0 comments/  5788 views/  3 favorites

The Apostate

By: srhammer8888



Hammer stared into the silvered glass with a knit brow. He didn't like what was going on here, not one bit. He hadn't lost any size, save for a measure of height, but the sharp angles of his face were not the strong features he remembered. Nor was the black skin and the mane of silver-white hair that gleamed in the faerie fire light his lover had conjured. 

"Not a bad look," the drow said, her voice silky smooth and laced with promises he knew only she could truly fulfill. 

"Better than my previous?" he asked with a grumble. 

"Hardly. I've grown fond for the square features of your kind. But it's nice to see the man I love in the skin I grew up with," Lura said with a smirk. "Besides. If you weren't to wear that mask where we're going, you'd be killed on sight. Both of us, most likely." 

Hammer brought his hands up to his jaw, just below his ear, and felt where the mask had melded to his face. The disguise was magical in nature, but Lura assured him that her kin would not be able to discern the deception. So deep was the magic that his very blood had become drow in every way save for the uniqueness that was the barbarian's. He sighed and nodded. 

"Very well," he said, strapping his greatsword across his back. The weapon had been commissioned by Lura, and the Neverwintan smith that had crafted it had been very discreet with his acquisition of adamantite and very thorough with every detail Lura had given him. The blade was light, perfectly balanced for its great size, with a leather-wrapped grip, an ornate, yet functional hilt. The pommel was a perfect marquise diamond, glinting darkly with inborn magic that Lura herself had infused into the gem. 

Even his armor had been custom made to suit his new appearance. Supple chain mail that almost seemed to stretch seamlessly over his largely muscular frame to protect his torso left his arms bare. His thighs were sheathed in a kilt of leather, reinforced with stout, light splints, and his leather leggings were reinforced with the same supple chain on his chest. He wore tall black boots with flat soles, giving him more than a measure of stealth should he require it. All in all, he was outfitted like a true drow warrior, master of the greatsword. 

"A princess and high priestess returning to her homeland with a Houseless rogue," she said, smirking. "My family might sacrifice me on the spot, regardless of the story I've concocted about seeking Lolth on the surface. That is the risk we take, though." 

"Remind me why, again?" Hammer said. 

"My younger sister, a decade behind me, and directly behind me in succession to our House's throne, sent me a magical sending. She is an apostate, like me, but has lived her life among the decadence and wickedness of Menzoberranzan while I chose to leave that world behind." 

"You'll have to tell me how that came to pass, some time," Hammer said. 

"We've a long road ahead of us," she said. "I'm sure you'll hear plenty of my departure." 

"I hope for more than simple stories," he said, turning to face her fully. Her crimson eyes, splashed with swirls of gold, glowed with the divinity planted in her by Sune, Goddess of Love. Her white hair was pulled back tight, but the bundle of garnet strands that framed the side of her face hung free on one side. Her beautiful, angular features leaned forward to meet his as they kissed. Hammer may be wearing a new skin, but he had not lost his way with his tongue. They kissed deeply and passionately, and in mere moments, the armor they'd struggled to stretch over his frame was on the floor, leaving him bare and obsidian before her. 

She pushed him away. Her hands were dwarfed by the expanse of his chest, but still she exerted enough influence over the massive, powerful barbarian to move him well enough away that he could see her gown in its current state. It clung to her every feminine curve—the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, her shapely thighs, the taper of her abdomen—in gauzy, weblike form, the normally bright red darkened to an almost blood-crimson shade that was just a few shades lighter than her onyx skin. He could see her hardened nipples through the gown, just a shade darker than the black skin of her breasts, surrounded by taut areola that were drawn up around her nipple in arousal. 

"Beautiful," Hammer breathed as his eyes hungrily consumed her form. 

"Hush now," she said, and her fingers gingerly peeled away the gauzy garment, letting it fall to her elbows, revealing her lush breasts while keeping her lower half and her stomach sheathed in the thin material. He could see the short, neatly trimmed tuft of white hair just above the nexus of her womanhood. She was moving forward, her breasts bouncing slightly with each light step. Her hand pushed him back toward the bed until he fell to sit on the mattress, his manhood laying long and aroused, yet not quite erect, between his thick, powerful thighs. 

She straddled him, and when her thighs parted he could smell the floral, almost sweet scent of her arousal. "We may not get to do this much in the next few tendays," she purred to him, pressing her breasts into his chest. "Let us enjoy it fully."  

She reached down, and with a scant few firm strokes to his growing manhood, had him hard as iron in her grip. He slipped into her slickened sex effortlessly, and she slide down his rod slowly, feeling the fattened head spearing into her folds, his girth stretching her anew. Bliss spread from her loins to her spine and into her throat as her head lolled back. She felt every texture of his cock as it entered her, pressing into her deepest depths, until the discomfort of it shook her. He was hilted inside her, and she paused there to let her sex adapt to his size, making her feel utterly full with his manhood. 

"So deep...every time it surprises me," she whispered, hands wrapping around his broad, round shoulders as her face leaned into his neck, kissing where the mask melded with his flesh. She dug her nails into his shoulders, flexed her thighs to raise up, and then dropped herself down on him suddenly, letting out a strained groan of pleasure as she felt his cock spear her yet again. She bit down on his neck, not hard enough to draw blood from his tough skin, but hard enough to elicit a hiss of...delight, from her barbarian. 

Hammer slid his strong hands down her tapered back, feeling the shifting of muscles as her arms worked around his shoulders and back, the depression and extension of her shoulder blades, and, down further, the flexing and twisting of her lower back as her hips gyrated up and down, side to side on his cock. 

Lura finally wound her hands into Hammer's hair, holding his face and locking eyes with him. Despite his new skin, his eyes were still the same clear steel-blue, and she lost herself in them. She could see the reflection of her own lightly glowing eyes in his, could see her elven features in his eyes. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the firm, round swell of her bottom, and began to grind his hips in counterpoint to her own. His penetration was deep, and the thickness of his cock caused only a minor discomfort in the drow woman. Despite years of lovemaking with each other, his size still surprised her, and the pleasure still delighted her. 

Smiling, she bit her lip and lifted her knees off the bed they sat on. He grinned back at her as her feet planted on the mattress. Hands grasping the high arch of his trapezius muscles, she began thrusting her feet into the bed, forcing herself up and down his cock with eagerness, letting gravity pull her down his thick virility hard and fast. She squeaked her sounds of passion out of her throat, and Hammer grunted as he tried to move in counterpoint again, thrusting up as she fell down his shaft.  

They went like this for many minutes, Hammer sliding his hands from the woman's hips to her thighs as they twitched and flex with every thrust. Shortly, he moved his hands up to her breasts, cupping the lush orbs in his thick palms, feeling her nipples scraping against his calloused hands. She gasped as he squeezed down on her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thick digits while she bounced her body up and down his prick. 

Seized by a moment of inspiration, Hammer slid his hands down to her calves, pulling her down his cock as he swept them out from under her. She fell backward, barely hanging on to his muscles to keep from falling backward off his cock. He moved his hands to her taut abdomen as her legs wrapped around his lower back. With his legs hanging off the side of the bed, he began to piston her back and forth, her body horizontal, as he used the give and take of the bed to let him thrust into her. He pumped his cock into her as he pulled her hips into his, and drew back as he lifted her away. She lay lengthwise, connected only by their groins. 

Her hair flew wildly, her breasts bounced vigorously, and her eyes rolled up into her head as his cock ground into the top of her canal, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves within her cunny. 

"By Sune's cunt!" she said in a surprised, gasping voice, eyes wide. "Fuck me, Hammer! Fuck me!" 

He grinned at the surprise and gusto in her voice and flexed his powerful thighs to stand her up. Her legs held onto his hips as he held onto her waist, using his strong arms to move her body up and down his massive prick. She let out a long, howling wail that would have surely awoken their neighbors had any other taverngoer been asleep in adjacent units. The Neverwintans had come to know of their predilections over the last several years, and appreciated the audio entertainment they received from the servant of Sune. 

Hammer lifted her, pulling her close to his body as he strode forward. He pushed her into the wall, a bit harder than he intended, but the impact set something aflame within the drow. He drove his hips into her, each thrust making the wall creak as he slammed his hips into her. She whimpered and moaned, her eyes burning with passion as her nails carved angry violet lines into his blackened skin. 

Her orgasm took her by storm, her body shuddering and tensing and letting flow a crystalline flow of nectar all over the pistoning girth within her. It trickled down all over his cock and sack, staining his thighs with her orgasmic discharge. 

The undulating, gripping cunt around his cock did perfect work on him, though. It milked the last bits of pleasure out of his shaft, drawing out his own climax. He filled her with his virility, and were it not for the great difficulty of conceiving a child between a human and a drow, he might have been worried for such an eventuality. But he felt safe, his seed flowing deep into her womb, filling her canal until it began to seep from her, down his shaft, and onto the floor. 

They both collapsed to their knees, then to their sides on the rug on the floor. The drow and her barbarian fell asleep holding each other, still connected at the loins. 

***** 

Their nap was short, but they awoke reinvigorated, fawning over each other and playfully re-dressing. 

Hammer removed his mask after they ascertained its efficacy, but kept the drow-styled armor and the adamantite greatsword strapped to his back. His tattoos were covered by his armor, but he could feel their magic suffusing his flesh still. Lura knew their story, of his lover from his past life, all of it. She embraced him and his past, just as he embraced her and her past, though it was far lengthier than his own. The two had grown close over the last several years, having parted ways with their former companions. Cyra and Iliara had gone their own way, together, as lovers, many years ago, leaving with the newhatched dragon that had come with them from Everlund. 

The others that they had left remained close to their hearts, always, but their life was their own now. Varla, Benefast and his sister, the dastard Samon, all of them were important aspects of their past, but gone now into the past. Cyra and Iliara still prowled Neverwinter, but were working on matters that kept them far too distant for them to work together still. 

"We leave this night?" Hammer asked Lura. 

"Night...the time of the drow," Lura said, smirking. She put her hand on Hammer's upper arm. "The mask should make the pitch blackness of the Underdark as visible as a brightly-lit night. The disguise is complete, and will make you an over-large drow in every way except for mind and spirit. Sune has truly been generous to us." 

"Indeed," Hammer said, fingering the plain ivory mask. "It will be a new adventure for us." 

"And very dangerous. You must rely on me wholly, my Hammer. Women have all the power in Menzoberranzan. Your words will fall on deaf ears, and will be met with violence, most likely." 

"I understand," Hammer said. "I can adjust to this, my love." 

"Good. Then we should practice," Lura said, her smile faltering as she backed away. She drew herself up into an imperious posture, almost scowling at him. "When a high priestess, or any female, addresses you, you will bow your head and avert your eyes to the floor. You will obey every command given to you. Every. Command. Do you understand, Calavyr the Houseless?" 

"I do," Hammer—Calavyr—said. 

"Fool!" she said, and a crimson whip appeared in her hand, lashing for the barbarian. Hammer instinctively reached out and let the leather wrap around his forearm, seizing the lash in his hand and yanking out of her hand with one savage movement.  

Lura sighed. "Damn it, Hammer," she grumbled, holding her hand out. "I wasn't actually going to hit you. That's for tonight. But the females of my House will actually hit you if you fail to do as I've instructed." 

He smirked. "Sorry," he said, handing the whip back to his lover. "I'll keep that in mind, don't worry. I'll treat them with the reverence and respect most people treat kings and queens." 

"Insufficient," Lura said, folding her arms under her breasts. 

"As I treat your loins?" he asked, a sly grin on his face. Still she frowned, though it cracked a hair. 

"As you treat Sune," he said finally, and she smiled. 

"If you can manage that, then you will survive a good long time down there in the depths of the world. The men, however, are different." 

"How so?" he asked. He could manage feigning total submission to a priestess or such like, but intrigue and espionage were not his forte. 

"If you are challenged by a male, return it with equal or greater vigor. If you are challenged to a duel, kill your challenger without remorse— 

"Unless a priestess stops me," he interjected, and Lura smiled proudly, nodding. 

"Just so. If they engage you in seditious conversation, remain non-committal and ambivalent. Maintain an air of ambition and a desire to increase your station within the House. Remember, you are a Houseless rogue and essentially worth little more than a slave, but that is not a permanent situation. Prove yourself to the females of my House, and they will reward you. Kill the right males, and they will reward you." 

Hammer nodded. "I don't know how I feel about killing your kin," he said hesitantly, and this time Lura did strike him, and hard, right across the face with her palm. 

"These people are not my kin," she said with a voice as cold as ice. "These people are wicked, save for my sister, Chessafae. I would not hesitate killing any of them, and neither shall you. They stand for all we fight against. Remember that always." 

Hammer nodded, a smile on his face. 

"Why are you smiling," she asked, realizing where her demeanor had taken her mindset. 

"I love foreplay," he said, and his hand went around her neck, pushing her into the wall as his mouth seized her in a passionate kiss. His manhood was a rising force that very soon would savage her suddenly damp folds. 

***** 

Cyra lay afloat in the current of Neverwinter River, the warm waters of the river cool to her distinctively ruddy flesh. She was bare, naked as she preferred it, and her large breasts, capped with dark pink nipples and areola, breached the water like two triumphant mountains jutting from the sea. Her platinum blonde hair fanned out in the water under her head, having grown long since coming to Neverwinter years ago. 

Horns so dark of red as to be black glistened with water. She had decorated them with bands of rubies and white gold so that the arching extensions of her skull, fanning out to the side, then curling back along her skull, glinted in the sunlight. Her ears were similarly pierced, but she wore little else in the way of jewelry, save for a magical chain attached to a navel ring that infused her with the strength of a mountain giant. Her strong thighs met at the nexus of her sex, her pouty mound creased with dark pink folds that were thrust out of her flesh and crowned with platinum blonde hair all around, though she kept the hair trimmed short and soft. 

Her abdomen rippled in the dappled sunlight that glinted off the water caressing her body. All over, her musculature peaked out from under her flesh, the woman remaining lean and powerful despite the past six months of leisure she'd enjoyed at the side of her elven lover, Iliara Moonshadow. 

A shrieking call drew her out of her quiet relaxation floating down the river. She opened one golden eye to see a horned head and wings breach the river's surface. The dragonling looked over at the woman, who was truly a dragonspawn herself, though through some sort of sorcery, her genetic makeup had been altered to be as a humanoid. Most considered her a tiefling, and she wore that rather than the suspicion and reaction her true heritage would cause. 

Flames licked at the beast's maw. "Drax," Cyra said warningly. The dragonfire dissipated and the creature seemed to pout and whine before something under the water caught his eye. He dove under and Cyra only chuckled to herself sadly. Regretfully, whatever experiments had been done to his egg had stunted his growth. She feared he would forever be as a hatchling, though on several occasions he had displayed intelligence greater than Cyra had expected. 

Cyra floated a bit longer, held aloft by the warm waters of the Neverwinter, then decided her leisure time was at an end. She flipped onto her stomach and swam to the shore, a good mile away from where she'd left Iliara at their camp. Stark naked, her ruddy skin glistening in the golden sunlight, she fearlessly strode through the threat-infested Neverwinter Wood. 

There were a plethora of things she could fear, but did not. The Ashmadai revered her every time they came into contact with her, for she appeared a scion of that which they revered. The minions of Szass Tam were mostly crumbling corpses that wilted under fire she could conjure. Many-Arrows orcs were as often friendly with her as they were violent, and so long as she sent the proper looks at the proper female warriors she had nothing to fear. Brigands and bandits were not bold enough nor skilled enough to truly threaten even a naked dragonspawn. 

Thusly, she walked without fear, confident that she was safe, and confident that should a real threat arise, Drax would sense it and be at her side in the blink of an eye. 

A half hour later, Iliara saw Cyra approaching the campsite, breasts bouncing heavily on her chest, her muscles twitching like a sleek hunting cat. The elven woman was not nude, but was close to it. She wore only leather leggings that were untied at the hips and at the ankles, leaving them loose about her ankles and calves, and revealing the finely defined V just below her abdominals. Cyra saw it like an arrow pointing her to a reservoir of honeyed sweetness. The elf's abdominals stood out even more than Cyra's, imprinted on her pale skin. She was half as wide as Cyra's athletic frame, but those wiry muscles contained great reserves of athletic power. 


The Apostate Ch. 02



"Aye, a drow and a northman," one of the dancers at the Moonstone Mask said to Iliara. The elf was wearing a fine gown of blue velvet and an ivory mask trimmed with decorative blue stones and small white feathers. The dancer was similarly outfitted, though clearly a very prominent entertainer. She wore a shimmering pearlescent gown of shimmerweave that was so daring and revealing that it was hardly a gown at all. Large breasts and sleek thighs were readily apparent, save for a scant modicum of decency offered by her clothing. Her mask covered the left half of her face in an opalescent metal that shimmered to match her gown. Rich auburn hair framed the other half of her head, pulled over from the top. The sides of her head were shaved smooth and decorated with fluid, almost elvish looking script tattooed onto the skin.

"When was the last time you saw them?" Iliara asked in her melodious voice. She could see the woman shift nervously, though the movement was very well-hidden by an adjustment of her very unruly gown. "I assure you, Lura and Hammer are very dear friends of mine. We came to this city together several years ago."

"As you say," the woman said, smiling warmly at the elf. Iliara's green eyes bored into the courtesan's, immune to her charms at the moment. "They departed yesterday evening," she admitted finally. "Didn't say much of a good-bye, just smiled and waved as they walked out the door."

"You're certain they won't be back?" Iliara asked.

"As certain as I can be," she replied impatiently. "Listen, we're known for our discretion here. I've told you all you're going to get, Lady Elf. Now, can I interest you in some carnal diversion?"

Iliara scowled slightly, gave the woman a once-over, and shook her head. "Another time," she said. "Not that I'm not interested, just...pressing matters. You understand."

"Of course," the woman said, twirling off to a newly arrived officer of the Neverwinter militia.

Iliara sighed.

About an hour later, Cyra met her in front of the Mask, wearing the same irritated expression. 

"I haven't been this frustrated in a long time, and I fear no amount of cunnilingus can ease it," the red-skinned woman said. Drax was not at her side, as she was hesitant to bring the beast into the city. Rather, it was out hunting and frolicking in Neverwinter Wood, a mental link between the two keeping them equally alert of any trouble.

"Don't be so sure," Iliara said flirtatiously, though her heart wasn't in the sentiment. "Lura and Hammer are more thorough than this. I hate to think something fell might have become them, but whatever the cause of their departure, we should make an effort to locate them."

"Agreed," Cyra said. "Let's ask the guards at the gate."

Iliara nodded. Arm in arm, they left the Moonstone Mask and made their way to the edge of town.

*****

"Aye, a drow and a barbarian. Big son of a bitch, that one," the guard said, nodding. "Would've loved his sword on the wall when the dead were assaulting it."

"Or anywhere else, for that matter," his cohort said. Both were of middling age and slightly overweight, with greasy helm-cuts and scraggly beards. Iliara turned her nose up at them, but Cyra had been more personable to try and get information. Of course, they were both eyeing Iliara up and down. Her leathers were flattering her athletic figure, and her soft-looking lips gleamed with promise—just not for the guardsmen. 

"They left yestereve?" Cyra confirmed, and the guards nodded.

"I thought I overheard something about the Underdark. Perhaps they got a job going to Gauntlgrym or somesuch," the first guard said, but Cyra felt something in her gut screaming against that reasoning. 

"Thank you very much," she said, turning to consult the elf at her side.

"You got something to offer in return for our helpfulness?" the guard asked. Cyra looked over her shoulder to see him eyeing the curve of her ass.

"Why yes, I do," she purred, stepping slowly toward the guard. He looked excitedely at his comrade, then reached out to touch the red-skinned woman's hip. She swatted his hand away. "A bit of advice." She put her hand to his cheek, and in a very slow, very soft, very serious voice, said, "If you ever touch me again...I'll kill you."

The blood drained from the man's face as flames licked at her irises.

"Was that necessary?" the elf asked as they made haste away from the gate. 

"Are you complaining?" Cyra countered.

"Not at all. But was it necessary?"

Cyra smirked. "Not at all."

"So what's the play?"

"Head for Gauntlgrym," the dragonspawn woman said. "I see no other option. They're looking for trouble, no doubt."

"Do you fear for them?" Iliara asked, putting a hand on her lover's elbow to stop her. 

Cyra smiled. "Not at all. Hammer is a more than capable warrior, and Lura has wormed her way out of more trouble than I've seen in a lifetime. I just want to be sure."

Iliara smiled, put a hand on her lover's face, their respective pigments contrasting starkly as she leaned up to kiss her lips. "Let's make haste, then."

*****

Solafein and Lirafey had been back within the confines of Gauntlgrym for several hours, well into the daylight, when Szinvyr returned. He'd gained two strangers and lost one scout. Lirafey stepped in front of Solafein to address the swordmage as he led the lovely, red-clad female and her hulking, massive male counterpart past several patrols and guardsmen.

"Szinvyr," she said. "Where is Amalzar. Who are these two?"

"Amalzar is dead," Szinvyr said. "This is Luriia Torvirr and her consort, Calavyr."

"Priestess?" she asked.

"High Priestess," Luriia said authoritatively. "And you should be addressing me directly, Priestess. From your knees."

"I see only a female drow that travels with a male as her only companion," Lirafey said venomously.

"Kneel!" Luriia commanded, magic filling her voice with compulsion as her crimson whip came lashing out at Lirafey. It struck her across the face, and both she and Solafein found their knees without hesitation. "I am Luriia Torvirr, of House Torvirr, Twenty-Fourth House of Menzoberranzan, High Priestess and First Daughter of Matron Torvirr. Who in Lolth's name are you?"

"Lirafey Mourlefey," she said into the floor. "The male is Solafein Auvryan, Secondboy of House Auvryan. Forgive our ignorance, Lady Torvirr. We patrolled with Szinvyr and Amalzar."

"Your ignorance will not be tolerated for long. Stand and address me like the priestess you claim to be, Lirafey of House Mourlefey. Thirty-second House, yes?"

"Thirty-third," she said, humbled.

"Ah," Luriia said as if it did not matter. "And what did your patrol encounter to split the four of you up?"

"It was near dawn, the end of our patrol. We returned here to avoid the sunlight."

"Szinvyr and Amazlar did not deem in necessary to return. Had you been there, you might have prevented the loss of your scout."

"He was a male," Lirafey said, confused.

"He was an asset. No matter how worthless he is in our society, he performs a function in your party, and you let him die," Luriia said, ire in her voice. 

"It won't happen again," Lirafey said. "How did he meet his end?"

"He attacked me," Luriia said simply, gauging Lirafey's reaction. It was appropriately surprised. "My warrior killed him in short order. Perhaps I overstated his worth," she added with a smirk. Lirafey bowed her head.

"As you say, mistress. How can we serve you now? And...if I may ask, why have we never seen you before, and where did you come from?"

"My consort and I have been at work in Neverwinter and the Silver Marches forming a web of power and intelligence among the surfacers," Luriia said. "More than that is not your concern. Now, shall you show us to our quarters?"

Lirafey nodded curtly, smoothing her robe with her hands as she obediently led Luriia and Hammer through the winding tunnels into the living area of Gauntlgrym. Having never ventured into this region of the former dwarven citadel, they were quite at a disadvantage. It was never a comforting feeling to be at the tender mercies of a drow priestess and her cohorts.

"Someone higher ranking will want to debrief you," Lirafey said as she approached a barren door of iron. It looked like a jail cell to Hammer's eyes. "You should get your rest."

Lura smiled sweetly at the priestess as she waited on her to open the door. Lirafey did as was expected, though not without a sigh of irritation. Within the chamber was a wide bed—wide enough for Lura and her large companion—a soft carpet, plenty of pillows, a desk with a magical glowball, and the usual accoutrement of the hedonistic drow. She smiled a small smile.

