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Sune's Chosen Ch. 01

By: srhammer8888



Setting takes place in Forgotten Realms, copyright Wizards of the Coast.

Silverymoon was a city that opened its gates too all. For Lura, who was a black-skinned white-haired drow, that was a good thing. On the surface, her kind was not always readily accepted. Thanks to the works of the goddess Eilistraee and a certain well known drow ranger, though, she had made her way relatively easily through the Silver Marches. The dwarves of Mithral Hall had questioned her when she approached their realm, but had let her pass, thanks much to her seductive presence.

She was a bard, but only passively. Her interests lay solely in her chosen goddess, Sune, the Lady Firehair. Her hips swayed as she sauntered past the steel-clad guards of Silverymoon's gates, her gauzy midthigh skirt fluttering frivolously in the light breeze and barely concealed her long, sensual black thighs. Her black belt was thick, holding her light rapier, and contrasted against the silvery skirt she wore. Her hips were only barely hidden as the skirt's light material was more dense, giving a façade of decency to the drow. 

Her shirt was made of a similar material as the shirt, and the material was dense around her chest, emphasizing her attempt at modesty. Her black boots were high, almost reaching her knee, with a thick heel several inches long, emphasizing her finely toned legs and voluptuous (for an elf) hips. What many realized too late were her potent abilities. Her ultra-light garments were heavily enchanted and laced with mithril, protecting her from blade and arrow alike. Her boots would give her supernatural speed when necessary, and silence when sneaking. Her rapier was as lethal as any drow weapon, though not native to the Underdark.

But Lura was a lover, not a fighter, and though she performed the latter admirably, the former was her forte, and her most lethal weapon, for the drow was not afraid to mix business with pleasure. She did, after all, have to make a living, and she was far too prideful to lower herself to prostitution. 

Thus her quick pace, which did little to easy the sway of her hips, flaring out beneath a deliciously narrowed waist, or the bounce and sway of her breasts, which were larger than any surface elf's. Her top did help with keeping them from flying about wildly as her thick-heeled boots clicked loudly on the stone road. She had seem many women with generous attributes attempt to keep their prize snugly pressed to their chests, but Lura was fond of her ample treasures, and thanked Lolth wryly for granting her race with more generous endowments than their weaker, smaller surface cousins.

Lura put her black hand, clad in an equally black velvet glove, to the holy symbol around her neck. A woman's face with full, pouty lips and closed eyes was cast in silver, with long flowing hair, painted with red pigment, hung on a strong but thin silver chain just above the cleavage her thin top presented. She was on her way back to the festhall her fellow Sunites owned with an item she had been hired to retrieve from a very greedy, and very xenophobic elven wizard. Lura grinned as she recalled the juiciest bits of her mission. 

With the Hunter's Gate and the Moonwood behind her, she went south into the Market, where the festhall awaited.

"Lady Lura!" she heard, and her violet painted lips turned down into a scowl. Her forehead crinkled as her thin, elegant white eyebrows arched down. The call repeated itself and the bard had to take a deep, calming breath before she stopped.

"Yes, Mikhail?" she said, turning on her heal. Her white hair, highlighted crimson in honor of Sune, whipped around her head as her matching crimson eyes stared down the young man.

"Lady Lura, your presence is that of Sune herself," he said, very nearly falling down to his knees and grovelling before her. Something in her drow mind realized she would have enjoyed the almost handsome young man naked and licking the soles of her feet in worship as her many-tongued whip teased his welted back...

She shook the image from her mind and focused on the boyish eyes looking at her. "Will you ever think of anything more clever to say?" she asked, her voice a little more harsh than she'd intended. He looked crestfallen, and a very un-drow-like feeling of sympathy pervaded her thoughts. "I apologize," she said grudgingly. "I am in a rush."

"I will not keep you long," he said, excited again. "I would just like to know if, maybe, perchance, you'd like to, mayhap--"

"Out with it! A woman does not like to be kept waiting," she said.

"A dancing festival!" he blurted, then bit his tongue. "There is a festival in honor of Sharess tonight just outside the city. I thought that since you were a Sunite, and Sharess serves your goddess, you might like it."

Her immediate reaction was to turn him down, to provide a perfectly reasonable (albeit, perfectly false) excuse, and going on her way. But something about this offer was different than the many, many solicitations her youthful human admirer had offered. Smiling enough to reveal her opalesque teeth, she offered her hand. "Bring me a white rose, with a black stem, and red around the edges of the petals, and I will accompany you," she said. 

"Just like you," he said. She blinked dumbfounded, not expecting him to discern the metaphor between the rose and herself. Unexpectedly, her mouth dried and her heart fluttered with an urge to kiss the boy, but quashed the urge viciously with typical drow ferocity. She simply nodded. 

"I will be in my festhall quarters," she said, pointing to the tall, long building at the apex of the Market's circle.

"I will arrive before sunset," he said, hurrying off.

Sighing with frustration, she turned again toward her festhall. Her footfall's were loud on the hard stone as she began negotiating her path through the throng of people gathering around the different stores and temporary shops set up in the Market circle. Lura recognized several of the citizens as she passed them, and they likewise recognized her, greeting her warmly. She was smug as she smiled and winked at them, having served them, men and women alike, from within the Sunite festhall. 

Lura was no prostitute or common street whore. The drow bard was very selective with her mats, and only those she felt had the fortitude to mate with a drow ever shared her bed, or one of the basement rooms with her. She was getting close to the rose-emblazoned double doors of the Dancing Rose, and the doormen, dressed in thin loincloths that did little to hide their longswords and with their torsos painted in imagery of the Lady Firehair, pulled open the doors for her. She ran her fingers over their rippling muscles in appreciation, letting her long nails drag across the skin, and entered.

Soft music and heavy incense assaulted her senses, and she immediately felt a pleasant lightheadedness sooth her. As a drow, she was resistant to such chemical effects, but she allowed a slight indulgence in the name of Sune, though she never truly let her guard down. A willowy woman approached her, sliding her hands over Lura's shoulders and down her arms, to clasp her hips and pull her tight, then pressing pink-painted lips against Lura's violet lips. The drow pulled the woman tight, cupping her bottom and grinning behind the kiss. 

"It is good you have returned, sister," Shanara said in her low, sultry voice. Only the faint scent of wine came from her lips.

"A pleasure, as always, to be greeted by such a skilled woman," Lura said, lightly patting Shanara's bottom. The woman was taller than she was by a full head, for Lura, being drow, was barely more than five feet tall, and the woman was closer to six feet. Shanara's long legs were complimented by long arms, and her breasts were not large, but sat high on her chest, and fit into Lura's small hand perfectly. Shanara let her brown hair fall over her lightly tanned shoulders, which were bare save for the thin band of cloth that held her nearly see-through dress up. Lura appreciated the sight of her dark brown aereolas and semi-firm nipples through the red-orange dress.

"Miria awaits you," Shanara said, leaning in to nip at the soft flesh of Lura's neck, just below the jaw. "As do I," she whispered huskily, her fingers gliding the lower edge of her belt, short nails scraping through the sheer cloth. Lura felt a lascivious shiver course from her sex to her spine as the human nipped at the point of her sensitive ear. 

"In due time," Lura replied in a similar fashion, squeezing Shanara's bottom, something she knew made the human woman squirm with delight.

Extricating herself from the sensual woman, Lura passed between tables stocked with patrons, even early in the afternoon. A trio of dwarves downed mugs of ale with one of her dwarven sisters, with bountiful bosoms that were fitting for the stocky race and long, thickly braided hair. Lura grinned at the rough giggle she made when one of the stocky fellows pinched her round butt. His comrades laughed heartily when she slugged him hard on the jaw. Dwarves, she thought, interesting mating rituals. I'll have to try that sometime.

Ahead of her she watched in awe (and arousal) as one of her more exotic sisters placed her foot on a chair, right atop her chosen patron's crotch. The tiefling, a product of the union between a mortal and a creature of the lower planes, had very long and very sharp stiletto heels on, and the hard sole of her black-and-red shoe pressed against the swell in the man's trousers. Her black thong underwear had slipped deep into her bottom, something made evident by the long skirt she wore which was nearly transparent. Lura appreciated the swell of the tie fling's breasts, barely contained by a black bra that contrasted to her ruddy skin. Petite, dark brown horns came from her cranium, parting the pale blonde hair that was tied tight behind her head. Her short fangs grazed her victim's cheek as she licked with a long red tongue against his jaw line.

Lura bit her lip and patted the girl on the bottom as she walked past. With lightning reflexes, the tiefling reached out and siezed her gloved hand, pulling her roughly over the chair as Lura passed, planting a searing kiss against Lura's mouth. "Welcome back, sister," she said, her voice an exotic double tone. Lura grinned lasciviously at her and turned to walk away.

"Look at me, worm!" she heard the tiefling, Cyra, shout. Lura grinned at the sound of skin smacking skin, and the man pleading for mercy. She would have made an excellent drow, she thought to herself, remembering the times she had treated a would-be lover in such a manner back in the Underdark.

Finally, she reached the bar, and leaned on the wooden construct. She admired the polished surface with engravings of roses, atop which danced several maidens, all naked or wearing a thin chain around their waists. She named them as Lliira the Joybringer, Hanali Cilanil, also known as Lady Goldheart, and Sharess the Dancing Lady. All were goddesses allied with Sune. Above them all on the bar-scape was the moon, Selûne, who Lura fancied as a former lover of her goddess. 

"What's your fancy?" asked Gundor. Lura fancied the robust man with a smile.

"Feywine," she said. She watched as the man, shirtless and wearing tan pants that were tight around his muscular thighs, turned and reached for a bottle on a high shelf. A tattoo of a hammer was on his back with lightning bolts coming from it. Lura admired the rippling muscles of the former barbarian, and almost reached out to touch his bicep when he curled a glass up to meet the bottle. He poured her a generous amount, per her previous demands. When he extended the glass to her, she giggled when his pectoral bounced involuntarily.

"Laughing at me again," he said, curling a crooked smile on his stubbly face.

"Relax, Hammer," she said, using her nickname for him. "I am only appreciating the show."

"Of course," he said. Gundor was well over six feet tall, with shoulders that could contain her width twofold. His chest was broad and lightly haired, and his stomach rippled with muscle when he turned this way and that. She knew his hands were large exploring her body, but, though he had spent decades wielding weapons for violence, they were soft, tender when needed and firm when desired.

"Some day soon I need to climb your mountain again," she said, winking at him. Lura's memory of sharing his bed was much akin to climbing a mountain, in that her small, five-foot frame was so tiny when mingled with his massive form. And, she thought with a grin, his muscles aren't the only thing so huge.

Lura took her leave from the common room, exiting a side door that only servants of Sune could pass through. She passed another sister, a brown haired woman with close-cropped hair, athletic build, and small, perky breasts. They shared a quick cheek-kiss and a smile as business overtook Lura's self-serving thoughts. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, she walked down the hall that was lined with rooms that could be readily made sound-proof, the Sunites' living rooms, then passed the Sunites' kitchen, and came to the door at the end of the hall.

Miria's two-room apartment in the Dancing Rose was the envy of all her sisters. In one room, the first room, was Miria's desk, where the Sunite Matron attended her official business. Also in the room was a rare collection of fine wines, a comfortable seating area, and burning incense, sans the intoxicating effects of the common room. 

Lura heard the magical shower running in Miria's bedroom, a place she had visited only on rare occasions. For a paladin serving the goddess of love and passion, she had not known the firm woman to take many lovers. The drow walked to the slightly ajar door that led to the elegant bedroom, she announced her presence.

"Matron Miria, I have returned," she said.

"I will be with you shortly," the paladin responded. "Please, pour a glass of wine and have a seat."

Lura did just that, and heard the shower cut off just as she sat with a fresh glass of feywine, delighting in the very subtle warmth in her stomach. The door creaked open and the drow stood quickly. Immediately her knees went weak, for Miria's presence had assaulted her sexuality.

Her skin was pale, almost grey, and her black hair was wet and clung to her skin. Droplets of water ran down her back, to the towel that covered her waist. Her breasts were small, pert, and with long, hard nipples from the cool air against her wet skin. She watched a droplet of water trail down her chest, down the middle of her right breast, to rest on her rigid nipple. It formed a droplet that dangled from the extended flesh, then fell, and she realized she had been holding her breath, watching it. Lura's gaze snapped back to the paladin's face, then, reflexively, to the pointed ear sticking out of her hair.

"You took your time returning," Miria said, her voice sharp.

"The common room causes many distractions," Lura said defensively.

"As did, I'm sure, the bedchamber of Mevin the wizard," Miria snapped back. Lura blushed imperceptibly against her obsidian skin. She had spent more time that was necessary seducing the elven wizard. And even more sharing his bed. 

"My apologies," Lura said, bowing her head. Wizards have unique skills in bed, she silently added.

"When I sent you after him for the symbol, that was all you were to do. I did not order you to mate with my brother," Miria said, sitting on her desk. Lura's breath caught. She hadn't known that the wizard was her matron's brother, though now that she looked at the paladin, she certainly saw the resemblance. 

"I did not know," Lura said, lowering her wine glass.

"Of course you did not, but his bloodline is not the issue," Miria said. "You must learn to control your carnal urges, Lura."

"The edicts of Sune--"

"The edicts of Sune apply to revelry and leisure!" Miria snapped. "Business is business, and though your greatest weapon is your femininity, I cannot have my Heartwarders running off and copulating with whomever they see fit. You had a mission, you were to complete it, then return. Had you simply come back promptly with your objective complete, I wouldn't have given a damn whether you went back to his phallic tower and mated with him for a tenday without rest."

"A tenday?" she asked, her voice taking an air of wonder and curiosity.

"Focus!" Miria shouted. "Remember this next time I send you out of the city."

"Of course, Matron," she said, bowing. When she looked up again, Miria had a long leather cane in her hand. The handle was wrapped thick, and the length was made of flexible leather. It ended in long tassels that were painted red. Lura bit her lip in anticipation and Miria grinned.

"I will be certain to burn it into your memory," the elf said. "On the desk!"

Lura obeyed immediately, removing her belt and dropping it to the floor. She leaned against he heavy wooden desk, her hands gripping the edge as she felt her breasts hang down, restrained from freedom only by her top.

Miria admired the figure of the drow. "You dark ones are so much more voluptuous than my kind," she said, her voice a bit huskier than before. She ran the tassels of the flexible rod over her back. Lura shivered at the sensation she felt through her enchanted shirt. Miria circled around behind her, the three foot rod in one hand, the drow's hip in the other hand. She pulled the dark-skinned hips against hers and thrust, causing Lura's breasts to sway a bit from the force. Lura mewled and bit her lip harder.

Miria backed away, running the long tassels over Lura's back, across her voluptuous hips, then down the backs of her thighs. The rod ascended the inside of her leg, stopping just short of the dark elf's nexus. "Stand and remove your top," Miria commanded. Lura did so, standing and arching her back, jutting her hips and breasts out as she grasped the hem of her shirt. Miria stood to the side and watched as more and more of the drow's taut abdomen was revealed, holding her breath as she watched the shirt pull her breasts up. She remembered to breath, and in doing so muttered an oath to Sune, when Lura's shirt released the generous orbs of her breasts, capped with areola and nipples that were a darker shade of violet than the drow's lips. They bounced merrily for only a moment before their weight settled them on Lura's torso. Miria had to fight back a groan of lust.

"Your skirt."

Lura bent forward, and Miria watched as the bountiful breasts hung from her chest. They were perky and taut, still firm with youth, and hung deliciously like pendulums of depraved desire. Lura's fingers hooked over the top of her skirt and pushed as she bent down and forward. The swell of the drow bottom made Miria's nexus curl and quiver, and the slow descent down the long, for such a short being, legs was seductive. "Hold!" Miria shouted.

