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Chapter Text

Background: This takes place in the Dragonlance world, starting 200 years after Raistlin took his Test of High Sorcery. It presumes the novella 'Raistlin's Daughter' actually happened. If you're familiar with it, you can possibly skip the below information.

Raistlin's Daughter: There's a fair short précis to be found here. If that's TL;DR or you didn't want to follow the link, Raistlin (eventually to become the most powerful mage ever) has just finished his Test of High Sorcery, and at a crappy inn bumps into a stunningly beautiful woman, a 'high' (unfallen) member of the ancient race of ogres. A supernatural link (the VALIN, which I have just made 'the valin') is forged between them, requiring Raistlin to breed Amberyl (the high ogre). It's ... dubcon at least, unwilling / forced copulation; neither wants to even interact with the other, much less have sex. It might qualify as them both being raped, with the other as the unwilling tool. YMMV. In this particular story, with awareness, it is being considered more along the lines of a minor curse which, once satisfied, will release them -- but since the valin requireth, the valin giveth for the requiring.

Lydia the Peregrine (usually called Peregrine, but Lydia is her birth name) is of the 'high ogres', the first-created race once dedicated to the Dark Goddess Takhisis (aka Tiamat) -- tall, powerful, very beautiful, extremely long lives (of a thousand years or more, as compared to an elf's 400+). In their long-ago separation from the Dark Queen, they have been granted by the Gods of Good the ability to alter their shape into that of other humanoids (with whom they can breed, though the child is always the race of the mother), and did not devolve into the brutish ogres we all know and love (to fight). As this part of the story begins, she has just successfully passed her sometimes-lethal Test of High Sorcery; it was very nearly lethal for her, and caused her to revert to her true form (6'3", skin a vibrant blue of this color (https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/w7pjcrjz557.jpg), beauty of an elemental sort, i.e. comparable to a glorious winter day) but she is recovering, in fact has almost entirely recovered as this part of the story begins. She has been granted the white robe of the Order of Solinari.

Dalamar, variously appellated as 'the Dark', 'Argent', and 'Darkson', is the head of the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth and Highmage (leader of the three Orders of High Sorcery -- White (Solinari, good), Red (Lunitari, neutral), and Black (Nuitari, evil) -- and head of the Order of Nuitari). Roughly 195 years ago, he was apprenticed to Lydia's father, the (very human) great archmage Raistlin Majere, who sought to become a god. (Lydia doesn't consciously know that Raistlin is her father, but Dalamar has very recently received confirmation that he was.)

---

You might start by reading from Chapter 21of Childe Lydia, when Peregrine / Lydia wakes up out of her post-Test healing. If not there, then the first chapter of fiction is the latter part of Chapter 22, after Peregrine is up and about. Also, the appendix of Childe Lydia may prove useful for keeping track of times (as seen in the header).

Chapter Text

The Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth
Kirinor, 18 Paleswelt 546 AC, Last Watch falling, 11
S19L:L26:N7

to

Linares, 1 Reapember 546 AC, Evening Watch falling, 26
S30:L9:N2H

"I guess today is a day of extremes."
-- Master Dabber Magicfingers

---

The physician, Master Z'boim, released Peregrine from the infirmary midmorning the next day, helping her draw her new robe about her shoulders while giving firm instructions to return every morning for an examination, to exercise only lightly, and to not alter her body until she was declared to be in full health. This last direction, she decided privately, would not keep her from at least trying to return her eyes to their native burning-gold color.

She was escorted to her new quarters by a fellow white-robe apprentice, an elven male with the marks of a Silvanesti heritage on his bones, and haunted eyes that suggested that his earlier years had not been pleasant; his face and frame had a sparseness about them which she had learned to associate with chronic scant food. She offered her name ('Peregrine Stoup') and hand in greeting, but he'd hid his own hands inside the sleeves of his robes, told her when to expect meal-times, and refused to share his own name.

"If a Master decides to consider you for apprenticing, you will be informed," he informed her, with an undertone suggesting 'it will be a hot day in Icewall before that happens'. "Anyone can tell you where to find the library, the workrooms, and the practice halls." But I will be taken by minotaurs before I tell you, came the subtext. With that conclusion, and without another word, he abruptly walked out.

As the door closed behind him, she shook her head. And people wonder why we conceal ourselves. I bet if he'd had a rock, he would have thrown it. She looked about the room she'd been assigned, and was pleased to see that it was somewhat larger than the visitor's quarters she'd had previously. Her belongings waited for her on the table, while the same arrangement of pegs, shelves, and chest of drawers waited to be put to use. The significant additions were a laving basin and table, and a fireplace accompanied by a comfortable-looking chair facing it, just right for curling up in while enjoying a mug of tea or an interesting book.

She considered opening up the pack and putting her belongings away; she suspected she would be remaining in Wayreth for at least several weeks, perhaps a few months, before going back out into the world. There was work to do, and while research would make it easier, research could also make it never happen. One of her bad habits was getting herself into a comfortable rut and staying there for ... well, far too long. She'd lingered in Kalaman for almost six years before being befriended by Slingberry -- Mishakal, make him whole, she begged in a fast, silent prayer -- who had cheerfully jounced her out of her rut and onto the road again. She could easily see herself getting buried in the library of the Tower and not coming up for air until a century had passed.

A knock on her door pulled her away from contemplating the lure of that infinitely comfortable stagnation; she tugged the hems of her robe and gown upwards, to tentatively sit on the edge of the bed. "Come in," she called out.

The door opened only enough to allow the face of another, blessedly different elf to peek around it. Oh, the Silvanesti angles dominated this face as well, but this time the androgyny leaned feminine, a hint that the voice only confirmed. "Hello," she said tentatively, her Silvanesti accent unmistakeable in the Istari that had become and remained the default common trade language of Ansalon despite how things had turned out for the empire and its ruler.

"Good morning," Peregrine responded. "Please, don't be shy; come in. I hope you don't mind if I sit on the bed."

"Oh, but if you are aching," said the elven fem, "you simply must sit in the chair." Her enthusiastic eagerness to help drew her into the room, the door closing behind her as she scurried forward to give assistance. The same ghosts of past privation haunted her face and frame, prompting Peregrine to recognize in her one of the other primary responses to poverty: obsequiousness.

Peregrine allowed, once the elven fem got her into the chair, that it was indeed a boon to an aching body. "Hi. Peregrine Stoup," she offered her hand.

The elven fem shook hands with courtesy but not strength. "Althaia," she replied, "House Healer."

"I ... have not heard of that House," Peregrine confessed, watching the fem rummage in the cabinet below the laving basin, extract a cup, and prepare tea; where she got the water from, Peregrine was hesitant to ask.

"A House Minor," Althaia replied. "Part House Mystic, part House Cleric, and since the Diaspora, almost a House Nonexistent," she admitted. "Drink?"

Peregrine took the cup, lifting it to her nose to slowly inhale the scent. "What is it? What's in it? It does smell good."

"A restorative I've been practicing," Althaia told her, the desperation to please and to receive an indicator of acknowledgement creeping unpleasantly into her voice and attitude; it bordered on sycophancy, and Peregrine was certain she did not merit that.

Still, the aroma was enticing, so she took a sip. "Mmm!! This is good!! And a restorative?? Where did you learn this?"

Althaia blushed, ducking her head at the praise. "My Master is also House Healer; he specializes in such. I am glad to hear that it has a good taste; I hope its efficacy equals it."

Peregrine laughed. "I hope so too. I don't suppose you would be willing to, perhaps, give me some information?"

Althaia looked nervous. "I -- not about my Master," she started, but Peregrine held up a hand.

"No, just ... I was escorted here by an elf, a Silvanesti refugee I would guess. Dark brown hair, nose might have been broken once, about so tall. White robe." She held her hand just above the height of her shoulder. "He told me that anyone could show me around -- I guess anyone but him."

The Silvanesti female winced at the description. "Sotiris," she said softly. "My elder brother."

"House Mystic?" Peregrine guessed.

Althaia shrugged, her hands picking nervously at her robe. "If you asked him, yes."

Peregrine sipped again, then said, "Well, he doesn't want to associate with me; that's fine. I hope he doesn't try to prevent you from doing the same, is all."

The elf fem darted her a quick, nervous, on-shaky-ground smile. "I ... I don't know. He ... he might." Her family -- or at least her brother -- seemed to be a delicate subject. Her learned behavior made it difficult for her natural, open friendliness to take root, especially with her closest family being opposed, if not to the potential friendship, at least to the potential friend.

"Well," sighed Peregrine, "that's for when it comes. Until then, would you be able to show me around to the places he mentioned? As well as the dining hall; I really don't know where in the Tower I am." She made an effort to push hopefulness into her voice and attitude.

Having someone to help was clearly a boon to Althaia, and though the shadow of her older brother's potential displeasure still lurked in her eyes, she gave ready agreement. The two of them sat and discussed the new world into which Peregrine had been introduced, and while Althaia was clearly not the most socially adept apprentice, (Peregrine would place bets that those would likely be of the Black) she knew more than Peregrine.

They passed most of an hour in such discussions -- with a second cup of restorative tea being prepared after the first had been imbibed -- before a soft chime filled the halls and room. "That would be luncheon," said the elf, and helped Peregrine to her feet. "And so your tour begins!"

Peregrine laughed. "Give me ten minutes to put something on besides a sick-robe, and I will meet you in the hall?"

Althaia replied with a firm nod and a 'mm!' before scurrying out and closing the door behind her.

---

So passed the next few days: in the morning, going down to the infirmary for her daily check-up (she was told she was healing with exceptional rapidity), then to a practice room -- which was the only space available large enough (besides the courtyard) and relatively private (which the courtyard decidedly was not) -- to perform the mildest of her kamaeru exercises, stretching her sore muscles, demonstrating to the healing ones what would be expected of them once they were ready for use.

Next, to a library -- while the Tower had a central repository, each Order had a smaller collection of texts that delved into the mysteries of the schools of magic in which each specialized. Though it was not uncommon to see a robe of a different color in any particular set of stacks, the majority were of that Order. Peregrine most often visited the main library, although she did make herself known to the curator of the White Archive, and spoke with her about plans to research divination magics.

After that, she met up with Althaia for lunch; the elf seemed to have been assigned, whether by Mistress Z'boim or her own Master, as Peregrine's nurse, and at least for the first several days she was a welcome helpmeet. They did encounter Sotiris, at least at a distance: it was difficult to tell whether his disapproving expression was aimed solely at Peregrine. More trying in their way were the looks Peregrine drew due to her unusual skin and now-changed eyes; she had yet to succeed at altering their dramatic appearance.

Once they finished eating, they would go together to a reading room until dinner, after which they would return to Peregrine's quarters, often with a text over which they would together pore. Althaia instructed her in the basics of the healer's art; Peregrine in turn showed her some simple jewelry-crafting.

By the third day, she had no twinges when performing the gentle kamaeru dances, and gained permission to try the more demanding ones; by the fifth, even the moderate exercises produced in her gut only a slight ache. Ten days after she had woken, she was moving normally, performing the most strenuous of the kamaeru movements she knew with only the usual difficulty -- a little less, truth be told. Mistress Z'boim seemed pleased with the progress of her healing, though she temporized with ‘another day or two’ when Peregrine asked if she could alter her form.

It was the night after that, an hour or so after settling down with Althaia reading aloud and Peregrine inspecting a spool of gold wire (for which she had traded the amulet she'd finished in the Test) with a loupe she had borrowed from the seller, when a knock came at the door. "Come in!!" she called, paying no attention to whomever entered as she slowly unwound the wire, head down over it.

She heard Althaia squeak, and stand quickly up; not a word was said, but the person was clearly someone of authority, because her elven associate mumbled something Peregrine did not quite catch and scurried from the room, closing the door behind her. There was a few moments of silence, then Peregrine said, "Well, you scared her away; speak or have a seat. Or both, I suppose."

"I brought you a letter," came a voice she didn't know well, but recognized.

"Master Dalamar," she said, continuing her inspection. "I did not take you for a messenger."

"Part of my official duties from time to time," came his voice, which was sounding irritated; she felt the presence of his body come to stand next to her, looming behind her left shoulder. "Are you going to look up?"

"And lose my place, Master? If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd really rather finish my inspection rather than having to go over the entire length again." And it is my room, she thought to herself, for all that it's in your Tower. She heard a packet drop onto the table; probably paper. "May I inquire as to the source of this letter?"

"Synna of Shanarah, House Mystic, born House Gardner."

"Never heard of her."

"She's probably the greatest diviner on Krynn!!"

"Pretty good at secrecy, too."

Silence from the Highmage as he fumed at her sarcasm; he was clearly not used to being treated so cavalierly -- or rather, as an ordinary person. And the reminder that Silvanesti's greatest mages were unheard of beyond their former borders ... probably pricked his pride a little. On the other hand, he is the most famous of Silvanesti's mages.

"Just a little bit more, Wayreth," she said softly as she worked her way along the wire, trying to placate him. "I am hoping to turn this into something worth enchanting, but I can only do that --"

"-- if the materials are exceptional, yes, I know how such things are done." He sounded peevish, which was to be expected, her explaining how enchantments would only take to items of outstanding make. "You may finish your assessment."

Which prompted a question in Peregrine's mind. She let it reach her lips, because why not? He had come to her chamber, instead of summoning her to his office. "Do you pursue any crafting art, Master?"

There were a few moments of silence as Dalamar considered whether he should answer the question, during which she worked her way down another half-foot of the fine glinting metal strand. "Calligraphy, I suppose."

"Aaah," she murmured. "Scrolls?"

"Yes," he agreed. "My only significant fiscal contribution to the Orders. You are aware of your responsibilities, should you produce an item of value?"

Peregrine frowned as she worked the last length. "I ... have not been told, no."

"A tithe worth something between a quarter and a half of the sale price," he told her, "depending on whether it's magical or not."

"So much!!"

