonslayer, and she felt his cock—still hard—thrust forcefully into her anus. She howled, almost roaring like a she-dragon, as her anus struggled to stretch around his member.

"The Thunderborn do not flag, Lady Dragonslayer, until they are finished."

*****

Excitement and uncertainty flowing through her with unabashed vigor, Cyra left the Dreaming Dragon in a hurry, barely wrapped in a plain gray gown that did little to accentuate her athletic, voluptuous frame. She could feel her horns tingling, something that was decidedly new to her. Running through the streets, heedless of many shadowy figures following her, she made directly for the Armanov estate. Surely this new feature would snare Samon's attention from his "familial obligations."

Panting slightly when she reached his front door, she banged once, twice, thrice, then decided to make her own entrance when nobody answered the door.

So Cyra the tiefling—no, Cyra the half-dragon moved to a nearby window and used the fire that came so utterly natural to her to warp and melt the glass. She moved through, lacerating her gown and a bit of flesh in the doing, but cared not. 

She was in a room that she'd never seen before. It was dark, but that was no issue to the practiced thief and red dragon's spawn. A thought occurred to her that perhaps she should have been aware of this fact earlier in her life. Perhaps some magic or another had hidden it away from her, partitioning that particular part of her mind and genetics into the recesses of her mind where she'd never look. Shrugging, she trusted Lidia's assertion. After all, she was truly half dragon, wings and all. She should know her kind, nay?




Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 07



A crash shook her from her ruminations. The ruddy skinned woman moved toward it with practiced stealth, She could have conjured a flame on her brow, effectively a torchlight to show her footing, but decided against it. She could see well enough in the dark, and didn't want to give her appearance away to whoever may be lurking about.

There was a curse, a wet smack, and more tinkling glass. Something potent assaulted her senses, and Cyra felt her throat rumble as a sibilant growl emerged. The scent was provoking some inborn reaction. Lips curling down in a snarl, the horned woman strode more purposefully, and as she rounded a corner, something she did not expect to see appeared before her.

And rage enveloped her wholly. Splayed out on a table, an unconscious, drooling, and incised dragonling lay, a fat, apron-wearing man shuffling about with vials filled with viscous liquid. 

The scales of the dragon were dull and red, and the beast's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. She could almost sense the dragon's consciousness become aware of her, and either it recognized her as one of its own come to rescue it, or it simply could not react. Regardless, the butcher could not react quickly enough as Cyra lurched forward, her lean, supple body propelling her through the air with preternatural alacrity. Fingernails shifted into claws and tore open three jagged rents in the fat man's torso. She was atop him, bearing him to the floor with a solid thud, glaring down at him.

Fire danced along her brow, her horns gleaming with draconic magnificence as the swept back along her skull. Platinum hair wreathed her face like white-hot fire around a black coal.

"What are you doing," she hissed, her voice as much growl as whisper.

"Lord Armanov—"

"Speak not his name!" she rasped, backhanding him. Blood trickled from his face. "Answer me, now."

"I-I-I am j-just withdrawing the beast's pheromones to make lustvenom!" he said as quickly as his stuttering voice would allow. Cyra's eyes narrowed, and she sniffed. There were herbs, yes, but she detected no—yes! There they were, the dragonling's scent riding the pungent crushed herbs. How could she have missed it before? Her draconic senses were awakening, and arousal swept over her all at once as she considered the magnificent creature this little one would become. 

This little one, without a broodmother, without a sire to raise it...

Maternal instincts she never knew she harbored crushed any arousal or sorrow she might have been feeling for the little one. She turned her gaze over the alchemist again, golden eyes burning with rage. Her hands gripped his skull, fingernails digging into the bone beneath his scalp, and began to pull apart. 

His face split apart, and she vomited fire into his opened cranium.

***

Miria was lost in Lura's presence. The Chosen of Sune was riding her as if they had been lovers for centuries, knowing her every curve and pleasure nexus, touching each one with skilled grace, as if the Goddess herself was mounting her. The thought brought a twinge of jealousy into her mind, though not as strongly as she had felt in the past. Sune had chosen Lura, not herself, and Miria was starting to accept that. 

Lura's lips met her own, searing whatever jealousy remained away in a torrent of hot, steaming love. Sune had chosen rightly, Miria decided, and wrapped her arms around the drow's neck, holding her tight in the kiss as climax took them both. 