"Come, Calavyr. I'm sure we can find something other than rest to pass the time," she said, her hand on Hammer's wrist possessively. She had no intention of making love to the man-turned-drow, but was instead marking her claim on him as a male as much for his safety as anything else. With the protection of a high priestess, lesser males would be disinclined to assassinate him and lesser females would be less interested in coupling with him. Truly, there were some dense enough to risk the ire of a high priestess if the prize seemed worth the effort. 

No plan was fool proof.

"We will be on our way to Menzoberranzan when we awaken. If someone wishes to debrief us, they had better do so quickly," Lura said to Lirafey, who nodded and quickly walked away, Solafein in tow.

When they'd wandered far enough away, Solafein stopped. Lirafey turned to regard him, irritation on her brow. 

"Did you see the way magic emanated from the male?" Solafein asked.

"Of course I did," Lirafey said. "I don't keep spells like that on us for nothing."

"I'm suspicious of him," Solafein said.

"Of course you are, you are drow," Lirafey said with a smirk, almost laughing at the silly statement. "He emanated magic no differently than you do. He's magically armed and armored, no different than you."

"As you say," Solafein said, not convinced. 

Lirafey sighed in exasperation. "Fine, Solafein. We will spy on them and see what we may. We need a wizard."

Solafein rolled his eyes. "I was afraid you'd say that. Must we use her though?"

"She's bound to my service," Lirafey said, smirking. "So yes. Deal with it."

The pair wandered deeper into the residential corridors of Gauntlgrym, where drow who had been living here since the beginning resided, and knocked on the door etched with arcane runes and glyphs of warding. The door opened almost immediately and laying in the center of the room, naked and sweating, was Shandra Auvryana. She was no priestess, she was barely noble, and she was invaluable to Lirafey. The woman had been taken captive in battle, bound to Lirafey personally as a servant until the end of her life. 

Normally, such an arrangement was fraught with dissension, hatred, and grudging acceptance. But Shandra had thrown herself wholly at Lirafey's mercy. She submitted wholly. Mind, body, and craft. Mostly bodily, but her skill at divination was quite useful at times. 

"Mistress!" Shandra squealed, sitting up from the floor. Her breasts were much larger than most drow, her hair cropped short to her shoulders. She was a little doughy for the elven species, but no less lovely in her dark way. She drove her knees into the floor, falling face first to the ground before her mistress. 

Ass up in the air, Solafein couldn't help but smirk a little. That is, until the simpering began, and he remembered why he couldn't stand the drow sorceress. 

"Make her stop," Solafein muttered, but Lirafey seemed to be enjoying herself as the sorceress lavished praise on the priestess. 

"It's a nice contrast from being spoken down to by that old hag," Lirafey mused.

That stopped Shandra's groveling, the drow turning her face up at her mistress. Glittering piercings studded her eyebrows, nose, and lips. "Who?" the sorceress asked, outraged that her mistress had been angered.

"Not your concern," Solafein snapped. 

"Male!" the sorceress snapped, but Solafein drew a sword to silence her. 

"Enough, consort," Lirafey said to Solafein, and he sheathed his sword. "And you," she said to Shandra. "You know he is my lover. Treat him with respect. You a servant, remember?"

"Forgive me, Mistress," the sorceress said, bowing down again. "How can I serve you?"

"I wish to spy on some new arrivals," Lirafey said.

"The high priestess Luriia Torviir and her warrior, Calavyr," Shandra said sagely.

"I'm not surprised you know already," Lira said flatly. "What else do you know?"

"Powerful magic guides them," Shandra said, nodding quickly. "Divine magic."

"Lolth?" Lirafey found herself asking instinctively.

"Not for me to know," Shandra said. She looked up at Lirafey, blinking mismatched eyes at her mistress. "Apologies."

"Well enough," Lira said, putting a hand on the elf's short hair. Shandra nuzzled her palm with a smile. "Scry her."

Shandra nodded. "Please disrobe," she said to her mistress and Solafein. 

Grumbling, the male did as he was bade before Lirafey bade him do so. Both were naked in short order and sitting on the floor with Shandra, who brought over a dull black bowl filled with water. She put one hand between her thighs and began rubbing. She drew on magic that flowed through her, dipping her other hand into the bowl until it became foggy, her magic taking hold. 

The Weave responded to her gentle, lover's touch, and the cloudy water cleared and took on a reflective sheen that showed Luriia and Calavyr holding each other in the bed provided for them. 

Shandra moaned softly, frigging herself while Lirafey and Solafein watched the two lovers sleep. 

"Well, this is boring," he said flatly.

"It doesn't have to be," Shandra said in a throaty purr, fingers thrust firmly up into her dripping quim. 

Solafein looked at her sidelong, and his irritation melting away as the drow's large breasts undulated with her mounting pleasure. 

"Go," Lirafey said. "Orgasms keep her docile."

The male stood, his cock hanging flaccid from his hips. The magic in effect, Shandra no longer needed to tend the bowl. Lirafey observed as the sorceress put her hands to the male's hips and took his cock into her mouth, sucking firmly on it, stretching it and beckoning blood to fill his organ. 

"You taste like her still," she purred when she broke her liplock on his cock. He grunted and put his fingers through her short white hair. His other hand holding his cock aloft as it grew, he pushed her face back down his member. The last place his cock had been was Lirafey's ass. He grinned as her throat gripped the head of his shaft, her tongue lashing around the length of the obsidian flesh. 

Solafein was in complete control of the situation. His hand held her hair while he pushed her mouth up and down his cock, his other hand holding the base of his shaft to make sure it stayed in her mouth until it reached full erection.

Right about...now.

To his surprise, the sorceress showed a measure of ambition and batted both his hands away. She grabbed him by the firm muscles of his buttocks and shoved him toward her, impaling her throat with his fully erect cock. He laughed at the sorceress, who's magic seemed to be fueled by her own arousal. 

"I know I hate this woman," Solafein said to an oblivious Lirafey, "but Lolth's fanged cunt she gives an amazing zurla."

The sorceress glared up at him, but the welling moisture in her eyes from stifling a gag every time she throated him made it look almost comical. He tapped her on the cheeks with his palm. Well, slapped her on the cheeks. The fire in her eyes amused him. But what truly pleased him was the sudden surge of eagerness she seemed to develop from the treatment. 

"She's a proper masochist, isn't she?" he asked Lirafey. Again, the priestess ignored him. 

Solafein glanced over at her and saw she was wrist deep in her own orifice, eyes half-lidded, nipples hard as adamantite. Within the bowl, Luriia was grinding her asshole up and down Calavyr's massive cock. Solafein almost deflated when he saw the size of the thing going up the high priestess's backside. 

"By Lolth," he breathed.

Shandra, chagrined at losing Solafein's attention, thrust a cunt-moistened finger right into his ass. He jumped, his cock plowing unceremoniously into her throat, and a torrent of cum poured right down her gullet as she curled her finger against his trigger.

"Pay attention," she said in a hoarse voice. Drool coated her chin as she stroked his cock. "Your mistress gave you an order. Orgasms keep me docile. Give me orgasms."

He could feel magical vigor coursing right into his cock, keeping it hard. His testes were on overdrive, and he suddenly felt as if he'd not cum in weeks. Grabbing Shandra by the hair, he threw her onto her back, then tossed her onto her stomach. He mashed her face down onto the damp stone floor and drove his cock straight down into her sopping, messy cunt.

He pressed her cheeks into the floor, scraping them slightly as he began to drive straight down into her with all the force he and gravity could muster. With his other hand, he grasped her hair and yanked it back sharply. She howled in pain and in pleasure as his cock ravaged her cunt.

Meanwhile, Lirafey was thoroughly caught up in her voyeuristic pleasure. The scrying bowl held an overhead view of the room housing Calavyr and Luriia, but the high priestess was leaning back far enough from the reclining male warrior that she could very visibly see her anus stretched around his glistening, throbbing cock. As if by extension of her thought, the magic in the bowl zoomed closer to the action. She could see every droplet of sweat on the priestess's breasts, every striation and vein on the warrior's torso. Every vein on his cock as it disappeared and reappeared from her asshole.

She could almost hear in her head the sounds of passion the female was shouting at the ceiling, the wet sound of flesh colliding with flesh, the sound of her ass sliding up and down his cock. It was all so much for her. Her hand was fully inside her cunny. No great feat, considering how small her hands truly were and how wet she was. It was as if her battle-captive's erotic magic had infected her entire body. 

Then, all of a sudden, Luriia locked eyes with the spying priestess. She knew without question that whatever magic was colluding with those two had informed the high priestess of the voyeur on the other side of the magical window. To her surprise, though, Luriia only grinned, bit her lip, and closed her eyes as she lost herself in what could only be described as a cataclysmic, paralyzing orgasm. She shuddered violently, her pussy flowing with arousal as her warrior finished himself inside her asshole.

"By Lolth," the priestess said, removing her hand to strum her clit to orgasm.

She collapsed almost immediately afterward, leaving Solafein to the ravaging he was giving Shandra.

*****

The next morning, Lura and Hammer awoke without assistance from their drow hosts. Quietly and quickly, they dressed, repacked what they had taken from their packs, and made ready for the road deeper underground.

Lura's red robe was as thin and gauzy and clung to her feminine shape as any proper high priestess's should, revealing all her natural assets and leaving the bare minimum to the imagination, thanks to the magical protection provided by the armor. 

Hammer was dressed just as he was the day previous, his specially crafted armor sheathing him perfectly. Sword within easy reach as always, he, too, was prepared for their journey.

When they opened the door to peak out and observe their surroundings, they were greeted by Lirafey's smiling face, Solafein's scowl, and the soft features of a female they had not seen before.




The Apostate Ch. 02



"Mistress Torviir," Lirafey said, and all three bowed to Lura. "We are prepared to escort you to Menzoberranzan. This is my battle-captive Shandra, sorceress of House 'nonexistant.'" Lirafey's smirk was confident and triumphant, but Shandra's face reflected only admiration and adoration for her captor.

Lura kept her wits like a champion. "Your company will be most welcome," Lura said. "You've been given leave to do so?"

"My mistress in Gauntlgrym insisted upon it," Lirafey said with a smirk. "Are you quite certain you wish to wear that on the road? It's quite treacherous, being the Underdark and all."

"Quite certain. The goddess protects me," she said with a smile. 

"Of course she does," Lirafey said, bowing respectfully. She was wearing a travelling cloak over a supple chain shirt of blackened metal, thigh-length armored skirts, and tall knee-boots of black leather. She was armed without subtlety, but Lura knew her instruments of violence were greater than simple metal and wood. The priestess could bring to bear Lolth's fury, if provoked to do so.

Solafein wore armor and gear similar to Hammer's, but wielded twin swords rather than one greatsword. He regarded Hammer with open appraisal. "One day, Calavyr, I would test the speed of your greatsword," Solafein said casually.

"One day, you will," Hammer said, making effort to seem as casual as the drow. 

Shandra wore a plain robe, a golden choker around her throat holding a ruby that matched one hanging from a pendant around Lirafey's throat. Lura remembered enough of drow society to know it was the magic that compelled Shandra to obey Lirafey in all things, on pain of death. Other magical trinkets adorned her body, all with a purpose, no doubt. 

Hammer was tense, and Lura could feel the tension as if it were a taut bowstring between the two of them. She put a hand possessively on his upper arm, curling her fingers around the thick muscle and letting a little of the divinity suffusing her being into him to calm his nerves and reassure him. 

Shandra must have noticed the transference of magic, for she gasped and put a hand on Lirafey's shoulder. "The goddess at work!" she said in a voice hushed with awe.

"My champion should be suitably blessed," Lura replied.

"You would have a male fight for you?" Solafein asked. He knew it was on Lira's mind, but a male could get away with such insolence with only a proper beating to show for it, while a priestess ought to have enough respect for her betters to keep her mouth shut.

"I don't dirty my hands with trivial work," Lura said. "And he's an excellent warrior, devoted to my will. I would see him succeed where others fail."

"A sensible course of action," Lirafey snapped at Solafein, who looked properly chagrined.

"Come, then," Lura said. "Let us be off. I'm eager to return home. Lirafey, lead us out of here."

"I'll leave that to my consort, Solafein. I invite your champion to accompany him or take the rear guard. And please, Mistress Torviir. Call me Lira."

"As you please," Lura said.

They left immediately, Solafein leading the quintet, Hammer acting as a proper drow warrior in the rear, with the trio of females clustered between them. Lirafey walked ahead and beside Lura, while Shandra walked directly behind her mistress. 

They did not stop their march for many hours, and even then only for a short break to nibble on rations before moving onward. They made excellent distance on their first day of marching. Hammer and Solafein traded watches, while the females slept throughout the rest period. The human in drow skin could feel Lura's mind reaching into his, Sune's magic giving her the ability to empathically communicate with him. Hammer spent his watch-hours with a smile on his face and, for at least a brief moment, an erection in his trousers.

*****

Lirafey spent most of the night with Shandra curled up against her, warming her in the cool Underdark caverns. The priestess never let her guard down with the battle captive, despite her seeming total surrender to her mistress. Even Solafein never saw her fully and truly vulnerable. The heart of the drow was not trusting. Many dead drow succumbed to such weaknesses. Lirafey reminded herself of this as she began to awaken. It was her ritual, centering her mind and correcting her priorities in life.

Strength meant being self-sufficient. Strength meant never needing another for anything. Strength meant keeping her companions at such a distance that a dagger could not skewer her spine from behind, literally and metaphorically. Even in the throes of lovemaking, she had her tricks to stay alert. She lamented, at times, that she'd never truly experience a climax at the hands of another. Not without being on her guard, leastwise. 

When Solafein's watch ended, he awoke Lirafey first.

"Mistress," he whispered, kneeling behind the priestess who was already awake. He put a hand on the small of her back, his fingers working at her sensitive areas as any skilled, solicitous lover might. "It's time to continue."

She acknowledged him with a nod, then waved her hand to dismiss him. As he began rousing the rest of the drow, she nibbled on the point of Shandra's ear.

"Wake up, pet."

She pretended to be just waking up, and gave Lirafey a low moan of protest, then a purr. "Shall I give you your morning pleasure, mistress?"

"No time," Lirafey said with only a little twinge of regret. "Prepare yourself."

Lirafey was on her feet quickly, but was surprised to see Calavyr and Luriia already dressed and standing with Solafein.

"You don't waste time," the priestess said to her superior.

Luriia smirked. "A learned trait."

"Would you permit me to speak with your consort privately while we travel? I will take rear guard with him if that is acceptable."

Luriia's smirk never faltered as she nodded. "As you please. I'm sure your sorcerous pet will entertain me in your absence."

Lira bristled a touch, but nodded. "Serve the high priestess, Shandra. Anything she bids you, until I return."

Shandra bowed wordlessly, and they set off, Lirafey taking the rear with Hammer-as-Calavyr.

For his part, Hammer remained stoic and emotionless throughout the exchange, betraying no hint of trepidation or fear. He knew his part well, and would play it to fruition.

"How did you and Mistress Torviir meet?" she asked him bluntly. She walked at his side.

"We," he began, then paused as the mask's magic worked his voice into the drow tongue. He was surprised to hear his voice speaking such a language, but continued on quickly. "We met in a surface city called Everlund. We had similar aims, and worked together. Beyond that is up to the mistress to tell you."

"You've a smart tongue," Lirafey said flatly, to which Hammer did not reply. "Where are you from?"

"The Glimmerwood," Hammer said. He knew there were drow that lived there, and knew that they were not generally of evil weal, but he was gambling on Lirafey not knowing that. If she did, then he would be a convert by Lolth's own hand. It would take a fair amount of lying, but he would make it work. Sune was with him, as was Tempus, and through him, the Red Knight, whom he was closest to, thanks to a divine encounter with the goddess of strategy years ago.

A smile tugged at his lips as he explained, "I was called Calavyr the Hammer, or simply 'Hammer.'"

"Why?" Lirafey asked. "Leave it to the perverse faerie elves to give such an arbitrary title."

"It is not arbitrary, I assure you. Believe me, Mistress, I have earned it."

"You do not even use a hammer," the female said dismissively. 

Hammer held up his fist closest to Lirafey. "This is my hammer," he said. To his delight, the tattoo he'd been given many years ago by his then-lover was still visible on his black skin. "And the maidens I've known, as well as Mistress Torviir, can vouch for another hammer."

Despite his precarious predicament, he couldn't help throwing that bit of bait out to the seemingly curious priestess. There was a fear hiding in him that he might be getting in too deep. But Hammer was no spy or rogue. He was a barbarian. Whatever situation he found himself in, he would fight his way out of. Or fuck his way out of. Whatever the day required.

"I'm sure she can," Lirafey said in a lower voice. "Perhaps you will get the chance to show me."

Her conspiratorial voice was all Hammer needed to know his bait was taken. "I will not betray my mistress," he snapped, his voice rising a touch as he turned to look down at the priestess. Anger glowered in her eyes, but she quelled it, gritting her teeth.

"Let us change the subject," she said.

"As you please."

"How did you grow so large? You tower over Solafein, and he is not small among our race."

"Perhaps growing under an open sky, rather than a cavern ceiling, allowed me to grow beyond our people's norm," Hammer said with a smirk. "More likely, there is human blood in my veins, many generations removed. The females from the surface aren't so picky with their mates, and are very promiscuous with other races."

"Deviants," Lirafey spat. "It is good you are coming home, Calavyr the Hammer. It will be good for you to be around true drow, not the perverted surface-dwellers who worship false gods."

"Their gods are just as real as Lolth," Hammer said. He couldn't help himself, and the look on her face made him bite his tongue. "Though they pale before her might and cunning," he added quickly to assuage her.

"Indeed," she said, walking off to join Shandra and Lura.

*****

"An impressive specimen," Lirafey said as she rejoined the other females of their troupe. Lura didn't respond with more than a smile. "How did you make him so obedient?"

"I never ask him to do anything he doesn't want to do," Lura said with a laugh.

"Then what do you ask of him?" Lirafey said, genuinely curious. Even Shandra was leaning closer to hear Lura's hushed voice.

"Crush our enemies and pleasure me, really," Lura said with a shrug. "More than that is up to his heart's content. As long as he remembers whom he serves, his actions are of no moment to me."

"Interesting," Lirafey said. "My male is very strong-willed. More than is proper for a male, in my opinion. He serves, but he also tends to challenge me. His cock almost makes up for the hassle of dealing with his insubordination."

"You need to run him more," Lura said with a small laugh. Lirafey gave her a questioning look, and she continued. "Males accumulate stress that must be relieved, and sex isn't always an appropriate medium for such things. Example: some surfacers keep animals as pets, the same way you or I keep a male as a pet. They are obedient creatures, to some extent, but serve no other purpose than companionship, in general. To keep them docile, though, they sometimes must release them from their leash, let them run amok to their heart's content. When they return, they are too exhausted to do anything but obey."

"I see," LIrafey said. "So I should let Solafein run amok, fight and fuck and eat and drink to his heart's content every now and then."

"If you have no need for a monogamous commitment, then yes," Lura said. Again, Lirafey looked at her askance, confused.

"Consider this," Lura said, recalling the lessons her Matron Mother of ages ago taught her. "If you let a male wander about, cock leading the way, mayhap he finds his way into another priestess's bedchamber. Perchance that priestess desires his constant attentions. She might decide he's worth seducing with promises of rewards aplenty to sway him from your side. Then you are less one warrior who's swords and cock serve you quite well, it seems."

"Point well made," Lirafey said. "You seem to place high value on a male's dedication to you. They are plenty and easily replaceable."

"I place high value on assets that prove their worth. How many times has Solafein put his blade through the heart of a would-be assassin? How many times, and how easily and skillfully, has he brought the female out of you in the bedchamber?"

Lirafey chewed on those words, then looked over her shoulder at Calavyr, or Hammer, as he called himself. "How many times has he?" she asked, nodding at the male, who's gaze was boring back into the lesser priestess.

"More times than yours," she said with supreme confidence. "More times than I can count."

Shandra finally spoke up, a grin on her face. "If I didn't know better, I would say you are in love," she purred in a throaty voice, licking her lips.

Lura drew her whip and cracked it just in front of Shandra's face, halting their march. Solafein and Hammer were upon them in moments, but Lura held up a calming hand.

"At ease," she commanded. "I was reminding Shandra that she is a battle-captive, little more than a slave, and in no position to pass judgment on a high priestess who's House still stands."

Lirafey glowered at Shandra. "Forgive her, Mistress Torviir. She forgets her place. I shall remind her tonight when we break for camp."

"As you will," Lura said, smiling sweetly. Her whip coiled itself at her waist, wrapping around her like a sash.

They went back to formation as they resumed their march, and the next several moments were uneventful at best. They all kept to themselves, though the magical link between Lura and Hammer was active as she shared her emotions and felt the barbarian's own. 

During a quiescent point between their empathic link, Lura did not notice the sudden sense of alarm come over Hammer. The only warning the four other drow had to imminent danger was a dull, fleshy thud and the wet sound of steel hewing through flesh. 

Lura was the first to turn, but Solafein was almost immediately beside the larger warrior, swords drawn as they examined the corpse of a shaggy, hairy bugbear. Its torso had been hewn almost in half by Hammer's greatsword, and even Solafein gave the bigger male a nod of approval and respect. Lura could almost see his appraisal of the warrior changing. 

"No lone wanderer," Hammer said as the females gathered. "On your guard."

They unsheathed weapons: Lirafey her mace and shield, Lura her whip. Shandra drew a dagger and the sorceress seemed to hum with pleasure as her magic awakened. Solafein took the point position again, the two males forming a protective wall on either side of the females within the tunnel. 

A roar shattered the silence and the ambushing bugbears and goblins charged, crude weapons raised in fury. Solafein silently went to work slicing through thick, tough flesh and puny goblin necks with his fine swords. Hammer went into a rage, a roar of his own drowning out that of the charging beasts and striking fear into their hearts.

Hammer took several hits from weapons, but it only seemed to incite his rage further. He pummeled a bugbear in the face with one hand and crushed a goblin's skull with the pommel of his greatsword. Then he brought his blade to bear on another shaggy bugbear, hacking away its spiked club before chopping downward, splitting its skull with a great crack. 

Darts of force flashed over Solafein's shoulder, thumping into several goblins as they crowded around a bugbear's thick, muscular legs. The squealed in pain, but the following bolt of lightning, dancing between them, silenced their screeches. Lura and Lirafey held back their strikes, seeing the minor skirmish well in hand. The priestess held her mace, emblazoned with a tarnished silver spider at the head, aloft, chanting a prayer to Lolth. Her magic swept over Hammer and stunned the two bugbears and three goblins facing him. 

With one might sweep, the tall, broad human-in-drow-skin sliced open the throats of the bugbears, then methodically stabbed each goblin through the chest as they recovered from being stunned.

Lura clapped her hands, whip coiled around her waist again, having never been put to use. "Well done," she said to her cohorts.

"Maybe next time you will bother to assist us," Solafein snapped, his blood obviously high from battle. 

Lura's response was quick and decisive. In a flash, her whip was in her hand, barbs forming at the end as she lashed at the drow male with a fury Hammer had never seen before. By the time her barrage ended, Solafein was on his knee, shivering with weakness and pain. She turned her rage on Lirafey, who was on her knees, begging mercy almost immediately.

Hand held high, ready to strike, Lura said, "Beat your dog more often, Lirafey of House Mourlefey, or see him dead at your feet. I will tolerate no insolence from this piece of dung!"

"Yes Mistress!" Lirafey said, pressing her forehead firmly into the floor. 