"There's an entire schedule that is a pain to memorize," he responded, "and an even greater pain to keep up with because it gets altered every two years, but if you keep track of what you sold, and send a fifty-percent tithe along with your reporting, the accountants will put overages towards unusual expenses you may have incurred at the Tower, banking the rest towards anything you might choose to acquire from our stores and libraries."

"And the rest?"

"Goes towards mutual upkeep, of course." Dalamar shifted, sounding annoyed again, that he should have to explain the idea of 'communal resources' to her. "Research grants, all that sort of thing. For which," he added judiciously, "if someday you're interested, you can apply. Believe me, equipment, material, and incidental expenses add up quickly when you're researching a spell; best do that in the Tower instead of using your own purse."

She nodded in understanding. "That makes sense to me," she admitted. "It just wasn't something I was expecting here." Finishing her scrutiny of the wire, she removed the loupe and sat back in her chair, rubbing her eye. "Thank you for waiting, Master Dalamar," she said. "I apologize for asking you to do so, but --"

She'd looked up at him, and with him looking down at her, their eyes naturally met -- and locked. The look stole her breath from her chest, leaving it tight as if she were deep underwater and had exhausted her supply; he stepped -- staggered -- back and dropped into the chair abandoned by Althaia, looking as if he'd been punched in the forehead by an ogre. Which, her brain providing idiotic commentary as its knee-jerk reaction to the event, is not that far off from the reality. "Well, fuck me," she sighed, staring at Dalamar Nightson, her latest valin-bond.

She thought she heard laughter echoing down the hall.

Chapter Text

The Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth
Linares, 1 Reapember 546 AC, Last Watch rising, 19, and later
S30:L9:N2H

"Too bad we can't go tonight."
-- One or the Other, and Maybe Both

"... I'm sorry, what?"

He even sounds like he'd been punched hard in the head. "Right word, right time," Peregrine muttered, then quickly said aloud, "Master, this is going to take some explanation, but can I describe to you what you're feeling right now?"

Dalamar blinked a couple of times, then finally tore his eyes away from hers -- an act which mercifully released her own. He pushed himself to his feet in a convulsive heave, both his hands closing into white-knuckled fists. "Do so. Immediately."

"It is the effect of the valin," she hastened to explain. "Confusion, a change of focus, a singularity of focus: me. Burning, too: mind and heart, yes, but --" and her glance downwards to the region of his hips was instinctive "-- groin as well. I'm experiencing the same sensations, though with you as the target." And maybe a few more I'm not telling you, the snark side of her mind added privately.

He stared at her for a moment, their eyes locking again, but the heart-lock had already been forged, the moment of the view of the entirety of the other severed. And we are both lucky it has, she added to herself, involuntarily thinking of her first valin-bond. She couldn't help but flinch slightly as he whirled, stalking to the door, even going so far as to put his hand upon the latch before his fingers curled around it, gripping tightly, then releasing as he spun back. "Damn you."

"This is not my fault," she snarled back at him. "Nor is it yours. It's a damn-fool idea come up with by Irda elders two thousand years before Silvanesti was founded. It's the entire reason I'm here -- not to indulge in this one with you," she clarified at his affronted expression, "but because of the valin in general. Gaah!!" She threw up her hands, then rubbed at her face.

"How do we break it?" Dalamar's tone was peremptory.

"We," she snapped, "don't. We give it what it wants, and it ends."

Dalamar stared at her, the kender tales going through his head. "We have to --" He halted, appalled.

"Couple, yes.

"I have to --"

"Breed me, again yes." She went back to rubbing her face in exasperation. The fire within was getting hotter.

"How long does it take?"

She looked up at him; good, the anger was receding. "Ten, maybe eight hours if we focus exclusively on satisfying it." She hesitated, then added somewhat reluctantly, "But it can be extended, if the pair involved want to do so, and have the willpower to ... delay complete gratification."

His scowl became a frown of contemplation, examining her beauty. Not caught by surprise, he could consider his partner-to-be. "Can it be resisted completely?"

"... occasionally," Peregrine had to admit. "Rarely. Mostly by complete ascetics who only want to be left to their contemplations of how evil their tendencies are. Sorry," she said, with a vocal cant of 'not sorry', "but with most of those I'd like to smack the aloofness out of them."

Dalamar gave a grunt. "So it can be denied."

"It can," she confirmed with a sigh, "but it takes months, sometimes years, of meditation, fighting the urge, striving to turn its focus inward. Do you really want to spend that amount of time on this one thing, Highmage?"

"No," he admitted, then studied her, curious. "Why would you want to extend it?"

The cerulean of her cheeks deepened as she blushed. "Well ..." She looked into her lap, picking at her nails. "I ... it's ... complicated."

"You mean embarrassing."

Dalamar's astute observation made her blush even darker, focus on her hands all the more fiercely. "Yessir."

The tension increased, resolution uncertain. Dalamar finally broke the silence to say, "I think we ought to talk this over in more comfortable circumstances." He dipped two fingers into a pouch, then handed her what appeared to be a large, slightly battered white marble at first glance. A closer look hinted at something within, what appeared to be a compass needle in the traditional crimson-and-black. "While I do not intend to ... consummate ... this situation tonight, I think we ought to discuss how to handle it -- and I have work yet to do. Read your letter," he directed, "and make yourself comfortable. When you are ready, say 'digas', and follow the red end of the arrow; it will direct you to my quarters."

She curled her fingers around the use-chipped orb. "Yes, Highmage."

"Until then, Apprentice." He nodded coolly to her, and stepped again to the door. There was a moment she thought he might not open it, but then he did, and the sound of it closing behind him was simultaneously a threat and a promise.

---

Apprentice Lydia:
 

I am pleased to know that you have survived your Test of High Sorcery; I know how difficult it can be, and the difficulty of yours has surpassed that of any others in years beyond counting. Now that you have survived, I am able to see certain things more clearly, and offer you advice which you may take or not, as you see fit.

First, understand that for my actions of the past -- and make no mistake, I am neither so arrogant nor so inflexible that I cannot admit that my actions, for all the intentions behind them, were cruel, the more so that they were done deliberately -- I am banished from the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth for a period of fifty years. While the thread of my fate has not to this date been obscured from me, that it entwines with yours has made it ... less certain.

Despite this exile, I still hope that you will do me the honor of permitting me to become your sponsor and take you as apprentice, to guide you in your first few years of association with the Orders. Despite the rumors that you will likely hear, the cottage I live in does actually keep itself to one location; only around Wayreth does it get a little confused. My cottage and I must depart soon, though our destination is ... uncertain. The answers to that uncertainty reside in you.

That having been said, a suggestion or two in regards to what will have happened between the time this note has been delivered and the time which you are reading it may prove useful in your very near future ...

---

While ordinarily Peregrine would have used her knuckles, the astonished-knight-of-Solamnia knocker on the door was too winsome to not lift its chin upwards to close its mouth; releasing it, of course, let it drop back down and thump against the plate, sending the sound vibrating through the thick wood. A second time, and a third, and then the door swung silently back, to reveal a suite in part like, and in other ways very much unlike, the one in which she'd argued with the echo of Raistlin.

For one thing, there were three rooms; the door opened into a sitting area of some size, with chairs and couches capable of comfortably hosting eight or a dozen individuals, whether in separate groups of three or five or more generally unified. Small tables rested here and there for drinks or to set aside a book; a hearth opposite the entry bore a small fire to ward off the chill of the stone.

To the left was an archway across which was drawn a curtain; Peregrine assumed it was the Conclave leader's bedchambers, and eyed it thoughtfully for a moment before turning to the right. There, a sizable office-cum-library could be seen through the first doorway's mirror, books on shelves lining the walls the same way they did in the room she'd visited at the start of her Test. The desk behind which Dalamar sat was equally expansive and well-lit as Raistlin's, though instead of pretending to read, he was writing.

"Give me a few more minutes to finish up this paperwork, and then I'll be free," came his voice, distracted though it was.

"Of course, sir," she responded; he'd done her the same courtesy, after all.

"There is an open bottle on a sideboard on the far wall from you, just inside the office," he added, "if you wish a glass of wine."

"Thank you," she said, leaning her head to the side and realizing that the office had another opening there. The Robe of the Three Cousins seemed to whisper around her legs as she wove through the room to the sideboard, feeling less a warm robe for the mage who has better things to do than clothing and more like something for a seduction. She picked up a glass and removed the replaced cork from the already-open bottle, glancing over at the desk to see if he already had a cup. It appeared not, which made some sense; he would want to keep as clear a head as possible, and if he was feeling the valin-fire as strongly as she was, Peregrine figured even half a glass of wine would have made it difficult to focus.

As that realization passed through her head, she frowned down at the half-glass she'd poured herself, then put the bottle down and picked up the carafe.

Armed with a glass of well-watered wine, she glanced at the books. "Might I browse, sir?" A vague wave of his pen gave her permission, allowing her to turn and begin examining the books on the shelves backed against the sitting area.

Going along the line, most of them were mundane, a hundred-plus years of summaries, documentation, the records any large organization needed in order to keep itself coherent. A few more were otherwise specialized, undoubtedly copies of books to be found in the libraries elsewhere in the Tower, but the copies here looked to have been read multiple times anyhow. She drew one of these latter out, opening it to its first page; within two paragraphs she was in above her knowledge level, and by the third she was well-baffled. Closing the book, she re-shelved it, then took a sip from her glass.

"What did you think?" came Dalamar's voice from behind her.

"It is comforting to know," she confessed, "that there is still so much to learn."

His chuckle was smooth and warm, a sound that made her think of toasty sheets and a fireplace. The heat within her increased, and she felt a hint of the weakness that would come and go, pulling at their life-force, until they succumbed to satisfying the valin. After that, well ... the valin could give as well as take. "The more you learn," he mused, "the more there is to learn."

Peregrine nodded thoughtfully. "One of my Masters used to say something very similar: 'the more you know, the more you realize how much you don't know.' He was talking about people -- I think -- even though he was my martial instructor."

She heard Dalamar 'hmm' behind her, as if reluctant to have anything in common with someone who taught such physical skill. A few more minutes of his pen scratching on the various documents, and finally he sighed, slouching back to wipe the pen's metal tip clean of ink. "Well. That takes care of now, and for at least a little while in the future." Though her back was to him, she could practically feel his eyes moving to her, examining the shape of her, consciously or not. "If you'll make me a glass like yours, I'll finish cleaning up here and meet you by the fire."

"Of course," she said, deciding that at this point, for this thing, she probably ought not to be using his titles and all. It suddenly made her wonder if she sounded as obsequious as Althaia. Moving to the sideboard, she evenly mixed water and wine, then moved to two chairs set up to converse in front of the fire.

Dalamar joined her a few minutes later, taking the glass from her hand and sipping. An approving nod was her reward for watering the wine; making plans needed a clear head. His eyes, shifting to her, moved along her robe-shrouded form. "So. How do you propose we handle this?"

Turning the stem of the glass between her fingers, she deliberately moved her gaze to the fire, because what she really wanted to do is let her eyes feast on him, which would lead to letting her hands feast on him, which would lead to the defeat of the entire point of the meeting. She replied, "I don't think it would be a good idea to do it here in the Tower; do you agree?"

He nodded, and shifted his gaze to the fire as well. "Couplings here are not unusual, but knowledge of them inevitably becomes common. For all we are here for the magic, it is a small community, and gossip is the second-most-sought-after coin."

"Then permit me to ask you a question. How long has it been since you've taken a vacation? How long since you've left the Tower for any significant period of time?"

Dalamar thought, in turn twirling the glassware's stem between his fingertips as he watched the flames play along the wood. "Years ... decades," he mused. "Come to think of it, except for the embassy to Teyr, I've not left the Tower since I took over as Highmage."

"Then perhaps a vacation of a week or two is in order?"

"Hah." Dalamar sounded amused, which was good. "That takes care of getting me out of the Tower; what about you?"

She pulled in a deep breath, and said, "Synna has asked me to be her apprentice."

"Really." He sounded intensely interested, even going so far as to give her a sideways glance. "She hasn't taken an apprentice since ... well, over a hundred years. Maybe more."

"I am intending to accept, but split my time between her place, where-ever she ends up, and here."

Dalamar's eyebrows rose. "Really. How do you expect to be able to do that?"

"Study, Master Dalamar, but that is neither here nor there. My point," she said, "is that I would be leaving with her on the morrow."

"Ahhh. Taking care of your removal from the Tower's environs."

"Exactly. I would not want to impose upon Synna, so I suggest you find me at her cottage, and then we go elsewhere."

Dalamar took another sip, then rubbed the wet rim with his fingertip, causing the crystal to sing softly. "Do you have a place in mind?"

"If you wish to indulge yourself, the Pink Palace, Neraka."

His eyebrows rose again. "The Governor-General's house? How is that? And Neraka does not seem a safe place for you."

"With your permission, I would not wear my robe. The Governor-General has had another, less indulgent, structure built where the Temple of Darkness once stood, and sold the Palace. A rather sharp kapak fem bought it and turned it into an inn."

"And brothel, I expect."

"Well, yes," Peregrine admitted, "that too, but the important thing is that discretion is their primary selling point, the pleasures secondary. For the powerful of the Dark Knights and the wealthy of the lands who look to them for protection and have reason to visit Neraka, the Palace is a place where they can be certain neither their assignations nor conversations are heard and discussed -- outside of the Palace, anyhow.

"As for my safety otherwise," she concluded, "I worked at the Pink Palace for five months some years ago, just as they were establishing themselves. Made jewelry that looked expensive but wasn't; casual destruction of things of beauty and value tend to be an indulgence of the rich, powerful, and lacking in self-control. Hithik decided that it would be better if it were the jewelry that got damaged instead of her boys and girls."

Dalamar lifted his glass to her. "Returning to visit; that sounds plausible."

They both sipped. "Yes. It is, however, extremely expensive, and I would not expect to receive any sort of discount."

"How expensive?" Dalamar inquired.

"For the suite I have in mind, something over a thousand steel per week."