Shivering and shuddering as their final orgasms crept away, Miria was content to simply lay there and bask in Lura's warmth, Sune's presence.

But golden light flared around Lura, and the drow smiled down at the elf. There was a bit of sorrow in her eyes, but more than a little love and acceptance. The golden light was searing hot, pulling sweat from their pores instantly, and radiated divine majesty. 

Of a sudden, the light fled Lura and rushed into Miria, suffusing her every pore, beaming out of her eyes, mouth, and throat. Her heart blossomed with light, gleaming even through muscle, bone, and flesh. Divinity flowed into Miria like cold water from afresh winter spring. It cooled her body, exhilarated her, set her skin aflame, and then, without warning, it vanished.

She realized that Lura was on her side, beside Miria, panting and weeping softly. Resting an alabaster hand on the drow's black shoulder, she pulled her sister toward her, wrapping her arms around the more voluptuous elf. Pressing herself against Lura's back, Miria whispered in Elven soothing words. Her lips brushed the sensitive point of Lura's elegant ear. 

The drow twisted in her embrace, turning to face Miria. 

"What Sune gave to me wholly, I now share with you," she said in High Drow, and Miria was surprised that she understood it this time. The harsh consonants mixed with her elegant, melodious voice, were counter to each other, yet came together in a music she couldn't help but smile at. Then the levity of what Lura confessed struck her. "Her divinity, or a shard of it, I share with you now. Welcome back, my dear Sister."

"Wh-why?" Miria asked, eyes welling up of a sudden. 

"She commanded it, of course. Her reasons are her own. She always favored you, Miria, it just took this long for you to see it. For a drow, a goddess's favor is easy to discern. We've dealt with Lolth's fickle favors for so long that the favors of one such as Sune are easy to read."

Miria pulled the drow tight, relishing in the woman's fuller figure and her sensual warmth. "I suppose you're right. I'm just...surprised."

"The gods are an interesting lot," Lura said. Miria noticed for the first time that the gold was missing in her eyes. They shone like twinkling garnets, lit from behind by some unknown source. She kissed the elf then, her dark lips splashing against Miria's pinkish lips. The elf's black hair fell over her cheek, rustled by a breeze blowing into Lura's apartment. The drow ran her long, dexterous finger over the fibers, and Miria could smell her sex on them.

"Our friends are downstairs," she murmured, nuzzling her lips and face into Lura's lean neck, nipping at her throat.

"We should attend them," Lura said, giggling and blushing a little. She'd entirely forgotten about the dinner party in the midst of her goddess's rapturous voice commanding her to share her shard of divinity.

The two elves pried themselves away from each other, Lura casting a minor magic she'd learned young in Menzoberranzan to cleanse them, at least superficially, and both clothed themselves as they had been beforehand. When they returned to the dining room, only Lidia Lovedrake remained, naked and munching on bits of meat. Her wings were speckled with random bits of food, her hair a mess, and her body gleaming in a sheen of sweat, liquor, and liquids they couldn't quite discern. 

"Well, glad to see my pet had fun tonight too," Lidia said, reclining and crossing her thighs in a mannish manner. Her sex was gleaming within its folds. "There's something you two should know about the 'tiefling' in your company."

*****

Calafein led his fellows through the shadows of Everlund without a sound. The black-sheathed warriors moved like living wraiths, sometimes melding perfectly with shadow, sometimes using moonlight to travel several yards all at once. The Dark Maiden herself may not live anymore, but her gifts to her faithful still persist, and Calafein used them to his advantage as they followed the red-skinned woman from the Dreaming Dragon to the large manor on the other side of the city. 

His brothers and sisters were throughout Everlund, watching its seedy underbelly for signs of corruption that Lura had detailed. He had no doubt they would weed out whatever was corrupting Everlund from the inside, and dispose of it quickly. The drow were deadly efficiency incarnate.

Watching the horned woman melt glass, he knew he was dealing with something more than human, likely more than tiefling the way fire seemed to respond to her every touch. But Calafein didn't get this far in life by making assumptions. Hands working in the intricate drow sign language, he turned to his lieutenant. 

Report to Celise, he said with his hands. Tell her I am following the red-skinned woman into this manor.

The drow nodded, saluted, and led the handful of warriors back to the Dreaming Dragon, where Celise awaited in a veil of illusion behind the tavern. Calafein crept forward stealthily, hands near his hilts as he slid through the melted window. He noticed the bits of skin and fabric on the edges and shook his head as he moved through without a scratch. Amatures. 