Lura stayed as she was, her skirt at her ankles and bent over with her bottom and sex displayed lewdly for examination. She watched between her legs as Miria circled around behind her again and knelt. Lura admired the depths hidden under Miria's towel, her drow eyesight piercing the darkness to see the small tuft of black hair just above her slit and the pearlescent liquid that was starting to coat it. Her gasp was audible when she felt Miria's long nails gliding up and down her inner thighs and the backs of her thighs. 

Miria burned the image of what was before her in her mind. As she ran her nails up and down the drow's thighs, she watched in amazement and lust as the drow's deep violet flower blossomed, coated with a thin sheen of arousal. Like herself, Lura had a V-shaped tuft of silvery hair just above her slit, as if pointing the way to hidden treasure. Above the blooming sex, she watched as the black rosebud relaxed, creating a tiny gap. She stood quickly, mindless of the towel that fell to her feet.


Sune's Chosen Ch. 01



"Brace yourself on the desk again," she said.

The authoritative voice aroused Lura to no end. It reminded her of the times her superior priestesses or even her matron mother would command her to perform for them in the bedchamber, or the times she would take lesser priestesses into her own. Things of home always seemed to arouse her, despite her oft-painful memories. Suddenly, she felt the tassels of the rod make sharp contact with the soft flesh of her tight, voluptuous and muscular bottom. She stifled an outburst by biting her lip when the rod came in again, lashing against her butt.

Again and again, Miria struck the drow. Welts darker than her black skin graced the soft skin, and eventually, much to Miria's delight, Lura cried out. She had heard pain before, and this was not it. Lura was in bliss, relishing in the pain. Miria rained a blow across her black back and the drow's arms buckled. Her face hit the desk, but not hard enough to hurt her. Miria dropped the cane and grabbed her by the hair, pulling the drow up and lashing her tongue across the drow's lips.

Lura lunged for the surface elf, wrapping a leg around Miria's waist and pulling her in tight. Her hands wrapped around the smaller elf's shoulders, hands digging into wet, jet black hair. They kissed hungrily, neither much able to control themselves. Lura grinded her hips into Miria, rubbing her sex against the delicate, thin hair of Miria's sex.

Miria was the stronger of the two, though, and thrust the drow away, pushing her into a sitting position on the desk, and then pushing her back down to the wood. Miria put her fair-skinned hand on the black-skinned neck of the drow. Lura looked up with burning desire in her crimson eyes, and Mira climbed atop her, straddling her waist and turning her head to the side, revealing the vulnerable artery in Lura's neck. She bent down quickly, teeth bared, hand clenched around Lura's neck.

Lura's skin was ablaze when the elf stopped a hair's breadth from her flesh. She was ready, eager, almost hoping that Miria would bite down and break the skin of her flesh and feel her lifeblood lubricating the elf's lips. No such luck, though she was not complaining. Hot breath breathed against her skin, which was beginning to moisten with perspiration, and a delicate tongue flicked onto her skin. The drow held her breath, only short bursts of exhalation escaping her lungs. Her entire body was tense, her fingers grasping in futile attempt for a handhold on the flat surface of the wood. 

Miria released the drow neck, sliding her hand down Lura's chest, just missing the turgid peak of the dark nipple thereupon, and down to the tight, rippling abdomen. The bard thrust her hips up, hoping to bring her needy sex closer to the pale fingers, but Miria grinned and clamped her teeth onto the black skin of Lura's neck. Her hand slid up the drow's body, her fingernails raking against the skin, scraping over the breast, over her chest, and up to her jaw. Miria pulled her face away, watching as her fingers gripped Lura's jaw, pulling it open. She held it here, licking her tongue over violet lips. She tasted the paint on her lips and, after circling the full lips, glared.

"Painted like a common courtesan," Miria said. Lura glowered at her. "That's right, you common streetwalker." Lura bucked against her in defiance, but the paladin was stronger. She grinded her hips into the drow painfully, and Lura cried out in pain and lust. "I should take you like the whore you make yourself out to be. Bend you over, and force myself into you. You would like that, yes?"

"Bitch," Lura growled, and Miria's hand immediately found her neck again. She bit the violet lower lip, and Lura cried out again.

The elf slid down Lura's body, kissing and licking down into the valley between the full breasts on Lura's chest. She buried her face between them, placing her hands on the outsides of the globes, and pressing them against her face. Miria breathed in the sweat-slick skin, tasting the saline-coated skin. She heard Lura moan deep in her chest at the sensation, and slowly drew her head out.

Lura felt the wet hair covering her black breasts, leaving cool water on them to be assaulted by cool air. Her nipples tightened painfully, and she wanted to touch them but resisted. The drow's patience was rewarded by warm pale lips clasping onto them, sucking on them eagerly like a babe feeding from his mother's milk. She moaned loudly, not caring that she likely did sound like a common tavern whore. Miria's teeth clamped onto the nubs containing those bundled nerve endings, and the sharp pain almost sent her into a climax. Pinched between cruel teeth, Miria's tongue lapped at the nipples relentlessly, her free hand massaging and torturing the other breast and nipple, and the sensations that coursed through the drow did, actually, make her convulse in an orgasm.

Miria grinned lasciviously and sat down between Lura's legs. Placing her left leg beneath Lura's right, and curling her right leg over Lura's left, she pressed her sex against the drow's violet petals. The two began grinding and grunting forceably. The sensation was electric to them both and the reached out to eachother, hooking their hands around eachothers necks and pulling eachother into a fierce kiss. Their teeth collided often, accidentally biting each other's tongues and smashing their lips together as they ground and thrusted and slid their sopping wet pussies into eachother. Miria broke the sloppy kiss first and cried out loudly as she came violently, squirting a copious amounts of her arousal up onto Lura's abdomen and breasts.

Relishing in the rain of sex, Lura also 

climaxed, though without ejaculation, and shuddered as their forms came together again, sweating and wet. Black hair mingled with white hair as they twisted and curled into eachother on top of the desk, and Lura's black skin was overtaken by Miria's pale flesh as she spooned against the drow's backside.

"I trust you will remember your lesson?" Miria said quietly.

"A drow's memory is quite long," Lura cooed. "But I do believe I have matters to attend to."

"Do all drow leave their bedmates so soon after lovemaking?" Miria asked.

"Drow do not make love," Lura said, sliding off the now wet desktop. "They conquer that which they desire, and discard that which is no longer useful." Miria was taken aback. She leaned forward over the desk, her breasts a teasing pendulum of sexuality to the paladin, and said, "A good thing I am not like most drow," as she kissed the paladin on the forehead. "My bed will always be open to you, Matron Miria."

*****

Lura felt radiant. Her visit with Miria ha lightened her step and released all the pent up tension she had accrued from her trip from the Moonwood back to Silverymoon. Despite her relaxed state, she felt her sweat beginning to dry on her skin, and her loins felt like they were still coated with her and Miria's arousal. With her gauzy outfit back on and her sword belt slung over her shoulder, she descended to the bottom floor, which was two floors below the common room, and into the communal baths and steam rooms. Several people were already down their, swimming languidly or cuddling up to another, and there were several group huddles, as well as a few Sunites who had excused themselves from the communal bathing pool to a more secluded, though by no means private, steam room for more carnal interests.

A magical orb hung in the center of the damp room, indicating the time, and she realized that she would have little opportunity to enjoy the pleasantries that came from bathing in a Sunite bath house. The drow stood before a wall of cubbies and, locating an empty one, she removed her sparse clothing and placed it within. She hung her leather belt and sword on a peg that protruded from the wooden grid that seperated the cubbies. Lura sighed contentedly as the warm, damp air caressed her skin, leaving a sheen of moisture on her obsidian skin.

As she walked back toward the expansive common pool, the dim lighting made her moist skin shimmer, and several of her sisters and brothers of the Sunite order whistled lightly or offered her compliments.

"A visage," said an older man with silver bristles around his mouth. She favored him with a smile and a wink. When Lura came to the entry ramp, she tested the waters, as was her habit, even though she knew it would be pleasantly warm. Satisfied, she waded in slowly, feeling the cleansing waters tingle as they rose up her legs, over her sex and hips, and finally her breasts. Her nipples were hard, an effect of the tingling sensation she felt from the cleansing.

A sister and brother approached him, though she had a hard time calling them anything resembling family. The female, the chocolate-skinned woman she had greeted earlier, was accompanied by a very thick half-orc, and Lura could not help but notice the length and girth of his member as they waded, all smiles, toward her. She leaned against the wall of the pool, slipping beneath the water to wet her hair, and spread her arms out along the sides, smiling at the couple.

"Greetings, Elna," Lura said to the black woman, then to the half-orc, "and Rimlac."

Elna pushed through the water, placing her hands on Lura's waist and kissing her deeply, her tongue lashing briefly against Lura's, before responding in kind. "Greetings, my favorite bard."

Rimlac was not so forward, and merely placed a thick hand on her hip, kissing her cheek. "Always a pleasure to see you, beautiful Lura."

Lura like Rimlac. He had joined her in her bed on few occasions, but each time she had slept contentedly from his ministrations. Likewise with Elna. All of the women that worked out of the Dancing Rose were adept lovers, though each had their quirks and tastes. For example, while Miria was into domination and pain, Elna enjoyed being bitten, finger-fucked, and liked to use a strap-on with her lovers.

"We were going to one of the saunas," Elna said, sliding her hands over Rimlac's torso teasingly, "and thought you might like to join us."

"It has been a long while since I had you," the half-orc added, rubbing her arm affectionately.

"I am honored by the invitation," Lura said, looking quickly at the clock orb. Her loins wept with eagerness to join the two, for she did love three-ways very much, especially with these two, but her time was short. "Alas, that I have an arrangement in an hour, and I very much need to prepare."

"The Sharessan celebration?" Elna queried.

"Yes," Lura said. "Mikhail, from the ale gardens across the Market, invited me."

"Is he not the boy you constantly complain about?" Rimlac asked, his attention to her arm growing more sensual as he slid the strong hand to her shoulder and began massaging her. She groaned in delight, letting her head loll to the side.

"Yes," she managed weakly. "But this time was different, and I don't know how."

Rimlac slipped around behind the drow, both hands kneading at her shoulder and neck muscles, causing her to moan more, her eyes fluttering closed. Before she knew it, she felt the naked half-orc's meat drifting against her bottom and thighs, thanks to the water's currents. The sensation reminded her of how well he filled her and fit inside her. She opened her eyes as Elna straddled her, running her now soapy hands over Lura's chest and breasts. The dark elf saw Elna's almost black nipples sticking out very far from her perky, but small breasts. They looked like rubber erasers she had used during her days at the drow Academy, and she instinctively reached out to touch them.

The dark-skinned human giggled and moaned playfully at the sensations, and Lura stopped, grinning, before she got to carried away.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to join us?" Elna said, her hands slipping lower, down the drow's taut stomach and over her hips. She slid closer as she reached further back, cupping Lura's ass. Elna reached behind Rimlac for a second, summoning an oil globe from the floor. The Dancing Rose's bath house had been built with Sune's blessing, and the floor around the pool was enchanted to produce soaps, oils, and other bathing accessories as requested by the user. Elna coated Lura's back and bottom with the slick substance, and it stayed on Lura's skin despite the water's best efforts to wash it away. Then, Elna reached further back, grasping the semi-hard length of Rimlac's member.

"I only wish..." Lura said, her eyes closing again as Rimlac found a tender spot at the middle of her back. Her head fell forward, onto Elna's soft shoulder as the chocolate-skinned woman began to slowly glide her hands up and down the gray-skinned half-orc's member. He groaned low, like the distant rumble of stone falling down a mountain.

Lura felt the tip of the shaft graze her bottom several times, and from the movements of Elna's arms on her sides, she knew full well what was going on. She reached forward and started molesting Elna's small breasts, paying special attention to the long rubbery nipples. The dark woman gasped, biting her lip as she rested her chin on Lura's shoulder, delighting in the feel of the drow's large breasts pressed against her abdomen, the sensation of her engorged nipples being pinched and twisted, and the feel of the long, thick cock in her hands.

Rimlac, realizing what was beginning to transpire from this simple invitation, moved his hands from Lura's shoulders to her flanks, sliding them up and down and massaging the sides of Lura's breasts as the pressed tightly against Elna's body. When he felt Elna's hands tense and heard her gasp, he knew that Lura had slid her fingers down between the human's legs. He looked over Lura's shoulder and saw her hand buried between Elna's thighs, and her other hand around back, massaging the chocolate butt and reaching further, slipping between the crack of those gloriously toned cheeks. He reached his hands down between Lura's thighs, pulling them apart. She complied instantly, gasping even as she locked lips with Elna's muscular shoulder. 

With the athletic woman stroking Rimlac's cock, and the half-orc's hands seeking her burning sex, Lura forgot for the moment about her meeting with Mikhail and lost herself in the moment. Elna's sex was tight, almost surprisingly so, and Lura only used one finger insider her, curling it vigorously against the most sensitive spot within the dark woman, while grinding the heel of her palm against the hard, longish clitoris that presented itself. Lura's other hand had slipped between the crack of Elna's ass, and was sliding up and down it, teasing the human before she started massaging the puckered rosebud, beckoning it to open for her. Then, Rimlac's fingers found her sex.

Lura bucked against his chest the instant his thick fingers pressed against her petals. Elna lost her rhythm with his cock, but the erratic motion was good, almost too good, as he was almost sent over the edge. He was hard, almost painfully so, and knew that his heavy sack was eager to pump thick seed into the open water. It took all his concentration not to lose his control and to please the drow in his lap at the same time. His thick finger broke through her portal, plunging deep inside the well-lubricated sex as his other hand rubbed circles around the violet clit that slipped free from its hood.

"Sune's fiery cunt!" Elna grunted loudly when Lura plunged a finger into human's bottom. She started shivering, and her pussy and bottom clenched around the drow's skilled fingers as she hit her climax. Lura, being the sadistic drow that she is, slid another finger into Elna's snatch, curled it viciously and pressed the heel of her palm down on the pink clit, chaining a second orgasm into the woman, who tried to curse her, but instead moaned incoherently and bit down on the drow's shoulder. Lura giggled sadistically as she felt the human relax against her.

Rimlac watched his brown-skinned lover get off on the drow's fingers and let himself go. Thick, pearly seed shot out with force into the water, bouncing off the perfectly rounded globes of Lura's ass. A copious amount of the juice filled the water, falling in strands over his thick thighs, Elna's sinewy arms, or sticking to Lura's obsidian back. He focused again on his ministrations, focusing his rubbing directly on Lura's clit while stretching her with his second finger.

Lura took her cue and let loose the knot in her loins, releasing her arousal and quivering as the sensations overtook her. She shivered and shook, grunted and panted as electricity coursed through her veins. Finally, her pussy's clench on Rimlac's fingers let loose, and the half-orc removed his fingers to smell her arousal, despite the water's cleansing qualities.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly. She put her hands on Elna's face and pulled her in for a deep kiss, then turned, straddling Rimlac and his still stiff member. She kissed him as well, her tongue diving into his big mouth, lashing and wrestling for a moment with his long, thick tongue. "Sometime soon I want that tongue in me," she said, remembering well the way he slithered that mouth muscle inside her sex and her bottom.

"Any time you wish, my dear Lura," he replied.

"Hells," she said, suddenly realizing her time constraints. "My dears, it's been a pleasure, but I really have to get ready."

"Go," Elna said. "We'll still be here when you get back."

"I just may be hilted inside her," Rimlac said. Lura was swimming away, but her keen elven ears heard Elna say, "You better hilt yourself soon, stud."

She hated to miss out on a good three-way, but she was, despite her lineage, a woman of her word. 

And something about Mikhail earlier had truly charmed her, despite his awkward come-ons and predictable compliments. With a towel wrapped around her body, clothes in hand, and sword-and-belt slung over her shoulder, she ran up the stairs, to the top floor, and finally to her quarters.

