The morning after Mama’s successful soirée, Amber woke in the full light of the morning, curled up in Cadwarra’s arms in Cadwarra’s bed with a mouthful of lovely hard nipple attached to a lovely soft breast. Had she suckled Cadwarra all night? They had lazily slept away a good part of the morning. Dozing, she could hear someone was fucking the High Elf next door, having a morning ride before the day’s work was begun.
There was no servant to come in and light the fire so she stayed under the blankets wrapped around Cadwarra’s warm body, boob in mouth, while she listened to the approaching orgasms on the other side of the wall. The squeaking of the High Elf’s bed could be heard to increase. The panting of the male sex partner rose in volume. It made Amber want Diamander’s cock. She wished he had come home last night. No matter the hour she would have asked him for a fuck. Surely Cadwarra would have wanted one, too.
“Baby, you’re so wet this morning!” the male told his High Elf lover on the other side of the wall. His enthusiasm was so loud even Amber’s Human ears could hear.
“It’s you. Making me so wet” the High Elf answered. Amber knew all males loved to hear that. She wanted Diamander to make her wet like that. She lay there, sleepy and sexually frustrated, Cadwarra’s breast in mouth. Horny, she circled Cadwarra’s nipple with her tongue and waited for the sunlight coming through the window to warm the room. Cadwarra quietly snored away. She felt Cadwarra’s nipple rise in her mouth. Cadwarra raised her arms in her sleep and gently cradled Amber’s head.
Amber sucked tit and wondered why Diamander had not come home last night to physically please his girls. Cadwarra, when asked about it before bed, had artfully sidestepped the question. That was not a good sign.
Amber recalled Diamander had been talking to that nosy little jerk Shockley at one point in the evening. She suspected Shockley was one of those closet fags and she feared maybe he had managed to convince Diamander to go home with him and suck some cock. But why would Diamander do that when he had two willing girls waiting for him in his bed? Well...Cadwarra’s bed.
Cadwarra stirred in her sleep again. Without waking, she pulled Amber in closer. In her dreams she whispered “I love you, Fayt.”
Fayt? Who was ‘Fayt’? Amber did not know. Was it some fellow that had screwed Cadwarra long ago? Maybe he was her first. Maybe she would ask Cadwarra when she woke up. Maybe it was best she did not.
Amber thought of how Diamander had fucked her in the very bed she and Cadwarra now occupied. She thought how much he loved it. They needed to do it again. She was so longing for his big cock that her snatch was hot. She was angry at that faggot Shockley for tempting Diamander into not coming home.
She reached down and touched Cadwarra’s vagina. She slipped one finger in then another and began to please Cadwarra a little. Cadwarra felt slippery. Amber was sure that that was cum that made Cadwarra’s slit so juicy. She gently pushed two fingers deep into the cum-slathered pussy. She liked having cum on her fingers. It was only when her fingers were soaked with all that cum did Amber realize that some of that cum she was touching was Papa’s cum. It was too late, she rationalized, and it was not like Papa was using it anymore, anyway. She pushed Cadwarra’s clithood up and worked her love-button, using the semen to masturbate Cadwarra as she slumbered.
Amber remembered a few of the things Cadwarra had told her about Papa on last night’s walk home. Now sober, she was not sure she liked knowing things about how he was in bed. She supposed she could pass that information on to Arleena, though, since she was so interested in Papa.
Arleena had tits a bit like Cadwarra’s. She could assure Arleena that hers were the type Papa liked to play with. She would also let Arleena know to grip Papa’s prick by the base so he would not hurt her too much when he pushed it deep.
The thought of Papa fucking all those women somehow turned Amber on. She pushed her fingers back into Cadwarra’s vadge, using three fingers this time. She slowly moved her fingers in and out. She calculated Papa must be bigger than Diamander since she had not needed to grip Diamander’s cock at the base.
And what size was Uncle Triander? The way his eyes had drifted down to Cadwarra’s breasts when he had been introduced to her last night, Amber had little doubt he would be coming around to Cadwarra’s bed to try her out himself soon enough. Once that was done, Amber would simply ask Cadwarra about Uncle Triander’s size.
Pondering such a question of size, Amber suddenly had an insane urge to be kneeling in front of the three Vishra men and sucking all three cocks at once. It wasn’t such an evil thing to do, was it? All those lovely big pricks laid across her cheeks and chin, sliding into her mouth, fucking her face. She was sure they would enjoy her blowjobs. Diamander had. She pushed her fingers deeper into Cadwarra’s pussy. Papa’s cum coated her digits.
Cadwarra finally woke to Amber’s attentions. It felt nice. Her fingers slipped into Amber and the two Ladies masturbated each other shamelessly, up to the last knuckle. Lips met lips and tongues slipped in and out of mouths. Amber went down on Cadwarra and tasted Papa’s cum. Or was it Bowerbrook’s? She hoped it was Papa’s. The thought titillated Amber while Cadwarra kept fingering her. They soon came. Neither confessed to the other that they were thinking of big cocks.
They finished in time for Cadwarra to get dressed and head to the Temple of Life to see the Old Druidess to brush up on her heal spells, as required by Lord Bowerbrook’s Certification Committee.
Alone and no longer horny thanks to her orgasm, Amber felt guilty over her incestuous thoughts about her own Papa and Uncle. She rationalized it was just a wicked fantasy. Her girlfriends had similar masturbatory dreams about their fathers. It was no big deal, she thought, but she still felt uncomfortable.
She had two hours still before she was to meet Mama for lunch. She spent the time trying to figure out how to start a fire. It had something to do with ‘kindling’. She was pretty sure that was the little pieces of wood stored near the stove, beside the big pieces of wood.
****************************************
The Village of Willow Wood was small. Unlike the big city, the Wood Elves inhabiting the little hamlet seemed to have an easy time of things as they went casually about. Though himself a Wood Elf, Kivan grew up on a farm and had never seen so many Feir’Dal. They all strolled about as if they were going somewhere, but no destination seemed all that pressing.
Kivan did not spot the smithy despite the tiny size of the settlement. A passing woman, quite elderly, was kind enough to stop when Kivan bowed politely and asked for directions to the forge.
He had chosen to ask this particular person for directions thinking a grey-haired woman of her years would have learned at some time in her long life to speak Common. He preferred using the Common language over the Feir’Dal language of his race.
“Just up there and turn right, Young Man” was the answer she gave in flawless Common. “It’s the one with the big chimney and all that blasted smoke.” She used her yew staff to indicate the direction. The staff glowed and crackled magically as she swung it casually through the air and Kivan realized he had just stopped a most venerable Druid from going about her business.
Kivan was mortified. He bowed in abject apology. “Thank you for your kindness, Madam Druidess. I apologize for interrupting you.”