The snarl and crashing glass had him immediately alert. He drew his swords, both blades of blackened adamantite with swept hilts, perfectly balanced and edged for brutal effectiveness. He slid around the corner soundlessly, and peered into the room just in time to see a fat man's face tear apart, skull to throat, and searing orange flame melt the meat into burnt gore. 

The drow noticed the young dragon hatchling on the table, pinned and sliced, but still alive, and felt anger himself at the cruelty. Even though it was a dragon that would one day grow into a violent, evil beast bent on destruction or manipulation of mortals, such treatment was unwholesome to his sensibilities, though he'd certainly seen worse in the Underdark.

"Be silent, lest your enemies hear you," he whispered harshly. The woman turned her head, neck twisting in an almost serpentine fashion, and her tail flicked to the side. She turned to face him, snarling, fire wreathing her forehead and gleaming black horns. Teeth sharpened before his eyes, and golden eyes flared to life. Assuming she was lost in a rage, he brought his blades up defensively and fell into a crouch. The close quarters favored her unarmed attacks, he figured, but he had centuries of training in Underdark caverns. 

So she came on, hissing and baring claws at the ends of her fingers. She lashed at him with her hands, attempting to rend his armor, but he was too fast and too agile for that. "Lura would hate for me to kill you, I think," he said, preparing to lash at her with steel.

But she stopped suddenly. "Lura?" she asked. "How do you know her?"

"She brought us here."

Confusion knit the woman's brow, then she smirked. "Ah, yes, her drow army," she said, the fire dissipating and her claws retracting into black-lacquered fingernails. "I am Cyra, Lura's comrade. Come, drow. It seems my lover has found himself a bit of trouble in his own manor. I imagine he is in quite a predicament."

Calafein stared hard at her. "I am Calafein. The master of this house is not unaware of the goings on, Lady Cyra. Look around. If your lover has his hand in this madness, then it is feasible that he is the root of the evil corrupting Everlund and poisoning its people."

The horned woman scowled dangerously. "Ware your words, drow. Samon would do nothing of the sort. Help me."

She turned away from Calafein, who's face was contorted in disbelief. Naïve fool, he thought to himself as the woman went to the unconscious whelp. She hefted it and spoke sibilant, cooing words in its ear as she held it close, its muzzle against her shoulder.

"What are you?" he asked.

"Apparently," she hissed, "the daughter of a red dragon. Though I've always thought I was a tiefling. It took another half-dragon to detect my heritage. I—"

She stopped mid-sentence as Calafein put a hand on her shoulder. Blue lines coursed through his flesh, his spellscar activating as he thrust his awareness into her very genetics. He pulled away, gasping, coughing. "You are spellscarred," he said. "Dragons are inherently magical creatures, ancient and powerful. The Spellplague suppressed your draconic heritage. Your scales do not show, your wings will not sprout. Only horns and a tail mark you as something other than human, and your skin is red simply because you have no scales. Perhaps your scar is weakening, allowing more of your heritage to blossom, but I doubt it will do anymore than it has already. Breath of fire, draconic senses, affinity to flames...but no scales, and nothing more than temporary transformation in any other regard."

"The whelp senses my heritage, though," she said, holding the beast against her as Calafein revealed her curse and her heritage further. 

"Aye, your heritage can never be suppressed. Only its physical attributes. The Spellplague drove dragons into madness, but it seems their half-breed spawn were affected differently."

"But Lidia—"

"Was likely conceived and born after the Spellplague."

The finality in his voice drove home the sad truth. Her elation at discovering her true heritage, her father Vulcanastus and the inherent gifts she possessed, was tempered by the realization that she could never display her heritage openly. But Cyra was ever a pragmatic woman. That emotion was crushed as she looked around the alchemical laboratory.

"Have you a healing draught?" she asked, pointing at the drow's belt and the pouch hanging from it. He pulled it out and handed it to her. She poured the silvery liquid into the whelp's muzzle, and it began to stir in her arms. Puffs of flame and smoke gusted from its maw and it writhed in her arms. She released it and it plopped to the ground, feet first, and began to sniff around, sniffing up her leg, then glancing at the drow inquisitively. "Come," she said to the whelp, "we have revenge to exact on your treatment."

Her voice was cold and even, fingernails extending into claws again, and the dragonling rasped in excitement as she and Calafein moved through the manor, moving into the lower passages that Cyra knew existed but never visited.