It was Dalamar's turn to sound surprised as he exclaimed, "So much!!"

"Yes, well -- discretion, remember? And their kitchen is excellent, which makes an extended stay indulgent in that regard as well. Let me think." Peregrine started listing off costs. "The suite would normally be forty-five a day, but there would definitely be an upcharge -- probably half again as much -- if we wished to be left entirely alone, with meals and cleaning being delivered discreetly. Twenty-five or thirty steel a day per person for food, another five per day for the bath and raincloset --"

"What's a raincloset?" Dalamar wondered.

"Oh, the most amazing thing," she grinned at the flames. "Heated water under pressure, separated into small streams by a grating, spraying down upon your standing body. Positively sybaritic. Anyhow. The raincloset and bathtub, laundry service --"

"We can use magic for that," he said dryly.

"Oh, I intend to, otherwise we'd incur additional clean-up costs, but after the workout I expect we'll give them, I would like for us to have new, clean sheets three or four times a day. Nice ones, too -- silk and fine cotton."

Dalamar chuckled. "It sounds like you are planning on enjoying yourself."

"Actually, I plan on you enjoying yourself," she stated, glancing sideways at him. "First vacation in thirty years, you ought to relax."

He regarded her over his glass. "Why did you extend it?"

She darkened again, returning her gaze to the fire and taking her own sip of watered wine before confessing, "I suppose that requires some explanation. I admired him, my second valin-bond; Sinul had been, before I trained in magic, my primary instructor in kamaeru. Strictly speaking, he still is. Considerably older than me, late middle-aged for my kind, but because of his work, very vital, vibrant ..."

"Compelling?"

"Oh, yes," she laughed, glad of his understanding. "I was years out of his direct tutoring by that time, of course. But ... I'd always had the crush of the student for the teacher, I suppose, and he was not adverse to taking time to indulge. So we arranged for food to be dropped off five times a day, and spent the better part of three enjoying each other."

"Mmm," Dalamar said in the middle of a sip, having once more (and wisely) returned his eyes to the fire. "Five times a day?"

"Morning, luncheon, evening, late evening, early morning. We caught naps now and then, but the valin helps keep you awake and coherent. Still, you need to provide the energy, and so the food and drink. We resisted constantly joining yoni and linga, indulged the procreative urge in other ways and, well ... enjoyed ourselves."

"Interesting. If it isn't too personal, how many times have you experienced this?"

"The valin? This is my third."

"Will you tell me about your first?"

"Oh, graces." Peregrine blew out a breath, and for a moment considered turning down the request, the face of the male surging out of her memory to replace, for a moment, the essence of Dalamar burning within her heart and mind -- and loins. "With Tamin, it was ... we never even managed to break the soul-gaze. Both young, each of us the other's first valin-bond. We had been taught what it was, of course, and with that knowledge, when you experience it, there's no mistaking it.

"I practically climbed into his arms, and he carried me to his room. I expect we got our clothing off sometime in the first hour, but it's frankly something of a blur. Once we connected," she said, her voice low enough for Dalamar to have to tilt his head to hear her, "we never pulled apart. I don't think he even ever got soft. The urge was always there, at that point, instinctive and primal and driven. The valin released us after, I don't know, maybe three hours."

"From what you've told me, that's extraordinarily rapid."

"Oh, yes. I was sore for days afterwards; we were practically raw from the constant sexual activity, and went immediately to the healers."

"Well, by all means let us avoid that; it does not sound like a good time."

She had to agree with that, and so lifted her glass in a toast.

"So. What happens afterwards?" Dalamar glanced sideways at her. "We know so little about the Irda."

"That's ... a question with a complicated answer," she admitted. "It depends largely on the culture, and to a somewhat lesser extent the parents." She explained about the various divisions of the shattered high ogre nation -- the Secluded Knistra, the Dark Nzunta, the Twilight Mischta, the Plain Fitulh, and the two affiliations of the life-loving Valinyi, the Tsytri 'Dancers' and the Beruch 'Builders'.

"Amongst the Valinyi," she told him, "raising a child is communal. There are house-mothers who do the primary work, but also instructors, explorers, storytellers -- everyone, really. If one parent or both are around, they too share in the primary tasks, but we encourage bonding with those who most support and inspire us."

"Ah-hah. Such was Sinul."

She laughed. "So he was. Attractive, too. We stayed lovers until the child was born, and now and again afterwards."

"Mmmm. There's the other part of the 'afterward' I was wondering about."

"Once the valin releases us, you mean?" Peregrine looked sideways at him again, thoughtful. "I think," she said slowly, "that although we will never have the same view on things -- considering just the color of our robes, our reasons for doing them are radically different -- I think our curiousity and the liveliness of our minds would ... provide a useful counterpoint for each other over the long term. And if you do decide we ought to indulge ourselves, and so discover compatibility, I am not adverse to having you as an occasional -- or even frequent -- partner for bedsport. I haven't had someone in my bed for months, nor someone consistently there for at least a couple of years."

Dalamar's eyebrows lifted for a third time. "Aren't you the bold one, Apprentice Lydia the Peregrine."

"This, Highmage Dalamar the Dark, is entirely outside the Towers, and even the magic. So I will call you Dalamar, and perhaps 'Nightson', or ... other things, depending. Entirely appropriate to the situation and audience at hand, of course. Now the question remains: do you wish to indulge in an extended period of debauchery, licentiousness, lasciviousness, obscenity, carnality, concupiscence, and salaciousness?"

"Don't wield your thesaurus at me, young lady," he laughed. "Stand up and face me, if you will."

Her teeth caught her lower lip, and she stood, drawing open the Robe of the Three Cousins, which was less the thick samite weave she'd first put on, and now a thin satin silk. Have to investigate that, she thought to herself, but watched him as he looked at her with the eyes of a lover-to-be.

Beneath, she had worn ... relatively little. While 'relatively little' was what most mages wore beneath their robes, the Robe of the Three Cousins remained at least somewhat open at the front, so actual clothing was required. What she'd selected would, she hoped, enflame his desires and tilt his decision towards indulgence.

Upon hips and legs she wore her performance tights, thin cotton in a stretchable weave and intense red dye that clung to her legs, thighs, hips, and ass. It also clung to her groin; in the firelight, she knew she was displaying the outlines of her mons and folds, undoubtedly with a sizable dark patch of her valin-induced lubricant a flag of eagerness for him.

And it would be visible, because her top wasn't long enough to reach that far. The blouse was an aging white button-down, worn thin, and snugged close about her waist with the same wide sage-green belt she'd worn to her interview with him. She'd taken the advice of the letter and not worn a breast-band, so the firm heaviness of her breasts and the dark peaks of her thick nipples were very visible through the becoming-sheer linen. No doubt her stiffening nipples were becoming more distinct as she felt the fiery urge to mate rise swiftly within her.

Once, she'd been a 'rectangle' -- athletic and not especially busty, not particularly hippy -- and her first child had made her an 'inverted triangle' -- but five more had done their work to widen her hips and swell her bust further. Kamaeru kept her from becoming an apple, and most males (elven as well as human, she'd noticed) seemed to enjoy the hourglass look of her. Dalamar certainly appeared to like what he was seeing, if what she spotted in his groin was the erection she thought it was.

"Let's plan on ... two weeks, shall we say?"

"I suggest three thousand steel, then," she replied, finally able to tear her gaze away from him. "For contingencies."

"Good idea. I will pick you up at Synna's tomorrow, early afternoon."

"I look forward to it, Dalamar," she said with fervent honesty. "For now, I had better leave, or we won't need that getaway."

His laugh was half amusement and all agreement as he saw her out the door.

Outside she paused, turning back, her robe still open to show him her curves, though her hands were ready to draw it shut. "Or five thousand, if you'd care to stay longer."

He smiled slowly, leaning against the door's frame, his robes shifting; ah, yes, he was definitely erect, and of a more-than-respectable size she knew she would appreciate. "Lydia the Peregrine, do you have a thing for mature males?" His voice was quiet, pitched to barely carry to her ears.

"Competent ones? Gods yes," she confessed fervently, looked down at his shrouded erection, then bit her lower lip again. "Two months would probably be too long, though." Another blush heated her face, or maybe it was the valin heating her body, but she pulled the robe closed and, turning, strode down the hall.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but she thought she could feel him admiring her ass as she walked away.

Chapter Text

XXIII - XXIV

Making plans. Moving house. Teasing with intent.

The Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth and Synna's Cottage
Palast, 2 Reapember 546 AC, High Watch rising, 12
S30:L9*:N3*

"What a wicked old woman."
-- Dalamar the Dark

She didn't even bother trying to masturbate that night; she knew she wouldn't be able to achieve an orgasm, and so after packing her belongings once more, dozed fitfully until morning. When she rose, she penned a formal letter of acceptance, went to breakfast, informed Mistress Z'boim of her departure and received grudging leave to change only after noon, and only if it was strictly necessary, and delivered the formal acceptance of apprenticing to the office of Master Falgren. Returning to her room, she gave Althaia a hug goodbye and let her know she'd received (and accepted) an offer from Synna to become her apprentice; doing so would probably have the information throughout the Tower by nightfall, or at least the nightfall the next day. After that, more than an hour before the noon deadline, she headed into the gardens in search of Synna's cottage.

It was good that she did, because the cottage seemed to not wish itself found. She spent half an hour tramping about the gardens and orchards nearest the Tower, getting odd looks from those apprentices tending them (or for many of them, casting the spells to create servants to tend them, which seemed to be practically the same thing).

Eventually she growled at herself, put her backpack down, and retrieved the glass eye from the kenderpouch. The ritual that followed took time -- ten minutes -- and the song and dance she used drew even more stares from the mages working in the vast herb garden within which she'd stopped, but at the end of it a flicker of magic soared high into the air, over three times the height of the Tower's two tallest peaks. From the vantage of eight hundred feet, she could examine the surrounding terrain, and for once see the boundary between the oaks close upon the Tower and the pines of the forest beyond.

Unfortunately, a quick scan failed to reveal any sort of cottage, or at least it wasn't beside any of the gardens. It took ten minutes of painstaking examination before she managed to spot a slight wisp of smoke and, from that clue, figure out where the cottage ought to be. With a frustrated growl -- and trying to ignore the energy-sapping demand of the valin to turn around, find Dalamar, and ravish him on the spot -- she hoisted her pack again, and trudged on her way.

"Right on time," the wizened old elf fem greeted her, standing in the doorway of the cottage cradled in the protective arch of the oak tree.

"Mistress Synna?" Peregrine panted.

"Of course, of course. Come inside girl, we have to leave." She tottered out of the way, letting Peregrine by, then closing and latching the door behind her before shuffling over to the kitchen area of the one-room cottage. "Where to go, where to go."

Peregrine watched, slowly working the heavy pack off her shoulders once again and letting it drop to the ground as the white-haired crone finally got behind a reading stand holding what Peregrine at first thought was a cookbook.

She leafed through it slowly, then called, "Padraic, here boy!!" A tall four-legged stool scampered out from the corner, squatted down for her to sink back onto it, then lifted her securely upwards so that she could browse in comfort. "Silvanesti, no no," Synna said, running her fingers along a page. "Qualinesti is out, same as the lands of the Kagonesti. Sancrist? Ugh, count out all of Ergoth, Kharolis, the Plains of Dust ... hmm." She looked over at Peregrine. "Don't be shy, girl, I can only bark these days, though if I was only two hundred years younger, that Dalamar of yours -- mm!!"

Synna laughed, and tapped one finger on the book. "Come help me decide where we're going. Want to live underwater? The Dimernesti would welcome us, they have before. No? Well, somewhere on land, then."

Peregrine stepped around to get a look at the 'cookbook'. The centerpiece to which it was opened turned out to be a map of Ansalon, not particularly detailed but up to date, and with notations which Peregrine presumed were page numbers.

Synna continued nattering on. "Balifor and Goodlund are still so much the Desolation. Being near the Ruins wouldn't be bad -- oh, but there's the Peak of Malys, that would definitely make things difficult. Hmm hmm hmm. Kothas, Mithas, no, Kern no, the Ogrelands no, Blöde no, certainly not Blödehelm or anywhere in Sable's swamp ... nowhere in Taman Busuk. No to Nordmaar, no to Estwilde because I've never liked it there. Why is Estwilde so long?" she wondered aloud, finally tapping her fingers on Solamnia. "Do you speak Solamnic?"

"Yes, ma'am." Which was true enough; Solamnia is where she'd spent much of the time between rambling with Slingberry and finally coming to Wayreth. "Is that important?"

"Well, on the one hand, it makes chatting with the neighbors easier, but on the other, it keeps you from having to learn a new language in order to chat with the neighbors. How many languages do you speak?"

"Nine," she admitted, "if you don't count Magius."

"Definitely count Magius," judged the seer. "Hmmm. Oh, I know. Ohh, but it'll be a bit of a torment for the lad. Somewhere else for the moment?" She started turning the pages, then decided, "No, best he know at the onset. Let me see. Cypress, myrrh, beeswax, pitch. Time to get to work, girl, we only have seven minutes left."

Peregrine followed the venerable elf's directions to retrieve containers from the cabinets around them. At her direction, as read from the book before Synna, she first extracted five nuggets of myrrh resin from a bottle and, using a mortar and pestle, ground them carefully into powder. Three cells of wax-packed honeycomb came next, the wax squeezed from the cells; Peregrine put the papery remnants into another jar, undoubtedly for use at another time, for some other purpose. Two drops of pitch were added to the powdered myrrh, then mixed using a cypress twig retrieved from a third jar -- and not just any twig, but an unbroken one precisely three-and-three-quarters-inch in length. The liberated beeswax was then used to coax the myrrh-pitch mixture onto the cypress twig, then itself spread along its length.

The preparation finished, Synna had her place the twig in the slot of an incense holder, then bring a splinter from the hearth to touch fire to it. The twig and its burden flared up, then burnt with surprising speed. The pungent smoke it caused (and because of the pitch, it was quite a bit of smoke) filled the room, but in only a minute or so, the air was clear again, as if drawn into the very stones of the cottage itself.