Hues of violet and red, detailed in black and silver, greeted her, as well as multicolored faerie fire that accented her décor. Her four post bed, draped with black, translucent sheets, was dressed in deep violet covers, with crimson and silver pillows amassed into a huge pile at the headboard. The large oaken headboard was carved with images of Sune and her divine allies mingling with eachother and others, mortals, in an orgy of pleasure and debauchery. All of her furniture was designed similarly, with Sune or her cohorts in the throes of passion, either with another or alone, or simply looking on. Some pieces were simply carved with the holy symbols of Lliira, goddess of joy, Sharess, goddess of debauchery and pleasure, or Sune, the goddess of love and passion. Above her windows were the symbols of Selûne, the moon goddess, and Sune's former ally, but always friend.

She grinned at her room, simply for the beauty she saw in it. Her old robes, clothes, and weapons were there too, relics of a forgotten past dedicated to cruel Lolth, goddess of chaos and spiders, goddess of the drow. Every now and then she would gaze upon the robes of a high priestess, reminding herself what she had escaped, and that if she could escape that, she could do anything. Lura's old clothes were still 

useful, though, and she kept them in a separate closet, with things she had acquired from the surface.

None of her new things could ever be as risqué and sensual as her Underdark clothing, though, and she knew that she would be dipping into her old wardrobe for tonight's festival. As she moved about her room, she came to her pride and joy. Sitting on four horse legs, about three feet off the floor, was what appeared to be a rocking horse, save for the head sported a unicorn's horn. She smiled, twisting that horn and watching with delight and glee as a long, thick dildo slipped up out of the featureless back of the unicorn. Imagining the many times she had ridden her unicorn, her loins began to weep with delight, and she had to vigorously shake her head back to the present.




Sune's Chosen Ch. 01



"Time for you later," she promised the rocking unicorn. 

She went for her closet, tossing her towel into an enchanted bin. It disappeared as it entered, and she knew it would reappear, clean and fresh, in the bath house. She threw open the doors and started rummaging through the hanging garments, hunting for the perfect evening gown.

Lura found it, and her heart quickened when she imagined how she would look. It was a deep, erotic shade of red, matching her crimson eyes, and she knew how it looked on her obsidian skin. She put it on, and looked at herself in a full length mirror near her jewelry table. It was a halter, with thin straps going up to her neck, and a very deep neckline, going below her cleavage and barely covering her full breasts. The back of the gown swept all the way down to her lower back, just above the swell of her round bottom. It came down all the way to her ankles, but had a daring slit on either side, so that, if she positioned either leg just right, a lucky set of eyes would see all but the very top of her thigh. The drow found her most daring heels, a full handspan tall, that accentuated her feminine thighs and shapely butt. 

With a wave of her hand and the utterance of a simple cantrip, she dismissed the red tinge in her hair, leaving it pure white, and arranging it with another minor cantrip into a loose, intricate bun at the back of her head, leaving short strands to frame her elven face. Her pointed ears were fully exposed, and any who knew elves well enough would see that as a clear sign of provocation and intent to, at the very least, indulge in some heavy making out, for her ears, like any other elf, were quite sensitive. She removed the silver symbol of Sune, knowing full well that the Lady Firehair would appreciate her sense of style, and replaced it with a short gold chain adorned with a many-faceted ruby that hung right below her throat, bringing attention to the delicate, vulnerable flesh. She decked her ears in gold hoops at the bottom, and small rings up the lobe and then cast another minor cantrip, making her lips, obsidian without any paint, sparkle with gold. 

The drow examined herself professionally, and thought something was missing. It was in her eyes, she realized. She applied some eye-liner, a thin, subtle affectation to match her evening gown and her eyes, and cast the gold sparkle on them as well. After a few more gestures, her nails and toenails were dressed in a gold-flecked red paint, and she slid two gold bracelets onto her wrists, as well as ruby and diamond rings onto her fingers.

"There," she said, looking very much like a proper servant of Sune. "Perhaps young Mikhail will get more than he can hope for tonight." She winked at herself in the mirror, then leaned in and kissed her reflection. She had ten minutes to spare before the young man arrived, and she was too well dressed for a frigging, so she elected to pass the time in the common room, perhaps chat with Cyra the tiefling. Unless, of course, she was torturing another unfortunate (lucky) patron.



Sune's Chosen Ch. 02



Mikhail was more nervous than any other time in his life. The guard that had halted him in front of the Dancing Rose was imposing, standing two heads taller and half again as wide with thick, veiny muscles. The guard opened the door and stepped in for a moment, leaving the other guard, a muscular woman, to eye him suspiciously.

"Ye know," she said with a strangely dwarven accent, "the wee elf yer lookin' for might be fun for a night, but ye ought to seek me out some time." She curled her arm, flexing her bicep that dwarfed his own. "I'll show ye things nary an elf could e'er dream of."

"I am certain," Mikhail said, almost choking on his words. Her eyes flashed hungrily and she licked her lips, then touched her breast, which looked to have been augmented magically to match her muscular torso.

"The Lady Lura Darklust," the male guard said, reappearing and holding the door open wide. Mikhail's heart leapt into his throat when he looked at the stunning image of Lura walking out to meet him.

"My lady," he said breathlessly. The young man dipped into a low bow, holding out his hand, and, in it, the red tinged white rose with a black stem, thorns and all. Her fingers played over his hand before taking the delicate rose.

Lura looked upon him, smiling to herself though her face remained stoic. He was very well dressed, with a crisp, white tailored shirt with a high, stiff collar, and fine tailored black pants. His shoes were shined to perfection, and she delighted in his medium length sandy hair, imagining her fingers would feel wonderful gliding through it. "Look at me, Mikhail," she said, and he rose immediately.

She pricked the end of her finger with a long thorn and held it aloft between them, both watching as a thick dollop of dark blood rose on her digit. He seemed about to protest, but she halted him by bringing the finger to her extended tongue. The metallic taste of her own blood sent a chill down her drow spine, reminding her of other courtship rituals she had joined with other females in her homeland. With her tongue holding the drop of blood in a small bowl, she came forward, smearing the lifeblood on Mikhail's lips, staining them red, and kissing him deeply, sharing the taste with him.

His mouth felt electric, and despite the most unusual act, he understood that it held some sort of meaning for the drow. Mikhail had always found elven women to be a most exotic flower, one that he had long desired to pluck, but, hitherto, had not the chance, despite his almost constant study of elven mating ritual and customs. 

"With the sharing of my blood, you are my suitor, for tonight at least," she explained. "I will expect you to treat me accordingly."

"I would not dream of anything less," he said, hurriedly. Smiling, she wrapped her hand around his bicep, and, to her delight, led her to a closed carriage. 

"You are full of surprises," she said, smiling coyly at him as she sat very close to him.

"For a beauty such as yourself, anything," he said with complete honesty. She believed him, too. Lura felt like she could tell him to bring her a chest full of gold and he would find a way to do it. 

"Relax," she said, realizing that the not-so-smooth ride of a carriage over cobblestones was making her breasts bounce in a very provocative manner. She crossed her arms over her chest to alleviate. "I already agreed to accompany you, so just relax and be yourself."

He smiled at her. "Forgive me, you are just so stunning, I cannot help myself." She smiled and let the matter drop, leaning her shoulder against his.

They arrived shortly after leaving the Hunter's Gate. In the distance to the north, she could make out the treeline of the Moonwood, and to the south she could still see the climbing pillars of cooking smoke. The sun was almost gone, now, and the sky was painted brilliant shades of pink, red, and orange.

"Your Lady smiles upon our festival," Mikhail said as he helped her out of the carriage. Lura looked up and smiled, appreciating the play of colors on the clouds. It did, indeed, look like a brilliant mane of red hair cast over the sky.

"She and Sharess are close," Lura said, "so I am unsurprised. Let us enjoy the revelry, my dear, and indulge ourselves."

Mikhail extended his arm and she hooked her hand around it again, as he led her to the bonfire. To her delight, she found that much of the ground had been covered in some sort of magical flooring, extending out for several yards from the bonfire, and she could walk with ease over it in her heels. They exchanged greetings with several of Mikhail's colleagues, all servants of Sharess, and Lura even saw some of her fellow Sunites, who she greeted with kisses and hugs. 

The sun fell away from the sky, leaving inky darkness, speckled with twinkling stars, a full Selûne, as well as her tears, and blotted with sparse clouds. The music sprang up immediately, as bards and minstrels came to life, singing and playing rousing tunes and slow, melodic, almost sad ballads.

In the night, Mikhail realized, was where Lura was at her grandest. Her skin, obsidian, gave her an almost ghostly quality as the whites of her eyes, red irises, and white hair shone in the moonlight. Even her red gown seemed to hover on its own, and in some of Lura's more daring dancing, Mikhail thought he had glimpsed more than he was intended to see.

Or perhaps not, he thought to himself. She is a Sunite, after all, and likely would shed her clothing for him if he played his cards right. But that was not the goal, he reminded himself. He held her in higher regard than a one night fling, though the prospect of such adventure added to the growing tension in his fine pants that her gyrations on him had caused.

Everything was going magnificently, Mikhail thought, until an unwelcome guest moved in on his territory.

"Back away, small man, and let a real man dance with the drow." The fellow was tall and thick, much like the doorman at the Dancing Rose had been, but hairier, with an unbuttoned tunic that revealed thick chest hair and a full beard that reeked of too much honey mead. Lura looked at Mikhail, waiting to see how he would respond. Would he prove himself worthy, or would he back away, cower like a frightened dog.

"The lady is with me," Mikhail said, his voice firm, but with a trace of fear. The big man was reaching for Lura, though, in an effort to seize her hips. With no other option, Mikhail grabbed the man's hand and pulled him away with all his might.

Surprised, the big man did stumble, but quickly regained his balance, and the surrounding revelers stopped what they were doing to watch. With a growl, the big man lunged, a heavy fist diving for Mikhail's head, but the smaller, more agile man ducked and sidestepped. Roaring, the big man charged headlong in a tackle, but before he could reach Mikhail, Lura intervened.

A bolt of hot, divine magic coursed from her arm into the big fellow, sending him sprawling to the ground. It was not ordinary for a spell from Sune to be used in such a way. The heat was meant to be sensual, to warm a lover's loins and to enhance climax. Lura herself was surprised at the effectiveness of the spell, and several onlookers pointed and gasped at the thick bulge in the big man's pants and growing wetness as he ejaculated uncontrollably any and all seed he had stored for the night. 

Mikhail looked at her with astonishment and humor. "You should call that spell 'Uncontrollable Orgasm,'" he said, and Lura, struck by the absurdity of the notion and the sight before her, could not help but laugh out loud.

"Come," she said, removing her footwear. "Let us find a more comfortable place to relax."

He followed her eagerly as she lead him away from the revelry. The bonfire burned high and bright into the night, but Lura led Mikhail far away from it. As they passed the limit of the firelight, they witnessed several couples and groups wrapped around eachother in the throes of lovemaking and sexual exploration. As Sunites go, there is little that they would not do for sexual gratification, and, being drow, Lura could was scarcely surprised by some of the things they passed. Mikhail, though, was shocked and, it seemed, curious.

She saw a man being taking by a woman with a long, thick phallus strapped to her waist, something she herself had done with several drow males. Mikhail indicated a human woman thrusting against a female halfling, and, upon closer inspection with her magic sensitive eyes, Lura noticed that the human had modified her sex so that her clit had transformed into a penis, complete with a set of testicles that all hung just above her sodden sex. The halfling looked as if she were in the Seventh Plane of Heaven. A horse whinnied in the distance, followed by an exuberant moan and several cheers.

"Was that..." Mikhail started.

"Ignore it," Lura said, taking him into the darkness outside the firelight. "Sit with me."

She laid down, enjoying the soft grass beneath her skin and thin gown, and she curled onto her side, facing Mikhail as he laid, propped on his elbow and facing her with a smile. Thanks to the enchantments woven into her gown, she knew that her breasts, despite the daring, almost uncouth cut of her neckline, were covered and secure. Her thigh, on the other hand, was quite bare, a point emphasized by a cool night breeze dancing across her bare, obsidian skin. 

Mikhail noticed too, she realized, as his gaze darted down every now and then. Deciding to milk the attention, she curled her leg up, leaving the slit of the gown behind as her leg, bare all the way up to the swell of her bottom, was revealed in the darkness of night. 

"Your skin is beautiful," he said, realizing he had been caught. "I can scarcely see it in the night, though."

"A pity," she said. "Had you elven eyes, the darkness would have posed no barrier to your viewing pleasure."

"Aye," he said. "You know, I have studied elven culture, namely the area of courtships and mating, all my life, and only now have I ever had a chance to be close to one."

"All these fair-skinned elves are prudish and haughty," Lura said, almost spitting the declaration. "They know not a decent opportunity when it is presented to them, and I would be surprised if they even could frig themselves properly."

"It is oxymoronic to hear such language from such a beautiful elf," Mikhail said.

"Drow," she said, her ire momentarily raised. "Don't insult me so."

"My apologies," he said, "I meant no disrespect."

"Of course," she said, pleasantly. She leaned closer, her breasts coming dangerously close to her shirt as she began to unbutton it. "You need to loosen up a bit."

"Lura..." he said, feeling her fingernails trace over his sparsely haired chest, up to the hollow of his throat.

"Shh," she said, coming forward to kiss his jaw, then down his neck. The drow grinned as his breathing went ragged and his body tensed at her touch. She relished in his taste: slightly salty from the sweat of dancing, and altogether male. It excited her, and a subtle knot began to form in her loins as she came closer to him.

"Lura, no," he said, pushing her away suddenly. Her eyes flared dangerously. "Please," he said, put a hand on her bare arm. "Believe me, this is all that I could ever want, but I would not cheapen the memory by using you as a single night's diversion."

"A single night?" she asked. "You underestimate your skill, I'll wager."

"That is not what I mean," he said. "Granted, all my knowledge on lovemaking has come from several clumsy bouts and books, but that is not my point. You are more than that. A one night stand is something for a tavern wench or a common courtesan. You are a bard of Sune, a noble drow maiden, and a beautiful woman. I would not cheapen you so."

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lura felt butterflies in her stomach. Truly, Mikhail's words had touched her, and she began to regret the sometimes harsh ways she would treat him in the Market. She realized, too, that no man or woman had ever thought so highly of her as to push her away when her sensual advances would make them quiver in lust. "Mikhail..." she said quietly.

"Please, I just want you to understand," he said to her, but she put her mouth to his to stem the flow of any more senseless words. Her kiss burned into his mouth, searing into him at once her understanding and her sudden need.

"I do, Mikhail," she said, her lips moving against his as she spoke. "This will not be a one night ordeal, you have my word."

There was a pause as he looked into her eyes, saw her honesty, and the truth of what was happening. Never had he expected a monogamous relationship with her, just that she not see this night as a one night affair, that he would be there for her, act on her behalf, and all things expected of a suitor. He knew that she, being a Sunite, would have many lovers, men and women alike, and all that he could ever want was that she be close to him.

His kiss was passionate and needy as he plunged his tongue between the sensually gold-flecked drow lips. She fought back, her tongue skillfully weaving around his inexperienced and clumsy tongue. Eventually, the drow rolled him onto his back and straddled him. She felt keenly the bulge in his fine pants as it pressed against her bare sex. Lura kissed away from his mouth, again to his jaw and neck, then the hollow of his throat, where she nipped and licked.

He felt her unbutton more of his shirt, and felt her breasts hanging in her gown, the erect nipples within poking through and scraping against his now bare flesh. She kissed his chest, her tongue swirling around the sparse hairs as she moved for his nipples. Her tongue swirled around them and she suckled lightly, sending spikes of pleasure that Mikhail had never before felt.

Lura admired his almost elven body, with taut, compact musculature, and kissed over sparsely haired abdominal muscles, grinning as she licked around his navel and began undoing his pants. She looked up at him as his hands came to rest on her obsidian shoulders, and he bit his lip when his pants slid down, revealing, to her delight, a well-endowed member. She looked upon it with awestruck eyes, surprised that such a hefty companion could hang from a slender man. 