“Had you been interrupting me” she replied “I would not have stopped. And so you would not have been interrupting.” With the experience of age, the Old Druidess reflected that interruptions were what brings us change; things rarely happen by accident. Who was this boy that Tunare had caused to stop her for such a trivial question? Or was it a trivial question?
She should not have even been there at this time in the morning. She should have been attending to her duties at the Temple of Life. But she had forgotten to bring her cat with her when she departed at sunrise for her usual journey to the Temple. She had needed the tom for her lesson this morning with an incompetent Paladin and had been obliged to go back to Willow Wood just for the cat. What did this young lad have to do with all that, if anything? He was certainly not the Paladin she was to meet today.
She leaned on her staff and looked this young male up and down, as if trying to auger what exactly Tunare had intended by making her forget her feline familiar. Almost back to her cottage and her pet, she found that the Goddess had put this boy in her way. She doubted this was a random inconvenience. Tunare was clearly indicating he was good for something, though his use was not yet apparent.
“What is your purpose with the smith Master Mossclean?” The Druidess asked the question with no apology for her nosiness. She was fishing for some information to indicate what part it was that Tunare wanted her to play in this young man’s life. Was it a minor problem he had that she could help with or was there some important function she needed to perform?
“I am to be taught to be a Squire.” Kivan answered, puzzled why his business, such as it was, was so important to an august Druid.
“So, you are about to trod a new path in life, are you, Young Man?” The Old Druidess seemed intrigued. “And it seems I am interrupting you from starting on that path.“ The Old Druidess chuckled, turned and started to walk in the same direction as the smithy. “I shall trouble you no more.”
Kivan was puzzled by her abrupt end to their conversation. He began to walk in the same direction as the strange Druidess because that was where she had said the smithy was. He stayed well behind her out of respect and so as to not disturb her a second time.
After only a few steps, the Old Druidess turned to suddenly face Kivan again. “Just one bit of advice, Young Squire...”
He stopped politely. She stood leaning on her staff. She was studying him again. In the awkward silence, Kivan decided to bow respectfully. “Yes, Lady Druid?”
The Old Druidess lowered her voice and leaned in on her staff to confide an important piece of information to Kivan. “When you meet Denham Mossclean, don’t even look at his daughter. Mossclean is very particular about any of you skirt-lifting boys getting anywhere near her. I do not wish you getting your pretty face punched hard in a lop-sided fistfight with a blacksmith who has worked the hammer and anvil all his life.”
As she talked, she let go of her staff. It stood upright by itself a moment, point resting on the ground, then began to scratch the dirt, untouched by the Druidess’s hands. Kivan waited, not sure what was happening.
After making a complicated device in the dirt, the staff stopped a moment, then fell back into the old Druid’s hands. She seemed to study the scratching in the dirt as if it could tell her something. After a moment, she looked back up at Kivan and gave him a nod of her head. “You are a young man. You will look at the Mossclean daughter, regardless of my warning.” The Old Druidess then gave a quiet laugh and added one more cryptic piece of information. “She will interrupt you, Kivan”
She left Kivan there. He went on to find the smithy on his own while simultaneously wondering how the Old Druidess had known his name.
The smithy had a big chimney with plenty of smoke rising from it. He entered. Though the early fall day was chilly, Kivan felt the heat of the forge as soon as he opened the door.
A charcoal fire raged in the furnace. The air smelled, not unpleasantly, of smoke and iron. The place was clean and the floor clear of any debris one might trip over.
Above the furnace was suspended a huge bellows of such size that it was the first thing Kivan saw as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside. The bellows was similar to the hand-held devices he often used to get a fire going in a Lord’s chamber but this one was gigantic.
The bellows was being pumped by a diminutive female arm which was nonetheless well muscled; the owner of the arm obviously having worked from a young age at the forge. Kivan followed the arm down to a pretty blonde Wood Elf female about the same age as he.
The girl saw she had a customer but did not slow her work with the bellows. Her beautiful blue eyes looked straight at Kivan for a long moment, though, betraying her interest. As the bellows fanned the fire, flames rose high and hot as if excited to see the gaze the two youngsters’ exchanged.
The girl smiled a pretty smile then asked in the Feir’Dal language “close the door, please, Sir...my Pa pays quite a few silver for this charcoal. We don’t want to waste it heating the whole village.” Her voice, though businesslike, was very sweet.
Kivan made sure the latch clicked as he shut the door and turned back to the girl. Too busy to speak further to Kivan, the girl used her tongs to pull a white-hot rod of iron from the furnace and lay it across her anvil. By then the rod had cooled to a red-hot state. She began to strike the metal with a smith’s hammer, swinging her tool with the practiced blows of a smith who had been at that anvil since a child. Like him, she was left-handed.
Not taking those clear blue eyes from her work she told Kivan “I’ll need you...blang!...to be patient...blang!...I need to strike...blang!...while the metal is hot...blang!... I won’t be long...blang!”
So that was where that expression came from. Who knew? Kivan waited politely. The work went on for several minutes. Kivan watched the girl hammering away. It gave him a chance to study the little female blacksmith as she toiled.
She wore little in the hot room, revealing a youthful Wood Elf figure as attractive as Lady Cadwarra’s. The girl’s sleeveless shirt was quite scanty and so short on her torso that it barely fell below her spherical breasts. It left most of her ribs showing. The shirt’s material was so very thin that Kivan did not need to guess where her nipples were. They were not hard but they were puffies and thus plainly revealed their unique shape as the cloth molded around them.
Her leggings, made of a light material, did little to hide the round shape of her firm buttocks. The waistband hung low around her curvy hips showing a great amount of flat abdomen below her navel. If the garment had sat any lower on her perfectly proportioned pelvis, Kivan would have seen a hint of pubic hair.
All the while she worked, those young breasts jiggled for Kivan’s enjoyment. Each expert blang! that come down onto the hot metal celebrated the jiggling freedom they enjoyed, unrestrained by any brassiere or undershirt a wiser girl might have ensured she was wearing in front of male customers.
In the extreme heat of the smithy the girl was freely perspiring. Beads of sweat perched on her forehead. Drops sat on her upper lip. Her bare arms and exposed shoulders shone slick. Small particles of charcoal ash had landed all over her as she worked and added an attractive patina everywhere she had exposed skin.
Kivan could see that despite the amount of sweat coming from her pores she had taken the effort to be as clean as the floor she stood on. The sweat soaking her sleeveless shirt was fresh and Kivan surmised correctly that her clothes were washed daily when the chores of the smithy were completed for the day.
As Kivan had already noticed, the girl was muscular but the muscles were neither bulging nor manly. They flexed and stretched such that Kivan became sexually excited to watch the red light from the fire play across her strong biceps, shining wetly with perspiration. He would willingly drink an entire glass of that perspiration just to see her smile at him again.