*****

Korina had cinched her waist tight and strapped her tall boots on many hours ago. But when the silent alarms began assaulting her awareness, she'd been glad for it. Samon was with her, strapping on a leather hauberk and belting a rapier to his hip. His cock was still swollen in his pants, thanks to her ministrations and the lustvenom. 

The brew was waning quickly, though, as his anger overwhelmed his lusts. Pushing past the cleric, he brandished his rapier and shouted orders to the shadowy rogues in his employ. He was surprised at how few of them there were. 

"Where are the rest of you," he snapped. A bald man stepped forward, his head sweaty. 

"Drow," he gasped, short of breath. "We've been rushing back as quick as we can. They're offing us one by one, group by group! They're invading the damned city!"

Samon cursed. "Lura," he snarled. He stormed through the expansive basement and to the stairs up, where he met an entirely unexpected sight. "Cyra!"

"Bastard," she rasped, tears flowing in steaming rivulets down her cheeks. She lunged down the stairs, a drow swordsman and a dragon whelp lurching after her. Without questioning his lover—former lover—he snapped orders at his men, falling back to where Korina stood, her whip out and an eager grin on her face. 

Then Cyra breathed fire, incinerating half his men in one fell moment.

The drow swooped in behind the wake of smoldering corpses, finishing off the rest with quick, sure strikes of his blades.

*****

"You shouldn't be so surprised," Calafein snapped at the man before him. "The drow are an efficient killing machine, much greater than this rabble." He spat on a smoking corpse. "I confess, you've made quite the work out of this town, but we've come to relieve you of your burden. My Mistress will be pleased at the underworld you've created. The drow will flourish here."

Samon sputtered, and the woman next to him snarled. "You lie. There are no drow in this area and never have been!"

"Your life is a vapor to me," the drow said, sounding bored with the woman. "A human's years are insignificant. The drow have operated in this area for centuries, beneath your notice. It is a wonder you have survived this long. Now I give you an option. Leave, or die."

Samon, having apparently mustered his testicular fortitude, proclaimed, "You are but one drow and one tiefling. I have Korina and the goddess Loviatar with me."

Cyra snarled, fire leaping across her brow, between her breasts, along her arms and between her horns in a flaming crown. "I am no mere tiefling, human insect," she snarled. "I have the blood of dragons in my veins."

Samon made a rude sound in dismissal at such a proclamation, then Cyra roared an ear-splitting sound that didn't bother the drow at all. He merely smirked, and even laughed as the dragonling gave a higher pitched mimicry of a roar in response. 

But then, to their surprise, the little dragon hatchling pounced on Samon, fire spewing from its snout to melt half his face, talons shredding his fine clothes and flesh, and biting down on his throat. Samon screamed, trying to bash the beast with his rapier, but his throat was torn apart in short order. Korina screamed and charged, but Cyra, her wrath demanding she witness Samon the Betrayer's demise, didn't even budge. Blind by fury, the priestess lashed her whip repeatedly.

But Calafein had fought priestesses more skilled with a fanged whip than this bitch of a woman. He sliced his blades through the leather whip with ease, stalking forward until his twin swords impaled the woman, through each breast. He admired the symmetry and skill of his handiwork, smirking as she slid off his steel, her breasts wobbling and spurting blood.

He turned to Cyra, and the blood-soaked whelp returned to its surrogate mother. She knelt, and the beast crawled up her strong arm to perch across her shoulders, resting its head atop hers, gnawing on her horns painlessly. She smiled, stroked its tail as it curled down between her breasts, and nodded to Calafein. The drow turned to leave, but Cyra wasn't quite ready.

She took him by the arm, her grip like a vice, and pulled him into a deep, incredibly warm kiss, her tongue nearly burning the tastebuds off his tongue. The whelp snarled a little, then hopped off, flapping wings to arrest its descent. It busied itself with eating the priestess Korina while Cyra wrapped her thighs around Calafein's powerful hips, bearing him down to the ground as the drow surrendered to her.

*****

"Where in the Nine Hells is Cyra," Mikhail snapped. By the time he'd returned, Lidia and Lura were trading stories, Miria was laughing along and looking far more regal and powerful than ever before, and Hammer sat beside the drow, with Varla and Alluva. Ambrusia milled about, nibbling and regretting all the fun she'd missed.