"Is it ok?" he asked her, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Oh Mikhail," she said, looking from his erection to his face. "It's perfect. It's...well...it's big!" She wrapped her fingers around it, barely able to get them completely around, and started stroking him. A low, throaty moan came from his lips as he laid his head on the grass. She licked her lips, grinning, and opened her mouth. Slowly, she circled her tongue around the head of the cock, paying special attention to the bottom of the head, knowing it would be sensitive to her ministrations.

After her saliva had coated his head, she stroked the length, spreading it all around, before putting the thick head into her mouth, She sucked lightly for a moment before gliding her lips and tongue down the length. Halfway, she stopped and slid back up, releasing the shaft for her hand to stroke. She looked at his face, and his eyes were shut. "Look at me," she said, her voice throaty and husky. He did so immediately, and she locked her eyes with his as her mouth descended again, halfway, further, and to the base, where his bare skin met her nose and lips. All the while, she stared him in the eyes, even as tears formed in hers from suppressing her gag reflex.

"Lura!" he shouted, the sensation overwhelming him. She broke eye contact and started gliding the shaft in and out of her mouth, her hand complimenting the motion. Lura felt him tense in her mouth, and then, to her delight, felt long streamers of his seed flowing into her mouth. She swallowed most of it, but kept some on her tongue. She rose up from his swollen member and kissed him, swirling his seed around in his mouth. He did not shy away, and her delight was increased when he swallowed.

"I apologize," he said. "I came too early."

"I am a servant of Sune," she said. Her fingers grasped his cock and she spoke a short couplet. Immediately, he felt reinvigorated, as if his libido has been put into overdrive. "Do not forget."

"Never again," he said. His hands traveled up her flanks, to the sides of her breasts. Without being told what to do, he cupped them, massaging them and grinding his palm over her painfully erect nipples. 

"Have you ever tasted the juice of a woman's nectar?" Lura asked him, her voice a purr.

"Once," he said. "It was foul."

"You have never tasted an elf's, then," she said. "Much less a drow's. I assure you, my nectar is quite sweet." 

"I would do anything you ask of me," he said.

"Then you will eat me." Her drow nature began to grow in prominence at the prospect of making this human submit to her whim. She straddled him and knee-walked her way up his body until her nexus was hovering over his face with the thin veil of her gown blocking her moist fruit.

He could smell her aroma so clearly! It was heady, like the scent of a fine wine, a blood red one, he thought. Despite his first, miserable experience, he salivated at the prospect. She pulled the veil of her gown away and to the side, and he looked up into her dark lips. It was glistening even in the darkness of night, and he noticed that her entire pubic mound seemed to sparkle with her nectar.

Without waiting for her to lower her sex onto his face, he put his hands on her hips and lifted his head, his lips latching onto the petals of her sex with eagerness. The taste! His tongue was on fire, tantalized by the sweetness of her juice as he drank it in, swallowing all that he could, even as his cheeks and chin became damp with it. Mikhail parted her innermost folds, lapping at them eagerly, until at last his tongue came to her clit. The petite button of arousal was familiar to him, for his studies had taught him that this was the epicenter for many orgasms.

Lura moaned loudly, huskily into the cool night air. His tongue was crude and brutish, but she did not care, not at a time like this. She relished in his attentions, and when his tongue started hammering at her clit, she bucked her hips madly. The drow leaned back, her hands on his abdomen as she ground her face against his mouth and his tongue hammered against her clit. Lura's long, sharp nails dug into his skin, and he didn't even cry out as she felt his blood trickle over a finger. That sensation, coupled with his relentless licking, sent her over the edge. Her canal clenched on nothing as a small amount of her arousal spurt onto his cheek. She quivered and shook atop him until she had to pull her sex off his relentless tongue.

He was delighted, recognizing her orgasm the instant it took place, and only lamented that her ejaculate did not go into his mouth. Mikhail was surprised, though, when she scrambled down to kiss him viciously, licking and sucking up all of her essence in the process, wantonly tasting her own arousal. Then, time slowed. She was straddling him, her weeping sex hovering over his thick, long member as she looked again into his eyes. Pulling herself up, she never broke eye lock as she straddled him upright now on her knees. Slowly, Lura untied the halter at her neck, and the crimson garment fell languidly, revealing her perfectly round breasts, topped by dark peaks that stood hard in the cool air. She touched them, her fingers tracing the circumference of their generous swell. So unlike the elves he had met, her breasts were the size of a human's D-cup. He reached for them, his hands joining hers, before the fell down and grasped his rigid member. 

Slowly, he watched herself lower, until he felt the hot, wet moisture of her needy sex against the head of his member. Then, his world abruptly shot into motion as her canal sucked his endowment inside. The sensation was unlike any he had felt before, and he could only lay and watch as she took his entire length and girth into her.




Sune's Chosen Ch. 02



"Sune's Fiery Cunt," she whispered. The stretch was incredible, the sensation of being so full was indescribable. She sat atop him, her drow loins grasping and adjusting to the intrusion. He filled her perfectly, her sex wanting for nothing else at that moment. Lura held still for a moment, then began to rock back and forth. The feeling of his shaft swirling inside her as she ground her hips against him was too much, and suddenly, surprising herself, she came quietly, her pussy clenching his member tightly as she squealed silently.

That initial shock passed, she grinned lewdly and put her hands, and her nails, on his chest. Slowly, she rocked on him. Her hips transitioned, from forward and back to up and down, her hips smacking loudly as she rode him, feeling his shaft plunge deep into her each time send bolts of pleasure all the way up her spine. Her breasts bounced, but he was quick to seize them in his mouth as she brought them forward. His lips and tongue found her nipples instantly, but the pleasure was short-lived.

She leaned back suddenly, her hands grasping his thighs as she rocked violently on his meat, using it for the end they both desired. Lura brought one hand forward, her delicate drow fingers rubbing viciously at her sex while Mikhail desperately tried to hold onto her hips. 

"I'm going to cum!" she barely heard him say.

"Inside me," she replied desperately.

"Now!" She felt hot jets of seed blast into her, melting against the walls of her loins, and her climax hit at the sensation. Lura spasmed atop him, her body jerking as her fingers dug hard into her clit. Another spout of girlcum squirted, this time onto his stomach, and he scooped it up to taste it just as she collapsed forward, melting onto his body.

For a long while they laid there, both listening to eachother breathe. 

"Mikhail," Lura said. "That was amazing."

"You," he said. "You were amazing. Never again will I experience such amazing sensations unless it is with you. You have ruined me."

"Glad to hear it," she said, grinning mischievously at him. "Now, let us get some sleep. Dawn comes soon."

He looked around, realizing that the festival had turned into an orgy. Couples, threesomes, and foursomes lay strewn about all around the dying fire, and he grinned, thanking Sharess for yet another inspired festival.



Sune's Chosen Ch. 03



[Author's Note: Lots of storytelling in this chapter. Enjoy!]

Miria was on her knees, naked with sweat beading all over her body. Her private room was dark, save for several glowing candles, and filled with the narcotic, tangy scent of incense that all Sunite worshippers burnt when communing with their goddess. She rocked back and forth, whispering and humming platitudes and hymns to her goddess, waiting for Sune or one of her Maidens to make contact with her.

It happened in a rush. The candles flared and shifted into a violet hue and her breath caught in her throat. Miria's elven heart quickened, she felt her blood pulsing, pounding in her head, breast, and loins. Sexual energy filled her as the sensual presence of Sune entered Miria's private chambers. She grasped the holy symbol resting just above the valley of her breasts and held very still.

"My Daughter," came a woman's voice. Miria didn't dare open her eyes. She knew it was not Sune in the room with her, but one of her divine servants, and even though she was not her goddess, Miria knew she would be too beautiful to look upon without inducing a bout of enfeeblement.

"Blessed Servant of Sune," Miria said past the lump in her throat. "I am honored by your presence."

"For what matter do you seek our Lady Firehair's divine wisdom?"

"This Fest Hall has come under attack by outsiders. The so-called Righteous Hand of Silverymoon has declared the followers of Sune, and Sune herself, a blight upon the city, that we are immoral and prostitutes. They wish the Dancing Rose to be repurposed for righteous, wholesome works." Miria gasped, feeling a thrill of pleasure course from her toes to her loins. She knew the Maiden was eyeing her, judging her passions.

"Your heart for Sune is impure," the Maiden said, a measure of contempt in her voice. "You place too much value on duty, work, and discipline. You do not honor your passions as you once did, Miria Melineth. The Divine Dance has been lost on you. It is an exercise in superiority, now, and not of passion, not of pleasure, though you surely do take much pleasure from...Luravaln Xelarose. Interesting."

Miria was in stunned silence. She did not speak, for she knew not what to say. She did know, however, that the Maiden was right. She had lost her ability to enjoy her carnal desires, and that troubled her. The elf had lost herself in the duties of administration and running the Dancing Rose, and had forgotten what the Fest Hall represented.

She was about to speak to the Maiden, but she felt the sensual presence vanish. The candles returned to normal, though the narcotic smoke from her incense remained. She breathed deep, determination burning in her breast. The elf let the incense do its job, felt her skin tingle with heightened sensitivity. She rose in a hurry, feeling the sweat cascading over her bare flesh keenly, especially as several drops fell from her hardened nipples.

A cool breeze cast itself over her skin with almost an electric quality as her skin drew taut with goose flesh. The paladin held her hand out, palm up, and spoke a divine couplet, one that select servants of Sune were taught, and pinpoints of light began to swirl in her hand. More lights added to the swirl and they began to coalesce into a solid shape. Before long, a slender, lengthy rod of force coalesced in her hand, roughly the size and shape of a human phallus. She bit her lip and quickly applied the length to her sweat-soaked nexus, gliding the shaft over the moisture to ease its imminent penetration. Desperate to please her goddess, she plunged the member into her, and her world crashed around it.

*****

"You intrude upon my realm, woman," a deep voice bellowed. "What business do you have with me? Or is this another of your frivolous flirtations?"

"Come now," a sultry, ultra-feminine voice said. Her voice purred with sensuality, curling around the vibrations of her counterpart's deep, powerful voice like a lover's fingers roaming over skin. "Why must you spurn me at every opportunity?"

"Because there is nothing lasting about you, therefore you are not worth the effort," the deep voice said. "You, Sune, do not have tastes. You see, and you conquer, and you move on to your next whim."

"Tempus, Tempus," Sune said, smiling coyly as she stepped out from behind a giant marble column to face Tempus, the God of Battle, on his mighty stone throne. Her fiery red hair cascaded in long, flowing curls down her back and over her shoulders, covering most of the loose vermillion gown she wore. The neckline cascaded down below her navel, and only her divine magic kept her breasts hidden (somewhat). Daring slits rose up to her hips, giving a wonderous view of her long, shapely legs, accented by the high-heeled sandals she wore. "Can you not see that it is that very fact that makes us so alike?"

"You are nothing like me," Tempus said, his voice low and threatening. "What I conquer, I repurpose. What you conquer, you cast aside to be used later, if again at all."

"Perhaps I just haven't found what I'm looking for yet," she said, pretending to be hurt. He was right, of course. Some of those she had bedded were worthwhile, and they resided in her divine palace, but many, many others had been sent on their way with a pleasant memory and a story none would ever believe.

"Why are you here, enchantress," Tempus stated more than asked. He heaved a great sigh, already tired of her games.

Sune eyed him with desire. He had been her only object of affection that had resisted her every charm. His vest was made from the skins of powerful beasts, and his thickly muscled torso strained the leather, just as his thick, tree-trunk thighs strained his short, torn breeches. Even his bare feet exuded power and strength. "I have a proposal for you."

"Of course you do," Tempus replied.

"This is unlike my other proposals, dear Tempus," she said, smirking a bit.

"Explain."

"I need assistance with some unsavory individuals in Silverymoon," she said, feigning helplessness with a whimpering voice and slumped shoulders.

"I truly doubt that," Tempus said, coming forward in his throne. His elbows held his massive torso over his knees. "I may not be known for acquiring vast amounts of information, but I have my resources, and I know that you have a Chosen in that city."

"Checking up on me? How sweet," she said, taking a few steps forward. She made certain to let her leg slip through the fabric seductively. His scowl spurned her, but she did not let it affect her. "Perhaps I do, but she is unaware of her gift. Even now she lay with a man not worthy of her affections."

"That is the problem with you, Sune," Tempus said. "So few are worthy of your affections, that you cannot see those that would honor you day in and day out. Your pride removes you from true happiness."

"Pish posh, Battle God," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "The point of the matter is this: if my Fest Hall closes, it will be one less base of power for me. As you know, my people are not known for their prowess in battle, and I fear that the situation in Silverymoon may come to a violent end."

"Then you should take heed of your followers more closely, woman," Tempus said, standing. He hefted his weapon onto his shoulder and came down to her level. "I know of all battles. It is my duty, and my pleasure, to do so. I know that your Chosen just single-handedly dispatched a Knight in Silver. You will not receive my aid, Sune. Nor are you ever truly welcome in my realm. Begone, now, before I summon my Chosen."

For the first time since her visit, Sune scowled. She turned abruptly and took three steps before fading from sight. From behind his throne, a tall, strong woman with blonde hair and lightly tanned skin emerged, wearing shining red plate armor. A longsword and mighty shield were slung over her back, and she crossed her arms over her fitted breastplate. She scowled, though that did little to diminish her beauty.

"Whore," the Red Knight said, glaring at the empty space Sune had disappeared from. "She considers you a foe, yet still she comes seeking your assistance. It is illogical."

Tempus favored the Red Knight with a fatherly smile. She was not as powerful a deity as he, but with his sponsorship had risen quickly in the ranks of the pantheon. "Be calm," he said. "She is a frivolous, flighty thing, who does not understand what it means to have a true enemy. She would consort with the likes of Shar, if the Dark Goddess had the proper charms."

"Why do you allow her here?" the Red Knight demanded, glaring at the Lord of Battle.

"What would you have me do, stare at my empty hall for eons?" Tempus glared at her. "Mind your place, Red. My followers have been quiet of late, and even the battles fought are not great, glorious cataclysms as they once were. I remember hordes of drow assaulting a dwarven mountain from underneath, and though the shadowy creatures were dishonorable in their tactics, they at least made a good show. War does not tear our lands as it once did."

"What are we to do, then?" the Red Knight asked helplessly.

"Wait. We are gods, we will see the rise and fall of many nations, time is on our side. The fate of mortals is always the same, always has been, always will be. War is silent now, but it will come again. It is inevitable."

*****

"Sune be damned," Justicar Abondel said. His gloved hand pounded down on his oak desk. "I will cleanse this city of her corruptions, even if it is with my dying breath."

"Good." The voice was disembodied. "Your heart is filled with rage. That will crush the lovers and artists of the Dancing Rose."

Abondel glared into the darkened corner of his office. Once a tenday, every tenday, he was visited by this mysterious person. If it was, indeed, a person. He had never seen the visitor, only heard his voice from the impenetrable shadows of his office. "What do you care? You come unannounced only to stoke my anger. For what?"

"My Mistress demands it," the voice said. It took a cold edge. "You needn't question me, only trust me as you would trust your shadow."

"My shadow? It is inanimate. Shadows are nothing more than a trick of the light, no more worthy of trust than a stone."

Abondel immediately regretted his words as two red pinpoints appeared like eyes in the shadow of the corner. Slowly, dreadfully, a thick tentacle emerged from the corner of the room. Then, without warning, it lurched, darting unerringly for Abondel's throat and wrapping around like a constrictor. 

"Do not doubt me," the voice boomed from within his skull. "Trust me. The shadows are more your ally than you believe, and are more alive than you would like."

Then, the shadow tentacle was gone, leaving the man gasping at his desk, clutching at his throat. He smoothed his crisp blue and gray doublet, then pulled it smooth from the hem. "I apolo..." he looked up and the shadow had vanished, signaling the departure of his shadowy visitor. A knock sounded at his door.