Too soon, the girl ceased her tit-quivering hammering. Taking a moment to examine the shaft of iron that she held in her hand, she nodded silently in approval of the work then told Kivan “Give me a few minutes to quench this, then I will be all yours.”
She turned to thrust the thick rigid shaft into a big bucket of cold water. As the long hard thing penetrated deep it hissed and sputtered. The water boiled and steamed as if excited to have the full length thrust into it. She left the long thing sitting in there a while, moving it slowly back and forth, in and out. She was breathing hard from the work she had just performed, but appeared fully satisfied.
The girl finally pulled the long rod out and held the magnificent thing proudly. “It’s a handle for a mace” she explained to Kivan, still speaking Feir’Dal. “I need to cast the head tomorrow then fasten the two pieces. You wet some strips of high quality griffin leather and make the grip by braiding it around the handle and letting it dry and shrink. The hardest part is imbuing the final product with magic material that adds to the potential damage it does.”
She placed the mace handle on a nearby workbench. “We make a lot of money selling these maces” she boasted. “It’s our specialty. This one is a special order. My Pa said that it’s a gift for a Lady.”
She smiled the pretty smile Kivan so wanted to see. “The enchantment crackles beautifully when you swing it” she told Kivan. “It’ll split an Gnoll’s skull through the best helmet he might find. It was one of our maces that ended to reign of Fippy Darkpaw the First, you know?”
“One of your maces killed Fippy Darkpaw?” Kivan was impressed.
“No...” the girl confessed “he survived. It’s just that he was never the great Gnollish leader he was before he got clobbered. Whoever the brave knight was that wielded the mace, bless his memory.”
“Oh, yes. I recall all tales of Fippy” Kivan lied, hoping his reply made sense. He realized his comprehension of the Wood Elf language was so inadequate that he did not fully follow what the girl had said. He did know the meaning of the Feir’Dal nouns ‘mace’, ‘helmet’ and ‘griffin’ and he could hardly ask her to please use the Common language so he could understand. He felt foolish to be so unconversant in the tongue of his own people.
The girl smith smiled again as if she just had a brilliant idea. “Come back tomorrow when the mace is done and I can show you how the magic crackles while you swing it.” She turned and placed a second piece of iron in the furnace. Her shirt had a small patch of perspiration between her shoulder blades. She reached up and pumped the forge a few times. Kivan got to watch her pretty titties shake some more. He was sure she caught him looking at her chest but if so she did not make mention of it as she turned back to him.“We have a few minutes to talk before I pull that second mace handle out of the furnace.”
The girl stood there, calmly facing Kivan. Despite his efforts to be polite, his eyes flickered down yet again to look at her chest. Her shirt molded around her round, firm breasts so snugly it revealed their exact shape. The shapes of her puffy nipples, so clearly apparent under the shirt’s thin material, made Kivan want to reach out and feel them. Despite their ample size, Kivan suspected they had not yet finished growing.
She did not notice his stare...or she ignored it. “How may I help you, Young Man? I suppose you just want one thing?”
Kivan quickly broke off his involuntary examination of the girl’s beautiful breasts to look up into her pretty blue eyes. “One thing?” he asked, confused by her odd question.
The girl perceived her new customer was not comfortable conversing in Wood Elf even though he was Feir’Dal. It was a shame more and more of her kind were losing their language. “Yes, one thing” she repeated, this time in the Common language. Her accent was adorable.
Realizing she was not being very clear she explained “my Pa went fishing with his pals for a week. This is the first time I have been left to look after things on my own.” She grabbed a nearby towel and wiped the sweat from her face as she spoke. It was so erotic to watch the honest sweat of her labour being wiped from around her high round cheeks, from under her pretty little chin and off the tip off her cute nose while she continued. “Before he left he told me to keep the young men out of here. He said that young men just want one thing.”
She used the towel to wipe her glistening forearms as she kept talking. “I don’t see why he is so angry at young men for only wanting one thing; most of our customers only want one thing. A Man-at-arms only wants a shattered sword mended; a wealthy Lady only wants a fancy dagger made; an honest housewife only wants a fireplace poker. I asked my Pa what’s wrong with a young man only wanting one thing and he told me to stop being so stupid or he maybe needed to cancel his fishing trip. In the end, he did not cancel his trip and he left me here with all this work.”
Despite her words the girl seemed not to be resentful of working alone that week. She seemed proud to be left in charge. She turned and reached up high to hang the towel near the furnace to dry. Her sleeveless shirt was quite loose around the armholes and fell away from her body. Kivan got a good view of the bulging, rounded side of her exposed right breast. He could see almost to her puffy nipple.
She turned back to face him. The breast disappeared from view. “So...assuming my father is correct and you only want one thing, you just need to tell me what you want and I will willingly give it to you.”
Kivan studied the pretty little girl a moment. He decided she genuinely did not understand what her father had been talking about. Of course the girl’s father was right. Kivan only wanted one thing: he wanted to push that little girl down on the ground and ravish her sexy body until he was done. Thoughts of Cadwarra, the love of his life mere hours ago, had disappeared from his mind.
Nobly electing to be a gentleman, notwithstanding his base male urges, he told the girl “I am supposed to be getting an introductory lesson from Denham Mossclean in the art of armour maintenance and polishing.”
The girl looked troubled at that news. “Pa never mentioned any scheduled lessons before he left. Have you got the right date?”
“Yes, Miss” Kivan replied, too smitten by the cute girl to be offended by her suggestion he could not read a calendar. “Lady Vishra scheduled it this morning.”
The pretty blacksmith did not look pleased at the prospect of letting the Vishra House down. She immediately went over to a small desk in the corner. “There was that messenger that brought something earlier...that silly Baltazar fellow. He seemed to think I could just drop the horseshoes I was in the middle of making and read the work order he had. I told him you’ll ruin iron if you work it cold and for him to leave the paperwork over here.”
She started looking through the piles of papers. “He said I looked ‘hot’ and I was a little impatient with him so I just said ’Well, yeah....duh. This is a smithy’ and I told him to just leave the requisition over here and I would get to it later...oh, here is it!”
Kivan waited for the pretty girl to review the order. A drop of perspiration fell from her forehead onto the paper. He watched her absent-mindedly pull the bottom of her short little top up to wipe the rest of the perspiration from her brow while reading. As she lifted the hem, he saw underboob. Lots of it. The lower halves of two perfectly round fully-packed hemispheres of boobmeat hung there for him to lust over, white and tempting. Sadly, the shirt fell back into place all too soon.
‘It says here Pa is supposed to” ~and here she read from the work order~ “teach the Squire Kivan to oil armour, to sharpen blades, to replace rivets and to perform all other foreseeable minor repairs...” She then added “There is also a purchase order for three hours of instruction.” She looked at Kivan, impatient with rich people. “These wealthy folk: they think all we know can be taught in a three hour lesson.”