"She is with Calafein," said a new voice. Another drow, flanked by males and females of her race, entered the tavern from the rear. They were garbed in silvery robes or silver-trimmed armor each, and all wore a scimitar or likewise curved blade at their hips, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in the form of daggers. The speaker had the youthful complexion and softness that all mortals seemed to posess, and Mikhail realized she was likely even younger than he was. "My soldiers have reported as much, and my mental link with my Champion has told me as—ahh, oh yes. They are going to be a while yet."

She seemed to blush a little, her skin a very deep shade of gray rather than absolute black tinting at the cheeks. Lura snickered a little to herself. "If I know Cyra, I imagine they will be."

Celise smiled, and Lura stood. "My friends, this is Celise, former High Priestess of Eilistraee. Her company has agreed to help us rid Everlund of the corruption beneath it before it grew out of hand." Her eyes went to Varla, then to Hammer. The young woman smiled meekly, and Hammer nodded gravely. Both understood the need, and while Hammer's enthusiasm didn't surprise her, she figured Varla was more concerned with her hand in all this. After all, if it weren't for her, they would never have discovered it—at least, not quite as soon.




Sex and the Spellplague



He did not hesitate. She felt his climax in the form of hot jets, plastering her inner walls and coating her pussy in oh-so-sweet cum. That sensation sent her body over the edge. All her muscles contracted as she clenched around his cock. Her arms squeezed him tight against her, her legs holding his hips firmly against her, and her tail cutting off the circulation to his foot. They both grunted and groaned repeatedly until her body relaxed, and they both lay there, panting, sated for the time being.

Cyra opened her eyes, holding Samon's head against her neck, and saw that their ruckus had drawn a small audience. A few men, refugees by the looks of them, had wide eyes and grins on their faces. The tiefling winked and they both stood, gathering themselves and nodding at the refugees as they began to make their way back to Samon's estate in Everlund.

*****

Iliara had never been much of a magic user, nor was she particularly close to any deities. The ravages of the Spellplague did little to inhibit her prowess as an assassin. In fact, she found that the shadows seemed a bit more welcoming to her now. She could not attribute it to anything in particular, but she often felt as if the darkness called to her at times and, if she could focus hard enough, she was certain she could slip into the Plane of Shadow, or the Shadowfell as it was now called.

But shadow was something she was trying to leave behind, not make a relationship with. Granted, she was not opposed to using it as a tool, but a part of her was very wary about Shadow becoming a sentient thing in her mind. Lura assured her that such things were highly unlikely, but Iliara felt differently. She had been a creature of darkness, an assassin of profound skill, and knew that Shadow was a fickle mistress. More than once she had been betrayed by what seemed like perfect cover, even when similar situations had hidden her perfectly to land a killing blow. 

She shook her head, dismissing the troubling thoughts. Beneath the Dreaming Dragon, a temple to Sune had been created. Smokeless, magical torches kept the chamber well lit at all times, but the dancing shadows created by these fixtures seemed to taunt Iliara. She faced an altar holding a statue of Sune aloft, standing on its toes with long arms down by its sides, palms facing Iliara. Incense burned in censers at either side of the statue, filling the chamber with a heady aroma. Iliara closed her eyes, her fingers clutching at the pale red robe draped over her shoulders. Unlike Lura's, hers was far from magical, and only served to cover her athletic curves and petite breasts. 

It was, however, sheer and did little to hide her erect, dark brown nipples that tented the fabric. Such a thing was not uncommon, even upstairs in the common room of the Dreaming Dragon. Iliara opened her eyes and saw women and men alike walking around, tending to different things in the temple. Other statues, figures of men and women in the throes of passion, were tended to by a man and woman, naked save for a sash around their waist that covered their genitals only when positioned properly. Flowers that somehow thrived in the artificial light were being watered by a petite, flat-chested half-elf. Iliara's eyes flashed with desire, but a flickering shadow caught her attention. She swore she saw red eyes glaring at her, but when she looked straight on, they were not there. 

Suddenly, the walls seemed to be closing in on her, and even the statue of Sune seemed to loom over her, glaring down at her despite its whimsical countenance. But Iliara was not the type to be overcome by psychosis. She steeled her will, gritting her teeth and digging her fingernails into her palms, using the pain to focus her mind and her will. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, all was as it should be, save for the sheen of perspiration on her forehead.

"My dear, you're bleeding," a woman said to her. Iliara's head snapped down and saw that her palms were bleeding from where her fingernails had dug in a bit too deeply. The gold elf stood quickly, not bothering to respond to the woman as she left the temple. She went to the bar, not bothering to change back into her customary leather pants and loose white blouse. 