"Justicar," came a young man's voice. Abondel ran his hand through his sandy brown hair, smoothing it back, then over his neatly trimmed goatee. The man, a follower of nothing save for his own moral compass, had seen three decades of growing corruption in this city he loved, and when he had stumbled upon the Dancing Rose, a brothel in tavern's skin, he realized that all the physical disease and putrefication had come from their wanton sexual deviance. Sune and her allies, he reminded himself. His spy had returned from the Sharessan festival earlier that afternoon and confirmed the orgy that had ensued.

"Yes," he responded, his voice regained of its composure.

"Heartwarder Miria Merileth to see you, Justicar," he announced.

"Show her in," his voice took a determined edge at the title and name. He knew the paladin well, for they had met on several occasions to discuss the removal of her fest hall from Silverymoon.

The door opened and Miria entered, her delicate elven jaw set and her eyes burning with resolve. Her black, wavy hair was pulled behind her delicately pointed ears and was tied with a gold-trimmed, red ribbon. She was not wearing her rose-emblazoned breastplate, instead favoring a loose, partially unbuttoned cream blouse with light brown leather breeches. The paladin wore shin-high boots and her ceremonial longsword at her hip.

"What do you want, Heartwarder," Abondel asked, scowling at her. He was, truthfully, surprised she was not either wearing her armor or something less revealing. She appeared modest, which was unusual for any Sunite.

"I have come to settle terms," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

"You know my terms," he said. "Displacement. That will end this permanently. Get your brothel out of Silverymoon."

"And will it end there? There are truer brothels in this city that will be even harder to find."

"Then you admit it!"

"I admit nothing!" She stopped, took a breath, and sat across from the oak desk. "I do not run a brothel. If my residents decide to take a patron as a lover, they do it for their own interests, and not one of them takes payment for it. It goes against everything Sune stands for. Love, passion, adoration. Not prostitution. It is degrading to the body, and to the spirit."

"Lies," Abondel said, waving his hand dismissively. "I have resources that can confirm the depravity of your Sunites, as well as the followers of Sharess. You are nothing but wanton sluts and you will vacate this city one way or another."

She almost let her stern façade slip, almost let a glimmer of despair flash in her eyes. "Is there no price I can pay personally?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of quiver.

"What are you getting at?" Abondel asked. He eyed the elf, and as he did so, a very human urge suddenly overcame him. With a brutish force of will, he crushed it. She unbuttoned a single button on her blouse, letting it fall open a bit more to reveal a bit of her cleavage. Though her elven breasts were not large, the shallow valley still had great appeal to the man. Again, he crushed his weak hormones with an exertion of will.

"Maybe there is some way we could come to an arrangement," she said, her voice lowering as she stood and undid another button. She trailed her fingertips between her breasts. Abondel rose from behind his desk and walked around to the front, to face her. She undid another button, looking up at the man's lips and goatee. Miria reached out with her delicate hand to touch his face, lips parted, tongue wet...

His hand snapped out quickly, latching onto her neck. He lifted her from the ground and took three long strides, slamming her into the wooden door of his office. Abondel's jaw flexed repeatedly as he looked the elf in her eyes, scowling and glowering at her.

"If you attempt such seductions in my presence again, I will snap you in half, whore," he said to her, his voice a growl. "You will remove your 'fest hall' from this city, by the order of Taern Hornblade herself. You will never show your filthy face here again. And if you ever touch me again...I'll kill you."

He released her and walked to his desk, leaving her crumpled against the door, quietly sobbing.

"Marcus!" he called. The door opened immediately. "Get this wench out of my office, and out of this building."

*****

"Everlund?" Lura asked, skeptical. "You cannot be serious."

"I am," Miria said, snapping angrily at the impertinent drow bard. Lura's lips tightened and she brushed her rosy-highlighted hair from her face as she looked to her comrades. Cyra and Shanara were there, as well as Gundor, and the dwarven priestess Anliva Goldbeard. "The Silverymoon Morality Movement has convinced Taern Hornblade that we are a blight upon the city, that we are nothing more than common prostitutes and spread disease throughout the realm." She held out a letter with the seal of Taern Hornblade, ruler of Silverymoon, herself.

Lura snatched it from her hand and read it. "Looks fake," she said, and she knew that it was. Miria snatched it back.

"I have met with Justicar Abondel, the leader of this movement, and his order will be taking over ownership of the Dancing Rose. I am afraid we have no choice in the matter. The temple of Sune is being repurposed as we speak, and there are likely members of the S.M.M. already taking over this place as we speak."

There was a loud knock on the door of Miria's quarters, and the portal was quickly thrust open. Elna and Rimlac had mortified looks on their faces as they both strode, stark naked, into the room. The big half-orc was still sporting an erection. Lura saw the armed guard behind them.

"Is it true?" Elna asked, her voice frantic.

"Yes," Miria said. "I am sorry."

"But...where will we go?"

"We six are going to Everlund to seek welcoming arms for the Church of Sune. Be patient, child. Bide your time. Hopefully we will have a new home soon."

"Not all of us will be welcome there," Rimlac said in a throaty voice. He pointed to Lura and to himself. "You will be abandoning some of us."

"I know this!" Miria said, rising suddenly. She calmed herself. "There is no other option. Perhaps you can find employment here if the people of Everlund will not take you in."

"Come then, drow. We will go back to thieving and fucking in the dirty alleys." Rimlac had not been serious about the offer, and he turned and stormed out of the room. The armed guard escort attempted to take him by the arm, but the half-orc leveled him with a heavy punch to the jaw. He spat on the guard and walked off, prowling like an angry lion.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Miria," Cyra said. She smelled like cinnamon and her voice was like satin. "I can pass for human sometimes."

"Aye," Anliva said, putting her firm hand on the tiefling. "We ought to get to the Dreaming Dragon, if'n we make it that far south afore less accommodating folk take offense to Lady Lura and Mistress Cyra here."

"I know that place," Shanara said, a smile growing on her face. "Lots of elves and halflings. Finest pipeweed and feywine south of Silverymoon, too."

"A plan, then," Miria said. She felt the knot of anguish and guilt in her gut loosening. Her encounter with Abondel had almost cost her life, but before she could be ferried out, she had agreed with his terms. She felt as if she were saving her fellow Sunites unnecessary trouble, but that reasoning rang hollow. Deep down, she knew she had given up. First she had offered her body as payment, an act of prostitution that Sune would not be quick to forgive. Then, she simply folded. She felt cowardly, weak. But that was beginning to lift. Perhaps Tymora, Goddess of Luck, would smile upon their plight.

"Gather your things, we leave as soon as physically possible."

*****

"Lady Lura?"

The drow did not notice her name being called as she and her fellow Sunites approached eastern wall, and the Sundabar Gate.

"Lady Lura!"

This time she did turn, and saw Mikhail running toward her. Her face was cast with dismay when she saw him, and her comrades took several steps ahead of her to afford her with privacy. "Yes, Mikhail, what is it?"

"I heard what happened," he said. "You are all leaving?"

"To Everlund," Shanara said, fancying him with a kind smile. Lura glanced at her sidelong, demanding her privacy.

"We will not be returning. Our home here has been stolen from us, and we are setting out to make a new one, hopefully, in Everlund," Lura said quietly. "What are you doing?"

"I would come with you," he said, standing up straight with his shoulders back. "I do not wish to know life separated from you, Lady Lura."

"That's sweet," she said curtly, "but the road could be dangerous, and we may be turned away from Everlund, and every other city we come to."

"I am prepared!" he said, pulling a heavily stuffed pack over his shoulder and displaying the short sword at his hip.




Sune's Chosen Ch. 03



"Oh, let the lad come," Anliva said in her gruff voice. Lura realized that her friends had stopped to watch the interaction. Except Miria, who was eyeing the Sundabar Gate impatiently. Lura looked up to the spires of Lady Alustriel's palace, then to Mikhail.

"Fine, but don't slow us down," she said sternly. "And stop calling me 'Lady.' I don't like it."

"Then what would you have me call you?" Mikhail asked. He fell into step as they began again toward the eastern gate. 

"Lura," she said, pulling a strand of her red-tinged hair from her face. 

"No title?" he asked, confused.

"I've done nothing to earn one," she said. "Well, actually, you could call me harlot, because apparently that's what we are."

"If so, then we're the best damned harlots in the Silver Marches," Shanara said over her shoulder.

"Seconded," Cyra added, winking over her shoulder.

Before long they approached the Sundabar Gate and were halted by the guards. "What business?" one asked.

"We're the Sunites that just got evicted from the city," Miria said. "I don't believe a further explanation is needed."

"Ah, that," the guard said. "You are Gundor the Hammer, are you not?"

"I am," the barbarian said. He had remained quiet most of the walk out of the city.

"I am Torden, Clan of the Axe. It is a pity to see you dishonored so," the guard said.

"I assure you my honor remains intact," Hammer said. "I have only been mistreated, but things will be put aright, I assure you."

"A good thing," Torden replied, clasping Hammer's forearm. "I will welcome your return. A safe journey to you all."

With that, the seven left the Gem of the North behind, sticking to the well-traveled road before them as it curved southward, toward Everlund. A tenday or more would pass before they saw any hint of civilization, and they rested only when they had to. The threat of bandits, highwaymen, and other wicked monsters pervaded as they traveled south, the Nether Mountains to the east and the River Rauvin west. On their third day, they stumbled upon that danger.

"Let me go!" the girl cried loudly. A loud smack followed swiftly thereafter.

"Highwaymen," Lura whispered to Cyra. The tiefling was adept at sneaking and scouting. Before her life in the Dancing Rose, she had been a thief-for-hire. "Let's get the rest."

"We can take them," Cyra whispered quickly. "There's only five of them."

"Hammer would never forgive us," Lura muttered. "Nor would Anliva."

"Hammer would forget as soon as Shanara started flirting with him again, and Anliva...well, she'd have to get over it," Cyra reasoned.

"What, was she too rough on you last time you had to make up for something?" Lura asked.

"Fine, but we have to be quick. Doesn't look like that girl or her comrades have much time left. By the bulge in that one's pants, I'd say she's in for a rape," Cyra said.

"Point made. How do you want to handle it?"

"Follow my lead," she said, untying her leather corset a bit to loosen her well-rounded breasts. She slid her daggers around to the back of her belt, and walked out onto the open path.

Lura was dressed in her usual gauzy skirt and tunic that hugged her curves, but shucked her sword belt to the ground and let her luxuriant mane of red-tinged white hair flow freely about her back and shoulders. Both females walked with swaying hips as Cyra called out to the highwaymen.

"Well, well," the tiefling said loudly, instantly drawing the attention of all five highwaymen. "What have we here, lovely?"

"Looks like some fun," Lura purred, putting her arm around the tiefling. For the moment, the girl was forgotten, and she slipped away unnoticed.

"Hold it there," a well-dressed highwayman said, pointing a rapier at the ruddy-skinned tiefling. She grinned a challenge at him, her short, pointed incisors poking against her lower lip. "What ya want?"

"Why, some entertainment and companionship," Cyra said, taking a step forward and pulling Lura with her. "You think that you and your boys could handle us?"

Some of the men muttered things to their leader, but he silenced them with a growled command. "Things are not as they seem," Lura whispered. Her lips did not even move.

"That a no?" Cyra asked. As if on cue, the face of the "human" began to elongate into a canine snout. All around him, his fellows underwent a similar transformation, all growing taller, sprouting fur and canine maws. A series of yelps followed and the five gnolls charged. "Yeah, I didn't think so either," Cyra muttered, drawing her two long daggers from behind her. 

"You knew this would happen," Lura said as she separated herself from the tiefling.

"Maybe, where's your sword?"

"In the grass, I don't need it for gnolls," she said. Lura began to sing, her voice melodic and harsh at the same time. Their foreheads glowed a dim blue, and things seemed to slow around them. To the gnolls, though, Cyra's first attacks, a duck under wildly swinging arms and two stabs to the attacking gnoll's kidneys, were lightning fast. The gnoll fell to the ground and she finished it with a stomp on the back of it's skull, her thick heels crushing the bone and brain within. 

Lura finished her song and reached into her magical repertoire. She thrust her hand out at a charging dog-man and five bolts of energy erupted from her hand, soaring unerringly for the gnoll. They connected, the force of the attack knocking the gnoll onto its back and the magical energy searing deep into his chest cavity, stopping his heart. The drow used her innate ability and summoned a globe of darkness around herself, then stepped out the back, darting for the grass. Her magically enhanced speed had her back to the globe of darkness, sword in hand, at the same time the gnoll emerged from the back. She slide the blade through the top of the bull rushing gnoll's skull, all the way down the neck and into its torso before removing it.

Cyra had dispatched another gnoll by ducking another clumsy attack, circling around behind, and driving her daggers to the hilt into the gnoll's spine. It died instantly. The fifth gnoll looked panicked as the globe of darkness disappeared and the two femme fatales zeroed in on it.

"Tempus!" Hammer roared. A blacksmithing hammer soared through the air, between the women, and slammed into the gnoll's head. Its skull caved in and it fell to the ground, quite dead.

"Sune abhors violence," Anvila said angrily, punching Hammer in the gut. He was unfazed. "And Tempus for his warlike behavior."

"Violence is some times needed to resolve problems," Miria said, walking brusquely between the dwarf and the man, Shanara in tow. The human woman stopped and put her hand around Hammer's bicep affectionately. Of the seven, she was the only that did not have an extensive profession suited for adventuring. Before coming into the service of Sune, Shanara had been a librarian, translating ancient texts with her masterful linguistic skills. Mikhail came last, holding his short sword at the ready, eyes wide as he looked around in circles.

"Relax, laddy," Anliva said, putting a strong hand on his sword and pushing it down. "Trouble's gone now, eh ladies?"

"Aye," Cyra said, wiping her daggers clean on the torn tunic of a dead gnoll.

Miria strode forward and stopped in front of the grinning drow and tiefling. "What were you two thinking? You could have been killed!"

"We weren't," Cyra said, her grin diminishing. "There were only five of them."

"And two of you!" Miria shouted, eyes wide.

"Clearly you underestimate the might of the drow," Lura said, growing angry. "That is a mistake few make more than once."

"In case you forgot, there are only one of you, drow," Miria spat.

"Two," Cyra said, standing closer to Lura. "She's my sister. So are you, in case I have my facts wrong." That settled the paladin down some.

"My apologies," she said, backing away. "We've just lost so much, I did not want to lose more."

"Glad to see you still care," Lura said. The drow turned away abruptly and approached the girl who was hiding inside her wagon. Lura walked around behind the wagon, to the opening, and threw the flap open. The girl, a boy probably no more than 12 years old, a middle-aged man and woman, and an elderly man gasped at the site of the drow. Cyra's sudden appearance at her side did not ease their trepidation.

"Are any of you hurt?" Lura asked in slightly accented Common. They shook their heads silently "no." "Come here," Lura said to the girl. "How old are you?"

"Two decades in a tenday," she said sheepishly.

"Are you ok?" Cyra asked, putting her head gently to the girl's face. She brushed a dirty blonde lock of hair from her face, then removed a smudge of dirt with her thumb. Her face was slightly plumped, but not fat, and she had the figure of a well-rounded farm girl. Bounteous breasts, full swell of hips, and a slight belly. She was quite pretty, Cyra decided after appraising her with her expert eye. 

"They hit me a few times, but none the worse fer wear," she said in a country accent. "They took the lot of our grain and the like, though."

"Anliva," Lura shouted. The dwarf trotted over. "Get with the older man, find out what they lost, where they're going, that kind of thing."

"Right," the dwarf cleric said.

"Is there anything I can do," Mikhail asked, sounding sheepish.

"No," Lura said, but bit her tongue and thought a moment. Sun was setting. "Actually, get a fire going. Prepare our rations and whatever else these people have brought to eat."

"Right away," he said, his face brightening.