Synna gave a gleeful little laugh. "That's always a delight to watch. Padraic, to the door, please." Obediently, the tall stool bore her there, with Peregrine trailing along behind.

The door opened to a slope, a narrow stretch of grassland with a dozen stone outcroppings within view in either direction. Before them, hemming in the grass, was a tangled, untrammeled wood that stretched down and away. The cottage and its little garden rested at the edge of a similar forest behind them, but even at a glance Peregrine could tell that there was something different about those trees: they both towered and lowered, seemed malevolently patient. Threads of magic ghosted in and out of existence, and though she suspected that the further in they went, the stronger they got ... she definitely didn't want to go investigate. "Mistress Synna," she asked slowly, "where are we?"

"Nightlund Province, Solamnia," the elf fem replied, climbing carefully off 'Padraic' and moving over to the chair that scurried out to allow her to settle into place. The rest of the items her guests were used to seeing outside her cottage came trundling out the door, taking up their familiar stations in the new place and looking, after a moment, as if they'd been there for years if not decades. "That's the Forest of Cypress behind us -- well, the far outermost edge of the Forest. The true Forest, and the Tower within, is several miles in -- somewhere. Now. A pot of tea, if you will, my dear, and we can talk about divinations until Dalamar arrives to whisk you away."

With a last look at the cypress trees towering behind the cottage, Peregrine returned inside and discovered that the cupboards no longer held components.

---

"Synna."

"Dalamar. You're much earlier than I expected."

"I assume Lydia the Peregrine is inside?"

"I believe she's trying to find the teapot at the moment."

He placed his travel bag on the table, then drew back the silver-rune-trimmed hood, revealing the cool, elegant lines of his Silvanesti heritage, dark eyes examining the forest behind the cottage. "Why here?"

"Oh, well. It's important for her. Or it will be. I do apologize for it, though -- to you. She, on the other hand, needs to become acclimated."

"She is going to be pregnant -- you understand that, right?"

"Mmm, of course. And with your child. Your first child, Dalamar, am I right?"

The elf male proved he could still blush. "Yes, I expect so. Jenna took steps."

"And you haven't had a steady lover since then." She paused, looking up at him.

He turned away, from her and from the Forest that concealed the Tower that had once been his -- and before him, his shalafi's. "That is none of your business."

"Not really," she admitted freely, "but consider this, Dalamar -- she is likely to outlive you, not the other way around."

He was silent for a while, then confessed in a low voice, "I've been hard since last night. She was practically naked. I tried to masturbate, but ... I couldn't come."

"Not even with your little toy?"

His face reddened. "Do you know everything??"

Synna laughed, but kept it soft. "Actually, I'm extremely jealous -- in a wistful, those-could-have-been-the-days way. Well, and a cackling old-lady-making-you-uncomfortable way too." She beamed up at him. "Did you bring it?"

He hesitated, then confessed, "Yes, actually. I thought it might be of help, in some way or another."

"Oh, yes. It was made to be used in all of the three holes -- with particularly complete cleaning after Nuitari's favorite, of course."

"Of course," he echoed faintly. A few moments later, he breathed, "Is she ever going to find the teapot?"

It was then that the ogre emerged from the cottage, carrying a serving tray with the teapot, three saucers, and three cups. She paused upon seeing him, darker blue lower lip catching between the pearls of her teeth in that 'oh my god I want him between my legs right now' look, but then she steeled herself and continued to the table. "Tea," she said, naming the items as she set them out, "and honey, and the cinnamon bark." Placing a cup on a saucer, she poured for her new Master, then said, "With your permission, ma'am, I'll get my pack and be off."

"You don't need all of it, of course."

"No, ma'am. It took me so long because I was looking for somewhere to stow a few things, and then unloaded them."

"Ah, yes, very good. I'll show you around when you get back."

"I would appreciate that, ma'am." She looked at Dalamar, glanced downwards, and both blushed and grinned. "Be right back." She picked up the two extra cups and saucers and disappeared back inside.

"So how much money did you bring?"

Dalamar hesitated again, then said in a low voice, "Six thousand."

A heavy clank came from the table, where a pouch had appeared. "Another four, along with several blocks of night tea with which you can earn the good will of the house. If you become so inclined after the two weeks, let Tener know that you're going to extend your vacation for a while."

"Two months?!?"

"By the Three, enjoy yourself, Dalamar -- and enjoy her, too. She will. And you might be surprised."

He hesitated, then took the additional money, tucking it into his travel bag before lifting it to his shoulder.

Peregrine emerged from the cottage -- or rather, a version of her did. She was back to her shorter human form and traveling clothes, backpack over her shoulder, a few years older than what she'd appeared to be when he first interviewed her -- and with her natural curves, unlike before. Remarkably, her eyes were brown. "Ready."

He nodded, then lifted his arm. "Come here," he instructed.

She approached, and when she took his hand, he drew her in under his arm, where she fit as if she was created to be there; the press of her hip against his thigh, of her breast against his side, made his cock pulse fiercely, ache to be buried within her. He couldn't help himself; hand on her shoulder, he turned his head to draw in the scent of her hair, which turned out to be a mistake, because not only did it send another surge of lust through him, it gave her the opportunity, the permission, to press herself against him, one hand on the small of his back, fingers pressing just above his buttocks, the other across his belly, almost against his member, which again strained for her.

"A-hem."

The blush on this Peregrine's face was much clearer as she looked over at her Mistress. "Sorry."

"Scoot, you two. Dalamar -- take your time," the oracle teased.

Unable to keep a straight face, he pulled his hood back up, concealing his identity, then let his hand fall further, to cradle her waist. Picturing a location in Neraka he'd been several times before, he spoke. "Kushat."

And they were gone.

Chapter Text

XXV

Encountering knights. The Pink Palace. The Arbor.

The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember 546 AC, High Watch falling, 23
S31:L10*:N3*

"Well. That was closer than I would have liked."
-- Dalamar Nightson

Held within the curve of his arm, her face turned and pressed against Dalamar's shoulder, Peregrine tried and failed to separate from him. His scent was rich, complicated, compelling, masculine. The valin's heat flared fiercely in her, and her hands trembled, pressed against his lower back and belly, wanting to burrow deeper into his robes and explore.

"As your Master said, 'a-hem.'" His voice sounded amused, not affronted.

"Don't think I can't feel your own hand slipping downwards, you lech," Peregrine teased him, but managed to straighten up (though not pull away) enough to take in her surroundings. The intricate magic around them, the shielding of tall walls, and the several discreet exits from the spot suggested that this was a landing circle of sorts -- for those who could cast the spell (or afford to have the spell cast upon them) to transport them here. Officially the capital of Taman Busuk, the true function of Neraka was as the headquarters of the Dark Knights; for both reasons, there would be sufficient individuals wishing to discreetly come and go.

"Yes, well, let us be away from here, at least," he murmured, and nudged her towards one of the exits.

She took the hint, disentangling herself and leading the way, blushing a bit as she walked in front of him, knowing that his eyes ... not necessarily would be, but that they could be, admiring her backside. Well, it's not like he won't get plenty of time for that, she thought, and pinkened further as the valin-fire encouraged that line of imagining.

Stepping through the several short angles of the passage, she emerged onto one of the streets of the well-walled city, looking about to get her bearings. "Ah -- Queenshearth," she said.

"They finally named them?" Dalamar's voice came from somewhat closer than she expected it to. At her inquiring expression he added, "I haven't been here in something over fifty years, and when I was, I wasn't paying attention to the local landmarks."

"Well, you know humans," she replied, and led the way through the light traffic -- expensive clothing, expensive horses, expensive carriages. "They have to put a name on everything. This is the inn district -- the snobbish one. A few private homes, but even those take in ‘guests’ -- usually someone rich, plus their entourage."

She quieted as they approached the tower watching over the only exit from the district onto the wide Queen's Way. "I don't suppose you speak Nerakan," she asked quietly, trying not to move her lips.

"I do, in fact," he replied almost as softly as they passed the watch-tower with its alert guardians.

"Good." She waited for a few dozen yards while they moved north along the Queen's Way towards the closest of the squares, then returned to a conversational tone. Her eyes never rested, constantly wary of potential threats -- of which there were many. "I expect we'll get stopped somewhere along the way; you're a Black robe, which is good for being left alone by most people, but you don't have even the pro forma pauldron that the lowest of the Knights of the Thorn wear. Someone is going to take a look at us, and it'll be easier if you know the language."

They stepped into the Queen's Court, a typically unused space at least a hundred feet on a side. Though the inner gate into Temple Square was still closed, the outer gate to the Emperor's Court was open, and the Square was awash with merchant kiosks. "Huh. That's new," Peregrine murmured, slowing as she eyed the change.

"The open gate and the booths?" She could feel Dalamar shift behind her, scanning their surroundings, the four watch-towers at the corners of the Court.

"Yes. Either something is going on ..."

"Signs?"

"None of the ones I know."

"Nobody seems disturbed," Dalamar observed, examining the merchants hawking wares, "as if this were outside the norm."

"Hmmm. True. So ... maybe a change in access policy?"

"Instead of going twice around? Seems an intelligent change to me."

"True enough -- ulp. Here they come."

Indeed, a trio of Knights of Neraka were stomping a swath through the crowd, which parted before them as they approached the pair. Two men in the heavy darkened-steel armor the Knights of the Lily preferred backed up the one walking before them, a Knight of the Thorn -- clearly also a Black-robed Wizard of High Sorcery. "Submit or Die," the man greeted them in the city's harsh, clipped language. "I am Blood Apprentice Kovar. You will show your face and inform me of your identity, so that I may enter it into the books."

"Just a guest-to-be," Peregrine said quickly, knowing how necessary being discreet about the whole thing was -- and not just for Dalamar, either. "We're heading to the --"

"Pink Palazhe," said the male behind her, raising slender, tanned hands and drawing back his hood; a bizarre accent twisted his words. "I hight Vrook Forezhtvurn, Mazhter of the Eighth. Izh Neraka now zho weak and nervouzh zhat every member of zhe Order of Nuitari vizhiting zhe city for private conzhultationzh muzht report zheir movemenzh to zhe Knights of Neraka?"

Kovar and Peregrine both blanched a little at the insult implied; Peregrine shifted a little, to be able to look back and up at the face of the man she led. Dalamar's visage had changed: he now appeared to be a thin, almost cadaverous human, the right side of his head a skull-like fire-seared mass of flesh, one side of his mouth exposed and explaining his malformed words. That must, thought Peregrine, be the way he looked after the Reclamation of Wayreth. The rest of his new face was dark, tanned with considerable exposure to sun and weather; the unruly shock of hair that had not been blazed away into scar tissue a red to match the fire he claimed.

"Of -- of course not, Master Forestburn," the Blood Apprentice replied after a halting start. "Yet it is wise to know when such great ones as yourself are within the city -- from a security standpoint, I am certain you understand. Random strangers would not wander around Wayreth ..." He trailed off, for of course they would not -- they would not even be able to find the place.

"Am I to be zhtopped by every overly conzherned Talon Leader or zheir zhecond during my zhtay, zhen?" demanded 'Forestburn', once more drawing his hood up, until he was concealed deep within it. "Or is zhere zhome way I can keep zhem from annoying me -- ozher zhan zhomezhing which, zhough perzhonally zhatizhfying, would zhertainly prove detrimental to my conzhultationzh?"

"I -- Master -- ah, that is, yes, if you are willing to wear a medallion. Sir. While out in the city."

The ghastly-visaged mage beside Peregrine seemed to seethe for a long several moments, staring out at the Knight of the Thorn from within his cowl. "I will inzhpect zhis medallion. Immediately."

'Forestburn' placed no special emphasis on any word, but there remained an unspoken 'or else', with the consequences to be named later -- or just perhaps whatever 'Forestburn' was entertained to do at that moment.

"Sir!! This way, sir!!" The Thorn Knight turned quickly on his heel, and gestured to the two knights to fall into escort positions before striding quickly towards one of the watch-towers.

Peregrine shifted, to follow at the same rate, but then came the cold slurred words from the scarred man behind her. "I prozheed at my own pazhe, girl." Her hesitation gave him the moment he needed to reach out with a hand as cadaverous as his face and grip her shoulder.

It stayed there as the two of them strolled in the wake of the Blood Apprentice, gripping firmly but not fiercely. When one of the Lily Knights started to prod them into moving faster, Peregrine didn't dare to do more than glance out of the corner of her eye to try to see what was happening as the knight trailed off and fell silent.

By the time they reached the guard post, Kovar was already emerging. The medallion he carried was perhaps a thumb-length across and made of some sort of metal, going by how it swayed on its black ribbon. He lifted it to Dalamar-turned-Forestburn, who shifted his hand off Peregrine's shoulder in a forbidding palm-out movement. "Juzht zhere," he instructed, then spoke again, this time in the language of magic. "Tsaran korilath ith hakon." His pronunciation was precise, flawless through practice, the spell undoubtedly created through careful experimentation on rephrasing the original in the mystic language to work around his speech issue.

A faint bluish glow came from within the cowl of Dalamar/Forestburn while he examined the held-up medallion. "Vhile out in zhe zhity," he said, as if to confirm.

"Yessir," confirmed the mage-knight.

"Vhat izh zhe penalzhy for not doing zho?"

"I, ah ... this is your only warning, Master Forestburn."

There was silence for a long moment, then near-skeletal fingers reached out to wrap around the medallion and take it from the mage.

---

Peregrine remained silent as they left the watch-tower behind, the medallion around her companion's neck, on display upon his chest. Following the Queen's Way in its spiral around the city, they passed the gates leading out to the neighborhood called Captain's East and the part of the outer city known informally as the Head, then the gate into the armorer's district called the Sheath (and through it to the outer 'Saddle' district). Finally they reached the gate into that area called 'the Playground', long ago the domain of the lascivious Lord Mayor of Neraka, and entered.