Benefast greeted her with a warm smile, despite the troubled look on her face. Without asking, he poured her a glass of mushroom wine, fresh from the Underdark at Lura's request. Iliara downed the bitter liquid without hesitation, closing her eyes as her esophagus burnt. Then, the elf sighed and smiled. "You always know how to treat a woman in need," she said to Benefast.

"I do what I can, my dear," Benefast said. "Perhaps I can be of more service to you in my office?"

Iliara smirked at him. "Don't you wish, halfling," she said wryly. "You know my tastes. I've sworn off men for the time being. Give me a delicious snatch and I'll be fine."

"Is that so?" a familiar voice said. Varla wrapped her arms around Iliara's narrow waist and buried her face in her mane of golden hair. Iliara sighed aloud, feeling her body relax immediately at the former noblelady's touch. She turned in her chair, leaving Benefast to simply watch as she grasped Varla's fine-featured face. Her fingers traced the firm, narrow jaw-line as they locked lips. Iliara eagerly spread her legs, pulling the woman into her. Varla's breasts were a solid handful for Iliara's elven hands, and she seized them as soon as the kiss broke. Varla flipped her hair to the side, the freshly dyed cascade of dark red waves falling halfway down her back. 

"You are a visage," Iliara said. "Take me to your room and ravish me."

"What's this? The noble Lady conquering the brutal assassin? A nice role change," she purred. Varla, being human, was almost a full head taller than Iliara, but had more than willingly accepted the role of submissive lover in their nearly regular sessions. Now, though, Iliara clearly needed to be taken care of, and she was more than up to the task.

"Just take me to bed and fuck me," Iliara growled in the human's ear, just before she savagely bit the lobe. Varla quivered, felt her loins moisten instantly and her knees go weak. But she seized Iliara by the wrist and pulled her from the bar, to the stairs, to her own private room in the expansive tavern. 

The two lovers weren't even through the door to Varla's room before Iliara's robe was on the floor and her naked body was pressed roughly against rough wood. Varla wasted no time: she seized the elf by the throat, pressing her firmly into the wall and kissing her savagely while her other hand clamped firmly on the gold elf's damp slit. Iliara's moan sounded like a pathetic gasp through an all but closed airway. Varla grinned, bringing her damp fingers to the gold elf's lips and tracing the nectar along them. When the elf tried to taste Varla's fingers, she promptly pulled them away just before smacking her lightly on the cheek. Iliara grinned.

Then, when they heard a door opening down the hall, Varla opened her door, kicked the robe in, and then thrust Iliara into her apartment. Varla turned to lock her door, then whirled around, seeing Iliara standing in the middle of her living area, hand thrust firmly between her thighs, and tying her hair up into a bun. Varla walked very slowly toward Iliara, slowly unbuttoning her tight, dark blouse before letting it fall to the floor, revealing her perfectly rounded breasts to the hungry elf. Her hand shot out, seizing Iliara by the throat once more and spinning her around. 

Iliara continued frigging herself, but only because Varla had other desires. She pinched one of Iliara's hard nipples violently, twisting and jerking it out, making the elven assassin grunt in pain despite her clenched throat. Varla smacked the breast hard, bringing an angry red color to the golden skin. Then her hand moved to the next breast, applying similar treatment, just before she spun the assassin to face her again. "On your knees," Varla commanded. Iliara immediately complied, never removing her hand from her sodden cunt. 

The human untied her knee-length skirt and tossed it to the floor. Her plump sex was bared before Iliara, and the hungry elf could barely restrain herself from burying her face into the neatly trimmed thatch of golden hair. Varla put her bare foot on Iliara's shoulder and pushed her back against the cushioned footstool behind her. She was in an awkward, almost painful position, but it aroused her greatly submitting to this woman. Varla turned away from Iliara, and bent over so that she could view the elf from between her legs. She slowly stepped backward, her puckered anus and dripping pussy coming closer and closer to the waiting elf until, finally, both orifices were pressed against Iliara's face. Varla sat, her cunt firmly on Iliara's mouth while her asshole pressed against the elf's nose.