"Men," Cyra said. "Easy to please." She grinned at the girl, who smiled back weakly. "What's your name, girl?"

"Ana," she said. "Ana Orsen."

"Well, Ana Orsen, why don't you come with Lura and me, and we'll all settle down together for the night, sound good?" Cyra asked, smiling kindly

"Y-yeah," she said, looking at the drow with trepidation.

"Relax," Lura said in a honey-sweet voice. "I won't bite. Too hard."

*****

Lura's hand was covered in her own nectar. Night had fallen fast, and Cyra had led the human girl well away from the wagon and the camp fire Mikhail had set. Instead, the three women sat around a dimly burning pile of wood, accompanied by the intoxicating vapors of incense, and the simmering pipe that Cyra had left sitting, still packed with Dreamdust, between two incense censers. The human woman had joined Cyra in breathing in the narcotic vapors, both naked.

As Ana had closed her eyes, taking a particularly deep breath, Cyra latched her lips around the human girl's large breast, sucking greedily on the stiff pink nipple. Ana had responded immediately, her hands digging into the pale hair on Cyra's head. Now, the human had a firm grip on Cyra's petite horns as the tiefling plunged her tongue in and out of the human girl's thick, and copiously aromatic sex, licking frantically to lap up all of her juices. Ana could feel the smoldering heat of Cyra's mouth, even as it pressed firmly against her steaming sex.

Lura, for her part, stayed out of all the fun, feeling more inclined to watch and pleasure herself as the tiefling tamed the woman's cunny. Ana's lusty moans filled the air as pervasively as the narcotic vapors of the ritual incense that was burning before Lura. She was naked, leaning against a tree so that the thick bark scraped pleasantly against her back. The drow's fingers were rubbing tight circles around the stiff bud of her clitoris as she simultaneously pinched and rolled her obsidian nipples. 

Ana climaxed on Cyra's face. The tiefling felt Ana's pussy clenching around her long, sinewy tongue, and grinned wickedly. Acting quickly, she pulled herself from the heady aroma of the human's nexus, and mastered the girl by flipping her onto her stomach, then lifting her onto all fours. The human was facing Lura, hunger in her eyes as the drow, playing into Cyra's game, spread her legs lewdly and squatted down, spreading open the lips of her pussy wide for the human girl to gaze upon. 

Cyra reached over to the small wooden box she carried with her at all times and opened it. It had room to carry the incense for communion with Sune and Sharess, a compartment for her own blend of fragrant, sometimes hallucinogenic herbs, and a small wooden vial with an everfull enchantment. It was at all times filled with walnut oil, and she took the vial and opened it, pouring a plentiful amount on the pale, broad bottom that Ana was blessed with.

Ana gasped as she felt the warming liquid trail down the musky valley of her bottom, over her tightened rosebud and into the honey pot of her sex. She felt the heat of Cyra's fingers slide down her crevasse, massage her rosebud loose, then move to fill her sex with one, then two fingers.

"Relax, girl," Cyra said with a throaty voice. "You're gonna love this."

Lura nodded excitedly as she buried three of her long, dexterous fingers into her seeping sex, grinding her palm against her sensitive pearl. Ana watched with excitement, then felt Cyra's fingers, pressed together in a cone, probing at her sex. She relaxed as best she could, but the oiled hand was broader than she had anticipated. Still, the walnut oil, also enchanted, did its job, and her sex, though almost uncomfortably stretched, accommodated Cyra's hand as it sank to the wrist.

Ana almost climaxed then and there, but something was missing, even as the pads of Cyra's fingers molested the sensitive walls of her canal. Then, a ruddy, oily finger slipped into her anus, and her world imploded in a haze of violent, earthshaking orgasm.

Lura closed her eyes, listening to the wails of orgasm and pleasure coming from Ana and rubbing herself furiously, seeking yet another orgasm. Then all sound fell away. She opened her eyes, alarmed for a moment, and saw a figure, feminine and swaying seductively, walking toward her. Lura knew she was in the same place, but the incense, the dim fire, and the two fucking women were gone.

In a blaze of red glory, the figure was directly in front of her, and Lura could smell the purest, sweetest scent of feminine musk. She looked into blazing eyes, pale-skinned face, and wildly flowing mane of red hair. In her heart, and her loins, she knew who this person was, but she could not voice it. She feared to utter the name, as if to do so would send this visage spiraling away into oblivion. Instead, the woman leaned forward and sank her tongue into Lura's waiting, compliant mouth, and wrapping her long, elegant arms around the drow's strong, vivacious form.

Lura felt a sense of falling, then of gently settling onto soft grass. She realized that the pale legs of this divine woman were wrapped around her, and that her sex was grinding with maddening pleasure against her own. Seizing the opportunity, falling into the passion, Lura reached out and locked her lips with the woman, clasping one delicate, pale shoulder with one hand and with the other molesting an exposed, freely swaying breast, larger than Lura's own, with a rigid red nipple for her fingers to pinch and twist. The woman moaned in her mouth, and they began to buck their hips together furiously, their sexes crashing together with wet, slick noises.

"Say my name!" the woman shouted, breaking the kiss and staring Lura in the eyes. The drow's voice caught in her throat.

"Say it! Now!"

"SUNE!" Lura cried out, and her orgasm took her by force. She felt her sex emit a strong fount of nectar, but it was overpowered as the woman, Sune, also took her orgasm.

Sune's sex, bare and spread lewdly, ushered forth a thick, viscous jet of cum that smelled like a woman's musk, but with the consistency of male semen. "By my sex you take my essence into your loins," she declared, her breath throaty and thick with arousal. She stood, leaving Lura sitting, rubbing herself, beneath her. Sune seemed to grow taller and began vigorously rubbing her clitoris with one perfect hand.

"By my sex you take my essence into your core," she cried, and another jet of her divine nectar erupted forth, coating Lura's face even as it found her mouth. Lura swallowed the sweet juice down, trying to get as much of it as she could, sparing not one drop. 

"But by my heart, my passion, and my love, you are my Chosen Lover."

*****

"Lura!" Cyra shouted. The drow woke to the tiefling smacking her hard across the face.

"What?" Lura shouted. The sun had risen.

"You've been out for hours," Cyra said. "What happened to your hair, are you bleeding?"

Lura knew that she was not, and knew, instinctively, that the lone crimson streak that marked her now purely white hair was a mark from Sune herself. "I think we need to talk," Lura said, looking sheepishly to Ana.

*****

"Take more!" the man growled. Miria, tears streaking her face, tried to take in more of the man's foul-tasting member. He clearly had not bathed in a tenday. She loosened her throat and forced her face down. The elf got about half way, and the man, frustrated, grabbed her head and forced her nose into the thick tangle of pubic hair at the root of his cock.

"Good bitch," he said. "I knew when I found out you were a Sunite this would end well. After me, you can service my wife, and then the old man."

"We agreed," she said, pulling her mouth off the foul member, "that I would pleasure you, and you would give us supplies."

"True, but I have the knife, now, don't I?" the man said. He grinned, yellow teeth glaring down at her beneath sallow eyes. "Now get on your hands and knees. I'm gonna pump you full of my juice."

She swallowed her pride. She had to take care of her sisters and brother. For Sune. For the Fest Hall. Her duty was her passion, and she would fulfill that, even if it meant whoring herself out for supplies. Or anything else. She bent over, bracing herself on her hands as the man positioned himself behind her. He roughly pulled her leather breeches down, revealing her small, round ass. 

The man poked around at her pussy until it was wet from his fingers, then sniffed loudly. "Smells like a whore," he said, grinning again. "Oh, but I'm gonna be leaving that little pussy alone. I want me some elf ass."

Miria bit her lip, brushed away tears of humiliation, and felt the man's member, slathered in spit and what juice he could get from her pussy, press against her anus. She loosened it as much as she could, trying to relax, but Miria felt only searing pain as his member tore into her ass. Without regard to her, he began pumping furiously, making loud slapping noises against her ass. Her breasts bounced back and forth painfully from within her tight tunic, but, to her dismay, her nipples were beginning to harden in arousal. The scraping of the stiff buds against her starchy blouse sent electrified sensations straight to her loins, and she felt herself getting wet. She almost wept to herself when she realized her body was enjoying the abuse.

Then her mind broke.

She was enjoying it. Being taken roughly by a stranger, even the thought of being paid a meager sum of supplies was in a strange way arousing to her. She felt cheapened, but at the same time excited. Sorrow mixed with pleasure. Miria, the once proud elven paladin, wanted to get off on this man's dick. But she would not, she realized, as she felt his hot seed burst into her ass. He spasmed a few times inside her, then pulled out. The man pulled his pants up and told her to get out. She straightened her clothing before any of her charges could see her, and wiped the tears away.

She had sacrificed her dignity, her sacred vows to Sune, for her brethren. For her, for now, that was enough.



Sune's Chosen Ch. 04



Hammer reached up high, stretching the fatigue from his thick, rippling muscles, and took a deep, cleansing breath of the cool damp air. A smooth sheen of dew glistened in the light of the setting moon, and he pulled his shoulder-length mane of brown hair back behind his head, securing it with a small leather band. A purely feminine purr came from the ground, and he looked down to see Shanara, half wrapped in a thick, soft blanket, grinning contentedly as she enjoyed her dreamscape.

His thoughts were pulled from her as he recalled the day's events. Something had resurfaced in him earlier that day. They had saved the wagon team, or more accurately Cyra and Lura had, and he felt something he had not felt for several years. Back then, he had been a warrior, mighty and brave, a barbarian serving Tempus in battle. War was his life, and he and his clan had excelled in its art. His men wore naught but animal furs: cloaks and leggings made of a bear's hide, boots from the skins of mighty bucks, gloves from the stitched skins of foxes and wolves. They wore no armor over their chest, instead choosing to paint symbols with dyes. On his chest, he had worn the likeness of a horse's head, painted with red dye, a symbol of the Knight of the Lanceboard. It was the Red Knight's symbol, a goddess of strategy and exarch of the Lord of Battle himself.

It was only a single throw, and not even a real weapon, he told himself. A blacksmith hammer, a random object he had taken in his hurry to leave Silverymoon, had rested on his belt the way an elven bladesinger might carry a dagger on her belt to accompany her sword. In the heat of the moment, he had acquired his target, drawn the small, poorly balanced hammer, and hurled it a long bowshot's distance to hit, perfectly, on the mark. Even with a balanced weapon, a skilled thrower would be hard-pressed to make such an attack. He had shouted Tempus' name, and the Foehammer answered. 

Looking down, he saw Shanara, spent and sleeping soundly after a vigorous, rolling bout of lovemaking, and could not bring himself to smile. Truly, he enjoyed her company and thought fondly of their friendship, but at a time like this, he could not look past the holy symbol rising and falling in the nook between her modest breasts. Sune. He could feel Tempus' disdain for the goddess, could feel the Red Knight in his heart, scowling at what the Lady Firehair represented. 

"Too long, you have taken refuge in Her halls," a firm, feminine voice said.

His gaze was torn from Shanara's breast and he glanced around, legs bending slightly as his weight shifted to the balls of his toes, ready for whatever threat lurked in the wooded area. "Who goes there," he said quietly so as not to awaken the woman at his feet.

"You were always my favored, Gundor, son of Mandir," the voice came again. "It is a pity you no longer recollect my voice."

"It cannot be," he whispered.

"It is, as it always was. You called to my Father today, and he answered. Your heart sang the song of a warrior, a true warrior, and beat with the vigor befitting my lover," she said again, her voice rising.

Hammer felt his breath catch in his throat even as he began walking away from sleeping Shanara. The woods before him were filled with fog, and he rubbed his eyes as he gazed past the tall, dark trunks of old trees.

"Yes, you are beginning to remember..." she said, her voice lowering into a whisper.

"My Lady," he said breathlessly. He fell to one knee, the hard deadfall of leaves crackling under his weight. Cool, damp grass mingled dew and moist soil on his feet and knee, and he bowed his head, eyes clenched shut.

"Look upon me, my warrior," the Red Knight said, standing imperiously in front of Gundor.

His head slowly rose and he gasped at her radiance. She stood tall, though her red armor was not covering her, as usual. Her blonde hair covered part of her face, wrapped around the back of her neck, and fell down in front of her chest on the opposite side. Her legs were covered in long, loose pants, dyed red, that covered her feet and were damp at the hem from the dew. On her body she wore a long sleeved tunic, loose and comfortable, with her lapels untied. He gazed upon her, admiring as if for the first time the athletic curve of her hips, the shape of her thighs when the breeze pressed her pants against the limbs, and the gentle, womanly swell of her chest.

She looked upon the barbarian with an even stare, lips neutral and breathing even. She did not smile nor scowl at him, merely held out her hand and bid him rise. He stood slowly, forgetting his nakedness, and remembering the proud barbarian inside. 

"You remembered yourself today," she said quietly. Gundor was mesmerized by the movements of her lips and the way her neck flexed when she spoke.

"I did," he said, his voice deep and solemn. His knees were weak and his heart beat quickly in the presence of the Red Knight. 

"How did it feel, Gundor? My apologies, is it Hammer now?"

"Whatever you wish, my Lady," he said, bowing his head again. "Those that I travel with call me Hammer."

"Then I shall as well. How did it feel, Hammer, to remember the life you once led?"

"It felt," he said, making certain he spoke the correct words, "exhilarating. I was home again, returned to my place of comfort."

"The Dancing Rose did not comfort you?" she asked, a measure of irritation in her voice.

"It...had it's perks," he said. "But I was not at peace, not truly. I realize this now."

"Good," the Red Knight said. "I will never judge you by the company you enjoy, but you are being called, Hammer, by Tempus himself."

He lost his breath again, his eyes widening.

"And by myself." His gaze locked with hers, her honey-brown eyes shining through the darkness of night. "It is time for you to put away the bartender and the thing that festhall made you become. It is time for you to become, again, the mighty barbarian that won countless victories for your people. You are Gundor, Son of Mandir, of the Mighty Clan of the Griffon. The Thunderhammer on your back represents the life you led, the way Tempus, and myself taught you."

Hammer thrust his chest out at the recitation of his lineage, fists clenching at his sides and jaw firm. She came forward in long strides, her hands resting on his chest with an almost electric touch.

"And you are my lover," she said in a whisper. "And no Heartwarder, no human woman, no drow will ever match me."

Her touch lit fires in his loins and eyes. His hands grasped her hips and his face was enveloped by the sweet aroma of her hair. It was heavenly, womanly, and mighty all at once, like the scent of steel, wrapped in leather, under a fierce rainstorm. Hammer breathed her scent in, then pulled his face away, finding the passion in her gaze, then hungrily taking her lips with his own. They kissed passionately, his tongue sweeping over her lips, beckoning them to open.

But the Red Knight was not like other women. Her lips parted willingly, breaking under the insistence of his tongue, but unlike those he had known in the past, she went on the offensive. The Red Knight's hands were firm on his chest as she pushed him, hard, into a tree, her tongue delving deep into his mouth. She could feel the stubble on his face against her soft lips as she kissed him hungrily, and the sensation was at once tickling and rough. 

Hammer growled deep in his throat as her teeth, perfect and white, bit down on his lower lip. She grinned at him, and the expression made his loins churn with need. It was not long before he felt his member swollen to rub against the rough fabric of her loose pants. His hands grasped at her back, roaming roughly before on settled on the firm swell of her bottom, and the other came to rest on her cheek, fingers rough against the soft skin of her neck. 

She gasped against his mouth, her tongue driving hungrily forward again as she reached down to feel the enflamed shaft rubbing insistently against the inside of her thigh. The Red Knight came forward suddenly, her body pressed tight against the thick, broad torso before her as she pulled the naked shaft up into the nexus of her thighs. Even through the rough fabric of her pants, she could feel the heat and the thick veins, pulsing with thick, virile blood, that marked this member. A very mortal sensation overtook the goddess when she felt her loins clench and curl deliciously within.