The former mayor's two-story (now three) edifice of pink marble, the Pink Palace, was the sultry queen among a court of lewd ladies-in-waiting, to which they moved through the pleasure-seeking crowds. They saw no more issues from either Knights of Neraka or locals; the medallion warded off the former, and the latter gave way to the mage of Nuitari behind her almost as readily as they did the Knights themselves.

Out of ingrained habit, Peregrine led Dalamar in through one of the staff entrances, drawing a few quickly-muffled exclamations; the Black Robe indicated someone not to be messed with. Realizing her error, Peregrine grimaced and apologized the rest of the way through to the front desk, where Hithik recognized her immediately.

"Peri," came the scaly rasp, "sso wonderful to sssee you!! Have you returned to help me put my housse in order??"

Peregrine laughed, though she kept it low; people liked their privacy, so except for the Room of Entertainments, things in the Pink Palace didn't get too loud. "I don't believe your house has ever been out of order, Hithik," she teased back. "No, I'm here with a ... friend ... for a couple of weeks, if you have a certain suite available."

The draconian's whiteless eyes shifted to take in her 'friend', then back to Peregrine. "Which one?"

"The Arbor."

Hithik's eye-ridges shifted upwards in surprise. "For two weeksss? I can barely put ssomeone in it three nightss out of ssseven from its cosst."

"Still forty-five a night?"

"Fifty."

"Complete privacy," Peregrine warned. "And I mean nothing: no peekers, no listeners, no snooping during maintenance -- and quick maintenance at that."

"Oh-ho," the kapak fem crooned softly. "Ssome very intensssse conssultationss, I ssee."

"Zhe prizh," said 'Forestburn' in not-quite-a-snarl.

Hithik's head drew backwards for a moment, secondary eyelids closing and nostrils tightening in a combat reflex, then she drew in a hissing breath before letting it out. "For two weekss, ssomething above a thoussand ssteel, Masster Mage, but not too much above. Plus other conssiderationss, which your ... friend ... negosssiatess for, yess?"

There was only darkness inside the wizard's black hood, but there finally came a single, short nod. He then gave a gesture of his head to draw Peregrine off for a moment's consultation. She followed, wary but curious.

He leaned down to speak privately with her; his nearness made her want to kiss him despite the ruin of his face. "Izh zhere zhomewhere I can vhe zheen, but not be involved?"

Peregrine nodded. "The Room of Entertainments," she said softly. "Through the bead-curtain to the left. Those staying here come out often -- music, conversation, dancing, many kinds of indulgences -- and often the wealthier visitors from Queensheath come to be entertained, so you will be seen, but not approached if you're stand-offish."

"Exzhellent. Get uzh zhe room. Zhplurzh within vroad but not infinite limitzh -- I will enzhoy my time wizh you." The disguised Dalamar straightened up, gave an irritated-looking roll of his shoulders, then moved through the curtain. The sound from the room briefly increased as the pattern of sound-dampening magics upon each tiny bead was disrupted, but as the strings settled back in place, the noise returned to its barely-audible level. Just enough, Hithik had said, to make them want to pay to find out what's going on. It had worked, too -- the Room of Entertainment, with its own wide entrance, drew into the Palace male and fem both, at a quarter-steel a head. That alone made it the biggest-earning room of the Palace, even beyond its status as a stepping-stone for purchasing time with one of Hithik's 'individuals of negotiable virtue'.

Having bowed her head in acknowledgement, Peregrine returned to the patiently-waiting Hithik, thoughtful. "So. The raincloset still working?"

"Oh, yesss. Improved, even -- almosst a full half hour before it goess cool."

"Very nice. How quickly does it recharge?

Hithik hissed laughter. "You are living in it? Five hourss, perhapss four."

"Hmmm. And the bath?"

"Ssseparate tank, sstill."

"How much?"

"Hmmm. Five ssilver for each rainclosset usse, two ssilver for each bath.

"A bargain at twice the price; done. Linens changed four times a day, when the raincloset is in use, which may be deep in the morning dark. That's going to be the only time your staff will be permitted to access the rest of the suite, so make it count."

"You know we have ssomeone ready at any time. Four ssteel a day."

"That’s fine. Now, about food ..."

---

When he followed her into the suite Peregrine had requested, Dalamar managed to tear his eyes away from the sway of her hips and rear and look around. Once the Palace had been converted into serious use, the Governor-General of Neraka had added what amounted to a private apartment to the flat roof of the sprawling two-story building; this had barely needed any work to turn it into the most expensive and private suite in the Palace. Tall screens let in light from the large windows while obscuring the occupants; cleverly canted skylights guided the sun's warmth to the scores of plants, the leaves of which finished the job of ensuring privacy. Warm and, in comparison to the house below and the Nerakan plain, it actually felt ... humid.

Peregrine stepped around the room, inspecting it -- for what, Dalamar wasn't certain -- but after only a few moments of searching he'd spotted the writing desk. Stepping over to it, he quickly scratched out a few lines, then snapped his fingers to get her attention. He gestured her over, and tapped the note.

Had to be noticed by others; self-alteration was about to expire. Cannot speak -- medallion holds clairaudience enchantment. Will write note for you to take down to house matron -- must place medallion outside of room, but with something to hold their attention.

She nodded, then wrote a few lines of her own.

Understood. Will finish making sure spy-holes are blocked, then take note down to Hithik. Any requests?

Will write in note.

She nodded, then surprised him by slipping forward and against him again; this time she did not keep her hands from roaming, one spread-fingered hand splayed across his back, then sliding down to cup his buttock; the other pressed firmly against his belly, then moved down to run over his erection, slow but firm. "I'd love to take care of this right now," she told him (though he wasn't sure it wasn't for the medallion's listeners), "but I need to check the room over, then speak with Hithik about any changes to my directions." The one hand solidly gripped his buttock, the other masturbated him through his robes and smallclothes. "The room is warm; I'm glad. Kind of hoping you'll be naked by the time I get back."

She pushed herself away from him, stepped back, then made herself walk away; glancing back once, she blushed as she caught him watching her. A playful smirk was his reward before he shook his head and turned back to the note, explaining their requirements to the matron. A few minutes later, another few snaps called her attention to him again, and she trotted over, took the sanded and folded note, bringing with her a small towel to collect and muffle the medallion on its ribbon, then headed down. Which gave him time to inspect the premises.

The Arbor was essentially one large room; though the scores of plants lent the humid air a loamy scent that made his heart ache for Silvanesti-That-Was, they did not crowd the large apartment. Besides the writing desk -- which, he suddenly realized, had a much wider writing surface than one usually had, suggesting the well-made cabinetry lent itself to erotic use as well -- there were a solid dining table with seating for six and a conversation group consisting of a comfortable-looking deep-seated couch and several chairs of various make, all in what appeared to be some durable sort of leather.

A necessary was concealed behind a screen close to the door, while on the far opposite side of the room was a substantial alcove containing a tub of polished stone (sumptuously large for a human or elf alone, and big enough for two if they were being friendly) which was almost surrounded by plants. The tub's area gave the illusion that it was on its own in some green space somewhere out in the world.

Helping to form the alcove for the tub, the 'raincloset' was a rectangular stone construct eight or so feet on a side, clearly not only for cleaning but for lovemaking as well. A strange sort of wide stippled flower was presumably where the water would emerge; a low-set wooden saddle-bench waited in an opposite corner. Hand-grips were built into the wall at various heights and on the three walls, and several soaps -- as well as four well-made dildos of various sizes and one exotic shape -- waited for use. He smiled as he saw the toys, his hand straying to his groin to echo the play Peregrine had teased him with.

The bed, however ... the bed was a sybarite's fantasy, easily as large as the raincloset, with a quartet of thick posts holding a canopy overhead. The footboard was waist high and carved with dozens of scenes no larger than his spread hand, each showing some act of sexual pleasure, whether alone or with a partner -- or partners -- of various genders; the headboard exchanged half its height of erotic scenes for closed cabinets and a long open shelf; the rest of the canopy-height board resumed the sexual tutorial begun on the footboard. Heavy curtains were wrapped up and hanging by each post, ready to be unrolled with a simple tug of a cord, then drawn across their sturdy rails to cloak the bed in darkness for a luxuriant doze, no matter the time of day. He walked over, running his hand across the coverlet, and was pleased to discover it not only warm but perfectly dry; clearly something was enchanted to deal with the humidity and inevitable dampness that would have resulted. The room was warm enough, Dalamar was sure, to enjoy wearing little to nothing, which recalled to him the ogre's 'hope'.

He could see why the kapak normally charged fifty steel a night; he could very easily imagine sexual activity taking place on, over, and within pretty much every part of the room, and the plants, bath, and raincloset must cost a fair copper to maintain.

After a few moments of thought, he moved to the table, where both he and Peregrine had placed their satchels, removing his over-robe as he walked; it got draped over one of the chairs. A few moments let him undo the buckle on his belt, worn high around his waist, more for comfort than to keep kender out of his component pouch. Belt and pouches he placed on the table, leaving his under-robe comfortably loose; he pulled out a chair and put one foot on it, removing his boots and undoing the ties on his stockings to take them off before lifting the robe enough to start undoing its buttons.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind as the fine cloth draped off his leg, the gap opening further and further as he went; would Peregrine prefer to 'unwrap her package' herself? That, maybe, was the other half of her 'kind of hoping'.

He had reached the buttons above his groin when the door opened, causing him to turn; a female elf was entering, one clad in Peregrine's clothes, with the sort of curves few amongst the elves might have -- recent mothers, perhaps, or the half-elven. Closing the door, she turned the key in the lock, hung the key on its hook, then turned towards the room, eyes searching for him. Discovering his situation, she slowly smiled, biting her lower lip, and leaned back against the door, hands going behind her as if to keep from touching herself. "By all means, continue."

He did, lowering his foot from the chair, and controlling the fall of the folds so that the robe continued to conceal as he undid the buttons -- a tease for her as he examined her in turn.

She was shorter than her human form by an inch, perhaps two; standing, she would fit against him even more naturally than before. Her softly wavy hair was icy Silvanesti blonde, unbound and falling to mid-thigh, framing a face that was the pale porcelain white of the highest of Silvanesti nobility. Her eyes were several shades lighter than the human form’s walnut-brown, and as she watched him, her slim lips curved upwards in a smile. The elemental beauty of her natural form infused the more ethereal type of the Silvanesti elven, and to look at her was like emerging from the chill underground Urkhan Sea of Thorbardin into the brilliant warmth of the summer sun.

"They'll be leaving a moderate luncheon on the cart in the vestibule in half an hour or so," she said softly, her hazel-eyed gaze examining him with the intensity of a cat inspecting the bird it intends to have for breakfast.

"Whatever shall we do until then?" he said softly, causing her to laugh, low and hungry.

"We'll think of something."

Chapter Text

XXVIa

Disrobing. Fellatio. Copulation.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember 546 AC, Seventh Watch rising, 2
S31:L10*:N3*

"Holy fuck."
-- Dalamar Argent

Dalamar smirked back at her, and asked, "Are you going to come over to help?"

She pushed off the door and crossed to him, taking her time; he clearly knew how to tease, keeping his robe not only drawn away from his body, but overlapping to continue to conceal himself. "You aren't going to like my help," she said, drawing close, hands still behind her back.

"That sounds as if I am very much going to enjoy your help," he retorted playfully, watching her body shift as she approached. "Why an elf?"

"The child's first form will be that of what these bodies' forms would naturally produce," she told him, moving to put the table at his back, then entering his personal space, hands finally coming out from behind her back to grasp the shifting folds of his robe, discover their edges, and slip within. "She -- or he -- will initially age as such, until early puberty for the form, when ... okay, look, I tend towards girls, so I'm just going to use 'she', okay?" Despite the informational conversation, her cheeks flushed as her hands found his muscular thighs, followed them up to his groin, and pressed against his braies-hidden erection.

"I can accept that," he puffed, his hands stilling and eyes closing as his phallus throbbed in her hands. "Do go on."

She shifted half a step closer to breathe, "Rubbing you, or talking?" One hand slid down to cup his shrouded testicles, the other pressing upwards to discover the limits of the underwear.

"Both is fine." His voice barely kept from being a groan, but it looked a near thing; as if to prove they could, his fingers resumed their unbuttoning, his eyes opening to watch her once again.

"Mmmmmm. Okay," she agreed, shifting almost into contact with him so that her hand exploring his clothing could slide around to enjoy the firm musculature of the elf. "My. What a nice strong ass you have. Anyhow. Once she gets to early puberty -- that's what, twenty, twenty five for an elf?" She rewarded his confirming 'mm-hmm' with a bitten lower lip and a slow, firm squeeze of his balls which got a groan and an answering lip-bite from him. "She'll change around then, into her true ogre form, but her elven form will always be firmly locked into her spirit, available for her to shift into at need."

"Mmm. So instead of half-elf ..." His fingers had reached the top of his robe, undoing the last button but still holding the rich cloth closed.

"Silvanesti elf, yes." She licked her lips, then said softly, "Open your robe for me, Dalamar."

Blood darkened his cheeks as he looked down at her; she couldn't quite tell what he was thinking.

Her hands stilled, despite the urging of the valin, then she pressed herself forward, her body against his, adeptly using her lower center of gravity to push him back, press his buttocks against the edge of the table. Her one hand squeezed his balls and the base of his erection, her other hand finally discovering the tie necessary to undo his braies. Tugging slowly but steadily, she met his gaze as she breathed, "Please?"

His blush deepened further, but he finally did as she asked, pulling the robe wide to reveal his body, even as the tie on his trews slipped out of the bow.

She let her eyes slide down from his face to take in the distinct definition of his collarbones, the magic in the small medallion worn on a chain barely long enough to keep it just below the hollow of his throat, then the firm musculature of his bronze-skinned chest. Though marred by the five unhealable seeping wounds inflicted upon him by Raistlin Majere, his pectorals were firm; he clearly maintained his body. Otherwise-smooth skin displayed some definition in his lower torso, though to admire him she had to back out of that close-bodied press. Both hands moved to the waistband of his breeches, curling around it as she looked up at him without lifting her head, eyes smouldering through her lashes.