Kivan apologized for Lady Vishra’s poor knowledge of armouring.
“It’s not your fault” the forge girl assured him. “We can’t teach you much in three hours but we can certainly teach you enough to fool your Lord into thinking you know something about armouring.” She laughed a lovely laugh at her own joke then said more seriously “...And you will know enough to know when you can repair your Lord’s armour by yourself and when you should bring it in to us.” She held her hand out in greeting. “My name is Zanhass Mossclean.”
He shook her hand. She had a strong blacksmith’s grip. He suddenly imagined how it would feel gripping his penis the way Jenna had done earlier that morning. He willed himself not to become hard. “Kivan Oakwood” he told Miss Zanhass Mossclean “pleased to meet you.” He felt the need to correct her on one misconception. “My ‘Lord’ is a female Paladin” he stated proudly.
“Congratulations” Zanhass responded. She thought for a few seconds. “I think I can rearrange my morning to both get some repairs done and give you lessons while doing so. That way the Vishra House need not be charged very much for my time.”
Kivan was prepared to provide compensation. He had thankfully not been charged for the spilled oysters and thus he still had his thirteen copper. To boot, the Head Butler had pressed three silver coins into his palm. “A Squire will have expenses” he had told Kivan with a hint of affection. “Spend these when you need to, not when you want to.”
“I can pay” he assured Zanhass, knowing the wealth of three silver and thirteen copper weighed down his pocket and too smitten with Zanhass to remember the Head Butler’s financial advice.
“The cost of the lesson seems to be provided for” Zanhass replied, showing Kivan the purchase order. She added “and I will be benefiting from getting you to do some useful work.”
She gave an admiring look at Kivan’s livery. “Your servants’ clothes are quite elegant but you will ruin them in here. I can lend you my father’s work clothes. They’ll just be a little big but you can roll up the sleeves.” She pointed to some coat pegs on the wall. “Hang your shirt over there.”
Thinking nothing of it, Kivan stripped off his shirt and turned away from Zanhass to hang it up. He turned back to find Zanhass standing there holding her father’s shirt up for him to slip his arms into but she seemed frozen. Her lovely eyes were wide open as she stared at his bare chest. In the odd silence, her voice trembled when she told Kivan “I-I’ve never been this close to a half naked boy before. Pa never let me see boys in such a state of....”
Her words trailed off. She stared. She threw her father’s shirt over something and without permission reached to touch Kivan’s arm. He did not know what to do so he stood there while she felt him.
“Er...I just need to confirm you have the muscles you need to do the work” Zanhass lied and ran her hand over his biceps several times with obvious pleasure. “Yes, you are very strong” she confirmed with an excited quaver in her voice. “...very strong...” She kept feeling Kivan’s arm. “Pa never let me get close to boys...or touch them” she whispered, as if to herself. “He said I was too good for them.”
She squeezed Kivan’s forearms experimentally. A childhood working on his father’s farm had ensured he had the physique an impressionable girl such as Zanhass would like. “You have muscles like my Pa has” she told him. She kept caressing his arm. “...But Pa never makes me feel the way you’re making me...”
For the second time, she stopped before she finished what she was about to say. Flustered by strange feelings, she turned to pick up Pa’s shirt for Kivan. She looked about confused for several seconds trying to recall where she had put it. Realizing that the second mace handle was still in the furnace, she pulled it out and, not knowing what else to do, began to hammer on it, awkwardly leaving Kivan standing there, unsure why she was suddenly so nervous. Finally, thrusting the handle into the quenching water, she turned back to Kivan, her agitated gaze fixed back on his muscular body. She still could not see the shirt she had tossed aside in her confusion. Had she thought to ask, Kivan could have told her it was on the back of the chair by the desk. “Well...” she said in a voice betraying an odd nervousness “...m-maybe you can work shirtless. We need to get your lesson started.”
Zanhass decided to start with the easy chore of armour polishing. Miraculously, preparing to teach the familiar task allowed her to regain her composure. “You need to keep the armour buffed” she explained with returned self-confidence. “It’s the least important thing when your Lady, for instance, is repelling pirates or beating on Orcs, but a shiny bunch of plate armor reflects...no pun intended...well on you. Your lady will think you know what you are doing.” She laughed pleasantly.
They polished Lord Balthar’s armour. Zanhass made Kivan do it twice before she pronounced it acceptable. “He’s needs it for some important journey up to the Thundering Steppes in a couple of weeks. He’ll need to look important” she explained and added “he said he wants to see his face in it.” Zanhass shook her head. “If I had his face I would prefer armour where I could not to see my face...”
Blade sharpening took mere minutes to learn. It was the same as sharpening any keen edge. Kivan was a near-instant expert once he adjusted to the minor differences between a sword blade and the axes he honed back on the farm.
By mid-morning, they switched to chain mail repair. She taught Kivan the fundamentals in the use of pliers and crimpers. The repair he made was poor despite her careful instruction. “It will do as a serviceable field repair” she conceded, trying not to be too critical. “Get the repaired armour in to us as soon as your Lady gets home and we’ll fix it up like new.”
By late morning, she had him doing a cold repair to some plate armour that had come in. “No” she coached him “you need to bring the hammer straight down so it hits the plate flat...like this.” She brought the hammer straight down with a loud blang! and handed the hammer back to Kivan. She watched him try three more times, unsuccessfully bringing the mallet down to hit the armour at an angle with a painfully discordant clungggg! each time.
“Try it some more, it takes a while to do it right” she encouraged.
Kivan concentrated on his task. She tried not to look at him as he worked, tried not to admire his bare pecs or his broad shoulders.
She tried to ignore the lovely feeling she felt when he was so close. She tried to keep her mind on the lessons. He was doing so badly. That was her fault. She would need to keep her mind on her teaching.
“Here, let me show you. I’ll get behind you.” Zanhass stood directly at Kivan’s back. She looped her arms under his arms and put her hand on the hand with which Kivan held the hammer.
She felt an electric thrill when she touched him. Like her, he was perspiring in the heat. She could smell his scent. Hot body was so close to hot body with nothing but her thin top between damp, bare skin.
Her breasts had started growing a few months ago. They had reached their present size quite quickly. Up to now, she was annoyed they got in the way of her work but today she found she liked having a boy so close to them.
She tried to keep her newly developing chest from touching his back as he tried several more swings. She leaned forward to see over his shoulder. Her tits touched him, sliding lightly across his flexing back muscles. To her surprise, it felt nice. It felt very nice. Why was Pa so negative about boys like Kivan being near her? He was fun to be close to.
Kivan knew he was not swinging the hammer well. He could not concentrate. He felt Zanhass unwittingly brushing her tits across his back. First he self-consciously moved forward to avoid them touching but Zanhass, trying to see his work, had moved forward too. He soon held his ground...and still she moved forward, flattening her girl cushions against him.