Lura reached out with her foot, the slender boot that covered all the way up her calf gleaming even in the lightless Underdark. She caressed the priestess's face with it, sliding the smooth leather over her cheek, under her chin. "Good girl," she purred. "Now, let us be off. I want another three miles behind us before we set camp for the night."



*****

The next three miles were uneventful and silent. After some minor healing spells mended Solafein's wounds, he led them quickly, and within an hour they'd stopped to set up camp. Lura took everyone's attention immediately.

"Behold," she said, "the goddess's favor."

She closed her eyes and began whispering to herself, hands pressed against her chest. Gold and crimson light flickered behind her eyelids, and she began to massage herself in a manner that was quite seductive. Her breasts rose and fell with each deep, ragged breath. She spoke silently still, and held her hands out to either side. In one hand there was a golden sphere of light, and in the other, crimson. She flung them to the ground on either side of her gathered companions, and they exploded into a burst of colored gas.

The gas began to coalesce, gathering substance and form, until they were two females, standing tall and proud in their spectral, semi-solid form.

Hammer recognized the images of Cyra and Iliara immediately, and almost gasped.

"Images of my last sacrifices," Lura said. "A tiefling and a sun elf. One a simple brawler and the other an assassin." The images set off to guard the camp. "They will keep watch. We all sleep well tonight, and make our destination in the morning."

"This cavern is small, but it has recesses and nooks that ought to provide a measure of protection," Solafein said. "It will be nice to have a bit of privacy again."

"Agreed," Lirafey said quickly. Hammer observed her, expecting her and Solafein to share an amorous look, but the priestess had eyes only for Lura. The other warrior notice as well, and seemed none too pleased by it.

"Calavyr," Lura said, beckoning her long-time companion with a tilt of her head. She gave Lirafey brief eye contact before she led him into a recess in the wall more than big enough for them to curl up together. It seemed the best spot in the cavern, as the high priestess was entitled to.

She waved her hand, and an invisible wall of silence blocked sound from escaping the nook.

"How are you faring?" Lura asked Hammer, finally dropping her façade. She used Hammer's bulk to block the entryway, her hands playing over his chest as she kissed at his armor affectionately.

"Better than I thought I might," Hammer said. He refrained from caressing her for the purpose of maintaining appearances. "They don't seem so bad."

"Don't be deceived," she said in a low voice. "They are vicious and venomous as vipers. Do not show any vulnerability. I fear...you may see things in me you will not like, my love."

"Fear not," Hammer said with an endearing smile. "I know our purpose, and I know that we both must do things we will not like."

She smiled a small smile. "I pray to Sune that we do not lose ourselves in the role." She stood up on her toes to kiss at his smooth neck. "I miss the beard."




The Apostate Ch. 02



"I do too," he replied with a laugh. 

"Lirafey comes," Lura said, backing away. "Start removing your clothing. Something distasteful and, I'm sure, quite fun is about to happen. Know that I do not wish to share you with any other, and when we are done with this business, I never will again."

"Likewise," he said, and he felt the empathic link open up again. She felt his devotion and adoration, then felt something else rising up. Lust. She embraced his emotion as his gaze devoured hers, then dropped the magical wall of silence. Lirafey's steps sounded on the cold stone immediately, right outside the entrance.

Hammer's armor fell to the floor shortly thereafter, revealing the strong musculature of his torso and the tightness in his trousers. He turned to face Lirafey with a glower, but the priestess's eyes were roaming his body ravenously. "I seek your mistress," she said in a husky voice.

Hammer backed away, and Lura stepped forward, her red robe already shifted to her desires. It was little more than a strip of cloth hanging down over her hips. Her breasts were bare and as glorious as he remembered them. The magical cloth covered her nethers and the upper half of her bottom, but nothing else, revealing all of her feminine charms to the priestess, who immediately licked her lips with hunger.

"I come to serve the high priestess and the goddess," she said, falling to her knee. "And her consort, if she desires it."

"Of course you are," Lura said, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms under her breasts. She nodded to Hammer. "Show me what you can do. Earn the privilege to taste me."

*****

Shandra was slowly strumming her clitoris in her own little nook in the cavern. Her magic gave her enough vision to watch the unfolding drama between Luriia Torviir, Calavyr, and her mistress Lirafey, and what a show it would prove to be. She had no interest in dallying with the male Solafein. He was a clumsy, unskilled lover, in her opinion. She required a woman's touch. Or perhaps Calavyr would prove superior.

Sure, Solafein served Lirafey well enough, but he actually desired the priestess. When he coupled with Shandra, it was for one intent: orgasm. Nothing else mattered. He didn't enjoy the process.

And if there was anything Shandra the sorceress enjoyed, it was the process of everything. Therefore, as she laid on the floor of the cavern, a conjured rug below her to warm her flesh, her clothing discarded in a pile to bare her endowed figure, the process was all that she considered. The fingers of her left hand were enchanted with a minor cantrip so that they emitted soft little sparks whenever they contacted her flesh. It was an instantaneous effect, nothing that lasted, so that she wouldn't have a constant buzzing of electricity from finger to nipple while she tormented each one. 

Her other hand was lazily plying her damp folds, strumming against her clit only occasionally. She wanted to feel her entire sex stimulated before she allowed herself an orgasm. As she lay there, admiring the figure of the two priestesses in their chamber with massive Calavyr, she ran her hand over her large breast, much larger than her fellow females. She would have attributed it to childbirth from decades ago, but she had always been larger than other females, and not in any way that benefitted her during martial training. Her breasts always got in her way, and her ass was always too wide for the armored skirts and leggings they required of her.

Thank Lolth for her sorcerous blood. It saved her from the constricting armors the priestesses of her family wore and allowed her to parade her assets in beautiful, scandalous gowns and robes that didn't in any way interfere with her magic. When she reached adulthood, she very quickly earned a reputation for promiscuity. Shandra often slummed around the underbelly of Menzoberranzan. Her magic kept her safe from would-be rapists and males that had a beef with the female powers of the city while she sold her body to all types of buyers. Humans, orcs, drow of all type, even a slaver who's dragonborn slave's erection would have split her cunny apart if it weren't for her magic. 

Moreover, Shandra had been hired on for a brief stint in the Spidermask, an exclusive club for high society drow that desired to see their fellow drow dancing in little more than a mask and a smile. Indeed, her work as a mask dancer had brought her great pleasure, having acquired many private clientele out of the job. The Spidermask had been a safe place for her and her fellow hedonist. The owner of the club was rumored to have ties with the First House and a handful of the most powerful drow in Menzoberranzan. That rumor was enough to keep any violence or assassination attempts at bay. It was a place where drow could truly let their guard down—almost—and enjoy the carnal pleasures their society offered.

And Shandra, the Spideress, had been the crowd favorite. Her full curves, large breasts, broad hips, and incredibly long, silvery hair was the talk of the club every night. It earned the most platinum coin, the most applause, and the most after-hours rutting. And by the end of a night of dancing, she was so worked up from eyes on her alone that she would have fucked an ogre a half-dozen times. It all worked out.

Until House Mourlefey attacked in secret one night, slaughtering her entire family save for her. Saved by Lirafey, who just so happened to be her most loyal client at the Spidermask. 

She sighed, fingers running over her curves and her labia. Another life, lost to the past. She immersed herself again in the present, her eyes watching her new companions. Lirafey seemed to be praying to Lolth. Shandra scoffed. "If you would put your eyes on the pleasure before you, you might enjoy it more," she said under her breath as she slid a deft, thin finger inside her folds. 

Lirafey's hands slid up and down Calavyr's torso, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen and chest before coming together around the growing length of his member. Such an impressive slice of meat, too, she reckoned. A grin tugged at her lips as she watched the priestess kiss up and down the drow's shaft.

Shandra grinned. "It's about time," she said as the priestess took the bloated, gleaming head of Calavyr's cock into her mouth.

*****

Lura watched with respect as Lirafey took more and more of the large cock hanging from her lover's hips into her mouth. With each swallow, she took more in, covering the head with saliva to ease its passage into her mouth and throat. The glistening black veins on Hammer's cock brought her back to an age when such a sight was commonplace around her House and her private chambers. Nostalgia became aphrodisiac and her fingers strummed at her nether lips while Lirafey patiently and skillfully tended to Hammer's member.

"She's good," Hammer said in a gravelly voice thick with arousal. 

"I see," Lura said, watching, biting her lip. Her red robe fell to the floor, baring her body fully to the others in her corner of the cavern. Lirafey's eyes immediately darted to the high priestess's body, but Hammer demanded her attention by seizing a fistful of white hair and pushing her face lower down his member. He wasn't violent about it, his grip more of a suggestive push in the right direction than an outright impaling. 

Lirafey's eyes rolled up in her head and she moaned around the large cock in her mouth. Her throat spasmed as she tried to swallow his member fully. She got most of the way down his member before her gag reflex took over and caused her to dry heave and spit out his cock, disengaging from his shaft.

Lura seized the moment by crossing the nook and taking the priestess by the face, lifting her to her feet, and kissing her passionately, tasting her warrior's cock in the Lira's mouth. She moaned with pleasure as the priestess melted into her.

Hammer sidled up behind Lirafey, his eyes locked onto Lura's as a grin took his face. He stroked himself idly as they backed into the wall, Lira facing the wall and Lura facing the priestess. Hammer was behind the lesser priestess then, his cock iron hard and pressing into her lower back as he bent down to kiss at her neck. She moaned at the attention from both sides, her hands needfully running up and down Lura's body, grasping at her hips and her breasts, but not daring to touch any sensitive bits without the high priestess's say-so. 

So Hammer took the initiative, crouching enough to slide his long, thick shaft between Lirafey's thighs and against her molten, sodden cunny. She arched her back, parting her thighs just enough, and Hammer sunk himself into her slickened cunt. She moaned, loudly, as Hammer pressed his girth deeper and deeper into her. Lura smiled and laughed darkly, reaching down to flick her fingers against Lirafey's clitoris while crouching to suckle at her smaller breasts and their perfectly taut nipples.

When the barbarian hilted himself within the priestess, he closed his eyes, reminded himself his purpose and gritted his teeth. This was not his lover. This was not who his heart yearned for. The initial arousal of a naked, beautiful drow wore off and he felt his member flagging almost immediately. 

And Lura sensed his hesitation. She reached beyond the priestess's moist folds and cradled her lover's sack, massaging it and urging him onward. "Fuck her, my warrior," she said. "Fuck her properly."

Hammer smiled, pushed the negativity out of his mind and reared back for a savage thrust that speared the smaller drow's insides with the savageness he'd always known. She howled with bliss and a measure of pain, but he knew the signs well enough: the way her pussy clamped down on him, the way her nails dug into the stone wall in front of her, the way she threw her head back in ecstasy. He grinned, grasped her hips in one hand and a breast in the other hand, imagining Lura's supple mounds all the while. His hips became a machine made for fucking, and his cock a hammer against her loins.

"By the gods," she whimpered under his continuous assault. Lura stood up to face her, still fingering at the priestess's clitoris. "He is amazing," she breathed, eyes wide and face slack with helpless pleasure as Hammer continued railing her.

"Slow, my warrior," Lura said over the priestess's shoulder, and the warrior grinned. Both hands slid down to Lirafey's hips, fingers wrapping around to the front side as his pace slowed to a methodical, casual thrust. Each plowing movement took its time withdrawing from her quivering canal until just the tip of the head remained within. He re-entered her with slow, gentle authority, the veins of his iron-hard shaft tickling at every nerve ending within her cunt. 

Lirafey whimpered and leaned heavily on Lura as she relished in every agonizingly blissful inch of Hammer's cock, slowly but implacably filling her. The sensation was unlike any she'd felt before with another drow. The way he completely filled her, almost overmuch, had her knees limp as she clung to Lura. 

And then, with one final thrust, her orgasm claimed her, making of her a sodden, sweating, quivering mess held up only by Lura's kiss and Hammer's cock.

"Leave her," Lura said to Hammer, and he let his cock slide out of the priestess slowly. He was dripping her nectar and a sheen of his own perspiration as the priestess fell to her knees before Lura. And Lura, Chosen of Sune, grinned down, an apostate wearing the guise of this priestess's superior, spreading her shapely, toned thighs, baring her pouting, pink sex for her.

Lirafey fell into Lura's pussy, lips latching onto the glistening mound, tongue lashing recklessly and carelessly, eager to simply taste the nectar flowing forth from Lura's snatch. She moaned like a halfling at a table of sweetmeats. Lura gave her own coo of pleasure, watching Hammer as he observed. The priestess's tongue was deft and quick, but had thus far not struck any sensitive cord for the Sunite. 

But Lirafey was only getting the eagerness out of her system. She wanted very much to taste this drow's orgasm, and knew precisely what to do. Her tongue finally zeroed in on Lura's clit, the buildup of her seemingly clumsy ministrations serving to heighten the anticipation and, thusly, delight on Lura's face when finally she went to work properly. Her fingers slid up and down Lura's thighs, teasingly threatening to penetrate the drow's folds. For her part, Lura had a mind only to grasp at her breasts, squeezing and massaging them, pinching her own nipples.

Lirafey slipped a finger, then two fingers, into Lura's cunny, curling them within and pumping them in and out slowly while her tongue lashed quickly at the stiff little bud of a clitoris. Lura spread her thighs further, opening herself to the priestess while she rode the waves of oral bliss. Hammer continued observing off to the side, grinning as his cock stood rock hard for the priestess's. He didn't particularly like being left apart from the fun, but the sight was truly a delight to behold.

When the lesser priestess presse her pinky finger against Lura's perfectly relaxed asshole, she very nearly came from the surprise. No stranger to anal play, she pressed her hips down, letting the fingertip dip into her anus for an instant. Lirafey caught on quick and her finger slipped up into the drow's asshole. 

Both holes penetrated by fingers, her tongue under continuous assault by Lirafey's skilled tongue, Lura was almost complete. She beckoned Hammer over and grabbed hold of his cock. Standing beside the priestess's, the warrior basked in the mingled scents of their mutual arousal. Lura stroked his cock with a firm grip, using Lirafey's nectar as lubrication. Her grip progressively tightened on his cock, and she aimed it toward Lirafey, who seemed to catch on immediately. She closed her eyes, and as Lura's orgasm overtook her, Hammer came with her, their empathic link making their mutual bliss that much more powerful.

His sweet cream landed in streamers, thick white ropes, across Lirafey's face.

*****

Shandra's tenth orgasm finally ebbed away as Lura knelt to lick cum off of Lirafey's face, sharing it with her fellow priestess. 

"Sluts," Shandra said with a giggle. Her body was a mess of sweat and hair, clinging to her ebon skin. She was panting, her fingers were sore, and her magic was wearing off. The image of the three drow she'd been spying on vanished, replaced by Solafein, cock out and slowly flagging, a smattering of his jizz on the stone floor between Shandra's feet.

"Quite a show," he said with a smirk.

"Indeed," the sorceress said. She eyed the weapons master, her arousal not quite vanished. "Care for another?"

"Can I participate?"

"Is that a serious question?" she asked, beckoning the weapons master toward her. "But don't take your time. I'm quite exhausted."



The Apostate Ch. 03



Iliara and Cyra had camped outside the only entrance to Gauntlgrym they knew of. There were signs of a camp and combat, and they both had a strong feeling that Lura and Hammer had been here. They were both skilled enough in the wilderness to recognize footprints, even a few days old, and Iliara identified Hammer's massive footprint easily. So they camped in the same area, though not quite where the drow and human lovers had slept. 

The sun was starting to flicker into the canopy created by the trees overhead, dappling Cyra's ruddy skin with cool light and setting Iliara's pale flesh almost to a glow. As Cyra opened her eyes, pure gold with only a thin slit of black down the middle, she relished in the sight. Iliara had always struck her as beautiful in a lithe, athletic way. She may enjoy larger female features, but Iliara's beauty was ethereal in its grace. She smiled and snuggled closer to the assassin. 

"Lovely couple," a throaty, almost gravelly voice said. It was feminine, but didn't strike Cyra as the type of feminine she'd be interested in keeping around. She felt Iliara tense under her touch: her abdomen under Cyra's hand going taut, as if the elf was ready to spring her entire body into action. 

"Dangerous, too," Cyra said in a low, threatening voice. She could taste flames like cinnamon in the back of her throat. 

"Oh, aye," the other woman said. "I've seen your work. I'm not here to taste it myself." 

Cyra rolled over, gracefully coming to one knee, reaching for any weapon that might be in close proximity. Finding none, she stood, wearing only her linen pants and crisp white blouse, completely unbuttoned for Iliara's benefit and giving this woman—a half-orc, by the looks of her—a delightful view of her cleavage, chiseled abdomen, and the two lines that formed a teasing V under her pants. 

"What do you want, then," Cyra asked flatly, making no effort to cover herself. The scent of blossoming flame was hot on her breath. The half-orc, wearing only a thick woolen shirt and worn leather pants with stout boots, held up her hands, palms forward to put the red-skinned woman at ease. 

"To offer my axes," she said, grinning. Her canine teeth were conspicuously sharp. The grin grew to her eyes, which sparkled a dull gray, and her prominent forehead creased. Cyra admitted to herself, if not aloud, that despite her rough, orcish facial features, she wasn't unattractive. Her lips were soft, and her jaw was strong. Her forehead was framed with short, spiky black hair that gleamed in the early morning sunlight. Piercings studded her eyebrows, a ring was thrust through her nose, and scars decorated her flesh, seemingly self-inflicted as badges of pride. 

Iliara was next to Cyra now, and the dragonspawn had to note the distinct difference between the two. Iliara's pale white skin was stretched taut over lithe, compact muscles, while the ash gray skin of this half-orc was bulging with muscle that in some ways was more powerful that Cyra's. More than their distinctly different builds, the half-orc's feminine assets were large and glorious. Breasts that seemed to naturally ride high on the half-orc's chest were large and perky, round and firm. Her hips were wide—birthing hips—and packed with powerful muscle that even Cyra envied. 

"We've gotten along well enough on our own," Iliara said, interrupting Cyra's appraisal of the warrior. "What need have we of you?" 

The half-orc twisted her head back and forth, her neck popping loudly as she lifted a battle axe and hand axe out of their belt loops on her hips. "You likely don't. But I've been wandering around on my own since I was fourteen years old, about five years ago. I lived with a tribe of nomads to the east and north. They were human, and when my mother birthed me, I was an immediate outcast. When I grew into adulthood, I left. At fourteen, I was stronger, bigger, and faster than the rest of the human children. Orcs mature faster than humans, you see. And we harbor emotions that are far more intense. Rage burned my blood greater than I could control. Every insult was met with violence, and I knew I couldn't keep from killing someone if I didn't leave." 

The half-orc began pacing back and forth, weaving the tale with her hands as much as her tongue. "My emotions, all of them, drive me to great heights and great depths. My solitude taught me to control them better, but I knew I could not survive on my own, not with any sense of sanity. When first I saw you two, I knew that I had a chance at companionship. You have good hearts, filled with love. I, too, know love." She blushed fiercely for a moment, eyes cast downward and cheeks turning an ashy-red.  

"That's enough," Cyra said before the half-orc could continue. "What is your name?" 

"Vath," she said. "Just Vath." 

"Well enough," Cyra said, putting her arm around Iliara and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "Welcome, Vath." 

There was a screech overhead, the sound very draconic. 

Vath's eyes lit up as she spun her axes at her sides. "Sounds close," she said eagerly. 

"Be calm," Cyra said as the red, winged form soared down around the trio and landed beside Cyra. "This is Drax, my..." she paused, considering what to call the beast. She'd never had to label it, and "pet" seemed demeaning. "My son." 

The half-orc stood up straight, axes limp in her hands. "Son?" 

"Long story," Iliara said as Drax licked at Cyra's thigh, sniffing her before turning one slit-pupil eye at the half-orc. He almost seemed to smile. 

"Tieflings do strange things," Vath said. 

"They do," Cyra said, and when she grinned, flames licked at her lips and sprouted form her horns, forming a crown of flame. "But I'm not tiefling." 

***** 

Vath was relieved when the tiefling—or so she thought—welcomed her into the fold. She'd been longing for company for years. Not just people to help her with a job for a few days, or a nightly lover, or something so fleeting. She wanted true companionship. She wanted people she could call friends, even family. 

When first she'd seen the horned woman and her elven companion, her first thoughts hadn't been about their beauty. It hadn't been about the way they were overtly affectionate with each other. It was about the violence inherent in their every movement. Cyra was a woman built for close quarters battles. Strong, powerful, and with the ability to breathe fire right into the face of her foes. It was a beautiful thing to the barbarian. 

And Iliara, so lithe and agile, her movements were graceful but lethal. She wasted no movement in dealing death, but the way that she moved was so eloquent as to be poetry put into flesh, a symphony of muscle and steel that left corpses piled around her. She respected the lethality. 

The dragonling she'd seen before. When she heard it, she immediately felt the bloodlust that lived in her blood set aflame. She was eager to prove herself to these fine warriors. When the thing landed, she remembered Cyra's pet that often hunted the forest with her. She had not, of course, expected her to call it her son. 

"What do you mean, not tiefling?" Vath asked, her prominent brow knitting together in confusion. 

"It's...complicated," Cyra said. "My blood is draconic, but through some sort of sorcery, my blood was altered to keep that side of me hidden away. To all outward appearances, I am a simple tiefling, and I didn't know differently until another half-dragon mated with me. One I found out, after the fact, was sired by the same red dragon that sired me. 

"I was born with the red skin and horns befitting my father, but constrained in this humanoid form. I know of nobody that can truly explain it better than that." Cyra shrugged her strong shoulders. "What matters now, though, is if you're willing to accept that truth and still journey with us, for we are soon to delve into deep, dark places, where our kind will not be welcome." 

Vath looked over her shoulder, where she knew there was a cave that led to Gauntlgrym and the Underdark. 

"If you mean that way, are you prepared to fight an army of drow warriors and wizards?" Vath asked skeptically. 

"Lura and Hammer went that way," Iliara said, but her voice was laced with sudden uneasiness. She hadn't expected this. 

"Then they are dead," Vath said firmly, "and I grieve for your loss." 

"Surely you mean High Priestess Luriia Torviir and her consort, a warrior named Calavyr," came a silky smooth voice. "I knew there was something wrong about those two." 

A drow walked around a tree, squinting in the morning light, hands confidently planted on his hips. All three women took up defensive postures, muscles tense. Vath even growled a little. Cyra's tail swished back and forth in agitation, the thick appendage laced with veins and muscle. Her throat burned with burgeoning inferno. Iliara had daggers in her hands, seemingly appearing from thin air. The magical blades dismissed and summoned with a thought. 

"Pfah," the drow spat, smirking as he drew a slender rapier, magic crackling down its edge. "Once I dispose of you, I will unveil the little deception your friends have played on mine. They'll never make it to Menzoberranzan." 

Cyra grinned. "Thanks for that," she said. "Drax, eat this piece of meat." 

The dragonling exploded up into the sky, roaring its juvenile roar as it went before turning down into a spiral toward the drow swordsman. Instinctively, the drow dropped a glob of impenetrable darkness around him and leapt out the back just as the dragonling slammed into the earth, fire exploding out from the impact. 

With a victorious shout, the drow thrust his blade into the darkness, thinking to skewer the dragonling. But Iliara jumped out of the darkness at him, seeming to float about the stabbing rapier, her feet kicking for the swordsman's face. Her firm heel planted squarely on his cheek, knocking him sideways. They squared off, sword ringing off daggers that moved faster than the drow could comprehend. He had a half dozen cuts on his sword arm before their first exchange ended. 

Vath and Cyra were just about to join their elven companion when two more drow appeared from the shadows cast by the morning sun. Vath immediately went on the offensive, bloodlust boiling over as her axes assaulted her drow with unrelenting fury. She took many hits, but they didn't slow her in the least. She hammered her axes against shield and scimitar alike as the drow before her began to give ground. 