---

Dalamar's hands gripped the edge of the table, bracing himself as he watched her feast her eyes upon him. When her hands didn't finish freeing him, he smirked in appreciation at her counter-play. "Take them off, Peregrine."

"Lydia," she replied, the lust in her voice almost making music of her name.

"Take them off, Lydia," he corrected himself.

She didn't blush, but her tongue-tip did emerge to press against the middle of her upper lip, glistening in the indirect afternoon light.

His lower lip caught between his teeth as she played with him right back, challenging, demanding partnership. How could he turn down someone like this, with wits that surpassed her stunning beauty? "Please," he breathed.

She didn't answer, only shifted, bending at the waist before him. For an instant, he wondered what she was doing, but by then she'd pulled the waistband wide, nearly putting her entire face into its precum-soaked interior. She drew in a deep breath of the erotic funk, then slid the braies down, keeping her face in the opening until she encountered the jut of his erection.

His cry as she engulfed the crown of his cock filled the room, and his hips lifted, pushing forward in a desperate attempt to sink more of himself in the lascivious wetness of her mouth. Head thrown back, eyes tightly shut, he didn't notice when the braies dropped around his ankles, only gripped the edge of the table harder as her hands, now freed, spread across his hips and curved against his buttocks.

A soft, muffled moan came from her as she bobbed her head, fellating him, taking him incrementally deeper with every dip; his cock rewarded her by throbbing fiercely, more blood pushing into it, turning it from barely-pliable flesh into what felt like a forge-hot bar of star-iron. The orgasm within him -- which by all rights should be flooding her eager mouth -- remained locked behind a wall, presumably an effect of the valin.

And as she shifted, squatting down and pulling his phallus from its upthrust position to one angled outwards, adding aching pressure to its base, he finally managed to lift his head back into place, to look down at her and see her looking back up at him, and realized that she knew what was happening, knew his eruption was being denied by the archaic protocol. His breath hissed inwards, desire spiking beyond intense at the pleasure she was giving him -- pleasure not just physical but intellectual and emotional as well, finally finding someone who would use the tools at her disposal, would see the elf behind the title and beneath the robe, would push and play with him. He luxuriated in the release of the tensions of the rest of his life in the submission to this one, however temporary that indulgence would be.

He surrendered to her control, gripping the edge of the table while she took visible delight in the sensation of his organ inside her mouth. Though her eyes occasionally lifted to view his expression, more often they remained halfway or entirely closed in enjoyment of his size, firmness, and taste -- a taste that kept renewing itself, as his precum leaked copiously onto her greedy tongue. Now and again he could feel the muscles of his penis spasm, pushing the slick lubricant up and out in a series of little spurts that mimicked an ejaculation without granting the same release.

It increased in him yet another tension: the desire to take control of her as well, to watch the tensions in her ebb and grow under his touch, to handle her body with the same gently dominant control with which she had handled him. He wondered if he would crave the taste of her sex the way she yearned for his. The image of folding her up and pinning her to the bed beneath him, sheathing himself in her, straining to breed her, arose in his mind and sent another frantic flurry of throbbing in his cock. It also coursed through his mind, and he groaned as the unmistakable rush of orgasm flashed across his senses.

Yet he wanted -- needed, desperately needed -- more. The pleasure of her suckling and stroking did not diminish, but it was simply not enough. His body yearned for the release of ejaculation. "You," he told her, watching his straining cock half-disappear into her small, stretched mouth, "are a terribly wicked woman."

After another couple of quick bobs of her head, she slurped her obscene way off his organ, capturing it with her hands before it could spring back to eager attention, then easing the sharp ache at the base by letting it straighten upright. Smirking at him, she leaned in, pressing her cheek against the precum- and saliva-smeared surface of his maleness. "I told you you wouldn't like my help," she teased, nuzzling him, one hand continuing to stimulate him by stroking up, grip firm enough to push his foreskin part way back onto the crown, then back downwards to her cheek.

"I like your help very much," he responded, trying and failing to normalize his breath. "By all means, continue -- later. I should be decorating your face with my spunk right now, though, so --"

She grinned up at him, turning her lips to give the girth of his shaft a lewd kiss. "Tell you how to release it?"

"Just a hypothetical," he panted, one hand finally releasing the table to reach out to stroke her forehead, her hair, the side of her cheek that wasn't pressed against his cock, "but I'd have to predict that burying myself in your cunt would do the trick."

"Mmm-hmm," she agreed, open mouth pressed low on his shaft, tongue licking, her hand teasing his crown, the other kneading his sac as she watched him with hazel eyes that seemed to hint at blue for the moment.

He licked his lips in a sympathetic reaction. "Lydia," he asked, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, "do you want our first time to be in bed? Or should I hoist you up onto this table?"

At that, her eyes practically glowed, and she slid her head up his shaft, smearing his aromatic lubricant onto her face before momentarily slurping him into her mouth again, two bobs, three before she rose fully to her feet. Her hands never left his gonads, squeezing and stroking him with quick, eager movements as if she was trying to make him come despite the prevention of the valin. "Bent over the table," came her aroused, breathless response.

He never knew if it was the image her words conjured or the frenetic stroking of her hands, but his wildly-leaking precum actually spurted up to a respectable height. The table, still pressing against his buttocks, came almost to her belly; her feet would actually be off the floor if she were bent over it. Moisture decorated her wrists and splattered the sleeves of her jacket, the remainder falling onto her skirt and to the floor. "Are you wearing underclothes?"

"Not any more."

---

My desire and confession seemed to be all that was needed to galvanize Dalamar into reversing my control. His first step was to seize my face and kiss me so hard I came damn close to passing out. I didn't stop -- couldn't stop -- didn't want to stop -- stroking his cock the entire time his mint-flavored tongue toyed with mine, and it gave excited little spurts of precum that made my hands an utter mess, up past the wrists, soaking the linen of my shirt, the heavy canvas of my travel jacket. (My own quim-soaked braies were stuffed in one of the jacket's pockets, and I should have taken it off -- I could have taken it off, walking over to him, but I couldn't think ahead further than 'get my hands on him'. Stupid valin.)

"I would tease you right back," he told me, his voice low and sounding as ravenously randy as I felt, his hands releasing my face to slide down my arms, then grip my completely precum-soaked wrists to pull my hands away from his throbbing, pulsing erection. (I knew him to be fit, but gods, I didn't expect him to be strong!!) He lifted them up, then over my head, and as he transferred both of my wrists into one hand, he added, "but you clearly enjoyed that, and I dare say it was teasing you too."

And he was right; having his cock in my mouth felt like having him in all my erotic orifices at the same time. I was an elf, on the short side of average for the Silvanesti at an inch over five feet in height, but two-thirds a foot shorter than Dalamar's elf-towering five feet and nine. His penile size nearly doubled the elven average in length, and was very respectably girthy to go along with his mouth-filling length; my undersized elven jaw ached a little from stretching to accommodate him. It was a good ache, though, and I found myself anticipating getting used to it.

He was going to make the other openings ache too, I knew -- I was going to be filled with him, even before he erupted. I wondered if I could alter my current self directly; I knew that Valinyi more adept in the shapeshifting art were capable of doing so, even if they hadn't learned to expand their variety of shapes beyond the humanoid. I would have to try to do so, to better fit him, but that was for later, because for now, his hand holding both of mine high above my head, his impatiently throbbing erection leaking valin-increased precum in a stream, Dalamar was studying me like a hunter plotting the slaughter of a doe he'd slain and hung to drain.

Close as he was, his upthrust organ gave its flood of precum to the linen of my shirt, brushing just against the lowest curves of my breasts. His hand moved to cup one teat, thick linen and three thin layers of soft cotton breast-band wrapping holding but not concealing the bulk in his hand. The way he slid his thumb over where my nipple was pushing out against four layers of cloth sent shudders through my body. "Liar," I groaned softly. "You're teasing me now."

He pulled me closer, cock pressing below my cleavage, the flood soaking my shirt, then bent his head down, his warm minty breath bathing my precum-smeared face, lips caressing my forehead as he spoke. "Just by fondling your breast?"

"Yes, damn you!!" On the other hand, I wanted him to fondle me all over. But more importantly --

"Why, I do hate to be so blatant a liar. What is it you want, Lydia?" Even his voice was teasing me, every element of him speaking: his lips against my skin, burning like a brand; the warmth of his breath, combining with my blush to heat my face what must have been beyond flashpoint; the fragrance of his breath, blending with that of the precursor to his essence, emphasizing the complicated masculinity of the scent I'd had filling my sinuses since the teleport. The thing that every facet of me, focused by the valin, wanted to worship, pressing against my body.

"I ..." I swallowed, then, realizing what he wanted: control, and more than just physical. He'd submitted to me, to my teasing, I was sure of that now: his hands had gripped the table, hadn't touched me until I'd straightened up. He'd let me do what I had wanted ... and now he wanted me to return the indulgence. He wanted me to do what he wanted: not forced, not compelled, but willingly, submissively.

Gods, I love strong-hearted men.

So I told him: frank, blunt, straightforward, using the words never heard in polite society, only heard in public on the lips of braggadocchios who pretended to be irresistible to women (but who were repulsive to any but the most mercenary of steel-diggers), in lewd and crude seduction play, and in the bedroom between lovers. "I want your cock in my pussy, Dalamar."

He remained silent, though his tongue emerged to trace slowly against the skin of my forehead. Ah -- ooohhh. Mishakal and the Dark Queen both, I could find myself loving this man despite his ethics and morals. "Please."

Like a whipcrack, his hand left my breast to drop to my hip, the other hand loosening its imprisonment -- loosening, but not releasing -- and he danced. With timing only learned from long practice on the dance or fighting floor, he exchanged our positions relative to the table and kept my facing. Suddenly my belly was pressed against the hard line of the table; suddenly, the base of his hardness was pressing against my buttocks through the heavy double-layered canvas of my traveling skirt, the shaft rising above it, beneath my jacket because of my upraised arms, to lay thickly against the linen covering my spine. The crown reached almost the middle of my back and began depositing his precursor there as well -- I was never going to wash this shirt.

Then his hand released mine. Before I could do more than lower them to shoulder-height, he was gripping my hips, lifting me. The move combined with the pressure of his presence to lean me forward, and gravity did the rest to bend me at the waist over the edge of the table. I easily caught myself from hitting the surface (I'd've been scolded by Sinul if I hadn't, because how to fall properly is the first thing you get taught in kamaeru, and he was the one who made me a devotee of being bent over something) and craned my head around so I could watch what Dalamar was doing.

Answer: everything he wanted, everything we wanted. His hands made it a moment's hastened hoisting to get my ankle-length skirt above my buttocks. "Hold this," he commanded, his visage and voice so fierce I didn't even think of not doing so. My head didn't quite drop to the table in my rush to obey -- I have better core strength than that -- but a heartbeat later, my breasts and cheek were pressing against the cool wood while my fists clutched my skirt, holding the back of it at my waist.

I felt deliciously exposed, knowing he could now see my rear, my anus, my own arousal's frantic valin-enhanced lubrication coating my thighs (and for all I knew, soaking into my knee-height stockings) -- my cunt and the ferociously-hard cherry-pit clitoris I'd decided upon. I'd hiked my skirt up on the way back, touched myself, almost (almost) paused on the stair to masturbate; futile though it would have been, it would have felt so good. But right now, his hands gripping my buttocks, parting them, viewing me ... I was on display.

Dalamar kept me -- kept us -- that way for several agonizing moments. My clit was pulsing with every beat of my heart, and his dick must have been as well, but gods, the self-control in this elf!!

"Please fuck me, Dalamar!!" I whined as I begged; I couldn't help it.

"Lydia," he replied, not moving, "do you enjoy anal sex?"

I swallowed desperation. "Yes," I told him. (Why not? It was true. But please, gods, please, not right now.)

"Good," he said, then adjusted his hands' positioning. His thumbs found my labia (ecstacy), drew them apart (heaven), and shifted his body to socket the dark garnet-colored helm of his cocktip between my soaked folds without needing to take his hands off me.

Our euphoric cries sang harmonies to each other as he thrust into me, stretching my tunnel to its limits and, without his hips against my buttocks, ready to fill me and push my limits in order to embed himself completely. Fully dressed, my hands subserviently clutching my skirt to keep it out of the way of the cock of the practically-naked male who'd bent me over the table, I burst immediately into orgasm; to be fair, even without the valin I might have done so. He managed to make it a bit longer, pulling out and thrusting in, pushing deeper, filling me more, thighs just that bit closer to mine, then thrusting a bit deeper again, and again, and deeper again --

Chapter Text

XXVIb

Bed names. Cleaning up. Permissions.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember 546 AC, Eighth Watch rising, 15
S31:L10*:N3*

"Four times in twenty minutes?!?"
-- Dalamar

I lost track of time, but when I became aware of myself again, I was panting, my cheek was wet, I still had my skirt in a deathgrip, and there was a male curled around my body.

We weren't done cumming, for certain; I could feel Dalamar's cock still eagerly spurting his seed into my twat to impregnate me. It would, I knew, be the first of many times it did that, and with the valin-barrier eased, I found myself looking forward to each and every time his spunk would fill my tunnel, as well as all the many more times it didn't. While willpower could delay (but no longer deny) the urge to copulate (Sinul and I had experimented some, and while my limit was about twenty minutes, his had been almost forty-five), it could also redirect it, made especially easy if the desired entry was occupied; I wondered if Dalamar had experience with dildos like the ones I'd spotted in the raincloset and found in the headboard of the bed.