It was the first pair of tits he had ever felt. They were amazingly soft as he let her push them into his shoulder blades. He thought about how pretty she had looked as she lifted her t-shirt to wipe sweat from her forehead, not even realizing he could see all that tit. Any higher and he would have seen her unusual nipples.
Zanhass leaned in even closer to peer over his broad shoulders. She decided there was nothing wrong with her chest touching him. She ‘accidentally’ crushed her tits hard against him. She was frustrated by his lack of a response when she did that. He didn’t seem to notice what she was doing.
Zanhass watched his blows continue. He was improving a bit and that was good but how could he not be aware of her squashed breasts moving softly up and down against his back in sympathy to the motion of each improving swing? Why wasn’t he noticing how she was mashing her tits hard into him? Why wasn’t he doing something about it? Then she realized she did not know what, exactly, she expected him to do about it.
She released his hammer hand. “Just keep swinging like that, you’ll improve quickly.” She rested her hands on his hips.
Rendered foolish by her physical desire and in spite of her own realization that she knew nothing about being with boys, her hands boldly slid up onto his chest to feel his pectoral muscles flex. He did not object to her brazen liberty. His muscles moved under her touch. His skin was slick with sweat. She left her hands there, caressing him while continuing to thrust her shirt-bumps really hard into his back.
Kivan tried to swing the hammer properly. They were nowhere near the expert swings Zanhass had been making when he first entered her shop and watched those tits bobbing around. Those same tits were now flattened against his back. Rubbing. He was sure it was unintentional. She had no idea how she was affecting him.
Did she just kiss him? Lightly, briefly on the neck, just about his shoulder? He decided it was only an accident her lips had brushed across his skin. It still made him rock hard. This was so cruel. How could she not realize what the inadvertent touch of her lips was doing to him? How long would Tunare expect him to behave like a gentleman before he reacted to Zanhass’s temptations? In the heady flush of full arousal, he felt the mad urge to drop the hammer and turn to tear Zanhass’s scanty clothing from her alluring body and take her right there on the floor with a desire hotter than the roaring coals in the forge.
His next swing almost hit his thumb. He willed himself to calm down and his blows got better. He hoped she would not see the hardness in his pants.
Zanhass reached up and grabbed her towel. She kindly wiped his face. The towel smelled of Zanhass’s body. She was so sweet. He felt guilty for having that momentary urge to pin her down on the ground and rudely force himself upon her. He realized they needed to do something else before he did something unforgivable. “Should we move on to other tasks?” he asked, putting down the hammer.
Also sensing that things would go too far if they did not slow down, Zanhass agreed and reluctantly stepped back so her breasts no longer touched him.
Had Kivan reached out at that very moment and pulled her back against his body she would have fallen willingkly into his embrace, lifting her breasts for him to kiss. To his credit, he did not pull her back. He instead asked “what should I learn next?”
They kept things professional after that. By the third hour, Kivan was convinced he knew all he needed to know about armour repair. In reality, he had learned a fraction of what a Squire would need to know.
His sexual attraction to Zanhass had not lessened, though he hid it well. He was incredibly horny from the way Zanhass was acting. Her clothes hid so little of her cute figure.
“I think we should stop, it is almost lunch” Zanhass eventually told him. She was liking the way he looked at her body, though she did not truly understand why.
Kivan politely agreed to end the lessons but they remained standing very, very close together. They each waited for the other to do something, unsure of what was supposed to happen next but unwilling to move further apart. Though they had been successfully ignoring their youthful desires for several hours, the electric thrill of their mutual attraction now allowed them to be so bold as to look into each other’s eyes.
Not for the first time she saw him lower his gaze to rest on her taut breasts. He had looked at them often. He had looked at them when he first came in. He had looked at them when she had used her shirt to mop her brow. He had looked at them when she had pumped the bellows and made them jiggle. She had pumped those bellows harder, ensuring her tits really shook for him to watch. His stare had made her feel self-conscious...and naughty.
She remembered that one night last spring when she had removed her top and noticed in surprise that her nipples were no longer flat on her chest; they had puffed up. She was oddly intrigued as the growth continued over the weeks until her breasts had begun to look like those of older girls. Male customers looked at them when Pa was busy doing something else and was not keeping a proper eye on her.
For reasons that puzzled her, Zanhass had been so very tempted to lift her shirt and let the customers have a better look at the out of control mounds of flesh growing there. Instinctively, she knew Pa would not approve so she kept her top in place even though the temptation to flash her tits left her feeling strangely agitated. Pa had often told her that men only make girls do foolish things and she needed to stay away from them. The urge to show her breasts to men must be one of those foolish things. Pa was right to keep men away.
Today, though, she was acutely aware that Pa was not there to disapprove of whatever foolish things men might make her want to do. There was an exhilaration in the freedom his absence gave her. The foolish urge to show Kivan her tits was very compelling. He was very pretty. He had been very polite. “May I ask you a question” she asked.
“Of course” he replied to her, not guessing her immodest thoughts. “Ask away.”
“I notice you keep looking at my tits” she began. “Why do men do that?”
Kivan’s first reaction was to apologize for leering but before he could begin she added in a voice so sultry that it surprised even herself “I like that you look...” and she unhesitatingly pulled her shirt up to her armpits. Her bare breasts sat there for him to see.
Being so near to the radiant heat of the forge, beads of perspiration instantly formed on the white orbs, sparkling in the glow of the fire as her chest rose and fell under heavy breathing. She looked at him nervously, suddenly afraid he would think she was weird for exposing her breasts to him.
Kivan stared, his heart pounding. He was seeing his first set of completely uncovered boobs. They were beautiful. They sat there sticking out, incredibly round but for the puffy nipples perfectly centered on top of each one.
The size of Zanhass’s big pink areolas slightly exceeded the diameter of a gold coin. Her actual nipples were inverted, initially just small indents in the middle of those large domelike areolas. They started to rise. Kivan watched in fascination as the nipples completed their spectacular transformation, rising slowly to become tall towers announcing her sexual needs. He remembered what his brother had told him: “when a girl likes you, her nips get long”. She must really, really like me, he concluded.
He raised his hands to touch both of Zanhass’s perfect breasts. She let him. They filled his exploring hands. He squeezed very gently. They were so soft.
“They’re packed full of fat” his brother had said so their unbelievable softness made sense. He probed Zanhass’s breasts with his fingers, kneading deep. There was something buried deep inside each tit, some kind of structure leading up to the underside of each nipple. He was smart enough to surmise he was feeling the part of Zanhass’s breast where she would keep milk for her babies. He was intrigued to think this cute little girl could make a baby. It strangely excited him. He kept playing with her tits, intrigued to think how he could make a baby with her someday...if she would let him.