Cyra was more cunning with her attacker, a warrior with a short spear. He stabbed and slashed at her, even smacking her in the ribs on a few occasions. Cyra, without weapons, settled for dodging, moving her muscular body more quickly than the drow seemed to anticipate. Her own sort of rage boiled in her blood, a draconic fury that could only be released with searing flame. 

The spear stabbed into her gut, but her skin seemed to harden around the point, preventing it from penetrating deeply. She grabbed the haft, the drow, thinking his victory won, blinking in surprise. She reached out and grasped his throat, opening her mouth and vomiting an inferno into his face. Flesh and muscle sloughed off the bone and he fell in a smoking heap. 

Vath had beaten her opponent into submission, her axes shattering the shield and batting the scimitar far away. She cleaved the warrior from shoulder to hip with her battle axe, howling with fury and victory. 

Iliara was not as well off. This swordsman was skilled, and his magic shocked her every time she touched him. But the assassin hardened her resolve and reached out for the shadows around them. The drow might have been at home in the shadows, but she was shadow. The elf stepped into a tree's shadow, then disappeared within it. She stepped through the darkness and emerged behind the drow, standing in his shadow as he stabbed for her previous location. Her daggers found his kidneys and he fell face first into the dirt, quite dead. 

"This changes things a bit," Cyra said when the elf rejoined her companions. Iliara nodded. 

"Let's regroup in Neverwinter. We can't go to Menzoberranzan, just us three, and live." 

***** 

Cyra and Iliara had set up shop in an apartment adjacent to a small, well-to-do tavern in the center of town. It was sparsely furnished, for neither of the two spent much time in the small two-room abode. A bed big enough for both of them, a table for eating on, and a few chairs, only one of which comfortable enough to sit on for more than a few minutes of eating. 

Iliara was quick to doff her leathers and daggers, letting her sleek form breathe through her thin clothing. Her half-dragon companion did likewise, her tough corset falling to the floor in a heap, letting her heavy breasts fall to a natural resting place, perfectly positioned on her chest. She reached up, baring her stomach and lower back as she stretched and let out a long exhale. 

Vath only watched, unsure of what to do in her current company. It wasn't until Cyra turned about, unbuttoning her blouse and letting it fall open, and told her to make herself at home that she even considered removing her axes. The half-orc never wore armor, so she didn't have that to bother with. She did loosen the ties on her pants and on her loose tunic, though. The grey, non-descript clothing didn't do much to flatter her figure, but that was not a concern of hers either. 

At least, not usually. 

"We don't have much in the way of luxuries," Iliara said, sidling up to Cyra's flank, wrapping her arm around the half-dragon's lower back and resting her head against her shoulder. "Truly, we spend so little time here that only the bed sees much use. You're welcome to join us there if you need to relax, but between you and Cyra, there may not be room for me." 

Her smirk was a bit suggestive, but Vath seemed not to notice any implications. 

"My dear, there's always room for you. I'm sure we could stuff you between us, if we needed to," Cyra said with a giggle. Vath's lips pursed, still not catching on to the game the two were playing. 

"What is the plan?" the half-orc asked. "Your friends are going into the Underdark unprotected, and you meant to rescue them somehow. What will you do now?" 

Cyra smiled and sighed. "I don't know," she said. "I'm tired and I need to clear my mind before I can set a course of action." 

"Likewise," Iliara said, grinning as she kissed her lover's shoulder. The two were of a like mind in one thing, as usual. 

"Ah," the half-orc said. "Then I will go down the tavern. I've worked up a thirst and if you require time for meditation or something like that, I will leave you to it." 

Vath turned to leave, but Cyra intervened. She quick-stepped toward the barbarian and interposed herself between the big woman and the door. "That's not necessary," Cyra said. She stepped closer to Vath. "You said you've been alone for years. That must have been lonely." 

"It was," Vath said. Gods, she's being dense, Cyra thought. "But I made do." 

"Did you not miss companionship?" Iliara asked from behind the half-orc. She turned to look, but Cyra put a hand on her face, preventing that. The elf was taking her time removing her garments, baring her beautiful, pale form. 

"I...of course, but...what are you getting at?" the half-orc asked Cyra. 

The half-dragon leaned in quickly, pressing her hot lips against the half-orcs plump lips, slashing her warm tongue against Vath's. 

"Pfah!" the half-orc said, backing away quickly. "What is this?" she shouted. 

Cyra's eyes were wide, but her grin wider. "You've never been kissed by a woman?" 

"No!" she said quickly. 

"Did you like it?" Iliara asked from behind the half-orc, who did not try to turn this time. 

"I—hmm." Vath slowed her mind down long enough to register what had just happened, the gap between Cyra's shirt, the swell of her crimson breasts and the hard taper of her waist. The bloodlust she had been companion with for so long was replaced by a different kind of lust. "I did," she said in a low, growling voice. 

"Good," Cyra responded, coming forward again to kiss the half-orc. This time, Vath melted into it. She kissed Cyra back, tentatively at first, then began to worm her hands around the half-dragon's waist, under her shirt, to feel the unusually warm flesh. 

When Cyra bit the half-orc's lower lip, hard, Vath became a new woman entirely. She growled, grinned, and pushed Cyra's powerful form backward, slamming her into the wall. Vath was grinning fiendishly, her lip bleeding from Cyra's bite, and she charged, tearing her shirt from her torso in the process. The two women, both powerfully built, slammed into each other, breasts mashing, hips grinding, tongues wrestling as they groped and fondled each other. 

"That's what I thought," Iliara muttered. She admired the sculpting of Vath's back, the muscles rippling and flexing as she and Cyra wrestled for dominance. Sauntering forward, her narrow body, packed tight with lithe muscles, swayed back and forth as her feet crossed in front of each other. Her breasts, small and compact, topped with pink areola and turgid nipples, bounced merrily with every step. Sex gleaming with eagerness, she stepped right behind the half-orc, her hands dragging long nails down the half-orc's back. 

Vath paused in her struggle, giving Cyra the upper hand, one ruddy hand on the half-orc's strong neck, the other grasping the back of her head, fingers embedded in the short, spiky hair. 

"No fair," she grunted, but Cyra yanked back with a bit of that dark hair. Vath only grinned. 

"It's your first time with a woman," Iliara said. "We're going to make this special. When was the last time you were properly fucked?" 

"Properly?" Vath asked, feeling Cyra's hot breath against her flesh and smelling fire. "Never. I've mated a few times in the last several years." 

The sound of Iliara sucking on her fingers was obvious and thrilling. The way the warm digits dug into the moist cleft of the half-orc's rock hard bottom was even more thrilling. And when the moist fingers pressed against the barbarian's asshole, she felt her strong legs quiver with needfulness. A very throaty moan of pleasure rumbled from her throat. 

She felt herself fall forward, toward the wall, as Cyra vanished from in front of her. Well, not vanished, she realized, looking down to see the half-dragon's horns between her thick, muscular thighs. The woman's tongue was hot against the cleft of her sex, burning at her folds as they lapped at the musky cunt. "Gruumsh's One Eye!" she grunted when the half-dragon nibbled on her hard, oversized clit. 

That little gem was a delight upon Cyra's tongue. Her clit was thick and stiff, sticking out like a thumb-tip from the half-orc's cunt lips. She paid a great amount of attention to the stiff bud, suckling it and flicking her tongue against it. Iliara's fingers slid into the half-orc's asshole, plying the stiff ring open. Vath was growling aloud, her voice resonating off the walls and likely through them, much to their neighbors' annoyance. 

Or pleasure. They'd never been able to determine which was more appropriate. 

Cyra brought her hand up to Vath's leaking cunt and scooped up as much of the earthy nectar as she could, spreading it around Iliara's fingers. The more she did, the more easily Iliara could ass-fuck their half-orc friend. And thusly, the more fingers she could use. 

"Vath," the elf grunted, jamming two fingers into the half-orc's ass. "I'm going to slide my entire hand into your ass and fuck you with it." 

The half-orc laughed, moaning alongside the sound. She turned her head to look at the elf over her shoulder, seeing her petite, slender body gleaming with perspiration as her entire body undulated to back up her hand. 

And then the elf was adding a third finger, a fourth, all coated by Cyra's saliva and Vath's nectar. 




The Apostate Ch. 03



The half-dragon stopped her cunnilingus long enough to watch the elf tuck her thumb between her fingers and press the slender digits into the tight anal ring. Her hand slowly disappeared, and Cyra's cunt was leaking profusely from the sight. Before Vath knew it, there was an entire elven hand stuffed up her asshole, and the elf was thrusting it in and out, the eager, greedy ass swallowing her wrist and an inch of her forearm in the process. 

Vath was grunting, one hand holding Cyra by the horn, the other slamming a fist into the wall as she jammed her ass back against the elf's fucking hand. 

When she came, it was in great torrents of spray that coated her thighs, Cyra's breasts, and Iliara's feet. Her body shuddered continuously, both hands grasping Cyra's horns as her forehead slammed into the wall. 

Vath recovered several blinding moments later as the first true orgasm in years finally abated. She was panting, her mouth slack, but her eyes burned for more. Like the bloodlust that filled her during combat, this lust was setting her skin aflame. She kept rubbing at her muscular arms, spreading her thin sheen of sweat all over her flesh as if to put out the blaze in her blood, but it would not sate her. 

"More," she growled, breathing hard. Cyra looked up and finally got a good look at the woman's front side. She stood, pushing the orc back as Iliara's hand slipped from her asshole. The woman was magnificent in her power. Her breasts were heavy and much larger than Cyra's. She was taller, too. Her ashy, green-tinted skin was gleaming, a hard shell of abdominal muscles creating rivulets of sweat that dripped down to her fat, plump mound. Cyra kept looking back to the half-orc's breasts. 

They were so firm and supple, she reached out and gripped them firmly in each hand, pinching the rubbery, dark grey nubs capping them, then twisted hard, and the half-orc nearly fell to her knees in pain and pleasure. They seemed to be as one to the barbarian. 

So Cyra slapped her breasts, one then the other, leaving a distinct handprint on her breasts. 

Vath's back arched in pleasure. 

"We've a regular pain-slut on our hands," Cyra said with a grin. She exhaled and licks of flame curled around her lips. She ran her black fingernails down Vath's abdomen, leaving bright red lines in their wake. Vath hissed again. Cyra's hand slapped her pouting, sopping vulva, and Vath cried out, her hand going to her cunt immediately to cover it. 

No, Cyra realized, to rub it, furiously and violently. Her eyes were screwed shut and her breasts wobbled chaotically as she mindlessly frigged herself. She came again in convulsions that brought her to her knees. There was no torrent, but Cyra and Iliara found themselves grinning down at the half-orc anyway. 

"That's enough for you," the elf said. She sat in front of the kneeling barbarian, grasped her by the short hair of her head, then laid back, burying Vath's face in her comparatively small, tight cunt. Iliara arched her back as Vath's broad tongue inexpertly hammered at her sensitive little lips. Hands buried in the half-orc's hair, she guided her as best she could. Whenever the half-orc flicked across her stiff little gem of a clit, she let out a particularly loud moan, and Vath caught on quickly. Soon that was all she was licking, and Iliara was well on her way to orgasm. 

She expected, and was pleased when Cyra sat right on her face, her muscular ass cheeks covering most of her face as her hot, almost cinnamon-like vulva pressed onto her lips. Like a skilled duelist, she fenced the dragonspawn's hot box with precise cuts of her narrow, pointed tongue. She parted the lips and penetrated the red woman, licked all around her vulva, and finally drew intricate designs on her stiff clit with the tip of her tongue. 

It was an intoxicating sensation for the elf, having Vath going down on a woman for the first time between her thighs, and having her lover's cunt burying her face all at once. Cyra bucked and moaned, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath, and her muscular, veined tail whipping back and forth. Iliara reached over her head and grabbed the woman's thick tail, groping it and twisting it, as if it were a cock she simply had to jerk off. 

Cyra couldn't contain her pleasure. So worked up from tormenting their new friend and watching her lover fist the half-orc's ass, she came quickly, a subtle flow of her nectar mingling with Iliara's saliva within the elf's mouth. She purred and drank down the precious fluid as her own orgasm struck her. 

Unlike her warrior companions, Iliara's orgasm was slow and subtle, like a wave slowly growing toward the beach until it crashed, breaking over and over upon itself, compounding the pleasure before slowly ebbing away with the tide. 

All three women lay there in a heap until Cyra lifted her hips from Iliara's face. She lifted her elven lover and beckoned Vath to the bedroom, where she kept her promise. They stuffed Iliara between their strong, powerful bodies, and the elf had never known such warmth and comfort to sleep amidst. It was like floating amid soft, warm pillows of muscle and skin. 

When she awoke, her legs were spread wider than they'd ever been spread before, and Cyra was giving Vath a tutorial on cunnilingus. 

***** 

Cyra's vision was blurry, but even still she could tell she was staring at someone more powerful than she'd ever known. Centuries old, too, though he didn't look it. His eyes were golden, his hair a deep, ruby red that swam around his shoulders that were packed with dense muscle so as not to be enormously bulky. 

When her vision began to clear, she realized it was because the man had removed a silky wrap from her face. She felt her lips curl up into a smile as the man grinned down at her. She tried to reach out and touch his face, to feel the undoubtedly silky smooth skin wrapped around high, sharp cheek bones. But her hand, nor her arm, would move. She was restrained, both arms tied to wooden posts, and, she realized, both legs as well. 

But Cyra couldn't help but feel a measure of excitement at the sensation. The man, after all, was not unattractive. Rather, he was quite handsome, with a sharp jaw, pointed, elf-like ears, and smooth facial features that indicated a proper, wealthy upbringing. She seemed to know, somehow, that he was wealthier than a dozen Waterdhavian lords. 

"Be still, my sweet Chandrice," the man said in a voice so deep that she could feel it vibrating straight down to her loins. She moaned, but something in the back of her mind was screaming. Who in the Abyss was Chandrice? My name is Cyra... 

"Ah, my pet, you've waited so long for this," the man said, removing a sleeveless robe and grinning darkly. 

His cock was huge. Larger than it should have been. And it was lined with fleshy ridges, pointed at the tip rather than rounded. Sorcery whirled around it. 

"My very own broodmother. I wonder what you will hatch for me," he said, positioning himself atop the woman. She looked down at her breasts, heavy and lactating, and her belly, which was rounded slightly, though from overindulgence or pregnancy, she did not know. 

He penetrated her, and she howled, pain and pleasure slicing into her loins, followed solely by pain as he breached her cervix. 

She felt magic and cum pouring into her womb. 

Tears flowed down her cheeks, her eagerness turned to despair. 

Cyra awoke panting, terrified. 

Vath had never known such physical bliss. Even the satisfying sensation of her axe cleaving open a skull and blood and bits spraying on her naked body had not felt this good. After awakening in the middle of the night with Cyra to orally "rape" Iliara's sleeping body, the elf had awoken full of fire and desire. They'd fucked repeatedly, hands and mouths and some strange fleshy contraption the other two had taken turns wearing to fuck her into submission all played in her memories of the midnight romp. 

Now the sun was coming up again and her body was tingly from all the orgasms she'd had. She couldn't begin to fathom what the next tendays or even months would hold for her if she stuck with these two. Indeed, she didn't want to fathom it. She wanted the surprise, and she couldn't wait for more. 

She separated herself from her lovers and dressed herself, meaning to find a place where she could bathe. She wanted to be delicious for her lovers the next time they tasted her. She was familiar enough with Neverwinter to know the more underground establishments that would welcome a half-orc and serve her without prejudice. 

Mask's Fancy was precisely what she was looking for. The door was non-descript, its only signage a painted black mask over the door knocker, and was located in a back alley in Protector's Enclave. She knocked three times and waited. There was a clicking sound, then the door was opened and she was greeted by a leather-clad man wearing a black mask. It was early in the morning, but the tavern seemed to be in full swing. 

Dancing, laughing, drinking and all manner of revelry were filling the walls of the secret tavern with sound. Vath hid her smirk as she entered, feeling eyes on her every step of the way. Mask's Fancy was a haven for servants of the Masked Lord, God of Thieves, and more than a dozen pickpockets saw her lack of wealth and lost interest immediately. 

It was the other stares she felt more keenly. Courtesans of all type were milling about, offering their services. They were not bashful, for in Mask's Fancy, such things were encouraged. Anything to make a copper, as they say. Indeed, Vath was not immune to their advances. A slender man with short, stylish hair, leather pants and no shirt pressed himself against the half-orc. He was slightly effeminate, his nipples pierced with little gold rings. 

"I'll service a great warrior like you for ten silver," he said whimsically. "Or you can have at me for fifty. I'm nice and tight..." 

"Away with you," she growled, shoving the coinlad gently. He twirled out of her reach and moved on to the next suitor, a sailor who was keen for the boy. She scoffed and moved toward a side door, where an overweight halfling sat on a high stool behind a lectern. "I need the bathing rooms." 

"And I need longer legs and a smaller gut," the halfling said merrily. He held out his hand. "Twenty silver for an hour, fifty for the magma room, and a gold if you want attendants." 

The half-orc arched her brow. "Attendants?" 

"Aye, lass. Some people don't like to wash themselves, or just like the touch of another," the halfling said. "We've a half dozen working the baths this morning. Two women, three men, and one that's...something else." 

"I get to pick?" the half-orc asked, her curiosity piqued. 

"Naturally," the halfling beamed. He waggled the fingers of his outstretched hand. 

Vath reached into her blouse, between her large breasts, where a small coinpurse rested. She always kept it stocked with a single gold coin, ten silvers, and ten small coppers, just in case. With a little fingering, she pulled out a gold coin from Luskan. 

"Ah, a Luskar, are you?" he asked when he examined the coin. 

"Isn't this a don't ask, don't tell kind of establishment?" she asked, arching a brow. 

"Indeed!" the halfling said. "It's also a place where information is dealt for profit, and stories are told for entertainment. I've a feeling that whatever your story is, there are few interested in it for more than entertainment." 

"You're a keen one," the half-orc said. "I took it off someone who had no need of it anymore." 

The halfling laughed, hopping down from his stool and leading the half-orc down the stairs past the door and into the baths. "Your ilk don't come down here often. Usually it's half-elves, humans, those interested in the softer pleasures of life. Orcs and dwarves scarcely care to bathe." 

"I'm only halfway orc," Vath reminded the halfling. 

"Yes, yes, and I'm only halfway human," he said, grinning at his perceived cleverness. They passed two bathing pools, curtained off from the main walkway. In the first one, Vath heard the wet sounds of flesh smacking flesh repeatedly, and the muffled grunts of someone in the throes of passion. The next, she only heard quiet laughter and splashing water. 

At the end of the walkway, beyond six bathing pools, each curtained off with dense white sheets, were the four remaining attendants, each clad in the bare necessities. The two men, both with short blonde hair and lean bodies, wore small loincloths that covered their manhoods and nothing else. The one remaining woman was a red-haired vixen with long, shapely legs, tight little shorts, modest breasts, and ruby red lips. The fourth attendant was something of an aberration. She appeared feminine but had no breasts to speak of, but where there should have been a bulge between her thighs in the tight little shorts she wore was no bulge indicating a phallus. It was completely androgynous, completely hairless. 

"My dear, I give you our attendants. Nike and Nar, brothers, are superbly capable masseuses. Either or both would suit a well-muscled lady like yourself. The woman, Varla, hails from the east. Silverymoon or somesuch. She's been here for six months and has never had a dissatisfied customer. The last is peculiar. Name is Tyche. A changeling. Refuses to go by any sort of pronoun, so remember the name." 

"Interesting," Vath said. "What do you do, Tyche?" 

Tyche smiled, and its body began to morph and twist. Breasts blossomed where once there were none, growing almost as large as Vath's. Shoulders widened slightly, and muscle seemed to grow into thin arms and legs. "She" grew no hair at all, but Vath watched in amazement when the changeling's short-pants began to bulge with what could only be a cock. 

"Cheater," Varla said, smirking. "Tyche gets all the adventurous ones, leaving the twins and me to our own devices." 

"You've never minded our devices," Nike said, smirking. 

"True enough," Varla said with a coy smirk. 

"Sorry to disappoint," Vath said, "but I will have you, Varla." 

"No disappointment at all," the red-haired woman said with wide eyes. She sauntered over to the half-orc, her breasts bouncing merrily. She took Vath's hand. "What's your name, love?" 

"Vath." 

"Short and strong, I like that," she said, leading her to one of the pools. The halfling wandered back to the upper floor to await more clients. 

"Have you done anything like this before?" Varla asked. 

"No," Vath said. 

"Ah, well, nothing to it dear. Just take your clothes off and slide into the water. If you wish the temperature change, just say so. Bubbles, just ask. A little mineral therapy, no problem. I can turn around if you wish privacy." 

Vath laughed, stripping her shirt and pants off, kicking her boots to the side. She bared her muscular, warrior's body, taking pride in the scars and the tattoos that laced her body. Varla eyed her with open appreciation, smiling a crooked smile. "Lovely," she purred like a cat. 

"Bubbles, please," Vath said. "I want to experience...the softer pleasantries, as I once heard them called." 

"Then you must try the minerals, too. They'll make your skin tingle. Everywhere," Varla said with a smirk. 

"Aye, then," Vath said, grinning. She slipped into the water as Varla poured a lavender-colored oil into the water, and sprinkled a handful of dust into the pool after that. It took some time, but the bubbles puffed up out of the water, agitated by the minerals that were starting to tingle against her flesh. She felt...absolutely blissful. 

"Tell me about yourself," Varla said, sliding her thin, tight shorts down her long, long legs. Her pussy had been trimmed into a neat black triangle. 

Vath reclined in the water, the stone under her warm and pleasant against her cheeks. "I left my village when I reached maturity—around fourteen years old. I spent the next five years living in solitude, killing when I needed to, stealing when necessary, and staying away from trouble. Until I met two warriors who took me in as a kindred spirit. As of yesterday, actually." 

"Five years alone," Varla said, slipping into the water next to Vath. "I can't imagine. Lean forward a bit, dear." 

Vath did as she was bid and Varla slipped in behind her, fingers rubbing the warm mineral water into Vath's thick neck and shoulders. "So tense. Sleeping on the ground and fighting all the time, I guess. I'm going to take care of you." 

They heard the halfling again as he walked past, and two sets of heavy boots with him. The men seemed to be laughing about something, and the curtains couldn't keep out their coarse, crass manner as they hurled insults at Nike and Nar. "Boy lovers. Give us the shapeless one again, half-man." 

They couldn't hear the halfling's response, but Vath got the sense that these two were troublemakers. 

"Don't mind them," Varla said quietly. "They're obnoxious but generally harmless." 

"Generally," Vath said. "Not so harmless that you can speak normally around them." 

Vath put her hands on Varla's slender thighs, squeezing them gently. "I've developed a sense for danger. If I leave this bath, you stay right here. Understand?" 

"Please, doll, just stay here. Whatever happens out there will be fine. Tyche can take care of Tyche's self." 

There was a wet slap and an otherworldly cry. Vath tensed, her muscles coiled like a hunting cat's. Varla squeezed down on Vath's shoulders. "Please, stay here. Don't interfere. Tyche will be fine, this happens—" 

"All the time?" Vath asked. She stood in the pool, bubbly water dripping down her naked form. "Stay here, Varla. And don't make a sound." 

She turned away from the woman, her eyes wide with alarm, and strode out of the pool as laughter resonated throughout the bath chamber. Nike and Nar were watching with horror and alarm. The other two bathers were hustling to leave. The two men hadn't bothered to close their curtains. 