She didn't bother touching the elf. In her mind, the assassin hadn't earned her touch yet. First, she'd have to dine on her snatch and asshole. She felt the deft tongue cleaving her pussy's lips apart and dancing admirably up and down her slit. From clitoris to canal, Iliara's tongue spared no inch of her pussy, even going so far as to dive deeply into her sodden cunny. Varla resisted the pleasure at first, but Iliara had always been so damned skilled with her tongue that her climax was soon to come. But Iliara was a deceptive bitch.

The elf could sense Varla's coming orgasm and pulled her tongue away from the soaked pussy. Varla almost stood to smack the elf until she felt that same traitor tongue pressing hard against her asshole. A cry escaped Varla's throat and resonated in the living room. She grabbed hard at her knees and nearly doubled over in pleasure. She was panting desperately when Iliara managed to pry her asshole open and jam her tongue into that oh so tight hole. Desperate moans and grunts erupted from the human's mouth of their own accord, her body seized by pleasure. Then, without warning, Iliara's tongue slipped out of her ass and licked all the way to her clit, where she sucked painfully hard.

And that spelled Varla's end. Her pussy clenched on empty space, squeezing possibly harder than ever before and squirting a small amount of her nectar onto Iliara's face. She fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath as Iliara's relentless mouth followed her sex, still suckling hard on her clitoris. "Stop," Varla barely managed to breathe. As if magically compelled, Iliara abruptly released her clit and leaned back against the footstool. Varla crawled away and sat on the floor, staring at the elf in disbelief. Iliara sat, staring back innocently, idly rubbing her slit. Varla saw the puddle of elven nectar on the floor and crawled over, licking it up and savoring the floral taste and scent Iliara left behind. The woman stood slowly and walked to her bedroom.

Iliara watched the human woman walk away, admiring the sway and bounce of her ass. She was curious, but wasn't about to get up and see where her mistress for the night had gone or what she was up to. Her patience was rewarded quickly enough.

Varla emerged from her bed chamber, thin straps of leather wrapping around her waist and between her thighs. Sprouting from her loins was a large, thick phallus, though it was shaped more like a small hand, fingers pressed into a cone. Iliara's heart leapt into her throat. The item had at once been magical, capable of countless pleasures. Since the Spellplague had robbed most magical items of their properties, this was now simply a rubbery surrogate. But with the magical finesse removed from it, it became an object that represented brutal, blunt pleasure. Much like a mace offered simple, blunt damage; this rubbery strap-on offered the simple, pure sensation of having a woman's hand plundering her sodden canal violently. 

She needed no orders. Iliara climbed over the footstool, her chest and stomach pressed against the cushion while her forearms pressed on the floor. Varla stood behind Iliara, not bothering to spread the elf's thighs as she pressed the hand-shaped dildo against her slit, rubbing it up and down. She spat on the shaft, rubbed it around to moisten it, then unceremoniously slide the hand of the strap-on into Iliara's pussy. She watched the canal spread, distend around the rubbery shaft and slowly swallow it. The full hand entered, then to the wrist, until roughly two hand spans of the shaft was inside the elf. Iliara cried out uncontrollably, relishing in the pain of her pussy being sundered and filled so entirely. 

Varla wasted no time. She seized the elf's golden hair and jerked her head back, thrusting, slowly at first, into the elf's sodden canal. The human picked up pace, her rhythm forceful as her hips slapped against Iliara's ass. Iliara grunted with each thrust. There was nothing around her. No setting, no time, no place. Simply Varla thrusting into her, her hair being pulled and her head jerked back in the process. She felt her cunt filled repeatedly, violently. She felt her juices splashing all over her thighs as she came again and again on the rubbery hand inside her. Her world vanished and only Varla remained, sending her into the sweet oblivion of orgasmic bliss. She didn't know how much time had passed between the first time the strap-on entered her and the time she found herself on Varla's bed.

They were locked in a sweet nether kiss. Pussies' grinding together, one of Varla's legs was against her back and the other nestled between her small breasts. She was sucking on the woman's toes as their clits smashed together repeatedly. Warm wetness was all over her foot and she saw Varla treating her in a similar manner. She couldn't see past the woman to anything else in the bedroom. All she knew was the bliss radiating from between their thighs. Varla reached out, sitting up, and pulled Iliara toward her. The embraced, Varla's mounds rubbing against her skin while they kissed, her tongue delving into her mouth while their pussies made wet noises as they slid together. They came simultaneously, silently gasping, breathing each other's breaths. They stayed in this position, forcing more and more orgasmic bliss, until exhaustion claimed them and they collapsed in a pool of sweat and girlcum that soaked Varla's sheets.