Oh gods -- I'd been lost in thought, and he'd started moving again. His arms, which had been braced to the outside of mine, shifted: one to grip my shoulder, the other to stroke and squeeze my hip. His cock was still throbbing, but I was no longer certain if it was still spurting, or just post-orgasm. Either way, he knew how to ease past post-ejaculation sensitivity, his belly undulating against my buttocks, working to extend his pleasure by sliding a few inches in and out of my almost-tiny elven-tight slit.

"If we want to extend it --" I started to say.

His hand slid from my shoulder to my neck, curling against my throat and exerting the lightest of pressures, which silenced me immediately. "Did I say you could give me advice?" he asked in a soft, mild murmur: low, commanding, voracious, dark.

"No," I replied meekly, nearly in a squeak. And then, because it felt right, I added, "Sir."

He swelled suddenly inside me, a surge of arousal, and his hand around my throat tightened ever so slightly. "Did you say 'sir'?"

I felt like a mouse discovered by a fox -- but with the pulse of his organ, the longer strokes he was taking, I knew I'd said the right thing. The response to his question was obvious. "Yes," I murmured, "sir."

His hips withdrew further, halfway, and then he slammed himself back into the tight sheath of my sex, pushing into the back of my vagina, fitting in perfectly.

"Oh, right there!!" I cried out, then swallowed hard, not sure about how this would play. But it was heavenly.

He too hesitated, but instead of squeezing gently again to silence me, he used the leverage of my throat to tilt my jaw backwards. His lips and tongue caressed my eartip, and damned if I didn't almost cum again right then. "Good girls," he purred, tongue toying with what I had known was an erogenous zone in elves, but I'd never experienced it and fuck me, I'd stupidly forgotten it, "are allowed to tell ... ?"

Oh gods -- he was asking me to give him a name for this side of our sexuality. My mind raced as I tried to work through the problems and implications. While 'Master' would be, well, appropriate in a way, in the Tower I would be calling him that all the time, and I really didn't want to entangle whatever our future relationship outside of the bedroom might be with what was here, now.

And then it hit me. Ohhh, it was a bad idea; I'd heard plenty of stories, both before I came to Wayreth and after, about the relationship between Raistlin and his only apprentice. A feature in those stories, subtle but consistent, was what Dalamar had called my maybe-father: shalafi, the word for 'Master' in both Silvanesti and Qualinesti elven, with undertones of so much more.

I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, thought to myself 'this might utterly ruin any chance of stretching this out, much less some sort of relationship moving forward', then decided 'fuck it, I can earn some cash from Hithik if I have to' and took a deep breath.

"Shalafi."

He froze, body still pressed against mine, cock still hard within me, lips and tongue immobile on my ear, hand around my throat. For what seemed like an hour I sincerely wished I knew what he was thinking, wished I hadn't said that word. The tension was getting to the unbearable point where I'd have to say something, admit I'd fucked up, offer to speed things along to get the valin breeding done as quickly as possible --

His hand squeezed, slow and firm and cutting thin my breath. His lips released my eartip, and he shifted, tongue licking with slow delicate deliberation at the canal. "Bad girl," he murmured. "Good girls are allowed to tell their shalafi --" and he pronounced it differently, I could hear it -- "of their enjoyment. Bad girls have to take off a piece of clothing."

I froze, I admit it, my brain having to -- as the gnomes say -- 'switch gears on the gnomeflinger'. Okay, he ... wasn't mad ... and let's face it, getting me naked was practically a goal anyhow ... was I really pronouncing shalafi wrong?

Oh -- oh, right. The subtle differences between the pronunciation in Silvanesti elven, which I didn't speak, and Qualinesti elven, which I was using.

Oh, that magnificent fucking bastard!! He was still playing with me!!

"I -- I'm sorry, shalafi," I managed to say through the constriction of my throat.

He squeezed a bit tighter, but then loosened his hand. "Two pieces of clothing. You may release your skirt in order to do so."

I let go of the skirt, conscious of the way my toes were curling in my boots. I wanted this male to fuck me stupid, and with how smart I knew I was, that would take some doing -- and I still definitely wanted him to do it to me, fuck me drooling stupid. (Oh. That's what was wet against my cheek -- my mouth had been open. Well, okay, then.) Reaching up, working hard not to dislodge him from anywhere, I peeled my jacket off my shoulders, then pulled it out from under him, pushing it away from us, along the table. "May I ask a question?"

He pulled himself out, then slammed into me. "Ask a question of whom?" he asked archly. "Your shalafi?"

Ah! A repeat of the 'proper way' to pronounce it. I took a stab at it. "You, shalafi."

"Three pieces of clothing; you have two to go." Again, the leisurely withdrawal of his cock from my cum-glutted cunt, though this time he took a few slow shorter strokes, his still-solid member only halfway inside me as he enjoyed the tightness of my slit before slamming himself home again and, grinding a little, resumed his oral toying of my ear. "Yes, you may ask a question of your shalafi."

Bless him! On the other hand, the bastard was toying with me ... but I was participating, and enjoying the play. "What pieces of clothing shall I remove, shalafi?" Even as I said it, I knew I hadn't quite gotten it right.

His hand squeezed, his hips jerked, and I realized that much more of his 'punishment' and I'd be cumming again. Which wasn't something I was avoiding ... "Three more to go. Hmmm. Good question. What are you wearing?" He released his grip and began moving again, stirring his cock within me, slow-fucking my bent-over body into another hedonistic orgasm. I hoped he wouldn't cum along with me if I did.

"My shirt, my breast-band, belt, skirt, two boots, two stockings." I took a deep breath, then sighed, "Shalafi."

He paused, then wrapped his lips around my eartip and suckled on it. I cried out, shuddering, an inch away from cumming again, striving not to, just for pride's sake. And then he murmured around my eartip, "Good girl. You may quim."

Obediently, I orgasmed.

---

How he managed to not release another load of spunk into me I can't imagine; the valin encourages orgasms, especially simultaneous ones. When I caught my breath again, he'd straightened up and was slow-fucking my pussy as if to extend my orgasm -- which for all I know, he'd done. I hadn't lost track of time like this since I'd locked eyes with Tamin. Well, and that first transcendent coupling with Sinul; the first orgasm of the valin was always spectacular, fierce, mind-blowing. "With me?"

"Yes, shalafi," I said, brain still logy from the pleasure washing back and forth through my body.

"Tut-tut," he scolded me, palming one buttock and squeezing slowly. "You're backsliding. Up to four, and if we count everything individually, you only have eight ... but boots and stockings each separately is unbalancing, so 'one pair' of each: you have six items." He paused, then tugged at my hips, pulling me slightly back off the table, giving him enough room to get his arm between the table and my leg. Bending over, his hand stroked from my hip to my belly, tracing down my hair-free elven mons (high ogres are just as naturally bare there too -- I have no idea why humans have a thatch) to where his fat iron-bar organ stretched my folds. His fingers found my clitoris, sending an electric shock through me; a soft laugh came from him, then, and he carefully teased the nub out from under its hood. "Five," he decided, then. "Your belt does not count, as it's a part of your skirt. Choose what one thing to keep."

Oh, that was no contest. "My shirt," I took a shuddering breath, disciplining myself against the bursts of pleasure he was teasing out of my clit, and exhaled, "shalafi."

He paused in his ministrations, then brought his lips to my ear once more. A delicate lick upon it from the tip of his tongue, and he purred, "Good girl."

Goddammit, I did not know I had a praise kink. Maybe I was only developing it now; how wonderful. My lip was going to get punctured if I bit it any harder.

"Should I let you up, then," he asked, "to let you remove your ... reparation?"

I was so tempted to tell him, 'No, you should keep fucking a baby into me, for goddamn hours on end, you feel fantastic,' but ... that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear, and really, it wasn't the answer I wanted to give. I wanted this to last, as long as we could make possible. I wanted to be a world-class cockslut for him; he was brilliant. "Yes, shalafi."

Gods, I could call him that in front of anyone, and only he and I would know what I really meant: 'I want to be under your hand, servicing your cock.'

He rewarded me with a few more slow thrusts into my tightness, then gave one final slam into the deepest corner of my pussy; I guess, now that he knew what angle he needed in order to get there, he was entirely willing to use it. Having done so, though, he slowly and finally drew himself back, pausing (tease!!) just at the last, with his crown spreading my labia, before he finally finished pulling out.

I heard the lewd slap of his cock springing back erect; I was so glad he was aroused enough to be that hard. (Males can go flaccid while the valin is on you, if you take your time between sessions; it'll droop after about five minutes of not being fondled, which I have to admit was going to be difficult for me to do.) His hands gripped my naked hips, then, and pulled me off the table until my feet finally touched the floor and I could straighten up and turn around.

Dalamar was still wearing his robe, though its drape was adjusted to remain open without him needing to keep it so. My lips went dry for a moment, and I had to lick them; my eyes roamed down his body again, my lusts gloating over his frame until both eyes and lusts arrived at his glistening quim-coated cock, jutting up from his groin, his testicles dangling heavily beneath. Perhaps it was my licking, or perhaps he had the idea already in his head, but he said, "You will clean, worship, and fellate my penis as you surrender your articles of clothing."

Geez, don't send me into the haunted forest!!

So I said, "Yes, shalafi," sunk to my knees, reaching out to his thighs as I did to help guide myself down to the right spot. Once I was down, well -- my fingers had to be used to work on my clothing, so I had to lean in and introduce myself to his scent again: lust, satisfaction, quim, cum. I may have (probably did) moan and whimper more than a few times while undoing my shirt, rubbing my face all the fuck over his pussy-soaked dick. Oh, sure, I licked him more than a little, but the main 'cleaning' that took place while I got my shirt open was transferring our blended juices from his erection to my face.

When I get into it, I become such a slut, I swear. I like sex, and I really do enjoy a good dick, and Dalamar's cock was long, thick, and tasty. How could I not want to worship it?

Once my shirt was open, though, I reached up to corral his dick and bring it to my lips. Once again I got the opportunity to suckle him, my head bobbing up and down, managing about a third of his length as I got my breast-band unwound; I don't think it was coincidence that one of his hands reached out to rest on my head as I started doing so, because when I looked up at him, he was staring at my open shirt and gradually-exposed tits.

As I was finishing, his panting increased, and when I looked up his bronze body, his cocktip just on the edge of my lips, I realized that he was struggling with holding off spurting. "Take me into your hands," he gasped, "and point me at your body. You may encourage me," he added.

Dropping the breast-band on the floor, my hands flew to his girth, and I tried to make the slurp of pulling my mouth from his tip as obscene as I could; his fingers tangled in my hair. "Thank you, shalafi," I panted, tugging his cock further downwards, pointing the cumslit at the milk-white mounds of my tits and knowing that at the moment the pale ruby of my nipples could (at least figuratively) cut diamond, they were jutting out so hard. "Please reward your good girl with your cum," I begged him. "Shower it all over her tits, and allow her to let it spray onto her face."

Between my eager stroking, my subservient lewdness, and the sight of me positioned to be coated by his essence, Dalamar relaxed into the valin and blasted four copious shots of spunk onto my tits before cupping my hands with his, bringing the angle of his cock upwards -- and with the other hand tilting my head down to meet the rest of his fountain.

The moment his cum stopped reaching my face, I lunged forward, engulfing the dome of his tip with my mouth, pumping with both hands, bobbing with my head, getting the slightly-sweet saltiness of his cum onto my tongue. I moaned; he groaned. His hips started pumping in reaction, his hand at least philosophically controlling me, resting on my head as it was, as they were, because sometime in there, his other hand had joined the first. Between the two of us, we fucked my mouth with his cock, and it was glorious -- especially since after only a few score thrusts/headbobs, Dalamar howled out his pleasure and his valin-enhanced virility allowed him to erupt another full charge of semen, one which I had difficulty keeping up with. Most of it made it down my throat, but some leaked out around the edges and onto my tits.

I don't think either of us were bothered by that.

He felt shaky, though, so I reached out and tugged over the seat he'd had his foot on, for him to stagger a couple of steps and drop into. "By the gods," he gasped, draped across the seat, cock still smugly erect; it had produced three copious loads in -- I glanced over to the door, saw the flag still down, so our actual meal hadn't arrived yet -- under half an hour, so it certainly had a right to be. While he was distracted, I quickly undid my belt and skirt, then unlaced my boots and untied my garters; when I settled back between his well-spread thighs, gathering up his balls in one hand and his cock in the other, I was wearing only my linen shirt, soaked front and back with precum and now semen as well.

Slowly and lovingly I did as he'd ordered: I cleaned his cock (and his balls, and a fair amount of his thighs) of his cum and precum, rubbing my face against them, burying my nose in his wonderfully-hairless groin to savor the erotic scent of his masculine potency. One hand gently squeezed his seed-producers, while the other comforted and massaged the delivery system.

Finally, I felt his hand fall onto my head. "Good girl," he murmured, then paused. "Mmmm. But a good girl ought to have a name. What should I call you? Do you have any suggestions?"

I blushed so hard I could feel my eartips going red.

"Ah-ha-ha, the good girl has an idea. Or perhaps ideas," he said, hand shifting to let his littlest finger tease lightly at my eartip, which of course made me want to climb up and ride him ... but we weren't done yet.

I hesitated (because there are so many sweet obscenities I enjoy being called during sexplay), but eventually decided, "Slut, shalafi."

Dalamar laughed, and tweaked my ear again, making me whimper. "And are you?" he challenged me.

My blush popped right back up to 'high heat', and I ached to touch my clitoris, finger myself, make myself cum. I'm certain he saw it, enjoyed it -- it was like me with his cock before we'd bowed to the valin. My eyelids sank, and I bit my lower lip, and found myself bending forward slowly until my cheek was rubbing against his erection. "Yes, shalafi," I confessed. "For you, for at least however long the valin runs, I am your devoted cocksleeve."

He appeared to consider this, then said, "Caslth, do you need to quim?" He paused at my expression of uncertainty -- I hadn't ever heard the word -- and he murmured, "Silvanesti for 'slut'."

I reddened further, but nodded, rubbing my cheek against his sex. Oh boy did I ever.