He groaned at the sensation of the rough fabric of her pants against the sensitive flesh of his cock, but he grinned where others might shy away in pain. Her hips thrust hither and thither, grinding her hungry sex against his virile member, and he pulled his mouth away from hers. She gasped and moaned audibly as he nibbled and suckled down her delicate jaw line to the side of her neck. Hammer grinned against her skin as she almost giggled at the tickling sensation his bristly face inflicted on her neck. 

"I need you, my love," the Red Knight said, her voice throaty and needy. "I have waited too long for you."

"I am returned to you, my Lady," he said, pausing from his ministrations to whisper to her. "Never again shall I leave."

The Red Knight clasped his jaw in her hands, staring him in the eyes with a look of desperation on her face. He could smell his cock on her palm as she ran her hands over his face, brushing hair away and smoothing the bristles of his beard. Greedily, Hammer grasped the waistband of her pants and thrust them down over the curve of her hips, and let gravity pull the garment down to the ground. His hands seized her collar, heedless of the thin leather straps that served to tie the collar shut, and with a flex of his back and arms, pulled the thin tunic apart, tearing it down the center.

"Take me," she commanded. Her voice was at once imperious and desperate, commanding and needy. 

Hammer complied, slipping one thick leg between hers and hooking it behind her, then pushing forward, holding her tight against him as they both fell slowly to the ground. Her tunic fell open off to the sides, the leather band that had fallen free rested against her neck. The Red Knight pressed her hands firmly against his broad, muscular back, her nails digging into the flesh. She spread her legs before him and immediately felt his member, hot as it hovered just over her awaiting, needing sex. 

Grinning down at his goddess, he shifted his weight onto one hand as he slid his other slowly down her torso. His fingers, thick and strong, grazed over her perfect, noble breasts, tracing languid circles around the darker aereolas and stiff, impudent nipples. He wanted to explore her again, to tease and taste her, but the needful look in her eyes demanded nothing less than his swollen shaft filling her steaming canal. His fingers glided down her taut abdomen and pressed against her soaked sex. After he spread the generous nectar of her arousal over his rigid shaft, he brought his hand up to her face.

She smelled her arousal on his hand, and for a brief moment, she felt such wanton urges that she would have blushed in any other company. The Red Knight took Hammer's fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean, and managed to find his eyes again just as she felt his thick, rigid shaft penetrate her, filling her to the hilt in one fell swoop. An audible gasp followed by a loud, relieved moan resonated in her throat and broke the still night air.

Hammer slid his hand down her flank, down to her hip, and pulled one of her legs up tight against his own flank and hip. Her other leg hooked around his thickly muscled thigh as he began to thrust deep into her. Never in all her life had she felt such sensual, erotic sensations as she did being filled by Hammer, for no other thing had ever fit into the channel of her sex so perfectly, so completely. The rigid rows of veins pulsed against the sensitive inner walls of her sex as the enflamed head of his cock rubbed relentlessly against the most sensitive spot deep inside her, at the heart of her sex. 

Every race had a name for it. The elves had an allusion to Hanali Celanil, while the dwarves called it the Mountain's Secret. Human's simply called it "the Spot." Hammer did not lessen the divine heart of the Red Knight's pleasure with a name, he simply worshipped it with his ministrations. Relentless, he thrust forward, progressing from long, slow strokes to a quick, fierce inward thrust, followed by a slow, tantalizing egress, until the head of his hammer rested right at the entrance to her divine nexus. 

Her back arched off the ground, thrusting her breasts up into the rippling, sweating façade of Hammer's massive torso. The moisture that coated his body lubricated the almost painfully erotic sensation of her turgid nipples sliding over the skin, and she gasped audibly. He bit down on her ear gently, sending a spike of pleasure through her body, all the way down to her quivery sex.

Her climax took her by surprise, clenching her pussy around his almost supernatural member, and sending spasms throughout her body. She convulsed and cried out, her fingers digging so hard into his skin that her nails broke his thick skin. A torrent of her sex flowed from her insides, coating his shaft with a copious amount of her honeyed nectar so thoroughly that he almost slipped out.

Hammer grasped her hip tightly and pulled her toward him, hilting himself as her sexy clenched repeatedly on him. He let his own climax take him, let her sex milk him as it squeezed so tightly around him, and thick, virile jets of his essence erupted forth in a hot blast of passion, painting the divine heart of her pleasure and her divine womb with his copious seed.

They lay there, panting, for what seemed like an eternity. Time stopped, and they lost themselves in their passionate embrace. Sleep took them both, and Hammer slept more soundly than he had in years. It was only when a cool morning breeze sent a chill over his damp body that he woke, alone. Despite his solitude, he rose with a smile, knowing that the Red Knight was with him again, and that he was who he was born to be: a barbarian and a warrior. As he stood, he felt something snug against his neck and tap lightly on his chest. 

Looking down, he saw the symbol of the Red Knight hanging on his chest. The red horse's head, the likeness of the Knight on a Lanceboard, was secured by a thin leather band, what had remained of her tunic after he had torn it. Silently, he thanked the Lady of Strategy, and walked back toward the wagon's camp, finding his discarded clothing where Shanara had laid the night before. When he arrived, though, he did not find the plain clothing he had worn since his arrival in Silverymoon. In its stead, a pile of furs waited, clean and neatly folded. He recognized them as the furs he had worn once, long ago, as the chieftain of the Clan of the Griffon. 

As he reverently donned the animal hide armor, he uncovered a long box, covered partially by leaves. He strapped the armor securely to his thickly-muscled frame, relishing in the feel of leather and fur against his bare skin, and knelt before the box. There was no latch, simply a lid to cover what lay within. He removed it, and his old weapon, a great warhammer, polished and carved with the symbols of his gods: The sword and shield of Tempus, the Griffon of his clan and Uthgar, and, on the opposing side, the Red Knight's Horse. He hefted the mighty warhammer, felt its weight in his hand, pulling the muscles in his arm and shoulder taut as he held it aloft. Hammer grinned with excitement, laying the weapon across his shoulder as he returned to the wagon, where he could hear the voices of his companions.

*****

Lura felt wholly different when she returned to the wagon where her companions awaited her. Cyra and Ana had left her in near their secluded campsite after her encounter with Sune, respecting her desire for privacy and contemplation. She wore her usual fine mesh clothing, enchanted powerfully to protect her in combat, and her sword at her hip. Her hair fell freely about her head and shoulders in long, lustrous silver locks, with the single crimson lock never blending in with the silver. 

Immediately upon seeing the people she had traveled with and those she had helped rescue, she noticed something was different. She could sense their emotions, their desires, and their passions. Cyra was the first to welcome her back, loudly enough to draw the attention of the others.

"Welcome back, Most Beautiful Lura," Cyra said with a great sweeping bow. Lura almost smiled, but affected a sardonic smirk instead. Truthfully, she thought that was a fitting title for a Chosen of Sune, but her drow instincts forced a measure of sarcasm and irritation into her façade.

"It is past time for us to depart," Miria said gruffly. Lura thought she saw fatigue shadows under her eyes, which confounded her because elves generally required very little real sleep and more often preferred the Reverie, a state of semi-consciousness, to sleep. 

"Are you certain?" Lura asked. "You do not look well." Miria locked eyes with Lura, and the drow could feel the pain in her soul. Several images flashed through her awareness, images that disturbed her. The man that lead the wagon leering down behind his erect member, the elderly man forcing himself between pale, toned thighs, and even the woman laughing quietly, but maniacally at her. She suspected that Sune had given her the power to see into people's hearts, but more than that? The ability to almost experience things that caused pain and remorse as if she were in someone else's shoes?

"Lura, are you well?" Hammer was asking her. His resonant voice drew her from her troubling musings, and she nodded curtly as she studied him. Something had changed in the big man, as well. He wore his traditional armor, all animal skin, and had a large, magnificent hammer strapped to his back. What stood out the most to her, though, was the red horse, a knight piece from a Lanceboard, hanging from his neck. And he had the air of divinity about him, though it did not emanate from him.

"I see you have found your true passion, Hammer, and that your heart is at rest," she said solemnly. "Sune is saddened by your departure, but pleased that, through serving your passions, you still, in a manner of speaking, serve her. She is happy for you."

The barbarian looked around skeptically, then seemed to take note of the red lock of hair that hung near her face. "I thank you for your words of kindness," he said. "You are correct, and you all must know that I no longer follow the edicts of Sune. I have returned to my old ways, the ways of the barbarian, for that is what I was born to be."

"And who do you serve now, if not Sune?" Shanara asked, a little coldly though she fancied him with a small smile.

"I serve Tempus, the Lord of Battle...and, more intimately, the Red Knight," he said, putting his big hand to the necklace.

"The Lady does not look kindly on the Lord of Battle," Miria said. She made no effort to conceal her disdain. "He destroys that which is beautiful, and the Red Knight is no better."

"You do not speak for Lady Firehair," Lura said suddenly. 

"I am her Heartwarder," Miria said in a threatening tone. "I am closer to her than any of you are!"

"Not so," Lura replied, her ire rising. "Last night, Sune came to me, though whether it was a vision or a dream, I know not. She made love to me, unlocked my Heart of Passion with her hand, and infused my body and spirit with her divine power. I am a Chosen of Sune now."

"That is ridiculous," Miria said dismissively. She started to turn away when Cyra spoke up.

"It's true," the tiefling said, smoothing her pale hair around her petite horns. "I was there when the Sune took her. Me and the girl both."

Miria looked at Ana, who smiled sheepishly as she sat on the tailgate of the wagon, watching the drama unfold. "What in the Hells were you three doing?"




Sune's Chosen Ch. 04



"Er..." Cyra said, looking at Lura, then to Ana, "keeping up on...foreign relations? It doesn't matter, fact of the matter is, I've never seen a woman get off the way we watched Lura do it last night. The Lady Firehair was with her, that's for certain. She wasn't even rubbing herself, and her pussy was gaped open like she had an invisible hand in her. Oh, did I mention the way the fire sprang to life and turned bloody crimson? Yeah, we don't need more proof than that."

Miria scowled deeply, and Lura felt the anger radiating from the elf paladin. The drow thought that Miria had always been devout in her passions, even if she was a little overbearing in her duties, but now, for the first time, she was beginning to question their leader. Was her heart truly pure for Sune? Was she truly devoted to her passions and the Goddess of Beauty?

"Miria, I would speak privately to you," Lura said softly, locking her gaze with the elf. She nodded curtly, and the two walked off into the woods a way, away from everyone else. They stopped at a small clearing, and Lura looked up at the sun. It no longer burnt her skin or singed her eyes, another blessing of Sune, she figured. Birds chirped merrily, and the wind had warmed as the sun rose, carrying a sweet scent of early autumn. On the breeze, she could sense moisture, and knew that rain was not far off. She turned to the beautiful elf and smiled.

"What?" Miria asked curtly.

"You are beautiful in the sunlight," Lura said, her Common accented harshly with drow inflections. She examined the elf before her. Miria wore a light green tunic for traveling that was sleeveless and fitted around her midsection. Her compact breasts were complimented by the slim design of the tunic, as the fabric hugged them and made the outline of her partially stiff nipples visible. Her breeches were tight on her lithe, muscular thighs. The low shoes she wore were perfectly fitted to her delicate, but strong feet, and her calves were gloriously visible, smooth and milky and toned to divine perfection. Lura realized she could lose herself for days idolizing the elven woman's body. 

But the elf's face did not compliment the svelte beauty the rest of her body held. She was scowling, her long, curly black hair tied tightly behind her head. "Did you bring me over here to flatter me, or is there business?"

"What troubles you so, Miria?" Lura asked. She affected a plaintive look, because her sisterly bond to the elf demanded compassion, even if her drow nature couldn't care less if the paladin was angry or happy. 

"Nothing troubles me, sister," she replied. "We should get going, though, I would like to see the walls of Everlund by nightfall."

"We aren't going anywhere until whatever troubles you has been resolved, Miria," Lura said sternly.

"You don't run this expedition," Miria shot back. "I am the ranking priestess here, surely a drow like you can appreciate that. Oh, but you're the Chosen of Sune now, aren't you? Well, maybe we should stay here. Maybe we should lounge all day long, flirting and drinking and fucking. Isn't that what you'd like, drow?"

An angered matron's fury welled up in Lura, but she mastered her emotions and said, evenly, "I would not presume to usurp your position, sister. We have trusted you always to lead us, and the Dancing Rose, to prosperity, and I will not change that now. You have always been a leader, devout in your passions, and never wavering in your resolve. I may be Sune's Chosen, but you are the leader. I have no heart for it, as you so deftly pointed out."

Mira sighed, looking down at her feet. Lura knew that she was feeling remorse for the way she had acted, but also could sense that something deeper was troubling her. Before she could say anything else, Miria reached up and put her pale hand on Lura's onyx-skinned face. "I am sorry, sister. Truly, you did not deserved to be spoken to in such a manner. I am happy that Sune has shown you such favor. Surely her realm rejoices in your ascension, as we all should. I love you, Lura, and I always shall."

The drow smiled, touched by Miria's sincerity.

"I have been burdened by the recent events in Silverymoon," she confessed. "It is hard to have everything you love and care for be stripped from you for false righteousness. You all trusted me, and I feel as if I have failed you."

Lura smiled sweetly, putting her hand on Miria's face likewise. "My sister, none of us blame you for this, and none of us feel betrayed by you. You have done what you could, and that is all that we could ever ask." Miria smiled back at the drow.

"Thank you," the elf said. She came forward slowly, her soft, pink lips pressing lightly against Lura's deep violet lips. The drow returned the kiss, pressing a bit more into Miria, and another vision struck her, holding her in place.

We saved you, you owe us, a familiar voice said. 

Perhaps, but you're the one in need, aren't you pretty one? You'll service me, my uncle over there, and my wife if she wants it. Then you'll get your supplies. You Sunites like to fuck, so fuck for money, or supplies, whatever. 

Sune does not permit prostitution.

Well, you're going to have to cheat a little, then aren't you? You're going to have to whore yourself to me and mine if you're wanting any of these supplies.

"Are you ok?" Miria asked for the third time, alarm in her eyes. Lura looked at her, realization taking hold.

"Yes," Lura said. "Sorry, I am still getting used to this Chosen of Sune thing. Lots of power going unchecked right now." It was the best lie she could offer. Miria took it.

"Maybe it just needs some release?" Miria suggested, a sly smirk on her face. Despite the troubling vision, Lura felt a knot of desire build in her loins, and suddenly her clothing, thin though it was, felt all too restraining. Miria came forward, kissing her hungrily. 

With the hopes that feeling true passion and beauty would cure Miria of her self-inflicted despair and pull her away from the road of prostitution and degradation, Lura gave in, letting the elven paladin take her to the ground in a fiery embrace.

*****

"Mistress, the Sunites are in disarray." The voice was distant, quiet, airy as if spoken by the thick air itself. The truth of the matter was that the voice was indeed distant, though the measure of the distance went beyond mortal reckoning. Entire Planes separated the source of the voice and its destination.

"Good," was all She replied. Her voice was silky, if silk could be complimented by the threads of shadow that permeated the plane She inhabited.

"Mistress, if I may ask of you a question?" the voice came again. It was deep, thick with power, though the vast distances between the two diminished that effect.

"Ask, Nightseer."

"Why? What is the purpose of attacking this group of Sunites?"

"Every one has their Secret to hold," the woman's voice responded. "This is not for you to know, Nightseer. Be certain that your puppet follows through with the next portion of my plan. The Sunite that I am after should remain unharmed. She will prove to be useful to our gains."

"Of course, Mistress." The magical connection was gone. She felt it severed because she, Shar, had dominion over the Shadow Weave, the tapestry of magical energy that lay beneath the Weave Mystra controlled that gave power to normal wizards and mages. Her Shadow Weave had been an attack on the Goddess of Magic, and despite the fact that she still had not been able to usurp control over all magic, she was still quite smug about her creation. Now, her attention had been turned from Mystra, to Sune, the bitch that had taken her lovely toy Sharess.