Tyche was sprawled out, legs spread to reveal a genderless sex, her eyes milky white and wide with fear. The men saw Vath as soon as she started stepping into their bathing area. Their cocks were limp but their intent clear. Vath saw the truth, saw the impending rape, and her battle rage overwhelmed her. She roared in fury and leaped into the bath, her forehead colliding with one of the men's skull and sending him senseless into the water. The other tried to punch at her, but she moved faster than he, grabbing his hand and wrenching it all the way around. His shoulder popped right out of socket and he screamed a very high pitched wail. 

Her hand pummeled his face, beating him into a bloody, swollen pulp before throwing him out of the bath to slide across the stone floor and into a wall, unconscious. She pulled his crony from the pool and did likewise, throwing him overhead. With tremendous power, she leapt from the waist deep water and onto the stone floor, managing not to slip as she stalked the two limp bodies. 

Slapping them awake, she held them against the wall by their collars. The sods hadn't even disrobed before trying to rape the changeling. "If I ever see you in this place again," she said in a voice so utterly calm, so filled with rage, that the blood drained from their faces, "if I ever see you near Tyche or any of the bathing attendants, if I ever even hear you mention this aloud, or get wind of you coming near this tavern again...I will end your lives in a most painful and brutal fashion. Leave."  

They stumbled and crawled out. 

Tyche walked over to her with downcast eyes. "I owe you my life," the changeling said, its voice strangely double-toned and ethereal. "You may call on Tyche at any time. I will serve you." 





The Apostate Ch. 03



Vath smiled. "That isn't necessary, Tyche." 

The changeling bowed, its milky white skin and featureless eyes utterly placid as it went back to the bath to clean up the splashed water and dry the stone flooring. Varla awaited Vath at the bath. When the half-orc entered the pool again, the woman took her by the face and gave her a most passionate kiss. 

"Those two have caused us all much trouble. Thank you," she said. 

Vath looked surprised, then smiled, kissing Varla back and pulling her supple body against her. 

Her rage hadn't yet ended, and the burning blood in her veins was quickly turning to other desires. 

***** 

Cyra and Iliara were snuggled up next to each other, as usual. Neither of them registered the fact that their new friend wasn't in bed with them, but after Cyra's vivid nightmare, she was simply lost in the fugue between sleep and wakefulness, perfectly comfortable in Iliara's slender arms. 

"You two are too easy to find," said a female voice, hard and sounding irritated. "Wake up, quickly now." 

Cyra groaned. "We need to start setting traps," she muttered to the elf, who growled herself awake. Still recovering from her nightmare, Cyra was hardly in the mood for unannounced visitors. They both propped themselves up, recognizing their visitor and the fact that Vath was gone simultaneously. 

"Where's Vath?" Iliara asked. 

"I don't know who you're talking about," said the woman. She stood to her full height, her tail swishing back and forth in agitation and her black, leathery wings spreading out wide. 

"Lidia," Cyra said. "Lidia fucking Lovedrake." 

"Hello, sister," the half-dragon said to Cyra, her pale skin wrapped in beautifully crafted leathers: corset, boots, belts, garters, all of which gleaming with metal studs and spikes. "We need to talk." 

"Yes, we do," Cyra said, her voice growing a bit weak. It didn't take much for her to piece together the half-dragon's arrival. Her half-sister had been sired by the same red dragon, but her mother's, Alluva Lovedrake, genetics must have been more dominant, somehow, for her to be so pale of skin with black wings and black hair. 

Cyra brushed her platinum hair out of her face and rose out of bed, not bothering to cover her nudity quickly. She wasn't afraid to bare herself to Lidia, who she had fucked quite vigorously before finding out their relation. She lazily pulled a thin grey shift over her ruddy skin, long enough to cover the tops of her thighs, just barely. 

Iliara also clothed herself. 

"You had the dream?" Lidia asked. 

"Aye, you know what it means?" 

"No, but mother sent me to find you and find out." 

"I only had it last night, when did you have it?" 

"A tenday ago," she replied, "but that is no matter. He's nearby, and there's no telling what he's going to be up to. I've only heard stories of what he's capable of, and I'm not willing to let this happen to any more women." 

"Agreed," Cyra said. 

"Excuse me, but what is going on?" Iliara asked. 

"Our father," Cyra said. "A red dragon. He performed experiments on women. Seduced them with magic, then impregnated them and made...us. Who knows how many more of us there are." 

Iliara gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "What can we do? What about Lura? And Vath?" 

"If Vath is the woman I think she is, she'll be with us, axes at the ready. As for Lura...we will have to trust in Sune's hand. There's nothing we can do as of now." 

"Agreed," Iliara said. Lidia stepped forward, putting her hands on Cyra's shoulders. 

"I knew I could count on you, sister," she said, then leaned in for a very passionate, very deep kiss. "Come, my mother is to meet us in a cottage north of here, where she has a friend who intends to help in our quest." 

"Well enough. We will gather our comrade and meet you there. Or, if you wish, you can remain," Cyra said. "Our hospitality is limited to this bed and whatever the nearby taverns are cooking." 

"Normally, I would take the bed with you two any night of the week. Or morning. Or...well, you get the idea. But I was thoroughly fucked upon arrival. Had to get it out of my system, you know? Let's eat." 

They left a note for Vath on the table by the only door leading into the apartment, then moved out to a more reputable establishment than Vath had gone to. The Rusty Saber was another, off the beaten path tavern that they enjoyed, for it helped them avoid a majority of the populace. Lidia Lovedrake would draw a great amount of attention with her wings and claws and all the draconic features she sported, so the seclusion of the Rusty Saber was ideal. 

Sure, the wary looks they got were a touch uncomfortable, but most of them were staring at Lidia and Cyra's impressive busts. The barkeep was quick to serve them breakfast and juice and light ales, likely figuring they'd be up to trouble if he didn't show them proper service. But they weren't looking for trouble, and were in and gone within an hour. Vath hadn't shown up yet, but they didn't think anything of it. Likely, she was eating. 

They saw her coming out of a back alley bar on their way home, skin gleaming and short hair limp around her face. Her eyes widened when she saw her two friends and the very obvious half-dragon walking with them. 

"Cyra, Iliara," she said, "who is this?" 

"Lidia Lovedrake," Cyra said. "My sister. Were you in Mask's Fancy?" 

"Aye, for a bath. And stuff." 

Iliara snickered. 

"Get your axes," Cyra said. "You likely won't see much luxuries in the next few tendays." 

"Why?" 

Cyra grinned. "We're going dragon hunting." 

Vath shouted in excitement. "Glory, pride and bloodshed!" 

***** 

Matron Mother Laudra Torviir had done only a few things in her five hundred seventy-three years of life that she found truly distasteful. The first was birthing male triplets. She remembered that keenly, for the searing pain of three worthless souls falling from her womb had plagued her for five hundred fifty-eight years. Another was learning her eldest daughter, her most powerful and most promising priestess, and heir to her House, was an apostate, and having to swallow the bile of that realization after she'd gone out of reach of her retribution. 

Her House was middling in the pecking order of Menzoberranzan, but that did nothing to temper their pride. The twenty-third House was widely known for its works of art, its deathsingers—drow bards whose magic wove death and malaise—and its promiscuity. House Torviir had more ties to the higher Houses than any other thanks to the seductresses Matron Torviir had birthed. A dozen of them were firmly entrenched in the beds of Matrons, high priestesses, Mistresses of Arach-tinilith, and so forth. Matron Torviir claimed more granddaughters than most Houses had slaves. 

She'd whored herself out to a hundred Houses. Her daughters fucked their way through dozens on their own. Her sons had mated with females of all races to produce just the right types of slaves and soldiers to augment her army. Her patrons had sired daughters and granddaughters alike. 

Matron Torviir's power wasn't in her army, nor in her wealth. It wasn't in her magic or her devotion to the goddess, though neither were in any way wanting. 

Matron Torviir's power was in sex. 

There was no magic in the world powerful enough to keep her loins as tight and snug as her younger daughters', but that did not bother her. Her ass had taken such a pounding over the years that it was simply a matter of course. Her throat had served as sleeve for archmages, weapons masters, magically mutated sorceresses, and the cocks of creatures obscure and, some might say, vile. 

But Matron Torviir was never challenged by another House. She was never threatened by her daughters. None had attempted to assassinate her in five hundred and sixty-three years, since the first time she'd learned to please another woman. 

She sat on a throne of jet, its high back carved with images of drow women in the throes of bliss and agony, all under the chaotic whims of Lolth, who dealt sexual pleasure and pain in equal measure. Before her was one of many ritualistic orgies that had graced her throne room this day. Four different Houses had gathered, male and female alike, and there were ropes of cum, puddles of female cream, buckets of piss and other less than savory liquids that were a byproduct of sexual overuse, and a pile of clothing at the foot of her throne. She, herself, was sitting naked, legs splayed with the matrons of each house serving her feet, thighs, and cunt. She'd cum a countless amount in the last hour, and couldn't stop the flow of piss running down her throne even if she wanted to. 

Her mind was in a fog of bliss, the control over her body lost from overstimulation. And she reveled in it. At the end of this day, her House will have risen five spots. The debaucheries that House Torviir contained were legendary among her neighbors in rank. This was an aberration, an orgy for function. Most were simply for fun, to relish in their culture of excess and decadence. 

Moreover, there was only one rule within her House orgies: assassination attempts were met with swift and bloody reprisal. The unspoken exception was "don't get caught." Torviir had removed many dead bodies from the throne room floor. She wondered how many of those were drow that didn't know when to stop when a cock was lodged down their throat, how many were erotic asphyxiations gone too far, and how many, exactly, were truly assassinations. 

Eunuchs milled about, about a half dozen of her bastard males who had shown no promise whatsoever or had simply been born dumb on account of inbreeding, offering services to those who required them: wiping errant cum off of someone's eyes, applying an oily lubricant, fluffing a male who had gone limp from overuse, and so forth. 

Torviir turned her head down to look at the five Matron Mothers servicing her. Matrons Mourlefey, Baensek, Auvryana, Del'sin, and Ssinsrigg all looked up at her expectantly. She nodded, her gaping cunt and asshole leaking lubrication, faux cum conjured by her cohorts for conjured appendages, and spit. They knelt at the foot of her throne, bowed down each to kiss her feet. 

"With the blood and sweat and nectar we have shared today, I bind you," Matron Torviir said, her voice carrying the force of her will over their Houses. "This day, you lift my House up in rank and reduce your own. In return, you will each bear daughters in your wombs that will aid our six Houses to glory." 

The magic took hold and five of her daughters walked up the steps, each with a long, thick, black cock hanging form their hips. Prodigious breasts were heavy and pierced, bound with magical metal. Their navels were ringed in runes that produced the cocks between their thighs. Without words, they began rutting their assigned Matron Mother. 

Magic was heavy in the air, fertility abounding. Torviir began rubbing her abused, swollen cunt, working herself up yet again this night, and she felt her libido tune in with her daughters. They were both ascending a mountain of ecstasy together, and the effect was infectious. The matron mothers began howling in orgasm, their fucktunnels milking the daughters Torviir. And the rest of the assembled priestesses, elderboys, secondboys, weapons masters, sorcerers and sorceresses rode the mounting climax. 

As one, every drow in the chamber climaxed, and the magic came to fruition. Seed took hold within womb, and all five matron mothers instantly knew they were pregnant with powerful offspring. 

"The goddess blesses your House," Matron Baensek said. "My warriors fight with you." 

The rest of the Houses took up the pledge: Mourlefey pledged her priestesses, Auvryana her blackguards, Del'sin her wizards, and Ssinsrigg her spies and assassins. 

The pact was complete. 

All that remained was the sacrifice of her eldest daughter, the apostate Luriia Torviir.



The Apostate Ch. 04



Myrynda Torviir sat in her chamber, rocking back and forth and praying fervently. She was naked, clad only in sweat that caused her pristine white hair to cling to her long, shapely back. Tears streamed down her neck and she clutched an old, tarnished emblem in her hands so tightly that her palms had long since begun to bleed. The pounding at her door sounded louder, breaking her from her trance. She whispered a quick spell and the emblem disappeared into an extradimensional holding space. 

Quickly pulling on a spidersilk robe that clung to her sweaty flesh like her hair, she opened the door to find one of her elder sisters awaiting her with a frown and crossed arms.

"Why did you not answer more quickly," she snapped flatly.

"Forgive me, Nhil. I was praying to the goddess," she held her hands out, palms up, to display the lacerations. Nhil smiled at that, nodding.

"An appropriate offering to Lolth. Our blood is sweet to her and curries her favor. You know this, yes?"

Myrynda nodded, smiling a small smile.

"Good. Mother kept you out of Arach-tinilith through great pains and trials. It is up to us to make sure you understand Lolth's ways," Nhil said, stroking Myrynda's hair. 

"I couldn't ask for better mistresses," Myrynda said with a smile. Nhil leaned in and kissed her softly, parting their lips with a sharp bite on her bottom lip. It was a promise, Myrynda knew, and she stifled a little anticipation for later. 

Nhil led her from her quarters in House Torviir, moving her through the ornate hallways of their stalagmite castle. The floor of the hallway was blanketed down the center with lush violet velvet. The walls were decorated with statues of carved obsidian figures depicting both Lolth and the various powerful figures of House Torviir in the past. All of them were provocative and suggestive in some way.

"The ritual is over?" Myrynda asked.

"Oh, yes, dear sister. A pity you didn't join us. I mated Matron Baensek herself and filled her with my child. If only the quivering little sluts knew the end result. Our Torviir children will slay their Matron Mothers as they fight their way from the womb. All five Houses will be ours. Glorious deception!"

Myrynda couldn't share in her sister's lust for such things, but she did know how to appease Nhil without letting on her true heart. With eagerness, she pushed the bigger drow against the wall, kissing her needfully, hands grasping for the older priestess's soft parts, covered only by a spidersilk robe that hadn't even been closed around her voluptuous body. 

"Ahh, little one!" she said, pushing Myrynda away. The younger priestess grinned and bit her lip. "Mother is awaiting you. No time for that now."

Myrynda made a show of pouting, and Nhil strode forward, putting her hand right against her Myrynda's cunt. She flexed her fingers against the soft vulva. "But later...I'll have you howling to Lolth for mercy. Or for more."

Myrynda smiled until Nhil turned away, whereupon her face went back to a flat expression, neither thrilled nor excited anymore. 

Sune help her, she couldn't wait for her sister to return.

*****

Matron Mother Laudra Torviir watched her younger daughter with open appreciation. She was a pretty thing, with modest breasts sitting high upon her chest, short stature, firm thighs and hips, and a soft, angular face. Her long hair was in a loose pony tail, and her spidersilk gown was tied closed over her chest, doing little to hide what was underneath, only veiling it.

"My daughter," she said, her legs crossed—for once—as she sat on her throne. Attendants knelt at either side of the throne, both former drow priestesses of enemy Houses. "You missed quite an event."

"As I have heard, Matron Mother," Myrynda said, bowing before her mother. "I sensed the magic, and the pleasure. It was a cataclysm to the senses."

"No doubt," the matron mother said. "I can smell the bliss on your skin."

Myrynda smiled sheepishly. "How can I serve you, Matron Mother?"

"I'm sending you and Deathsinger Kelaxle into the Underdark for a meeting. There is a troupe of drow coming down from Gauntlgrym, led by Lirafey Mourlefey. They should be arriving by the normal route. I suggest you purchase lodging at one of the outlying outposts. The wait should not be more than a few days."

Myrynda did well to hide her excitement. Kelaxle was one of her favorites, and she spent more time than was strictly proper with the warrior. Handsome, immaculately dressed and groomed, and more than a little endowed between the thighs...she couldn't be happier. 

"I expect you to escort them directly to this House, is that understood?" Matron Mother Torviir asked.

"Of course, Matron Mother," Myrynda said. 

Nhil led her out of the audience chamber with Matron Torviir's leave.

"Does Kelaxle know of this, yet?" Myrynda asked her older sister. She was, in fact, hardly a sister by blood, and even then only in the strictest sense. Nhil had been a daughter of another House, a priestess and torturer of high renown in the circles this segment of the Menzoberranyr hierarchy. That House no longer existed, but Torviir blood had been injected into the House by subterfuge and cunning mating practices decades ago. Nhil was a byproduct of that. 

"Yes, of course," Nhil said, "but we won't be going to him right away. I want to savor my dear sister before she goes away."

The grin and the purr in her voice sent a little thrill down Myrynda's spine. Nhil led her to her private quarters, which were much larger and more lavishly furnished than Myrynda's. A large, four-posted bed carved from petrified giant mushrooms, with gauzy silk curtains hanging all around it, contained two writhing bodies already: Nhil's pleasure slaves. They were chained and collared to the bed at all times, but slept on the floor. They were only permitted to occupy the bed itself when Nhil was away, or when Nhil told them to.

Mountains of pillows and cushions were strewn about the room, some around elaborate smoking devices, some atop long, wide couches or divans. Mirrors lined the walls in uneven intervals, and a large, magical armoire contained her clothing and any sort of beauty product she could ever want in an extradimensional space, ready to dress and decorate her according to her will.

Next to the bed was a metal-bound wooden chest. Within, Myrynda knew from experience, were all sorts of instruments she enjoyed using on her pleasure slaves, as well as any other lover she brought home. Whips, riding crops, paddles, chains, cuffs, ties both silk and leather, smooth and rough alike, enchanted rods used specifically for erotic purposes, and all manner of other, unknown items that Myrynda had never seen used before were contained in that chest.

To her, it was a dark chest of wonders, a container filled with bliss and deep, dark secrets.

Nhil led her to the bed and summarily dismissed her pleasure slaves to the floor. Former priestesses that no longer were worth a name, they scrambled to the floor. They had likely been given a choice: live life as a drider, or serve Nhil Torviir as a pleasure slave, to be used, beaten, and pleasured as the priestess desired.

"Before you sully your loins with a male, as I'm sure you will, come and let me taste," Nhil said, crawling onto the bed and laying on her back, pulling her gown open to reveal her large breasts, moist cunt, and shapely figure. Myrynda, smaller and lither, eager crawled onto the bed, on all fours as her breasts slid up Nhil's soft abdomen and over her larger breasts. She sat her cunt right on Nhil's face and the older drow began devouring her immediately. 

Myrynda moaned softly, leaning over and planting her face on velvety pillows, her hands playing at her own breasts through her gown, pinching her nipples and kneading the flesh. Her cunt ran free with creamy nectar, filling Nhil's mouth and smearing her face with the sweet, decadent juices. Nhil moaned into the small pink cleft, her hands reaching up to spread the younger drow's ass wide open, revealing the soft, pliable pucker of her asshole. 

Myrynda felt Nhil's finger enter her asshole and she arched her back, forgetting her breasts as she planted them on the bed, gripping the sheets in ecstasy. Nhil licked at her pussy for a while longer, then slipped out from under the younger priestess, kneeling behind her and planting her face firmly between the soft, small globes of Myrynda's ass. She ate her ass like a ravenous beast, slurping and licking and diving her tongue right into the dark cleft while her fingers began pummeling Myrynda's slippery slit. 

"Tongue-fuck me," Myrynda moaned quietly, whimpering into a pillow. Her anus relaxed enough that Nhil's tongue spread it wide open, and the older drow occupied herself swirling her tongue around the rim of the winking rectum. She spiraled her tongue deep into her asshole, three fingers roughly thrusting into Myrynda's weeping cunny. She pulled her head back and spat right on the younger drow's asshole, watching it wink open and swallow the saliva. 

"Stay right there, my little anal whore," Nhil said, and Myrynda did as she was commanded. She heard the chest open and Nhil rummaging through it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a stiff black riding crop fall to the bed, and she heard Nhil draw another item out of the drawer. 

A flat, stiff, rubbery object pressed against her spit-slick anal orifice, prying at her sensitive hole. She relaxed as best she could, and felt the object—a faux cock shaped like one of the dark denizens her mother had begun breeding in the underchambers of their castle—pressing into her asshole. The head was flared like a surface horse, but the lateral ridges were certainly unique. She couldn't place the beast, but the way it thrummed against her anal ring had her body spasming, her cunt flowing. 

There was a hum of magic as Nhil chanted, stroking the shaft as she pushed it deeper and deeper into Myrynda's rectum, so far that she could feel it in her stomach. She knew that her older sister had fused the rubbery flesh into her own pelvis when she felt her sister's hips against her ass. 

"Please, mistress," she said, looking submissively over her shoulder at Nhil. "Ride me like a beast," she pleaded, and Nhil took up the riding crop. With a sharp crack over her back, the older drow began plowing into Myrynda's asshole, over and over again, mercilessly, whipping her back and her bottom without remorse or pity.

Pink and violet bruises raised up in welts all over her back and ass. She could feel the sting and bite lingering after every strike of the riding crop. The pain was bliss to her, but more than that, the monstrous phallus ruining her asshole was like riding a long, rigid wave of ecstasy. 

Her body shivered, shuddered, convulsed, and she came.

"Good little whore," Nhil said, smirking. "Now clean my cock."

Myrynda looked back as the massive prick was withdrawn from her anus, gleaming with spit and otherwise perfectly clean. Without hesitation, she whirled around and took the faux cock into her mouth, slavering over it. 

Nhil's palm slammed into her cheek, and she fell away, looking expectantly at her older sister. 

"That's enough for now," she said, her body sweaty and heaving with labored breath. "Slaves, attend me."

The tethered, nameless drow clambered onto the bed, fighting to be the first to reach their mistress.

"Go, find Kelaxle, and be done with this business mother has for you. When you return, I shall have a celebratory orgy, right here, in your honor."

Myrynda nodded happily, rushing to cinch her robe together and leave.

*****

For the first time in several days, Lura had Hammer all to herself. On a nightly basis, Lirafey had been sleeping with them, fucking them, and ultimately consuming all of their nightly attention. Lura had noticed Solafein growing increasingly irritated by that fact, but Shandra seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. She awoke every morning pleasant, smiling, and seemingly in no way sexually frustrated.

"Tensions are growing between Solafein and Lirafey," she said softly, her face resting on Hammer's chest. Lirafey, Solafein, and Shandra had gone ahead to the border of Menzoberranzan's sphere of power to check in with the guards. It was a precaution that was unnecessary, Lura knew, but she insisted on it anyway. 

"I have noticed. I fear he and I will come to blows. Sooner, rather than later."

She kissed his chest, the muscle flexing instinctively at the sensation. 

"He challenges you at every turn. I fear you have not been retributive enough with him."

"Are you an expert on drow culture, now?" Lura asked playfully.

"I'm good at people," he countered with a smile. "And if he challenges you again, I will set upon him. It seems the proper course, as your champion and consort."

"True enough. If you die, you are easily replaceable."

"Don't say that," Hammer snapped.

Lura went silent, her hand sliding up and down his stomach. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"I know," Hammer said, sighing. "Apologies, I shouldn't have snapped. I know you were playing. This is stressful."

"I understand," Lura said, kissing his chest again, swirling her tongue around his nipples.

"I will kill him, if I must," Hammer said.

"I know," she said, her voice low and not in any way upset by that. "There's something you need to know."

Hammer looked down at her.

"I did not leave my House on good terms. My welcome will be...strained, at best. If I am welcome at all. My sister, the only true sister I have, needs me, and I do not expect you to follow my every step. If we even make it to my House at all. Soon enough, Lirafey will return. Either she will know I am an apostate, or she will not. Either way, be prepared."

"I will follow you no matter what," Hammer said. "You are my love. And I am always prepared."

Lura smiled, shifting to straddle the larger man. Even in his drow disguise, he was massive and out matched her physically. She wiggled her hips on his manhood. "I reckon we have a few more minutes of solitude."

Hammer grinned, reaching under her hips to unfasten his leggings, then pressed his thick, strong fingers against Lura's vulva. Her robe covered her for the most part, but he could feel her warmth and moistness. She moaned, smiling and arching her back as she gyrated her hips, but quickly backed away.