Zanhass simply stared into his lovely eyes, thrilled to feel his hands playing with her tits. He likes them, she thought in relief.
He touched the tips of her breasts. Her unique areolas were smooth and yielding as his fingers brushed across them. The proud nipples were stiff and spongy. He bent down and took the left nipple in his mouth. Zanhass cupped his chin in both her hands and eagerly squashed his face into her chest, boob deforming under her desperate pleasure. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and sighed contentedly as he suckled her. Instead of milk, he tasted the saltiness of hot sweat on her nipple.
Now confident that Kivan truly liked her breasts she bravely asked “What does it do to you when you suck my teat?” The crudeness of the question aroused her. She felt so wicked to ask. It was a frank acknowledgement of what they were doing.
The taste of Zanhass’s breast in his mouth and the bluntness of her question emboldened Kivan to a level of reckless lust. He took his mouth off her delicious boob. “It makes my cock hard” he crudely answered her, pulling her body close, pressing his dick against her leg, proudly wanting her to feel what she was doing to him. He then started rubbing his face slowly all over her tits, pushing them around on her chest.
Zanhass stood there, thrusting her shoulders back to force her breasts forward, enjoying the way they were sliding all over his face. She felt a strange lump in his leggings as he ground it against her thigh. She thought of her friend, Trelly Greenleaf, while Kivan brushed the tips of her boobs with his nose. “Their dinkies get hard when they feel your tits” Trelly had told Zanhas in a confidential whisper, looking around to ensure no one could hear.
Kivan started planting repeated kisses on Zanhass’s breasts, chest and cleavage. She glanced down at Kivan’s crotch. She was amazed at how his pants were being pushed out by that hardness she had just felt. She wondered how boys did that, and why. Trelly would be interested to know that what she had reported was true. The problem was Trelly had not been sure what happened after the boy got hard.
With no help from Trelly’s wisdom, Zanhass was in unknown territory. She decided to put her faith in Tunare. Tunare would tell her what to do. She reached up and cupped her tits, squeezing them a little for Kivan to see. He seemed to like her doing that.
Had Tunare really told her to do that? She had her breasts bare in front of a boy, playing with them. She liked doing that. She considered pushing her leggings down to her ankles and stepping out of them so she could be nude for him but she was embarrassed by the new growth of hair down there and shy to show Kivan her ‘mousy’, much as she felt Tunare might wish her to undress for Kivan to enjoy. She was still looking with interest at his bulge.
Kivan could see Zanhass looking at his hard-on while she played with her tits. Her eyes lingered on it in fascination. He liked the attention. He remembered how Jenna had held his cock earlier that morning. It had felt nice but he had been too embarrassed to fully enjoy her touch. He wanted Zanhass to touch him, now that he knew what a handjob was all about.
He did not wait for Zanhass to pull his erection out like Jenna had done; he was sure she would not do so on her own initiative. Kivan pulled his male hardness out himself and proudly showed it to Zanhass.
Zanhass looked at the first hard penis she had ever seen. It was a strange looking thing but there was something very attractive about it. Kivan’s stuck out an amazing distance. It was thicker than she would have guessed. Due to its aroused state, the foreskin was pulled back to reveal a tip that was a little bigger than the base. She realized she had been holding her breath as she beheld her new friend’s prick and she exhaled in a ragged thrill that revealed that she was greatly affected by the sight of Kivan’s impressive manliness. Despite its size, it hung there, ignoring gravity, suspended in the air, curving up in a lovely sweeping shape.
She took a half step nearer. Kivan bravely stood there, liking a partly-clad girl so close to his exposed hard-on. Curious, she reached out and put her left index finger on the tip of the big long thing. She pushed the tip down but not too much, fearing pushing it too far would break it or she would hurt him. She released it. The dick sprung back up. Intrigued, she pushed the tip down a little farther. This time when it sprung back up the cock slapped Kivan’s flat abdomen.
Zanhass giggled to see how it would spring back up and went to do it a third time but Kivan wanted more attention than that. He took her hand by the wrist and guided her palm onto his dick. He curled her fingers around the shaft.
Without further prompting, Zanhass gripped the strange thing tight. She expected it to be as hard as the mace handle she was making when Kivan had first walked in. Instead, it felt stiff but bendable. Still experimenting, she pulled on the thing and was puzzled to see the foreskin slide up to cover the tip. She pushed the foreskin back down; she liked seeing the tip and did not want it hidden. Her thumb slid up and rubbed the top of that lovely knob. The stretched skin was silky smooth. There was a drop of something slippery on the tip. Her thumb spread the pre-cum experimentally all over the bulbous head. Kivan sucked in his breath in audible pleasure when she did that so she rubbed her thumb over his knob a little more. He jerked his hips erratically in reaction.
Aroused by Zanhass’s obvious admiration of his manhood, Kivan reached out and pushed the waist of Zanhass’s leggings down a half inch. He dared not go further in case Zanhass would panic, break off the courting they were doing and suddenly insist he leave, seeing as how he was behaving very rudely.
Contrary to his fears, she did not raise any objections to her leggings being pushed down. That half inch more of lower belly being exposed was enough to allow a wisp of nether hair to peek out above the waistband.
Zanhass, still playing with his cock, did not protest in any way as Kivan boldy pushed her leggings lower. He slid her waist band down past her hips to reveal her entire bush. It was as blond as the hair on her head except it was thick and curly. Like the rest of her body, the pelt glistened with fresh perspiration. Below, he saw her pussy lips.
The waistband was a tight slide as her curving hips were exposed. Kivan slid the leggings further down. Zanhass’s thighs were well muscled from years of walking heavy boxes of charcoal, raw iron and finished product in and out of the smithy.
Once he had pushed the leggings past her thighs they fell by themselves to her ankles. Zanhass stepped nude out of her bottoms and left them on the floor. She wore nothing but the work sabots on her feet and a shirt bunched up around her armpits.
Kivan pulled the shirt over her head and hung it on the nearby clothesline. He found something beautiful about a nude girl sporting only a pair of wooden shoes and a glistening triangle of blond pubic hair. Her nude body was stunning.
Kivan pushed down his own leggings and stood as naked as the girl. He was acutely aware that his curving prick was standing rampant, the tip just inches from brushing her fur patch. Kivan looked into her incredible eyes.
“I am not sure what we are supposed to do next” she confessed, a little embarrassed to admit it.
Kivan knew what they ought to do next but was equally ignorant as to the actual mechanics of the intimate act. He bravely decided that he as the man needed to charge in, regardless of his lack of expertise. “I think I would like to deflower you” he blurted out like a pervert.
Zanhass looked puzzled. “How do you do that?”