Sharess, a lesser deity at the time who had been exploring the darker side of pleasure, had come to Shar to further that curiosity. Sune, the loving goddess that she is, swept in and "rescued" the fledgling deity from Shar during the Time of Troubles, when the gods and goddesses walked the earth as mortals. Shar certainly felt no attachment to the Dancing Lady, quite the contrary. Being the goddess of loss, the Mistress of the Night found more pleasure in losing the lovely goddess than the many times she had bound the wanton girl up and dominated her.

Her actions now, the attempt to steal Sune's Chosen, make the drow girl her own Chosen, was simply an act of revenge, boredom, and her own desire to inflict loss. Of course, she was aware of the recent changes in their little party. The elf, a Heartwarder, was slowly turning to prostitution, an abomination to Sune, and thus falling out of her faith. The human barbarian had left Sune's dominion to rejoin his Red Knight and his barbarian's ways. Lura, the drow bard, had been elevated to Chosen of Sune, given powers she could not yet understand. Now it was time to send her influence in to corrupt the drow's faith and turn her to the darkness. For that she needed her Nightseer, and his agent in Silverymoon.

Smiling, anticipating her victory and the inflicted loss, Shar leaned back in an obsidian throne. Wreathed in shadows, Lady Loss felt the cool tendrils of semi-sentient tendrils of darkness roam her body, caressing her curves. She felt Shadow cocoon her in its cold, comfortable embrace. What clothing she wore, made of pure shadow-stuff, vanished in the blanket of shadow, and she felt the cold wrapping press against her bared skin, stiffening her nipples and caressing her sex. Smiling, she lost herself in the pleasure of shadows.

*****

Abondel snarled as he threw his chair across his private quarters. His door opened soon after, a young man poking his head in to be certain nothing was amiss. Abondel was tall and naked, sweat glistening on his body in the light of the burning hearth. Wrapped in furs on the bed were two women, both sound asleep and thoroughly exhausted. Several implements hung from the head-board, and the young man knew they had seen plenty use. The women likely were suffering from angry red welts all along their backs and bottoms and thighs, the product of Abondel's purging. 

He knew well, for he had been subject to that form of treatment as well. Abondel, leader of the Silverymoon Morality Movement, was cursed with an insidious disease, one that crept up on him at most inopportune times. He felt lust, and not in any normal sense. His lust was overpowering, so much to cripple him if he did not have his release, and his tastes had grown more violent as the perceived disease became more frequent. He had to dominate, control, and then find his release in doing so, lest his lust drive him insane. It was a condition he blamed wholly on Sune and her allies. Halani the elven goddess, Sharess, Lliira, and Sune were his enemies, and he has found himself allied to different churches with the ultimate goal of purifying Faerûn from these deities of lust.

Abondel's latest alliance had come from the Church of Shar, and though he knew not the person that contacted him at regular intervals, he had a feeling the man, if indeed he was a man, was very high up in her clergy. He had just visited, and at a time when Abondel's disease had been at its most powerful. The man had only just released himself with the two slave girls, and the cursed lust had flared again, leaving him rigid as an iron wand and flushed with need. Then the voice had come from the thick of darkness. The shadow portal was still up, waiting for him to pass through to meet his contact, the person that would affect the next phase of Shar's plan to weaken Sune herself. 

It would stay open until he used it to cross several miles, into Everlund, and back, so when his aide, Sevastien, poked his head in, he had knew he wouldn't be forced to injure Shar's agent. With long strides, the tall commander went to his bed, took a long, studded whip from the headboard, and turned to look at the young man.

A moment of fear crossed Sevastien's eyes as he looked at Abondel, tall and imposing. Then excitement took hold of him, his member stirring as he looked upon Abondel's imposing member. 

*****

"The gates of Everlund," Anliva said, her voice rough and whimsical at the same time. "The Lady blessing us, we'll be met with no resistance."

"We will pass unharmed," Lura said, a warm smile on her face. She no longer wore the flimsy garments that she was accustomed to. Lura had been gifted overnight by Sune with a traveling robe that conformed to her whims. It was red, matching the red streak in her hair, and hugged her voluptuous feminine curves. The robe's collar met between her breasts, and the magical garment pushed her breasts up and out, emphasizing her already alluring cleavage. The sides of the robe were split, but only because the drow bard wished it. The splits rose up just past mid-thigh, giving her a measure of protection while retaining a seductive quality. Her traveling shoes had been replaced by knee-high boots, buckled all the way up the calf, and with a thick, tall heel, and those boots were enchanted to resist dirt, grime, and other products of walking, but stayed comfortable and, more importantly for her sake, silent.

She kept her sword belted at her hip and her hair pulled back, leaving the one red lock of hair to hang down by her face. Anliva looked at her in awe, as the embodiment of her goddess, and Lura found her attentions a bit tiresome. Her drow sensibilities kept her from truly enjoying the dwarf's affections, though she did allow herself to smile at the stocky cleric.

"Everlund is a close ally with Silverymoon," Miria said. "What makes you think they'll accept us when the Gem of the North turned us out?"

"Because Sune is with us," Lura said matter-of-factly. To her chagrin, her lovemaking with the paladin had not eased the elf's pessimism and general air of anger. She now felt as if the elf was shutting her out more than before.

Miria tried to scoff to herself, but the expression was more public than she had intended. She could feel a cold glare from Cyra behind her, and a questioning stare from the big traitor barbarian, who had abandoned Sune for the Red Bitch.

"We ought to make camp," Mikhail said quietly. "The sun is setting quickly this night."

"We can make the gates shortly after nightfall by my guess," Cyra said. Her voice was a purr, tempered by the lazy drawl she affected when not trying to appear somewhat civilized. Her upbringing had been rough, and she had picked her speech up from hooligans and thugs, but only because her mother had been a promiscuous woman. 

"But the Everlund gates close when the sun disappears," Mikhail explained, his voice growing bolder. "I am no stranger to this trade city, dear Cyra, trust me. If we wish to make a smooth, civilized entrance, we ought to wait until dawn."

"I agree," Lura said. "Cyra, lets go ahead and scout for a camping spot."

"Who put you in charge?" Miria asked, her voice stern and annoyed.

Lura gazed at the elf dumbfounded. "It is the logical course of action, Miria. Mikhail knows this place, I trust him."

"I'm sure," Miria said. "Fine, do as you wish, Chosen."

The elf walked on past the stunned drow, and Cyra sidled up next to the drow bard, putting her hand on the small of her back. "What crawled up her ass and died?"

"A sword spider, by the look of it," Lura said as she imagined a hatchling of said spider breed crawling up her legs, wickedly sharp legs slicing their way up, toward the nexus of her legs, venom dripping down......

The drow shook her head clear of the vision. Some things of her past life she just could not shake, it seemed. Miria was her sister, and though she had failed in assuaging her disgruntled demeanor, she had to have faith that Sune would heal her Heartwarder. "Come, Cyra. Let's be away from our paladin leader before things get too out of hand. I can sense her anger, and it could boil over any time...and I fear I will be the cause if we don't hurry."

"Right-o," Cyra said, patting the drow on the bottom as they trotted off ahead of the party.

*****

Night did indeed fall fast, as Mikhail had predicted, but thankfully for the Sunites, they had made a hasty, yet comfortable camp. Lura had been able to conjure some fine food, thanks to the new powers Sune had granted her, and they all ate well that night next to a blazing fire. Miria had abstained from eating, and generally kept herself separated from her companions, huddling beneath the thick branches of a tree in her bedroll, clutching her sword close to her breast.

Lura, with an exceptionally strong passion burning in her breast and loins, had taken Mikhail down near a freshwater spring that was nearby, and the enthusiastic follower of Sharess took the drow bard several times throughout the night. Their copious lovemaking had entertained Cyra and Shanara, who spent the night toying with eachother and speaking of lovers past. Hammer took the evening to relax with Anliva, in whom he confided his relationship with the Red Knight and many of the deeds in his past. Anliva, a lover of stories, mead, and meat like any good dwarf, ate and drank heartily, enjoying the tales Hammer spun.

Within the walls of Everlund, under the roof of the Smoking Dragon, a not so pleasant evening was unfolding for Shadowdancer Iliara. The gold elf sat panting, covered in sweat despite the thin white nightshirt she wore. In the upper floor, Iliara enjoyed many pleasures that her expansive purse bought her, from exotic pipeweeds to even more exotic men and women, masters of their art all. This night, though, she had experienced an unexpected visitor. 

Sure, she had anticipated Abondel's visit, but not in the dark of night, and certainly not while copulating with two very skilled halfings on a dreamleaf binge. The encounter had left her sick to her stomach and the halflings catatonic with fear. But his message had been clear, and she was in no position to disobey Shar herself. The halflings had finally fallen asleep in her bed, both sporting unusually large erections in their sleep state, and she sighed. Another night of unfulfilled lust. Her lamentations were cast aside, though, as business took hold of her thoughts. She rose, shedding the soaked nightshirt so that her bronze, sweaty skin could cool and dry in the cold, stagnant air of her dark apartment. 

She walked over to an armoire, opened it and pushed aside several garments to find what she was looking for. A small black box gleamed in the lightless apartment, and she felt a thrill course through her as her dexterous fingers slid over the smooth surfaces. She opened it and the powerful, pungent aroma of a blackstalk mushroom assaulted her senses. Iliara had forced herself to grow accustomed to the scent and had even conditioned her body to become resistant to the potentially fatal chemicals in the fungus. 

The Shadowdancer had heard of secret sects of Shar that used the blackstalk during ceremony, either by burning it and inhaling the toxic, hallucinogenic vapors, simply chewing the stalks to induce visions that would either tell them what Shar wished, or crushing the fine spores into a powder and consuming it for a similar effect. The side effects, should Shar not favor the consumer, were often fatal. Unless, of course, you were drow, who live around the poisonous fungi and consume it as food. Iliara envied their natural resistance to magic and poison as she ran a fingernail along the stem, peeling off an ultra-fine fiber and setting the thin strip on her tongue.

It burned, almost painfully, almost pleasantly, but never quite one or the other. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth as she felt her muscles clench all together. Then, the pain subsided and she was left with a surreal vision of the darkness around her. Humanoid shapes stalked through the shadows of her apartment, red eyes like burning embers staring dangerously at her. She bit her lip, feeling cold shadowstuff caressing her skin, seeking her sensitive spots to stimulate them. She looked up and saw not a roof, but a black moon wreathed in purple fire, a symbol of Shar. 




Sune's Chosen Ch. 04



Iliara smiled to herself and felt euphoria wash over her. Her skin tingled with excitement even as she felt herself go numb to her surroundings. The touch of shadows was exciting, sending thrills up and down her spine and making her throat dry with desire. Then she saw him, the object of her current lust. Standing tall, with wiry muscles and speckled with blood, was Abondel. She hated him, but he had come to see her naked, sporting a large, impressive erection and speckled with someone's blood. Iliara hated herself for her wantonness, but his cock...she had to have it.

He looked at her, his eyes black as coals, and came forward swiftly, turning her about and pressing her face into the wooden wall. His heat was pervasive around her in the cold shadows, and his blood and sweat soaked skin slid over her bare back and bottom. He kicked her feet apart and pressed his rigid member into the crevasse of her butt, pressing his head against the tight rosebud of her anus. 

She gasped, then cried out as he took her, shoving himself unceremoniously into her rectum. Iliara could feel every ridge and vein on the man's large prick, and loved every inch of it. She relaxed herself, put her hands on the wall, and felt her own nectar flowing from her loins, down her thighs. He reached a hand around and furiously thrust his fingers in and out of her sopping cunt, grinding the heel of his palm against the pearl of her clit. His breath was hot on her ear as he grunted, and it was only moments before she felt his seed filling her ass to the brim.

The hallucination ended abruptly when a hot jet of seed splashed across her cheek, followed by another from a different direction. Reflexively, her eyes snapped shut just in time to protect the sensitive organs from another blast that landed right on her eyelid. Copious amounts of sweet, male-smelling cum splattered onto her face and dripped down her neck and to her breasts. She wiped her eyes clean and opened them to see two smiling Halfling men looking down at her. They laughed when she smirked a little, but she didn't remember getting down on her knees. Good blackstalk, she thought to herself. Looking down, she noted that she didn't imagine her nectar flowing so freely. There was a large puddle beneath her bared nexus, and her thighs were damp.

"You two know an opportunity when you see one, don't you," she asked as she licked her lips clean.

"'Course we do," one said.

"The dreamweed only knocked us out for a short time, and we awoke to see you in a blackstalk hallucination," the other commented. "We figured from your earlier overtures you wouldn't mind."

She grinned up at them. "Stick around this part of the city and you can do more. For now, I need to clean off and, unfortunately, duty calls."

The whined and moaned a little but, in the end, they complied. Mostly dressed, the wobbly-legged halflings left her apartment so that she could prepare for the task at hand. Sune's Chosen was coming soon, and she had to be ready.

*****

Hammer wore only his fur-lined leather breeches as he swung his hammer this way and that, mimicking a fight with an invisible foe. Lura watched longingly as she admired the thick muscles rippling under his skin in the pre-dawn light. Mikhail's dexterous fingers trailed up her lean, bare flank, then back down to her hip. "You want him," he said matter-of-factly.

"He is an outstanding specimen," Lura replied, never taking her eyes from Hammer.

"I am not enough, then?" Mikhail asked. He hid his disappointment well.

Lura rolled over, away from the muscular barbarian, and pressed herself tight against the smaller human. She kissed him deeply, then looked him in the eye. "It is not that, Mikhail," she said softly. "I love being with you, and your lovemaking is masterful."

"But I am much smaller than he is," he reasoned, attempting to discern her meaning before she divulged it.

"Well, yes," she said, "but that is not what I'm getting at. He is simply different. Not better, nor worse, just different, and my longing gaze is one of curiosity. That is all. I am attracted to him, but I do not need him."

"And you need me?" Mikhail said, his voice a bit hopeful.

"Don't get carried away," she said, her voice taking a practical tone. "I am drow, and I need nobody. I have chosen to be with you, though. You must understand, when a drow woman decides something, it is a decision not taken lightly."

"Ah," Mikhail said, a smile growing on his face. "Is this how your homeland operates?"

"Oh, Mikhail," she said, turning away again so that he could curl up to her back. They fit together like two spoons in a kitchen drawer. "Your ignorance on drow society amuses me. No. In my homeland, as with almost all Lolth-worshipping drow cities, the women rule with a fist of adamantite, and a man such as yourself would have served only as a seed-donor for reproduction. When my fancy had been sated and your purpose fulfilled, you would have been cast aside like so much waste. Or simply killed and fed as stew to the slaves."

"Touching," he replied. There was a moment of silence as the two watched the powerful barbarian in his martial dance. "So, your curiosity with Hammer is just that, then? Curiosity?"

"Yes."

"Would you ever act on it?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she replied honestly, but without explanation.

"Do you think he'd go along with it? If we approached him with such an idea, that is."

"Just what are you proposing, my dear?" Lura asked, looking over her shoulder. He brushed some of her hair from her face and grinned like a wolf. "Oh..." she said, pondering. "Oh!" A sudden, insistent arousal washed over her. The thought of the giant barbarian and her skillful Mikhail both...

"I thought so," he said, grinning. "Perhaps once we get settled in Everlund?"

"Absolutely," Lura replied. She watched Hammer swinging his weapon with a new perspective. She felt his lips and tongue dancing along her shoulder and neck, felt her hair pulled to the side and his hands massaging her breasts. Her thighs parted a little, resting her top leg over his thighs as his hand crept ever downward. His erecting pressed against the swell of her bottom and against the tight rosebud behind her quickly-moistening sex. His fingers spread her arousal around, lubricating both her canals and, her eyes and mind on the barbarian, slid his fingers into her sex and his cock into her ass. She closed her eyes, lost in the fantasy as he lost himself in her flesh.