"No, this is for you," she said, her voice husky as she kissed down his chest. It was a rare moment that he did not wear his armor. Despite being in the Underdark, he felt safe with Lura and no other company nearby. She made her way down his hard abdomen, and tugged his pants down to mid-thigh. 

Her slender fingers wrapped around his cock, already semi-erect from anticipation, and from the way her breasts slid down his body as she slithered over him. She stroked him a few times before putting the thick head into her mouth, clamping her soft, plush lips over the skin and suckling, her tongue swirling around the sensitive underside. He gasped, bucked his hips, and blood surged into his organ, further hardening and growing it. 

She moaned in delight as she tasted more of the flesh enter her mouth, growing right into her tongue and cheeks. Never breaking the gentle suction, she began sliding her lips up and down his growing shaft. She loved the black skin on his member. Had he been a true drow, she wondered if she'd have been pregnant by now from this virile lover of hers. 

That pleasant thought in mind, she put her free hand to his sack, cradling his balls and massaging them firmly. Hammer wasn't a man who appreciated soft pleasures. Firmness was his aphrodisiac. She sucked firmly on his shaft as she slathered it with saliva, spreading the liquid with her lips and her tongue as she worked more and more of his member into her mouth. 

Her middle finger pressed against the sensitive area of flesh under his sack, between his anus, and massaged his prostate while stroking his sack and cock with both hands. She was halfway down his cock when she felt him grow to full size, his head pressing against the back of her throat. 

She withdrew, relaxed her throat, and went down again, fighting the gag reflex to press his cockhead right into her throat. Holding her breath, she took almost all of his member with practiced grace into her mouth. He let out a long, low groan, his cock spasming in her mouth.

"I'm going to cum," he said. "Finish me between your thighs...please..."

Lura, dying to taste his cum, couldn't deny that plea, the urgency in his voice. She gave him one more firm throating, felt his cock spasm, the skin feeling stretched tight around flesh of iron, before moving quickly, gracefully, above him. She sheathed him immediately, deep into her cunny, and clamped down. His orgasm rocked her with its intensity and its volume. Few times had she felt him cum in such a way.

His body was undulating, spasming, his back arching right off the ground as he filled her. It was a blissful moment for Lura. So often she was so caught up in her own orgasm that she never truly witnessed Hammer in such a moment of vulnerability. He was all but paralyzed, it seemed, locked in a cataclysmic orgasm that pumped her so full of his seed that she could feel it leaking out of her pussy and down his shaft. 

It was beautiful to her. The expression of bliss on his face, the way he pawed at her affectionately, needfully. She lay down atop him, kissing him, basking in his orgasm. She reckoned they had a few more minutes, and fell asleep atop his heaving chest.

*****

Some instinctive sense had Hammer moving in a flurry, twisting over to let Lura lay flat on her back, grabbing his sword, and spinning a full circuit to his feet to meet the downward sweep of two razor sharp longswords.

Lura gasped and cried out in alarm, legs splayed, and breasts wobbling in her robe as she struggled to register the scene before her. Solafein was attacking Hammer with a flurry of strikes from each sword, seemingly attacking independent of the other. But Hammer was as fast as the drow, twisting and parrying with his much heavier greatsword. 

His initial salvo failed to harm Hammer, and as his momentum played out, his advantage lost, Hammer swung things back in his favor. His greatsword moved with blinding speed. The big man had learned over countless battles how to use his body to greater effectiveness against faster opponents, and though his experience against drow was not exactly thorough, he was a wise enough warrior to know how to fight him.

Hammer's sword moved in graceful arcs, none with a great amount of power behind them, though each swing was just slightly more powerful than its predecessor. Solafein shouted, trying to distract Hammer, but to no avail. The warrior was too focused, too honed in on Solafein to care about anything other than the non-verbal cues he offered. 

They fenced for many minutes, trading parries and dodging deftly, until Solafein scored first blood. A slice across Hammer's bicep opened a river of blood that, while not lethal, would surely trickle down to his hands and affect his grip. 

Hammer grit his teeth, keeping his greatsword in constant motion. Focusing his aggression, he parried a double strike from Solafein, batting his sword between the needle-like blades coming for his midsection, and followed up with a pommel strike to the face. Solafein stepped back, but quick-snapped his foot up between them. 

Heel struck jaw, and the mask came flying off Hammer's face.

Suddenly, Hammer was six inches taller, twice as wide as Solafein, with dark hair flowing down his shoulders and a short beard shrouding his face. Moreover, he could see nothing in the absolute pitch of the Underdark.

The drow laughed. "I knew there was something off about you, human. You will be easy prey, now. I imagine that thing let you see in the dark? No longer."




The Apostate Ch. 04



"Not quite," Lura said from the side. She whispered a charm, and Sune's glory flowed through her body. She held forth her symbol of Sune, hitherto hidden, and radiance cast forth from it. The drow was blinded, but he saw enough.

"Apostate!" he shouted, momentarily blinded.

Hammer's sword sliced cleanly through the blinded drow's neck.

Solafein fell in a heap, his head rolling down the cavern floor, stopping right by Lirafey and Shandra, who were limping into the scene of the battle just in time to see the symbol of Sune and Hammer's true form.

"Apostate!" Shandra gasped, fumbling to prepare a spell, but Lirafey seized her by the arm, interrupting her casting. Hammer and Lura were at the ready, prepared to react but not prepared to take the initiative in this engagement.

"Be silent, Shandra," Lirafey said, folding her arms under her breasts. She addressed Lura, saying, "I know the truth, Luriia Torviir. You've been an apostate for years, and have deceived us thus far. Well played, by the way. I can't say I regret being seduced by you, it was quite pleasurable. Even your human, much to my regret, pleased me better than most drow males ever have. Your mother awaits you even now, likely for some sort of sacrifice. She knows you are coming."

"How can you know that," Lura asked.

"I've fucked more of your sisters than are currently alive," Lirafey said with a laugh. "Even high priestesses get loose tongues when their cunts have been plied properly, and I have just enough in my pocket that I could contact them through my battle-captive while we went ahead to 'scout'."

Lura seemed to seethe a little. Hammer gripped his greatsword more firmly, preparing to defend his lover. 

"Don't worry, errant daughter," Lirafey said. "I'm not taking you to House Torviir. Not yet, leastwise. There are some people who would meet with you first."

"What people?" Lura asked.

"You will see soon enough. Apostates, one and all, and some of them aren't even drow. Somehow, an underground network of people has found footing in Menzoberranzan. They knew of your return, and they will pay me a large sum of money to arrange that."

"Interesting," Lura said to herself.

"Indeed it is," Lirafey said. "I wouldn't get too comfortable, though. I mean to betray them at the earliest convenience."

"Naturally," Lura said, smirking. "Let's be off then."

"What?" Hammer said, not moving. The tip of his greatsword dipped to the floor. "She just told you she would betray those who would save you from your mother."

"And if they do not know that, then they were doomed to die anyway. I trust they have contingencies in place for such a betrayal. They live in a city filled with drow who treat betrayal as foreplay, after all." She smiled, touched Hammer's cheek. "Fear not, my warrior. Sune is with us."

Hammer relaxed and sheathed his sword. "I trust you," he said, putting his large hand on Lura's slender shoulder. "Lead on."

"That's a good boy," Lirafey said. She took Shandra by the arm and led them down the remaining corridors leading to the first outpost outside of Menzoberranzan. "We will reach the outpost Lolchrae before the end of the day and lodge there for the night. The next day we will make contact with one of the apostates, who will pay me and take you into his protection."

Lura nodded. "Well enough."

****

Kelaxle's cock thrummed inside Myrynda's needy cunt for the third time. She felt his hot seed filling her womb, then his cock, well-worn, flagging inside her canal. Her body ached, dripped perspiration, and had been fucked in so many different ways that she'd forgotten half of them. 

She and Kelaxle were lodged in the Black Web, a drow-run establishment in Lolchrae, the outpost Myrynda figured was most likely for her sister to pass through. It was an opulent place for an outpost, but then, drow spared little expense when it came to simple pleasures. There was a bottle of decadent wine on their bedside, much of which had been poured over Myrynda's slender body, staining her spidersilk undergarments as Kelaxle drank his fill right from her flesh. 

Some had even entered her loins, which burned pleasantly as it flowed out and into Kelaxle's mouth during one of his many oral sessions betwixt her thighs. 

Her mind was pleasantly fogged with the alcohol and enough orgasms to make her vulva raw and sore. As Kelaxle withdrew his cock, she felt her flesh burning from the friction, and not in a pleasant way.

"I think that's enough for tonight," she said, walking with a limp away from the bed for a bit more wine. She drank straight from the bottle. Her hair was a mess, sticking to her damp skin, and her thighs were stained from her own squirt and Kel's jizz. "You've worn me properly."

"I live to serve," Kelaxle said with a grin. "Truly, we could wait a fortnight for your sister's return and I'd not complain a bit. I'll take sparring between your thighs over sparring with the other warriors of our House any day."

"I've never heard you complain about your 'sparring' with the other males," she said, smirking. Kelaxle was notorious for his carnal predilections, and they were in no way limited to the female companionship. She eyed him again like the meat-candy he was. Slender, almost too much so, but packed with taut, agile muscle, he was skilled with rapier and dagger, but not so much with heavier weapons. His strength was in quickness and guile, not in brute force. 

She appreciated his lighter form, though. Not that the drow were particularly big to begin with, but he was more effeminate than most, and that appealed to her own predilections. His sexual flexibility appealed to her, because of her own flexibility. She wanted someone she could share cocks and cunts with. And Kelaxle did precisely that in ways her "sisters" never could.

"I admit, there are times when it's not so bad," he said with a sly grin. He ran his hand through short-cropped hair and rolled over to lay on his stomach. Myrynda couldn't help but eye his bottom. "But I've always preferred your flavor. It's sweet, succulent, with just a hint of spice for life that most males wouldn't even know how to appreciate."

"You flatter," she said, toweling off her body with a long, silky cloth. "I taste like pussy."

"That's what I meant," Kel said with a chuckle. 

"You better put that ass away before I find something to fuck you with," Myrynda snapped.

Kel only bounced his ass for her, then threw the blanket on the bed over his body. "I'm for sleep. Keep watch, darling, and I'll relieve you in a few hours."

"You've relieved me enough for one day," she quipped, amused with her own humor. He didn't bother replying. Myrynda set up near a window, not so close that she could be spotted and with just enough field of view that she wouldn't miss her sister's arrival via the only tunnel leading into Lolchrae.

"Where are you, dear sister," Myrynda asked, remembering the last time she'd seen Luriia Torviir. There was nothing special about the day. It was just another day in House Torviir. Some dignitaries form another drow city had come to visit the Ruling Houses and hand wandered down to the Bazaar to peruse the vast array of mercantilism, and from there to Manyfolk District, where House Torviir and her closest allies all dwelt. 

Myrynda had been too young to partake in the festivities at that time in her life. Not out of any sort of propriety, but out of seniority. She old enough to join Arach-tinilith, the academy for priestesses, but her mother insisted on home-schooling her the ways of Lolth. It had not been wholly unpleasant, and had nurtured her particular tastes for life. Even the lashings brought a measure of enjoyment to the fledgling priestess. 

In truth, she was more than matured enough to appeal to the visiting matrons and their retinues, which ranged from high priestesses to slave drivers to House wizards. But there were more than a dozen of her elder sisters waiting in line to work their charms on the visitors for information, pleasure, and all manner of other rewards. Luriia had come to her in her chambers rather than attending the festivities.

They'd kissed deeply for a long while, holding each other. 

"You know I must. You know I'm not like the rest," Luriia said. "My dear, sweet Myrynda. How I wish I could bring you with me. The World Above is filled with opportunity for souls such as us."

"I understand," Myrynda said, weeping into her sister's shoulder. She thumbed the token her sister had just given her: a porcelain carving of a woman's face, eyes closed and red-painted lips smiling, with red hair flowing like a halo all around. 

"I will come back for you, some day, when the time is right," Luriia said, kissing her sister on the forehead. "You have my word."

Myrynda dried her weepy eyes and looked up at her sister's golden eyes. They were five decades apart, yet she'd always felt they were as one soul. "I don't believe you," she said, frowning. "You'll lose yourself up there, under the sun. It will burn away your love for me as it burns your flesh. And if it doesn't kill you, the surfacers will."

Luriia looked wounded, as if her sister had slit her throat. "Myr..."

"No," Myrynda said, shaking her head and pushing Luriia away. "Don't call me that anymore."

"Sister..."

"I don't love you," she snapped, hardening her visage. Luriia sat bolt upright. Tears formed around her eyes. "Goddess take you."

Myrynda watched a tear flow down her sister's delicate cheek just before the former deathsinger and high priestess turned and left her room.

Myrynda wept now, remembering their parting. She'd been just a foolish girl. The teachings of Lolth were always lost on her, and Luriia was the only one who spoke truth into her heart. Love, passion, honesty, devotion, all of those things made up her soul, and she had been masking them for years since Luriia had left. 

Depression had swallowed the young priestess whole. Her skin still bore the scars, self-inflicted from her own self-loathing for dismissing her elder sister in such a way. The pain had been a release for her. Until, of course, Nhil came into her life. Nhil had unlocked her heart in a way that Luriia never had. With sex, submission, sensual torture, and a form of erotic degradation that Myrynda had yearned for in her younger years, Nhil had taken Myrynda wholly, made her a willing slave to her physical needs and discarding her afterward, leaving the priestess yearning for more. Nhil's attention, though entirely selfish, was laced with a deceiving sense of love that Myrynda came to crave. 

It was only by the teachings Luriia had given her that she escaped form Nhil's thrall, mentally if not physically. In truth, she enjoyed the way Nhil fucked her. But she was no longer emotionally enslaved by the priestess, as Nhil thought. What an enjoyable moment that would be, Myrynda ruminated, when she turned the tables on Nhil, showing her the truth of her heart.

A heart that belonged to Luriia Torviir, not Nhil Torviir. To Sune, rather than Lolth.

To herself, above all others.

Myrynda smiled, felt a tingle course through her body, and walked over to Kelaxle.

"Get up," she said, thrusting her hand up between his thighs. Her thumb prodded his anus and her fingers pinched his shaft. 

Kel was hard before he was awake.

*****

Hammer had his mask back on as they approached the outpost Lolchrae, immersing himself back into the drow guise. It would not do to walk in his natural form amidst an outpost teeming with drow and their slaves. The Black Web was to their left, marked by the large sign of petrified mushroom with a black spider's web painted on and a trio of courtesans—two female and one male—wearing black masks and nearly nothing else. Their charms were hidden by the scantest of silk swatches, easily removed. 

To their right was the guard post, a contingent of drow soldiers manning. They had sent out two of said soldiers to intercept Lirafey before she could lead them properly into the outpost. 

"Who are you, and what is your business," the drow demanded. 

"I am Lirafey Mourlefey," she said, displaying her House insignia, "accompanied by my battle-captive, who does not bear naming, Cirily Torviir of House Torviir, and her consort, who also does not bear naming."

"I was not aware that House Mourlefey was recalling one of her daughters," the soldier said, his face stern. "No matter, though. House Torviir has sent a welcoming party. She and her companion are lodged in the Black Web. I suggest you go their first."

"Keep your suggestions to yourself, male," Lirafey said. "I have my own business to attend to. If House Torviir wishes to control my movements with her daughter, then she can go through Matron Mourlefey."

"As you say, Mistress," the soldier said, backing away returning to his post with his comrade.

"Well played," Lura said to Lirafey. "I had not expected that."

"You've been away too long. The ways of the drow do not come naturally to you anymore, it would seem."

"Thank Sune," Lura said aloud. 

"And keep that to yourself," Lirafey said. "I'll not tolerate much heresy. The apostates want you, but they did not specify how I was to deliver you."

Lura smirked. She knew she was beyond Lirafey's ability, but submitted anyway. "What's the play, then? Surely whoever my mother has sent knows we have arrived now."

"Indeed. Fortunately for you, that will not be an issue. Come," Lirafey said, leading them beyond the Black Web. The garrison's barracks were on the right, across from the rooming house and behind the outpost. Other than those structures, Lolchrae was populated with a variety of craftsmen of middling ability, a provisioner's wagon-house, and rental housing for visitors of all sort. Buildings were either carved into natural rock formations or built from imported wood or petrified fungus, which was plentiful around Menzoberranzan. 

To Hammer's delight, the courtesans of the Black Web did not call to them. He attributed it to the noble bearing of his female escorts. The last thing he wanted was further attention directed at him. The soldiers had given him a thrice-over thanks to his unusual size and massive sword, likely trying to ascertain whether or not it was worth questioning him. Lirafey had done well deflecting that eventuality. 

Now, the priestess was leading them toward some of the rental housing, none of which seemed occupied in any way. He lamented briefly that threat was so ever-present. Under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed watching the dance of Lirafey and Lura's respective posteriors. Both females were built quite well, and having known them both carnally, he couldn't help his instinctual desires. Despite the fact that Lirafey was likely to betray them in the next forty-eight hours, he knew he'd rise to the occasion should the opportunity to bed her arise again. 

"In here," Lirafey said, opening a door to a squat, single-story house. They entered: Lura first, followed by Shandra, then Hammer, and finally Lirafey, who closed the door behind them. 

They were greeted by a low-burning fire and an ash-skinned elf with shoulder length silver hair, vivid red eyes. She crossed her legs and grinned, sitting in a high-backed chair with elegant arm-rests.

"Luriia Torviir, Gundor the Hammer—I'll wager you've not heard that name in some time. It is a pleasure to meet you both. Lirafey, you and your battle-captive are free to leave as you please."

"Markus told me I would be paid," Lirafey protested. "Where is he?"

"Awaiting you," the elf said, pointing at the door. A tall man in a dark cloak had opened the door and held a large leather sack in his hand. Lirafey nodded, and gave Lura one final look.

"See you soon," Lirafey said, then kissed the drow passionately, her tongue filling her mouth. She and Shandra left without another word. 

"They mean to betray you," Hammer said as soon as she was out the door.

"Oh, I know," the elf said, smirking. "That is their way. Perhaps one of ours will die, but not likely. Chances are, she will tell whomever she wishes, and when they come to investigate they will find nothing of note and Lirafey will be flogged for spreading lies."

Lura smirked. "I had thought as much." Hammer didn't seem to be at ease by that, but he held silent. "Who are you?" Lura asked.

"I am Valshar Larethian," the elf said.

"Larethian?" Lura asked. "As in Corellon?"

"The same. No relation," Valshar said, smirking. "I follow Corellon, and since my drow name is only barely applicable, I assumed his surname."

"You are half-drow," Lura said with a smile.

"And half-moon elf," Valshar responded. She stood, barely five feet tall, her waist about the size of Hammer's thigh. Her every feature was knife-sharp, from her ears to her chin to the breasts under her tunic to the flare of her hipbones, visible between her tunic and her low-rise trousers. "The Order of Apostasy has been anticipating your return."

"Oh?" Lura asked, arching a thin white brow. 

"It should come as no surprise to you that some of our number follow Sune. She does not only speak to her Chosen, you know," Valshar said with a grin. "That's a lovely robe."

Lura looked herself over and realized that her robe was still cut as spidersilk, crimson and doing little to hide her feminine charms. The fabric was gauzy and translucent, only dense enough to cover flesh over her sensitive areas. She willed it into a garment more appropriate for her surface life. The cloth thickened into a light silk that was opaque but still hugged her curves. Her whip cinched it around her waist, but the robe exposed all of her cleavage and the upper half of her abdomen.

"Quite lovely," Valshar added. "Come, you and your mate will find that there is much work to be done here before you return to the surface."

"Work?" Hammer asked. "We've come with a specific goal, not to be hired on by a band of misfits."

"Hammer," Lura said, "I believe Sune led us here for a reason. Let us determine that purpose before we move on."

Hammer looked at Lura incredulously. "You would have me wear this skin longer than I must?"

She reached up and lifted the mask off his face, revealing his human form. Valshar smirked as she looked him up and down. "No," she said sadly. "I would see you returned to the surface. This is not your world, I know that."

"I am not leaving you," Hammer said resolutely. "But I do not think it wise for us to press our luck down here. Your world is up there as well. Let us save your sister and leave this dark place."

"In time," Lura said. "Soon enough."

"If it helps," Valshar said, "we would all prefer you without the mask. We know of your battle prowess, Gundor the Hammer—"

"Just Hammer."

"Hammer. It would be a glorious thing to see a mountain of a man such as yourself defeat drow weaponmasters and priestesses alike."

The man smirked a little. "I suppose you're right about that. I'll keep that mask, just in case. But it will feel good walking in my own flesh again."

Valshar grinned. "Come, my new friends. Let me introduce you to the Order."

*****

Lirafey felt particularly good about herself with a heavy pouch of gold in hand. She could think of nothing better to do with a handful of it, right about now, than buying something for her and her consort.

"I like the tassels," Shandra commented, pointing to a particularly devious harness. It was designed to penetrate both orifices at once with thick, rubbery knobs. Straps connected the bottom half to a set of iron rings, which then fastened to an iron collar. The rear of the thing had only a single strap that connected to the harness's anal plug. The straps were designed short, so that no matter which way the wearer twisted or bent, there was no escape from the penetrating knobs. 




The Apostate Ch. 04



The tassels Shandra seemed to like so much dangled from every strip of leather on the device.

"No," Lirafey said. "I like them too, but the harness is too...clumsy. You know I prefer subtler torments."

"If I may," the craftsman who was following them around interjected. Lirafey signaled him to go ahead. "What I have here is a limited selection. My primary shop is in the Bazaar. Only thirty days into the 66 I'm allotted for my space. There are more...elaborate designs. Something for everyone, as my motto states."

The drow leatherworker had a slimy demeanor. He was the type to cater to everyone and damn whoever wasn't in the room with him at the time. But still, Lirafey had seen his works in action at the Torviir castle and in brothels all over town. He was no liar, that was for certain.

"Something shocking," she said, a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Whips and crops and harnesses treated with electric eel blood," the drow said, nodding eagerly, almost giddy as he explained. "Even some enchanted by hedge wizards to shock on command. To your liking, Mistress?"

"Perfect," Lirafey said, imagining the possibilities.

Shandra was veritably dripping, her mouth hanging open and her eyes empty at the prospect.

"Come, Shandra. We will visit the Bazaar on the morrow. Tonight, I'd like to stay at the Black Web," she said. Then, she looked at the craftsman. "Any whores using your wares tonight?"

"Always," he said, giggling aloud. He rubbed his hands together. They smelled like tannin. "Yaulinth Moistrose has a variety of my implements. She's quite skilled and specializes in tormenting her male suitors. Ryltan the Stave enjoys my harnesses quite a lot. You'll find him either hanging from the ceiling with a line behind him or with a few of his fellow sluts on each arm."

"Indeed," Lirafey said. She and her battle-captive left and made for the Black Web, ignoring the trollops outside. Classless whores, one and all, already displaying their goods to the passers-by without even a copper. 

"Think you could out-earn them in a night?" Lirafey asked Shandra.

"Don't be ridiculous," the sorceress said, smirking. "In an hour."

The duo found Yaulinth and Ryltan quickly enough; the leatherworker was not exaggerating. Yaulinth was obviously catering to higher class clients than the whores outside could even hope for. Her leathers were tight, perfectly fitted, and did wonders for her physique, which only seemed slightly worn down from decades of sexual use and, if her current situation was any indicator, gratuitous amounts of mindsmoke and wine. Her eyes were slightly sunken in, but she had the bearing and posture of a matron mother. If it weren't for the two males rutting at her in the barely-curtained nook she occupied, she might have been mistaken for one.