“I put my cock into your cunny and move it back and forth real quick.” His cock twitched when he said that. He had just talked dirty to a pretty girl. He almost came right there. Right onto her wooden sabots. He liked talking dirty to a pretty girl.
But Zanhass looked scared at what he had suggested. She had never heard of a cock being put inside her. Kivan realized he had made a mistake rushing her. “...But, we don’t have to do that” he hastily assured her. She looked relieved.
“We can kiss, though” she said to fill the awkward silence, feeling bad she had refused him.
The two pressed their lips together inexpertly, standing there clumsily.
Kivan’s hard cock got in the way, preventing them from getting closer. He felt the tip brush against Zanhass’s tummy, above her pubic hair. Impatient to have Kivan closer, she fixed the problem of the interfering penis by swinging it up then moving an inch or two forward so the entire hard thickness of it lay across her lower stomach, big and long. She was surprised by how hot it felt on her tummy.
Their incompetent kisses grew more passionate. Zanhass did not baulk when his tongue pushed into her mouth. She decided she would permit him to do whatever he wanted. His tongue poked around, playing with her own tongue. She licked it in response.
He pushed his cock harder against her, crushing it between their abdomens. He began to rub it against her, humping his hips on her. He was glad that she did not stop him from doing such a crude thing. It felt so good.
He would have orgasmed right there all over her belly except that Zanhass suddenly moved back so she could reach down to grip his manhood. “I think Tunare maybe wanted me to do that” she later confessed to a shocked Trelly. Whatever the reason, she liked holding it. She started to slide her hand back and forth along it, fascinated by how it felt.
Kivan started thrusting his pelvis in concert with her handjacking. His foreskin was moving off and onto his knob. She watched it do that, aroused by the sight. She was breathing excitedly, gulping in air.
“How often is it like this, all...all big and hard” Zanhass asked. “I like it this way.”
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled the head of Kivan’s erection closer, aiming it at her pussy. He moved forward willingly.
She had touched her clit before. Late at night. She had sucked in her breath when an intense pleasure swept over her in answer to her fingers. Pa had shouted through the wall from his room did she have a toothache or something? She had lied and said she must have bitten her tongue in her dreams. She had gone to sleep, her pleasures unfinished.
She touched Kivan’s tip to her clitoris. She used it to rub herself. This was so much better than her fingers. The intense feeling she felt made her do yet another foolish thing. She slid his knob lower down to her vagina. She pushed a little bit of the cock, just a little bit, inside her. Not even half an inch. It felt good. Naughty good.
Zanhass’s unwise liberty with Kivan’s helmet was never intended to imply permission to penetrate her, but Kivan did not realize that. Like the horny teen boy he was he assumed Zanhass wanted to fuck as much as he did. Her shallow insertion was all the consent he needed.
He thrust his cock forward, advancing eagerly. It slid into the heat of her snatch so naturally. A little way in, he felt resistance. He was too excited to stop, though. As he pushed on he felt the resistance give way. Zanhass sucked in her breath in sharp pain and his cock rammed on. He drove it in until he could not insert any more of it. Pubic bone pressed against pubic bone.
Zanhass’s hot insides molded around his dick as if it was made for just his cock. It was soft and wet and yielding in there. The immediate pleasure was a sensation unique in his young experience. His prime function in life was to move in and out of that yielding wet warmth as fast as he could and that is what he would have done had Zanhass not been standing there inexplicably crying in the shock of the sudden pain she had registered. In obvious discomfort, Zanhass held on to him, seeming not to blame him for the unexpected hurting she had felt as he unwittingly destroyed her hymen.
He had stopped thrusting. They stood there, holding each other, both nude while she sobbed raggedly. Kivan, the inexperienced boy, embraced her, not sure what to do. Her crying distressed him. He had his cock in her, and he wanted to resume fucking, but he had quickly realized he had severely hurt her and it would not be right to callously keep going.
Kivan held Zanhass, wishing she was not so upset, wishing he had not hurt her, wishing she would stop crying so he could start moving in and out some more. “You go in and out because it feels good for the girl” his brother had said but the older sibling had never told him what to do if it did not feel good for the girl; if you hurt the girl.
Zanhass showed no sign she was going to stop bawling. He stood there with his whole dick inside her, confused, waiting for her to stop with the tears but she just kept crying.
At last, he could not stand waiting. Selfishly, he moved his pelvis back then forward tentatively, maybe half an inch. The effect on Zanhass was miraculous. Her tears instantly stopped and she looked into Kivan’s apologetic eyes. She pressed her lips to his again, a little less inexpertly this time. She inserted her tongue past his lips. Her hips moved slightly, experimentally, in and out then in and out again.
Kivan started moving his pelvis in and out, too, matching her rhythm. The length and speed of their thrusts increased. His cock pushed into territory she did not know she had. Zanhass looked like she was finally enjoying it. She liked how Kivan’s cock went in and out, faster and faster. She suddenly giggled.
Kivan reached over and grabbed the handy towel. He wiped away the tears still sitting on Zanhass’s cheeks and kissed her forehead. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his thrusting body closer. He fastened his lips on her neck, just above her shoulder, and sucked.
“Your cock really hurt” she confessed in his ear then whispered “but it feels so good now!” Kivan made no reply except to switch to the other side of her neck and bite and suck some more on that side while still fucking.
Zanhass did not cum but she liked what Kivan was doing to her. Very soon, she felt his movements suddenly hasten then he made several long, hard cockdrives into her. He moaned and stiffened. Then he relaxed and they stood still, not saying anything, just breathing hard in each other’s arms, gulping for oxygen.
Is he done? she asked herself. She did not know how ‘loving’ was supposed to end. That was just one more thing Trelly had not been able to tell her about boys. He must be done, she guessed, since he was no longer thrusting insanely. But it did not ‘feel’ done.
In some way, though, it wasn’t important whether he was done. Zanhass just wanted to feel Kivan’s arms around her. She caressed his muscular arms, resting her head on his shoulder. They were quiet for a long time.
Eventually, she felt his dick slip out of her. She regretted it had become soft and small and she was about to ask Kivan to make it big again the way she liked it and put it back in and do it some more.
She stopped herself from making such a foolish request when it occurred to her that Kivan may not have control of his hardness. It was maybe like when she could not stop her nipples from getting hard for any of the male customers that came in and stared at her breasts. She could never decide if her nips got hard because the men stared at them or if the men stared at them because they got hard. Either way, she could not control what they did.
A clock over on the desk in the corner chimed noon. “We need to dress before someone comes in and catches us” Zanhass said reluctantly, stepping back into her pants where they had fallen to the floor. She bent down to pull them up. As she did so, her breasts hung down and swayed. They jiggled some more as she straightened and retied the laces of her waistband. She did not notice a spot of cum appeared in the crotch of the leggings as it dripped from her.