Lirafey was hoping for a spectacle when she saw Ryltan. A bevy of hung studs lined up to abuse him, or strapped priestesses looking to take their aggression out on a male, would have suited her just fine. But Ryltan was reclining with a bowl of pipeweed in one hand, and a breast in the other hand. He was certainly wearing a fine harness and nothing else. His muscular, lean thighs glistened in the dim lighting, his hair immaculately structured behind his ears, and his cock—an impressive specimen in its thickness—hanging free from the harness's cockring. There were females of various species around him, laughing and drinking and smoking, but none seemed to be going for his cock.

A curiosity, but nothing that demanded Lirafey's further attention. She went to the barkeep with Shandra and purchased lodging with more coin than the room was worth, and was immediately shown to her room. 

"May I make an observation, Mistress?" Shandra asked with unusual restraint.

Lirafey gave her a glance before looking around at their lodgings. "Yes."

"You want to fuck tonight, but you need something out of the ordinary. Something beyond the normal fistings and whippings. Something beyond biting and scratching."

"Very astute," Lirafey said. "Any ideas?"

"I could wrangle up all the harlots downstairs, but I doubt that's exactly what you're looking for," Shandra said. 

"You're right. I can't put my finger on it—or in it, as the case may be—but I need something...different."

"Something visceral," the sorceress said, her voice going throaty.

"Yes."

"Something to make you scream," she added.

"Yes, yes," Lirafey said, sounding frustrated as she looked around the room, then back to Shandra, who was suddenly naked, magical energy weaving around her fingers. The mage slapped Lirafey across the face. Before the priestess could fathom it, she backhanded her mistress, busting her lip and setting her to bleeding into her mouth. 

"You insolent cunt," Lirafey growled, but Shandra's magic came to fruition. She grasped Lirafey by the neck and electricity bit into the high priestess—not lethal, just enough to jolt her over and over again. Lirafey screamed, and with her mouth open, Shandra met her mistress with a kiss, her tongue burrowing into Lirafey's mouth as the electrical energy dissipated over both of their bodies.

Lirafey split from the mage, eyes wide, caught between rage and confusion.

"Do that again," she snapped suddenly, and this time both of Shandra's hands were spitting lightning as she grabbed Lirafey by throat and cunt. Electricity rattled her teeth, her entire body set aflame with such a unique pleasure that she could only scream in bliss. 

"Fuck," Lirafey gasped when Shandra let go. "You're magic...fuck me with it!"

Shandra grinned like a fiend. With a word of power, she slammed her fist into Lirafey's chest, and all of the priestess's garments and armor fell to the floor, blown off her body by the sorceress's magic. Shandra conjured twin whips of pure arcane force. She cracked one against Lirafey's hip, and the priestess hissed and arched her back. The sting of a whip was not foreign to servants of Lolth, after all. Shandra struck with the other whip, across the breast, raising a grayish welt just above Lirafey's nipple. 

She was whimpering, breathing hard and fast. Shandra continued lashing her mistress, circling her, letting her magic work its course through the priestess's body. Every strike of the whip infused the priestess with a sort of poison. It was her own specially designed spell, one she'd never had a chance to use. 

"I'm going to make you into a painslut," Shandra said in throaty tones. The poison in Lirafey's blood was altering her nerves. Every bite of pain flared at first, but heightened the pleasure thereafter. In a sense, every strike of the whip was making Lirafey feel more and more pleasure, but not without feeling a slightly amplified pain. 

Satisfied that her spell was at full effect, Shandra slapped Lirafey across the face again, then immediately pinched her nipple in her other hand, gently at first, then twisting and pulling on the sensitive nub. Lirafey howled in bliss as she fell to her knees, overcome with her first nipple-induced orgasm. 

With a few words, Shandra lit her fingers with electricity again, and began running them all over Lira's breasts, shocking the nipples into constant turgidity before dragging her fingertips down Lirafey's flanks, hips and thighs. She knelt before the priestess and slid her electric fingers up the drow's inner thighs. Lirafey's body spasmed all over, shaking and jerking to and fro, her breasts bouncing and wobbling with every movement. 

But when Shandra slid two charged fingers into Lirafey's spasming, dripping cunt, she screamed in a mix of pain and pleasure the likes of which Shandra had only heard in House Mourlefey's dungeons. 

Shandra began laughing. "That's my slut Mistress, howl in the pleasure you've commanded from me!" the sorceress said, fucking Lirafey with her fingers, slowly working a third into her spasming cunt. Before long, she had all five fingers up to the knuckles, shocking the inside of her pussy with her magic. The torment was so blissful that Lirafey went numb, her body buckling as she orgasmed repeatedly. Her juices flowed like an Underdark river over Shandra's hand. She dismissed the enchantment and Lirafey simply lay there, numb and overstimulated, her brain too melted to function.

Which was a shame, because Shandra was thoroughly worked up and needed her cunt tended to. She'd spent this entire journey self-pleasuring, and was, frankly, tired of it. She spent a fair amount of time placing lethal wards on her mistress, making sure she wasn't despoiled in her absence, sealed the door magically, and went down the stairs to the common room, where many drow patrons were eyeing her with open hunger. Her hand was still greased, and she smelled like Lirafey's sex.

A hulking, ochre-skinned woman seemed right up her alley. A half-ogre, half-orc creature known as an ogrillon, she had massive breasts, ham-hands, and, to Shandra's delight, a fleshy cock hanging from her hips. While far from common, it wasn't the first time she'd seen a woman so endowed. The thing was immense, and she felt like a challenge, so she approached the beast with open desire in her eyes.

"I think you'd rather come this way," a silky voice said. It was one of the courtesans, a drow with golden eyes. Her silk shift covered her breasts and her chest, but was held on by two thin strings around her neck and her back. A silk drape covered her bottom and her cunny. All of the fabric was black with silver threadwork. 

"I think not," Shandra said, licking at her creamy hand. 

"Trust me. That one is meaning to kill you," the courtesan said. "And before you get any ideas, she's not going to fuck you. She saw you enter earlier and made it plain she had only bloodlust on the brain."

"A shame, she's a fine specimen," Shandra said, diverting her course to follow the courtesan.

"There are many here," she replied with a smile. Shandra was suddenly surrounded by the knot of pleasure-seekers they'd seen earlier, Yaulinth and Ryltan among them.

"So," Yaulinth said, "are you responsible for the cacophony upstairs?"

"My mistress has peculiar tastes, at times," Shandra said. She was rubbing her fingers together, feeling Lirafey's discharge clinging to her skin. Ryltan noticed.

"That her?" he asked, and Shandra nodded. He sidled over to her, knelt to his knees, and sniffed. "Delicious. May I?"

Shandra nodded. Ryltan went to work cleaning her hand, taking his time to take each finger into his throat as he slurped loudly, putting on a show. His cock was growing, but Shandra yanked her hand back. "Some of this is for me," she said in a threatening voice. He grinned and turned to walk back to his seat.

"You would do well here," Yaulinth said. "Make your mistress some money."

"I know," Shandra said, crossing her arms. Her large breasts billowed from under them, threatening the integrity of her blouse. She crossed her legs, effectively closing herself off from the charms of the prostitutes trying to recruit her.

"Cocky, too," one of the other harlots said. "I know a few that would like that."

"I serve my mistress, and her alone," Shandra said, her tone uncompromising.

"Aye, of course," Yaulinth said. "We know how things work. Some of us were actually nobles at one point, and we recognize a battle-captive when we see one. Between the collar, the way you look at her, and the way you walk behind her, it's easy to spot. But Cyrin over there recognizes you from a certain establishment in Menzoberranzan. The Spidermask. You were a dancer there, were you not?"

"Among other things," Shandra said. 

"Aye, among other things. Take a closer look and rake your memory, Shandra, formerly of House Auvryana."

Shandra glared at Yaulinth. She didn't like having her heritage thrown in her face. But she complied, looking over at Cyrin, a male of no outstanding stature. He was not overly handsome, but he was not ugly. He was in no way remarkable. And that, in itself, sparked her memory. The male had paid her a dozen pieces of gold to suck on her toes and fuck her feet. It was the first foot job she'd given.

"Ah, Cyrin is your name? Tell me, do you suck all the girls' toes the way you did mine?" Shandra asked, and Cyrin grinned with pride.

"Glad to have left a mark," he said.

"Tell me you wouldn't like to go back to a life of whoring," Yaulinth said. "The gold you make would please your mistress, no doubt."

"If she's willing to share me," Shandra said. She sighed. "I will speak with her. She will want to meet with you."

"I've no doubt," Yaulinth replied. "Go, then. And take any of use you wish with you. I know you were looking for something particularly...large."

"I'll have Ryltan," Shandra said without hesitation. "For free."

"Free?" the male said, and Shandra shrugged, her breasts bouncing. 

"Go," Yaulinth said. "Perhaps you will earn your keep. If not, I dare say it will be a worthy experience, judging from the sounds we just heard."

*****

Myrynda sat up quickly, the sounds of a woman screaming filling her ears. 

"What in all the bloody hells was that?" she asked Kelaxle, who seemed amused.

"I have my suspicious. Sure enough, though, someone is getting thoroughly fucked down the hall," he replied. "Your sister arrived with a rather large and delicious-looking male, a high priestess, and a battle-captive."
"Why didn't you wake me?" Myrynda asked urgently.

"Relax," Kelaxle said, smiling at her as he moved to lay next to the priestess. "I tailed them. Unseen, of course. They are housing themselves in one of the rental homes. We can visit them at our leisure."

"Fool," Myrynda said, shoving the amorous rogue away. "You know not what you've seen. Those buildings have served more than one purpose since they were built. Hells, it's why they were built! We must go now!"

Kelaxle, admonished, donned his leathers and weapon belt, rapier and dagger on their respective hips. Myrynda slid on her supple chainmail hauberk that hugged her slender body, a mace, and a buckler. Her whip was on her belt. Huffing, she shoved the door open and stormed out with Kelaxle in tow.

His hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her back quickly, though, as a female drow walked out of another unit, her hand dripping on the floor. Myrynda struggled until Kelaxle said, "That's the battle-captive. I'll wager my cock that your sister is in there."

Myrynda grinned eagerly, pleased that her lover was showing his worth. They watched the curvy drow walk down the stairs, then approached the door. Kelaxle held up a warning hand. "Wards," he whispered and drew a wand from House Torviir's magical armory. He tapped it against the door and watched it soundlessly swing inward, revealing the naked, panting, and sweaty form of Lirafey Mourlefey.

"Lolth's bounty," Kel said. "Should I?"

"House Mourlefey is an ally, Kel," Myrynda said. "No rape. Just make sure she's willing to be fucked again."

"As you say, Myr," he responded, walking over and kneeling next to Lirafey. "Princess Mourlefey," he whispered, leaning closer. She muttered something, and he grinned. His hand snaked down her naked body to her swollen vulva. 

Wards activated, flaring to life with brilliant violet fire. 

Kel was incinerated instantly.

*****

Myrynda's mouth dropped open in horror. Lirafey began to rise from the floor, clearly dazed, as the room began to fill with the scent of burnt drow flesh. Myrynda backed away, reaching for the door, forgetting it was already open and nearly falling into the hall. Lirafey made eye contact with the Torviir priestess and recognition slowly began to dawn on her as she saw the House emblem hanging from her neck.

"Luriia's sister?" she asked, shaking the post-orgasmic fog from her mind. Myrynda's eyes were wide, rimmed with tears, and she did not respond. She turned to flee.

"Wait!" Lirafey shouted, but Myrynda was running back to her room to gather her bags. "Blasted hells," Lira said, gathering herself, dressing hastily. It took her a solid five minutes to get her chainmail back on. By the time she was ready to chase down the younger priestess, Shandra was entering the room, Ryltan in tow. 

She saw the burnt husk of a drow and frowned a little. "That kills the mood a touch," she deadpanned. Lirafey glanced at her, the harnessed male behind her, and shook her head. 

"Ditch the fuck-buddy. One of the Torviir girls is here and we have to stop her before she gets back to Menzoberranzan."

Shandra huffed. "Fine. Ryltan, give Yaulinth my regards and get out of my sight." The male seemed to pout a little, but left regardless. "We have much to discuss, Mistress."

"Later," she said. "If we don't get to this Torviir girl before she gets back to her mother, there's a likely chance that I'll be accused of aiding an apostate. I don't want that; you don't want that. I'll be executed and you alongside me."

"Point made," Shandra said. "That way?"

"Yes," Lirafey said. "Let's go."

The two marched down the hall and barged into the only room with a door slightly ajar. There were several empty bottles of wine, but no trace of the drow priestess. They rushed to the window and saw the younger drow dashing down the street toward Menzoberranzan. To their chagrin, they discovered that she had a riding lizard stabled not too far away. She mounted it deftly and was gone in the blink of an eye. 

"We need a ride," Lirafey said, her voice a growl.

"Come, the stable master may have an extra mount for us," Shandra said, and they were off.

The stable master did, indeed, have a riding lizard available, but it was obviously old and had not been well-kept. Still, it would have to do. They mounted the lizard together, Shandra seated behind her mistress as Lirafey drove.

*****

The Order of Apostates had built themselves an intricate network of corridors both magical and mundane throughout Menzoberranzan. Lura could not keep track of the plentiful twists and turns, and it surprised her not that the Order had survived for as long as it had. There were few organizations in the city that were as well-hidden as this one. After an hour of traversing the confusing labyrinth, Valshar finally stopped, a prismatic door before her. 

The colors undulated and shifted rapidly, bathing them in a rainbow of colors. Wherever they were, there was obviously no threat of the light betraying them. 

"Welcome," Valshar said, "to the Chamber of the Gods."

She waved her hand over the door and it spiraled inward with a hiss, creating a tunnel. Hammer led the way, followed by Lura and Valshar. The half-drow was smiling wide, her violet-painted lips gleaming in the multicolored lights. 

The chamber was circular and broken into twelve segments, like slices of a pie. Each segment had a crest representing one of the major deities: the starburst of Corellon, Sune's white face and red hair, the gauntlet of Torm, the eye of Helm, the flaming sword of Tempus, the blooming rose of Chauntea, the skeletal arm and scales of Kelemvor, the black mask of Mask, Mystra's seven stars, the eyes of Selûne, Gruumsh's eye, and the hammer and anvil of Moradin.

"Some of these surprise me," Lura said, pointing to Gruumsh's eye and the symbol of Moradin. "Orcs and dwarves?"

"In the City of Spiders, the old racial hatreds mean nothing. We band together to survive the drow."

"And why don't you flee to the surface?" Hammer asked.

"Some do," Valshar replied. "But the Underdark is not a forgiving place for those unskilled in its ways. Many of our comrades were brought here in slavery, many were born into servitude. Very few are adventurers like yourselves. Some only know the darkness of the Underdark, and have no wish to live elsewhere. Others have found bonds among our group, even love. This should be of no surprise, Luriia Torviir."

"Just Lura," the drow said. "I left my heritage behind many years ago."




The Apostate: Interlude



It had been almost a century since Alluva Lovedrake first learned of her draconic bloodline. The course was so diluted that she showed almost no outward evidence of her heritage, save for her vivid purple eyes and the only slightly oblong pupils within her irises. Over the decades, she'd used her guile, her wits, a plethora of aliases, and her body to infiltrate more organizations than she cared to remember.

Her first was the Harpers, consorting with many of their members before bailing out and moving on to the next. The Zhentarim's Black Network, the Night Knives of Westgate, the Shadow Thieves of Athkatla, the Arcane Brotherhood in Luskan, and an assortment of other neutral organizations that she could neither name nor remember were all a part of her past. Currently, though, the Cult of the Dragon had her utmost attention. 

She had been recruited by her true name by a young red dragon who was still thrice her age. Her bloodline, that of a long-dead purple dragon who's name the arrogant red refused to give her, had brought her to his attention, and she wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. After her last stint as Lady Violet, posing among the Red Wizards of Thay in and around Neverwinter, she had killed many dragons. Some inborn rage had lent fury to her sorcery, and she made a career out of slaying the winged beasts. Her decades of experience had aided her, but no more than the latent draconic heritage in her blood. 

Alluva found herself resistant to most of the dragons' magics. Her first victim, a small purple beast who's name she never bothered to learn, had provided her with her iconic purple-scale robe. The iridescent scales sheathed her body, the robe hugging her womanly curves. Long hair such a deep brown as to almost be black had an almost purple sheen to it. 

Now Alluva found herself in the clutches of the aforementioned red dragon and several purple-robed clerics of Tiamat. She had no idea how she'd gotten this deep into the organization, but somehow she had become revered by these "Wearers of Purple," leaders in their own right of the Cult of the Dragon. She did know, however, why the dragon had taken so fondly to her.

The beast had been named Fierkar when she met him. With deeply tanned skin and coppery hair, he had charmed her robe right off, revealing her large bosoms, broad hips, and powerful thighs. They'd rutted like animals for a straight tenday, taking breaks only to eat raw meats and drink water that sizzled right off their tongues. 

It was the best sex she'd ever had, and after he'd left with promises to rejoin her in the morning, she couldn't wait to continue their sexual adventures together. Indeed, she'd spent a good long time after that day awaiting his return, ready to swear off her espionage lifestyle. 

But the man never returned.

He'd left her only with a belly swollen with child.

Alluva went into hiding, knowing full well that her history had earned her many enemies. Enemies with magic enough to track her down and slay her, if she wasn't prudent. She was constantly warded. She spent all her energy maintaining her body for childbirth and shielding her abode, now in Waterdeep, from potential enemies.

The Lady Lovedrake, as she had formerly been called, kept to herself when she was out and about town. People that normally respected her for her air of dignity and for her sorcery now treated her with disdain. She was a single mother, pregnant to bursting. Her breasts had swollen to a size she had not ever seen before, and the lactation stained all of her good blouses—blouses that no longer fit over her immense breasts.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, when the birthing did come, the midwife she had hired fled in terror when she shoved out not a human child, but a black-scaled egg, dripping viscera. 

Alluva had no choice. This couldn't get out. With magic fueled by pain and confusion, she struck down the midwife with a massive blade of violet energy.

It didn't take long for the egg to start twitching. She'd incubated it for nearly nine months within her womb—a womb that was obviously as much draconic as it was human. It cracked, the scales sloughing off, and a baby girl with tiny talons jutting from her fingers and toes laid their crying within the egg. Her horns were stubby, tail short and fat, but what really stood out to Alluva were the jet black wings that spread out under her.

Her instincts took over. She lifted the babe from the egg and laid back on her birthing bed. Her breasts were free, nipples hard and dribbling milk. The babe latched on immediately and suckled. Sharp teeth couldn't penetrate her nipples, but the pinching sensation was unpleasant for Alluva. 

Alluva fled Waterdeep under cover of night, her babe shrouded in a thick blanket beneath her purple-scaled robe. Alluva did the only thing she could think of. She found a bandit hideout in the forest surrounding Neverwinter, slaughtered the thieves and brigands and rapists, and built her home there. Her magic served as guardsman, animating stones and enslaving elementals as she raised her daughter in secrecy. 

The girl, Lidia Lovedrake, was her pride and joy. She was curious and seemed to have a good heart, so Alluva arranged intermittent contact with wandering adventurers. Some proved to be good influences on the girl, and others showed Lidia exactly what Faerûn could be like at its worst. 

When Lidia grew into a teenager, a beautiful girl with jet hair and budding curves that Alluva admitted would drive most suitors wild with lust, her mother was forced into an awkward situation. 

The younger Lovedrake had taken a fancy to a lordling in a neighboring fiefdom that took to hunting on a regular basis. Lidia, heeding her mother's advice, had observed from afar, in stealth. Alluva, naturally, had to explain to Lidia the urges she was feeling.

Before the girl could begin to explore them, though, their little utopia was shattered by four massive, red-scaled feet on their front door. The creature, a red dragon as big as the bandit keep, quickly diminished into the same dusky-skinned, copper-haired man Alluva had met years ago.

"My daughter," he roared, his voice as loud as a dragon's even in human form. "Bring her to me, Alluva Lovedrake!"

Her rage overwhelmed her. She enacted a spell she'd long been working out the nuances to, channeling the magic through her draconic blood. Her skin grew iridescent violet scales, her robe fanning out behind her like gigantic dragon wings. Horns sprouted from her head and claws erupted from her hands. She flew out the front gate to meet the impudent red dragon with magic and dragonspell. 

But Fierkar surprised her. He fell to his knees at her appearance, arms splayed out wide. 

"Forgive me," he shouted, and Alluva felt the words hit her like a ton of bricks. She came down, wings unfurled, spell on her fingertips to rend him to bits, but held back. "I knew not what you were when we mated. A human would not have been worth my return, but you...you are something else. You are something splendid. You are Tiamat's chosen vessel! Be my mate!"

Alluva's spell disappeared in the blink of a very astonished violet eye. Her robe clung to her, her scales faded to normal flesh. Lidia appeared from behind her, staring timidly at the man who was a dragon.

"That's my father?" she asked in a petulant voice. Alluva put a hand on her back, between her wings, which twitched with agitation.

"It is," Alluva said, and Fierkar held his arms out to the teenager. Lidia retreated behind her mother, though. He seemed hurt at first, but returned to the matter at hand. He gazed into Alluva's eyes. Reminding herself that she was dealing with a dragon, a beast with intellect far out-striping her own, in most cases, she nodded. 

"On one condition," she said.

"Anything," Fierkar said, standing up.

"You keep your claws away from Lidia. She is my child. You forfeited that right by never returning."

Fierkar nodded, a bit too quickly. "You are correct, of course," he said. "Very well. Lidia is yours to raise as you see fit. We will raise a clutch of eggs together, though."

Alluva caught her breath for a moment, more curious at the opportunity. "Agreed," she said.

And thus her current situation.

Years had passed, and Lidia had long since run away from Fierkar's lair to pursue her own designs. Alluva permitted it. This was no place for as good a child as Lidia. There were half a dozen red eggs all around her, all birthed from her womb within the last tenday. They were small enough that her body could house more than one at a time, and that had infuriated Fierkar. The eggs were runty, he had said. The dragons would be puny, immature, not worth the fire in their blood.

Enraged, he had raped Alluva repeatedly with magic and cock. Were it not for her draconic magic and ability to shapeshift into the quasi-dragon form she had perfected, the times he had rutted her in full dragon form would have killed her outright. This was the product of a tenday of rape and magical torment. 

Alluva pushed out the egg and was shocked when she heard infantile screaming rather than the silent squelching sound of an egg slipping from her loins.

The dragon-priests looked down in horror, and from on high Fierkar looked down with draconic eyes at the child. 

Rage billowed forth from him in the form of a fountain of flame. He pointed his maw high into the sky, blowing an inferno so high into the sky it could have been seen for miles. Alluva looked down at the red-skinned babe, her horns small points on her forehead, her tail thin and short. Her fingers and toes had no claws as Lidia's had those years ago.

Golden eyes looked up at Alluva, and platinum hairs covered her head as a human babe's might. Its first sounds other than screaming were giggling. Very human giggling. 

Alluva grinned. She reached for the babe, but was pushed away by one of the priests.

"Kill it!" Fierkar roared. He repeated it over and again, sounding quite insane. "Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

One of the priests drew a long, curved dagger and began chanting over the child, her voice calm serenity under the manic shouts of the enraged red dragon. He raised the dagger high and Alluva's instincts overwhelmed her. 

Scales erupted form her flesh. Her cloak was gone, but wings sprouted from her back anyway. She exhaled blinding, burning force, pure and violet. The dragonpriests were incinerated immediately, and with pure adrenaline Alluva leapt into the sky, lashing at Fierkar with blades of force and burning rays of pure arcane wrath. 

Manic and severely wounded, the red dragon flew away, but not before he scooped the small red eggs into his claws. Alluva took the child into her arms and it immediately began suckling from her nipple. It drank a mixture of human milk and draconic magic. Alluva had no idea what would become of the child or how she would grow, but she knew she had to find parents for her. Her only quest now was to find Fierkar and her eggs.

She would kill him, and she would raise the dragons herself.



The Apostate



Her breasts were small, much smaller than Cyra's, but were like blossoms atop a field of white flesh, capped with pale pink areola and nipples that seemed perpetually hard. Iliara's golden hair fell like a waterfall down her back and shoulders. 

"Did you just wake up?" Cyra asked the elf with a throaty purr. 

"You wore me out," Iliara said. Her voice was musical, like wind chimes. She smirked her pink lips at the red-skinned woman. "My cunny still aches from your hand." 

"You're welcome," Cyra said. Her clothing was in a heap by her bedroll. It hadn't been disturbed since she'd shed it in a fit of passion. The walk had dried her flesh from the river water, and she brushed off the debris that had gathered on her feet during the walk before pulling on her tight gray linen pants, finely tailored, perfectly white shirt that she kept unbuttoned quite low so that the black leather underbust corset would push her bosoms up, amplifying her cleavage, and the tall black boots she wore over her pants. 

She realized that Iliara had not grown any more clothed during her re-dressing, and she folded her arms over the leather corset, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. "I'm not taking this off to fuck you again," she said. "It's too much work."  

"Am I not worth it?" the elf said, smirking as she sauntered toward Cyra. 

"You're worth all the effort in the world," Cyra said, putting her larger hands on the elf's slender shoulders. She kissed the elf, her lips hot against the elf's. "But your cunt is sore, and we have more hiking to do. We will be in Neverwinter this very night, and I'm dying to see our friends again." 

"Then I shall stride alongside you bare-chested, with my fingers smelling of nectar that I know your keen dragon senses can smell," the elf said, smirking. 

"Tease," the dragonspawn said. She walked over to where the elf's clothing was and threw her leather jerkin at her. "Put it on and let's go." 

Iliara pouted, but that pout quickly broke into a smirk when Cyra added a promise she couldn't ignore. 

"When we get to Neverwinter, I'll see to it that you are properly sexed," she said, sauntering toward the elf and running her fingers across the elf's small, athletic breasts. "By my mouth...by Lura...by Hammer..." 

Iliara shuddered at the thought. Pure delight coursed through her mind as vivid images filled her thoughts. "Let us be off, my love." 

"I thought so," Cyra said, laughing as Drax swooped down from the trees overhead. He roared, his throat emitting a youthful howl as a wolf cub learns to howl, and nuzzled his horned, spined head against Cyra. 

***** 

It was a strange thing to Hammer and Lura. They'd spent a handful of years in Neverwinter after the eruption of Mount Hotenow. They'd helped rebuild it, defend it, and even furthered the church of Sune in Neverwinter. Drow were not uncommon in this city, and were widely, if not begrudgingly, accepted by Neverwintans. Adventurers flooded the city for the pursuit of fame, fortune, and a general desire to help. It was a close knit community. 

Yet these two had made few close friends since they had come here. It was not like Everlund or Silverymoon, where they were quickly accepted and bonded easily to the people around them. So many close friends in their past, yet none in their present. When the man and the drow woman left Neverwinter's gates to journey to Menzoberranzan and the Underdark, they said no fond farewells, save to a few of the city guards, a handful of harlots, and a great many street urchins. 

Truly, it had been a life of much work, and little pleasure, save for that which they enjoyed with each other. 

Hammer had his hand on the mask hanging from his belt, fingers running over the perfectly smooth, featureless surface, and his other hand on Lura's lower back as they walked. She looped her arm around his elbow, and they walked arm in arm out of the gate and into Neverwinter Wood. 

"Do you remember when we first met?" the drow asked her barbarian. 

"I do, as if it were yesterday," he said, smiling. "You had trouble all about you, but an undeniable passion and influence in your voice." 

"Is that why you were so smitten with me right away?" Lura asked playfully. 

Hammer laughed. He looked down at her and saw the flecks of gold glittering on her lips. "You know, your lips haven't stopped glittering gold since that day." 

"I know," she said, smirking. "The first time I saw you, I had a sense of familiarity and trust. It was like coming home to an old friend." 

"More than that," he jibed, and she squeezed his arm. 

"If I had not left my homeland those years ago, I would have never met you," she said, almost sadly. "And now I bring you back to my homeland, where we both may meet our ends." 

"I would rather end next to you than away from you." 

She smiled and kissed his thick arm. His drow armor left his arm bare for her lips. "I regret what we may both be forced to do in the near future," she said. 

"We sacrifice for your sister. Whatever we must do will not be in vain," he said, but Lura kept her thoughts hidden from him this time. She knew the decadence and depravity of the drow, and the thought of one of her sisters, or her mother, or any other drow fucking him set her guts to churning. 

"Do you know I love you," Lura said softly. 

Hammer stopped in his tracks and turned her to face him. "And I love you. What troubles you, Lura?" 

She willed the mist in her eyes away and looked up at him with a smile. She found solace in his steel blue eyes, his smile, the soft stubble of his beard, and the wild mane of brown hair cascading down at her. She put her hands on his face. "Nothing. I have you." 

He smiled at her, and resumed walking, holding her arm tight in his own. "Know that whatever I am forced into, you will be the first in my heart, and I shall hate every moment of it, unless it involves slaying the wicked." 

"I know," she said softly, smiling as she leaned her head against his shoulder. 

The night was thick about them, and they should have been more wary. They knew better than most the dangers that lurked outside the city walls. But they were lost in each other's warmth, in their love for each other, and the soft words they spoke to warm their hearts. 

The two lovers made camp toward the end of the night, as the sun began to lighten in the east. Hammer knew they would not get much sleep, but they unrolled their bedrolls and curled up with each other regardless. Despite their great passion for each other, they had no mind for sex. The next day hung over their head like a black, lightless cloud. 

***** 

Solafein had let the hunting party out of Gauntlgrym at the dawn of night. There were only three others: Amalzar, a slight man with a knack for invisibility, Szinvyr, a mage of middling power, but useful in a scrape, and Lirafey, the required priestess. She was with him now, whilst his other two companions scouted on their own. It was fortuitous for him that Lirafey had come along, for she had taken him as a lover many weeks ago, and they had more than a little physical chemistry, if nothing else.  

It was the middle of their patrol, and Solafein hadn't had any reason to draw his long swords the whole night. Lirafey was similarly bored, her snake-headed whip writhing in agitation at her hip, her mace heavy on her belt, and her shield slumping her slender shoulders. Solafein had caught himself on several occasions eyeing the swell of her breasts through her chainmail, which was doing little to flatter her impressive endowments. She came from House Baensek, a House renowned in more lascivious circles for the endowments of its children. Her posterior was often in front of him as well, something that was certainly flattered by the leather leggings she wore. Her high-heeled boots—terrible for rough terrain—further amplified her posterior's dimensions, much to his delight. 

"Fine, then," Lirafey said, sloughing off her shield and removing her belt—mace and whip along with it. 

"Fine, then, what?" Solafein asked with an arched brow. He wasn't as big and muscular as her brothers, but he was well-built for a male. Tall and broad of shoulder, lean and skilled with the two swords as many of the drow males were. Moreover, he was possessed of a singular wit, dry, yet often lewd with certain companions of his. 

"You've been eye-fucking me all night," she said, turning to face him with arms over her chest. 

"As I am wont to do," he said, lifting his arms as if that was of no moment to either of them. 

"Well, get on with it. Remove your garments." 

"We're on patrol, Lira," he said, using a familiar name that, as he understood it, only he was allowed to use. "Besides, this is hardly the time and place—" 

"Oh be silent," Lirafey said, putting her hands on his shoulders and kissing him, then biting his lower lip almost hard enough to break the skin. "I've been waiting for this all night. Those bumbling fools you brought with us have been following and hoping for a show all night until about thirty minutes ago. Now that we're alone, I want your seed in me." 

"Yes, Mistress," Solafein said with a sly smirk. He stripped his leather hauberk off his chest and pealed his pants off, revealing a long, flaccid cock. 

"Always the shower, never the grower," Lirafey said. Her voice conveyed disdain, but her eyes and the way she licked her lips was blatant hunger. 

"I've never needed to grow larger than this," he said, gripping his member in his hand as the drow priestess made a long, slow show of removing her chainmail, going so far as to turn away from him and reveal on the sides of her breasts as the chainmail fell with an enchanted whisper to the ground. He watched, stroking himself, as she slid her pants down, her perfectly round, taut ass, and the delicious cleft that hid the dark star he had come to adore so much. 

"So true," she muttered under her breath as she turned sidelong to him, one hand extended in his direction. He admired her profile for a moment: the generous swell of her breasts capped by up-turned ebony nipples, thicker than he might have guessed, and much larger than her chainmail implied; the swell of her ass, so perfectly balancing her breasts; her long, sinuous legs, certainly not made for climbing or running, but fucking...most definitely. 

Her shimmering veil of gold-tinted white hair covered most of her back, the ornate braids forming a spider's web over her scalp while the rest of her hair fell in a smooth taper to the small of her back. 

"Come," she said in a low, sultry voice, one in no way laced with the command most females used with their male partners. Solafein had no illusion about his standing in her eyes, but Lirafey treated him as close to an equal as he'd ever known. In three steps he was against her, cock in her hand, her ass in his hand, and their lips pressed fervently into each other. 

She squeezed his shaft, slowly stroking it as it filled with blood. It did expand somewhat, growing thicker if not greatly longer, and filled her hand with a pleasant firmness and warmth that had grown familiar and comforting to her. Not to mention arousing. Lira bit a his lip again, gnawing on his flesh as his hand dug into the cleft of her ass, fingers slipping down toward her shadowed rosebud. She arched her back into his hand, lifting her hips up for him. His agile fingers massaged at that dark hole, plying at the soft tissue to relax and welcome him home again. She let out a moan, teeth clenched as his fingertip dipped inside her asshole. 

Solafein brought his hand up to her heavy breast, lifting it and massaging it with hands that could soothe knots out of a minotaur's ass. She whimpered against his neck as she pushed her entire body against his, still holding his cock and stroking it thoroughly, slowly. He was hard as adamantite in short order, but the priestess would not debase herself for a male. She knelt only to her Matron Mother, to Matron Baenre, and to Lolth herself. 

His only lamentation was that this woman's skilled mouth would never grace his cock in such a way, but that was quickly erased from thought when she lifted one leg up over his hip, opening her pouting vulva to his cock. His finger slipped from her anus from the shift in position, but he made up for that loss by grasping her hips and lifting her up, pressing her back into the rough bark of a tree. She grunted as the wood formed abrasions on her back, but wrapped her legs instinctively around his hips as he drove his manhood into her weeping cunny. 

"Fuck me, male," she groaned, her teeth biting down hard on his shoulder. He grunted in pain, but the decadent drow used the pain to fuel his lust. He drove into her harder, grinding the soft flesh of her back into the tree's bark. He spread her ass, reaching as far as he could with his fingers until he could feel her anus again, the middle fingers of both hands pulling the anal ring apart as he jammed his cock so deep into the priestess that he could feel her cervix against the head of his cock. 

"Yes...yes!" she groaned in his hear, her fingernails clawing deep furrows into his muscular back. He arched his back, head falling away from the woman as he groaned in blissful pain. Again, it drove him to greater heights of passion. Her breasts mashed against his chest, the large orbs creating a lovely cushion for him to ram into over and over again. 

Lirafey shuddered in pleasure, her cunny creaming pearly nectar all over his shaft as her loins spasmed, milking at his cock. She slapped at his back, biting down like a patient under the knife chomping down on a bit. He began to bleed from where she bit him, as well as a few places on his back where she'd scratched him. But the fuel to their lust had not been quashed. 

She pushed him away, dismounted his cock, then turned to face the tree, arms wrapping around it as her large breasts crushed against the unrelenting wood. He knew the cue, and spat on his cock for good measure. Stroking her cream all over his shaft, he lined up with her asshole and slide the slickened meat into her anus. 

Oh, and how she howled! He laughed with passionate mirth, hilting himself into the vice-like grip of her anus in one long, slow thrust. The pain associated with it quickly turned to pleasure for the priestess, who had suffered worse and more during her years in Arach-tinilith in Menzoberranzan, the school for priestesses of Lolth. This was as foreplay compared to the tribulations she and her fellow initiates endured with the mistresses of the academy. 

And she loved every inch of it, every agonizing thrust, every blissful sensation of fullness Solafein's cock gave her. 

Alas, he did not last long. His cock filled her rectum with his seed, and she was momentarily sad that her womb would not taste that particular load. Reason washed away that thought abruptly, and she basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. 

Several moments passed, with Solafein leaning against Lirafey, embedded in her ass, both of them leaking bliss. It wasn't until they both opened their eyes to appreciate each other that they noticed the campfire not far away. 

And by that point, the sun was starting to rise. 

***** 

Hammer awoke around midday, their small fire a pitiful pile of smoldering embers. It was distinctly cooler, a sign of the seasons growing closer to winter. He put his hand over Lura's waist, pulling her tight against him. She made a sleepy noise in her throat and rolled over, nuzzling into his broad chest. He wished they had been able to sleep naked, as was their norm, but it was imprudent to do so in the wilds. 

"Lura," he said softly, kissing her forehead. She nuzzled harder in defiance. "Lura, awaken. We should begin our march again soon." 

"Make love to me first," she purred into his chest, her hand reaching down between his thighs to grip his manhood. It was flaccid and small, but the prospect of the thing growing into the pillar of virility she knew it to be set her to squeezing and massaging the soft flesh. 

"Orcs could fall upon us at any moment," Hammer cautioned her, putting his hand to the back of her head. 

"Then we will slay them with our blood aflame with lust, and you can properly fuck me afterward," she said with a voice suddenly thick with life. She slithered down along his body, pulling his cock from his trousers and putting her lips to work sucking blood into the flaccid meat. Hammer lost the will to argue with her and resigned himself to a pleasure-filled groan as he felt her suck all of his limp cock into her mouth. 

Blood surged into the organ, and it grew exponentially with every stroke of her tongue. The suction from her mouth stretched the flesh of his cock. He put his hand to the back of her head, watching her gold-flecked lips glisten with her own saliva as his cock slid in and out of her mouth, thickening and lengthening to potent dimensions. Soon enough, it became a challenge for her to take much of it into her mouth, skilled as she may be. Her fingers slid through the trimmed hair around his cock, then cradled the sack underneath, massaging it as she set her attention to the broad head of his cock. 

"Lura," he groaned, and she withdrew her mouth from his member. "I would taste you." 

"No," she said, climbing up his body and pushing him onto his back. Somehow she had surreptitiously pushed her thin leggings off her body, though she still wore her red robe. It was soft and velvety right now, not the way she would wear it as a proper drow priestess. She pulled it apart to reveal her lush breasts and upturned nipples. Straddling her barbarian, she wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked it a few more times before she slid the fattened head against her labia. 

She smeared her own saliva over her already moist pussy, then positioned his cock right at her entrance. One hand cradling her own breast, one hand on his cock, she slowly slid herself down his engorged member, feeling the hardness and thickness stretching her supple loins wide. After she overcame the sensation and mild discomfort of his cock spreading her, she got to enjoy the slow, beautiful agony of his cock utterly filling her canal. She could feel every thick vein, the ridge of his glans, all grinding and sliding against the inner walls of her pussy. Lura couldn't contain a loud moan of pleasure as she sat fully on his cock, filled to bursting with the barbarian's big cock. 

"Hammer...Hammer..." she breathed urgently, eyes screwed shut as he struggled to come to terms with the absolute bliss her body brought him. He put his hands on her hips just as she began to writhe atop him, at first sliding up and down his length slowly, shortly, then undulating side to side, before she began a spiraling dance with her hips. She stroked his cock so perfectly with her cunny that he simply laid back, eyes shut, mouth agape and tried with all his might not to lose control of his loins. 

Her hand found her clitoris and began peppering it with circular strokes with the tips of her fingers. It wouldn't take much, not now. Her pussy was creaming his cock with copious amounts of her bliss. And Hammer could smell it: this was not the pure, clean scent of Lura after a long sensual bath. This was the scent of freshly awoken Lura, after a long day of hiking and sleeping. It was potent to his nostrils, but far from unpleasant. The drow had a knack for pleasantness, and that translated to all facets of her body. 

"Lura!" he said when she roughly slammed down on his cock. The movement took him by surprise. He watched her jill herself with furious movements, her breasts wobbling and bouncing as she rode his cock like a master equestrian. She bounced and spiraled, twisted and rocked to and fro. Her body was a symphony of muscle and passion. He couldn't contain himself. 




The Apostate



Hammer's orgasm struck him like an erupting volcano, locking his body taut as his seed burst into her womb, filling her so utterly and completely that she howled in uncontrollable pleasure. Her orgasm shook her at the same time, sent over the edge by his pulsing and throbbing cock. Her pussy discharged all over his abdomen, staining his shirt with her crystal fluid, and she collapsed atop him. 

"To the Hells with you, traitor!" 

Their eyes went wide with alarm. 

***** 

Hammer threw his lover off of him. The timing couldn't have been better, despite his desire to hold the beautiful drow priestess and bard. Cock still hard, he deftly seized his greatsword, the massive, elegant blade feeling perfectly at home in his hands. He expected to see orcs, perhaps humans accusing him of betraying his kind to lay with a drow. Either would be fine enough to kill. 

But the axe-wielding drow with an ugly, scarred face sprinting toward him was wholly surprising, as was the male drow streaking down the hill with a crackling curved blade in his hand. 

"Drow!" he shouted, and Lura was quickly regaining her senses at that alert. He was a spinning, half-clothed dervish of fury as he met the axe-drow, parrying and deflecting the elegantly crafted axe blade. Fury rose into his blood like an inferno, and he roared a battle cry to Tempus, to the Red Knight, his true goddess, and to the spirits of his ancestors alike. They strengthened him and his sword swung true and mightily. The axeman was at a sore disadvantage with no element of surprise. 

The axe went flying, the gorgeously crafted head planting unceremoniously into the dirt. Hammer swung in a circle faster than the drow anticipated. The ugly, scarred face and tangle of white hair flew away in a shower of blood that splattered on Hammer's bare skin and white shirt. 

Lura was not to be out of the fight. She had her red robe on quickly, the garment shaping to her will to form a tough web of armor around her chest, hips, and upper thighs. She produced from it a vicious crimson whip that she put to work on the swordman with his magical blade. She found out soon that he was a swordmage of some sort, hurling spells and his sword at her alike. 

Her enchanted robe deflected most of the magic. Magical darts, missiles of blue energy, and such like simply sloughed off her robe or vanished with an audible pop. She did feel the searing burn of an acid arrow, and had no doubt that if she let the swordmage's crackling blade touch her, she'd feel far more pain. 

Lura dodged and side-stepped, using every trick she had learned over the decades to evade the mage's attacks, always lashing with her whip. She tried to conserve her magic; Lura did not want to let on that she was an apostate to these drow. 

Suddenly, inspiration struck. She dipped into the magic Sune had given her, filling her voice with authority and command over the hearts of the drow assaulting her. 

"Cease!" 

The swordmage stopped mid-swing, eyes going wide. 

"I am a priestess of Lolth. You have doomed yourself to death for your transgression!" 

The swordmage dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, prostrating himself before the female. Hammer gripped his sword and began to approach, but Lura shook her head at him, pointing at the mask on the ground as the mage screwed his eyes shut against the dirt. 

"What in the name of the Spider Queen are you doing?" the drow asked. The mage began to lift his head, but she lashed him thrice with her whip before he could, setting his flesh to burning. "Do not look upon me, filth!" 

"My apologies, my deepest, most sincere apologies!" the mage rambled quickly. She looked over at Hammer, who was smiling and nodding his approval as he pressed the mask to his face. She watched as his dimensions shrank to fit drow form—and was pleased to notice his cock, still hard, did not shrink in the slightest. His skin was deep ebony, gleaming with sweat and blood. Just as it should be. 

"Answer me, you piece of lizard dung. Why did you and your companion attack my consort and me?" 

"You're...consort, mistress? The human?" 

Lura laughed as if the mage had said something preposterous. "I should slaughter you here and now, and save your House the shame of your idiocy. Look around you, there are no humans here. And you think I, a priestess of Lolth, would consort with one?" She spat on the ground near the mage. 

"My priestess, I apologize, but the scout I was on patrol with said you were with a human. Indeed, when I came charging down the hill, I could have sworn I saw him, a giant of a man, lop off Amalzar's head!" 

"Hah!" Hammer said, planting his sword in the dirt next to the mage. "Perhaps your head should be next, for insulting me so. I justly punished the fool for daring to attack my mistress while she was occupied with her own leisure." 

"Look over at him," Lura said. 

The mage did so, and saw a drow with a mostly erect cock, no pants, and a blood-spattered shirt, his hands over the black steel hilt of an elegant, vicious greatsword. The mage was thoroughly confused. 

"Look at me," she said. The mage did. "I am Luriia Torvirr, of Menzoberranzan. This is Calavyr, my consort. His House name is of no moment to you." The magic threading her voice took hold of the mage's mind, and he nodded, licking his lips. Sune's work was nearly complete. "Your companion went made with jealousy. Or perhaps went insane. You know not, and it matters not. He was punished for his idiocy properly, and you are escorting us to Gauntlgrym, so that we may travel to Menzoberranzan." 

"Of course, Mistress Torvirr," the mage said, nodding. 

"Now, what is your name?" 

"Szinvyr Baensek," the mage said, and Lura felt her throat clench for just a moment. She recalled with distant clarity another Baensek, named Calafein, who had helped her and her friends in Everlund. The dark elf had been devilishly handsome, and was lover to the High Priestess of Eilistraee, a long-dead goddess. 

"Very well, Master Baensek." The magic in her voice vanished now, and the mage seemed to be gathering his wits all of a sudden. "Who else is in your scouting party?" 

"Solafein Auvryan is the captain of our patrol, and Lirafey Torlyl, Priestess of House Torlyl," the mage said, standing slowly when Lura did not stop his ascent. 

"Very good. It's a shame about Amalzar. He was an ugly drow, but I'm sure he served well...until the end, of course," Lura said. 

"As you say," the mage said, smirking. "He was a pretentious sod with no mind for any but himself. But then, that's most of us. There was just something about him that came off wrong. Either way, I'm not sad about his demise. Quite happy, actually. It opens room for someone who can pull better weight." 

"As you say," Lura said. "Lead on, Master Baensek. My consort and I thirst and hunger. It will be nice to be among our kin again." 

***** 

Cyra held Iliara close to her side, warming her from the suddenly cold wind blowing in from the north. Her inborn heat emanated into the elf, who snuggled up against the larger, stronger dragonspawn. 

"It's a big city," Cyra said with a serene voice. "Might take us a day or two to find them." 

"A man over six feet tall, wide as a doorway, with a massive sword—literally and metaphorically—travelling with a drow, who is no doubt well known for her bright red robe and her effect on the hearts of men and women alike," Iliara commented. "I don't think this will be as difficult as you think." 

"Point well made," Cyra said, reaching down to squeeze the elf's pert bottom. "Where should we look first?" 

"Moonstone Mask?" Iliara asked. 

"Seems reasonable. It's a festhall. Probably one where Sune and Sharess alike are revered." 

"So to the Mask," Iliara said, pointing off toward a floating earthmote strung to Neverwinter by a series of portals and wooden bridges. 

"And if they're not there, I'm sure there will be plenty of things to play with to make our effort worthwhile," Cyra said with a wink. Iliara giggled excitedly. They went off, hands on buttocks, smiles on faces, eager to see their old friends and all the pretty things housed up in the Moonstone Mask.