Still topless, she hugged Kivan. “That was lovely, is that what you meant by ‘deflowering’?”
Content in Zanhass’s embrace and reveling in the loss at last of his embarrassing virginity, Kivan could only nod in confirmation.
He regretted that the morning was over. He wanted to stay with his new girl and kiss her and fix armour and kiss her some more. But he had an appointment. “I am sorry, Zanhass, but I need to see Lady Vishra right after lunch. I can’t be late. Will you forgive me for rushing off?”
Zanhass seemed loath to let him go. “I suppose it’s best I got back to my chores.” she conceded. “I’ll need to work through lunch to make up for the time we spent deflowering.” Kivan turned to pull his liveries off the coat hooks. She watched the muscles in his back stretch attractively as he did so.
“You need to come back tomorrow, Kivan. There is so much more to teach you and we can deflower again...I mean if you want to.” Zanhass pulled her shirt back on, covering her perky, puffy crowned breasts. “You need to promise not to go in so fast, though. That first part really hurt.”
“I’ll be more gentle” he sincerely promised. He looked at her lovingly. She stood there looking doe-eyed at him with those lovely blue pupils, a post-coital smile resting contentedly on her face.
Her hair was all messed up and Kivan smoothed it down affectionately. He reached over to the coal scuttle lying nearby, half full of charcoal. He picked one piece up and smudged it on both sides of her neck. “What are you doing” she asked innocently, puzzled by such an odd action.
“I am covering up your hickeys” he explained guiltily. “I would not have sucked on your neck like that if I had known how they would show.”
They kissed goodbye, their technique greatly improved. “I love you” he told her. “I love you” she had answered.
Kivan left the smithy grinning like a fool. Anyone seeing him depart could easily guess that the young man had just taken advantage of the Mossclean daughter, honouring Tunare between her virgin thighs.
Kivan began to run. He ran all the way back to the Vishra Mansion. He was not running because he was late to report to Lady Vishra; he was running for the ecstatic joy he felt at the thought that he had a pretty girlfriend. A pretty girlfriend that fucked.
***************************************
Deep in the Down Below, Arabella was not sure where exactly she had taken the wrong turn. She had been lost for hours. She knew enough about the Down Below to sneak out of and into Qeynos, but the other twists and turns, leading to more dangerous parts of the Down Below, she was less familiar with.
It seemed that she had been too confident that she would remember the way to the location of the hideout that was known by certain privileged people-in-the-know as “Crow’s Resting Place”. She had only been there twice, lead by another who was going there, too. Though she thought she knew the way, she had gotten herself lost.
Even the Qeynos Guard did not come down into these more mysterious tunnels and passageways through which she was now wandering. Unless those lurking down there made too much trouble for themselves Qeynos left them alone. The frustrated authorities had long ago realized that to clear out troublemakers too often simply created a vacuum for worse characters to slither in and take residence. As such, there was no law down here to protect her. No one would care about one missing Inky too stupid to keep out of harm’s way. Beckah and Annie would split her merchandise between themselves and make a small profit. Sprockfuddle would lament what a great screw she had been the way she wiggled and cursed at him as she moved her hips in an effort to thrust him off of her.
Despite her predicament, the thought of that angry little asshole on top of her got her sexually excited. Arabella did not want Sprockfuddle, though. Instead, she wished Marshall Vishra had taken her up on her offer for sex; she had needed a man to suck her breasts dry.
They were now heavy with milk and had started to ache. If it wasn’t so dangerous to do so in the dark and dangerous Down Below she could have opened up her leather tunic to milk her breasts right there until they were no longer swollen. But the scent of fresh milk would have attracted any manner of hungry creatures who would find her with her protective leatherwear in no way protecting her bosom and belly. Prudently, she would need to suffer in discomfort until she reached the safe refuge of Crow’s Resting Place. If Ellister was indeed there, maybe he would do her the favour of sucking her until she was empty while she explained why she needed him to help her find Falco. If Ellister was there.
She walked on, thinking about Marshall Vishra’s manly attributes. She had gotten his cock to harden inside his trousers. She had seen she had. He was so big. He should have pinned her down and started fucking. She was so horny she could almost feel that huge Human prick sliding in and out between her spread legs. He would complete the humiliation by cumming his Human seed into her depths. She was sure he would have made her cum, too. Not like those incompetent, small-cocked Jailers.
Instead of enjoying such a wonderful fuck from the Marshall, Arabella was wandering completely lost in the Down Below, way off course and perhaps stumbling into areas too dangerous for one tiny Dark Elf to be venturing through.
Coming around a corner, Arabella decided she recognized a turn. She was sure she was back on track. It was a relief to know the hideout was just ahead. She would soon be safe...but for a large scorpion standing its ground, blocking her advance. It’s back arched. Its tail curled threateningly. It hissed.
Arabella suspected it was semi-sentient so she waved Gol’s shortspear at the critter while taking care not to approach closer. The repulsive arachnid pondered the intruder then slowly, wisely backed away as if agreeing to leave her alone as long as she left him alone. She walked past the bug, giving it a wide berth as it rotated on its eight legs, keeping its face to Arabella, prepared to defend itself if the Dark Elf did not honour their unspoken truce.
Glad to be avoiding a dangerous fight, Arabella left the scorpion well behind. She walked more than two hundred feet further down the hall before she came upon a dead end alcove. It held nothing but a sarcophagus and flowers long dried and turned to dust.
The coffin once would have been magnificent to view but generations had passed and the gilding was now covered in dust and corrosion. Over the countless decades, the recently deceased inside had become a faceless name in a huge book of family history which itself was tucked away on a shelf no one dusted in an attic no one visited, just as no one seemed to have visited this grave in as many years.
Arabella realized she was not in the right corridor afterall. She would need to go back past the scorpion. She turned back around to retrace her path only to find a huge silent bulk had crept out of the shadows and now blocked her return. It loomed dangerously in the near dark, its fur as black as the filthy walls into which it blended.
It was a Gnoll. Despite its bulk, it had silently crept up behind Arabella. It had positioned itself very close, between her and escape, towering over her small body. At almost six foot tall the Gnoll’s eyes looked down piercingly at the small Teir’Dal.
Its mouth opened. Huge canines shone in what little light had found it’s way into the charnel alcove. Massive jaws opened slowly. Those jaws were capable of breaking Arabella‘s neck with a quick snap. The long sharp claws on each forearm curled slowly open and shut as if longing to dig deep into the defeated flesh of a hapless little female too foolish to stay out of the Down Below.
The Gnoll did not choose to attack, however. He began to laugh.
Arabella, who had quickly brought her burrowed shortspear up to the ready, now lowered it while glaring angrily at the chortling Gnoll. “What are you thinking sneaking up on me like that, Fippy? You might have been gutted before I realized it was just you!”