He gave me a slow, thoughtful nod, drawing his decision-making out, undoubtedly to tease me. "Very well. I give you my permission to play with yourself, caslth -- but you must sit up on the table." His other hand reached out to pat the surface next to him; if I sat up there, I'd be well within reach of him, my legs spread and sex available to his fingers, definitely accessible for another fucking.

But hell, I was not going to say 'no', even if it would feel like I was masturbating for an audience. It wasn't something I'd really done before -- hell, this 'dominant/submissive' thing was something I'd pretty much only heard about (and I'd heard some middlingly-extreme things about it, so I really hoped he didn't take it too far) -- but ... right now, with this person, it felt right; it felt good.

So I gave his cock (once again seeping precum) a farewell lick, rose, turned, squeaked as he stroked my buttock, then put my hands on the tabletop, crouched, and sprang up, turning in midair and with the help of one hand as a pivot-point. A little too far back; I scooted forward, spreading my thighs wide, lifting one because there wasn't quite enough room to fit my foot between his chair and the table when I was like that. Casually, he gripped my ankle and brought my foot down to the end of the chair's arm. The positioning cocked my knee upwards, putting me somehow even more lewdly on display.

Saliva that tasted of his spunk gathered in my mouth; putting one hand on the table behind me, I leaned back a little, trying to put myself into a position that would help emphasize my body, my breasts, everything, to be appealing to him, but then Dalamar shifted in the seat, reached out to stroke my glistening, leaking folds, and shocked me right into 'cum or die' mode.

My hand slid down my belly slowly enough for him to get his hand out of the way, but fast enough that he had to hurry to do it. My fingers ran straight down the lot, middle finger running over my stiff clit and then over my slightly-open inner folds until my hand covered the lot, mons to perineum, and squeezed. I didn't orgasm then, but my eyes closed completely and I moaned like the slut I'd asked him to name me. For a moment I just kneaded the area, palm rubbing against my clit, fingers squeezing my folds against each other, and then I let go, slid my fingers up to start toying with my clit.

Of course, I also opened my eyes (though damn them, they wouldn't open all the way, stuck in that 'sensual droop' they get into) to watch what Dalamar was doing. He was stroking himself as he watched me, slouching a little bit more so that his balls could dangle, his legs could spread further. Though his other hand rested from elbow to fingers on the other arm of the chair, the digits were flexing, slowly stroking the grooved wood, not quite in time to the movement of his masturbating hand. His eyes roamed up my body, caught me looking at him, gave me an impish/sensual twitch of his eyebrows, then let his gaze move back down to where my fingers had begun alternating between long slow bouts of circling and rubbing my clitoris, and sinking middle and ring fingers up to the second knuckle into my sex multiple times.

It wasn't long before I came -- hard, but not lose-track-of-time hard, and not so hard I wanted to stop. And he didn't stop me, so after whimpering and flexing my buttock and using the leverage of that foot on his chair arm to hump my cunt onto my probing fingers, I settled back down to do it again.

And again.

And again, all within the space of maybe two minutes. When I kept going, the next time my fingers moved down to slide inside me, they encountered fingers touching, probing, sliding into me. "Thank you, shalafi," I moaned, hooded eyes admiring his bronze skin, his thick three-hands-long (well, my smaller elven hands, anyhow) cock, his stroking hand. I focused on my clitoris, then, as he delved within me, and with his angle he could get his fingers inside me to their full length. He knew what he was doing, too, because within ten seconds of him participating, with my fingers diddling my clit, I came again, a sweet full-body toe-curling ears-pull-back orgasm which he pretty much didn't let stop, rubbing his fingers across the sweet spot inside my twat.

I'm pretty sure I passed my tenth orgasm before I just gave up on trying to toy with my clit and braced myself with the other hand as well, giving in to his mastery of my pleasure. "Thank you, shalafi," I moaned, low and obscene, again and again, "thank you, thank you!!"

When he finally stopped, I managed to focus on him -- my eyes hadn't closed, but I can't say how they were seeing anything. He'd stood up, and his erection was throbbing hard -- he couldn't've been more than a few strokes away from cumming. For a moment, his fist around his cock aimed it at my twitching folds, but then he adjusted upwards, and pushed forward, rubbing his tip against my clitoris, then let himself slide up my belly. Between my legs, he gripped my hips, looking down at the way the ridge of his shaft spread my labia, then started undulating his hips, erection sliding up and down my labia.

The way his panting increased and the lubricated friction of his organ against my folds and clit got me right back to the edge, and when he gasped, "I'm cumming," I moaned, "Me too," and humped my mons against him as his cumslit opened wide and painted my body with his cream.

Chapter Text

XXVIc

Lunch arrives. A fantasy request. More new names. Dalamar undercover.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember 546 AC, Eighth Watch rising, 3
S31:L10*:N3*

"A perfect fit, in more ways than one."
-- Dalamar and Lydia, together

Once again I staggered back to sit down on the padded chair with a thump. Peregrine -- no, Lydia, and I think I understood why she wanted to use her original name, for this was not a matter of skill and education, this was intensely primal -- did pretty much the same, her hands just sliding sideways until her back and head were against the table's polished surface. What was most maddening about it was that this ogre enchantment, this valin, had me wanting more. I could see how Lydia and her first lover, Tamin, had simply clung to each other, copulating to the point of injury: I had only just finished erupting onto her, and I wanted to do it again. My erection hadn't subsided in the least.

For a moment my hand hovered over it as my lust howled for me to give it sensation, masturbate, reach out and pull her onto me, plunge into her again, but I managed to fend it off. "Ke-en's tits, Lydia," I found myself saying, using the elven name for Mishakal, "is it always this intense?"

"Mmm-hmm," she responded, and looking over at her, I smiled; her splayed hands were rubbing my semen into her pale skin, a slow and sensual caress which I looked forward to experiencing. Nor did the visual dim my desire, and quite a bit to enflame it more -- not that it needed it. She was brilliant, seeing how I was playing, adapting and responding to it. Not with great agility, no, not as such, but ... watching her, I decided that indulgence was allowed, and curled my fingers around my erection once again, returning to casually pleasuring myself.

"So. This will be your third child?" I wondered, which for some reason caused her to give a light and musical laugh.

She opened her mouth, paused, hesitated for a few more moments, then said, "This will be my seventh, actually." Her hands moved up to her breasts, spreading my seed across them as well, curling around the intensely pink (and shading into red) nipples which were as turgid as my penis. "The youngest would be, oh, sixty or so now; the oldest ... mmm. A hundred and nine, I think? No, a hundred and eight. Clara's birthday is almost, but not quite, matched to mine."

Watching her play with her breasts, her leg up on the chair, still so clearly aroused, didn't help my case. I tried to distract myself (well, as much as I could with my hand curled around my cock) by focusing on the conversation. "Are the ogres then actually ... fertile?" Would the single mounting be sufficient to impregnate her? I found myself hoping not -- or at least, glad that apparently more of the sort would be necessary.

"Relative to elves," came her dreamy answer, "I think so. Relative to humans, even dwarves, I think not. One child every eight or nine years, even when I had bedpartners and were trying to get with child ..." Her hands lifted, waving vaguely up-and-outwards, a very 'who knows' gesture which I have seen in every race from gully dwarf to elf to draconian.

"But you still experience the valin," I mused.

"Well, obviously," she replied, her voice dry.

I reached out to stroke two fingers up her folds, forefinger pausing at the top to tease her exposed clitoris. "That's enough sarcasm out of you, miss," I said, but I couldn't keep the smile from my face.

The teasing made her cry out softly and arch her back, not quite squirming to get her sex away from my finger, just enough to move it off-course -- but then she relaxed again, groaned, and pushed herself up onto her elbows. Interesting; her toes curled when she was extremely aroused. "What I was going to say before you interrupted me," she panted, "was that if you do want to extend this, it would be easier to avoid sinking into me if I was already occupied."

My lips twitched, seeing where she was going with this. "The dildos in the raincloset? How would you keep one in you?" I continued to delicately tease her clit; she had to be as sensitive as my crown was at the moment, which is why, despite stroking myself (and enjoying her watching me while I did), I didn't involve the tip.

"Or the ones in the headboard cabinets, yes. There are harnesses. If it was my ass, there are plugs, but ..." She trailed off, eyes closing, biting her lower lip as her hips gave little circles, pleased with my caresses.

I thought back to Synna's words about my 'little toy', and being used in 'all of the three holes'; while I had occasionally enjoyed it in my mouth, and much more often in my rear, I realized I had not considered how it might work inside a female's cunt. I ran my fingers down her slit, then looked around the table, spotting my travel bag. "I may have a solution for that," I told her, which is just about when a soft bell rang and a flag popped up next to the door. "What's that?"

"Lunch is here," she said, working her eyes open again, a gentle expression of affection in her gaze. "Good. We need the food. Do you want to know my food plan?"

"Five times a day, you said," I recalled, biting my lower lip, then sighing and taking my hands off both our genitalia. Standing up, I held out my hands, offering to help her off the table; her feet dangled well above the ground, which was from one angle adorable, and from another erotic as hell.

She accepted, lifting her hands to put them on my shoulders, while I placed mine about her waist. Normally, of course, my raging erection would be an awkward intruder, but she smirked as I slid her towards me and eased her to the floor. Her eyes sparkling as she met my gaze, she curled both her hands around my shaft, gave a few slow strokes, then said, "Let's go get the food." Without putting even one button of her pre- and cum-soaked shirt into a buttonhole, not even giving a thought to wiping down or putting something on, she started towards the door.

I will confess right now to deliberately lingering, to watch the way her hips swayed as she walked, the movement of that full but firm rear. While I enjoy breasts -- indeed, she bore a fine pair in both ogrish and elven forms -- and (being unafraid to experience pleasure from both genders) a well-formed cock, I must probably be best termed as 'an ass man'. Oh, legs, too, but a well-shaped rear, on female or male -- mm!!

Of course, since I wasn't with her, she slowed and looked back without turning much; her smile told me she knew I was watching her butt, and that I was welcome to look as much as I wanted. "You coming to help?" she asked, arch, shifting to cock her hips, bend one knee, and stand mostly on one foot, which did delicious things to that shape.

I was so going to fuck her ass. A lot.

But it got me moving, towards her and the door, my hands drawing my robe closed again. She turned back towards me, raising a hand, and even came back a couple steps to put that hand on mine as I started to button the top.

"No," she told me softly, and undid the button, then ran her hands across my collarbones, my shoulders, and pushed the robe off.

It pooled around my feet, and for the first time, I stood naked before her, both of us aroused, wanting nothing more than to drag each other to the floor and keep making a baby. I swallowed, steeling myself to ask, "Won't they be out there?"

"No," she replied, fingers tracing delicately across my skin, and stopping to play with my nipples. She smiled as, at her coaxing, they stiffened as hard as her own, little dried peas of pleasure as she learned my body. "They pull the cord to raise the flag when they're done setting things out." Looking up at me, she leaned in to kiss first one nipple, then the other, then took my hand. "By the time we reach the door, they'll be gone. Come, let's eat."

True enough, the stair-top vestibule was empty, its heavy outer door shut tight. Two trays with several covered dishes each rested on the sideboard, and after Lydia reset the flag (a simple matter of unhooking the cord from the hook that held it in the 'up' position) we each picked up one tray and returned to the table, me pushing the door closed with my foot.

Lifting the covers revealed, for me, slices of cool meat that smelled well but mildly seasoned accompanied by a trio of ramekins with different sauces, an equal number of slices of two different types of cheese, a still-steaming mixture of vegetable chunks, and a bowl of chilled cut-up fruit. In a linen-covered basket were two small loaves of brown bread and another ramekin packed with butter. I recognized the fruit and most of the vegetables; I'd have to trust that the ones I didn't recognize were edible.

At a glance, her tray was almost the same as mine, though instead of the slices of meat, there was a bowl of steaming vegetable soup, and the cheese was in chunks instead of slices. Even before sitting down, she took up the spoon from the tray, dipped out a bit, and tasted it.

"Needs salt."

"Mmm?" I was about to sit back down and explore the meal when her words made me look towards her, then stop. "It what?" I wasn't wary -- quite -- but I also didn't catch her meaning.

"My soup. Needs salt." Lydia stepped around the corner of the table (she'd set her tray down at an angle to me undoubtedly so that we could converse as we ate), and before I realized her intent she curled her hands around my erection, making me gasp.

I had been in the mindset of 'mealtime', and suddenly she was stroking my erection, was demanding ... "What?"

"Or other salty seasoning, Dalamar," she crooned, leaning in to lick at each nipple before looking up at me again.

That made my face turn as red as it's ever been. "You want me to ..." I was struggling with this almost as I had with the valin.

"Oh, yes," came her purr, getting her hands slick once more by coaxing precum out of my phallus. "I want you to cum in my soup." She glanced at her tray, and added, "if some gets on my veggies or cheese, that's fine. But you ought to aim mainly for the soup."

My balls should have been aching with overuse, but they suddenly felt packed to bursting. "You are shockingly obscene, did you know that?"

She blushed right back at me, biting her lower lip. "I mean, I ... will you do it?" she asked, her voice suddenly nervous and shy, her hands going still, though they remained wrapped around my sex.

Reaching down, I curled my hands around her own to hold her in place as I studied her. Almost two hundred years old, only eighty or so younger than I; mother of six, and still ... young. Young enough, anyhow, to walk around as a mid-twenties human, and though I wasn't certain that was an appropriate age parallel, it at least served as a point to understand how she felt about herself. Old enough for the shell of confidence to be stable ... young enough for there to still be a grand amount of uncertainty beneath, especially with a new lover. I knew that place well.

I thought about her request. Would I want to eat food with cum on it? Well, how different, really, would it be than receiving a male's sperm in my mouth and swallowing it? I'd done that -- some human males very much enjoy sex with an elf, male or female -- and though I didn't enjoy it as much as Lydia did, I did enjoy it: the fellating, the thrill of successfully making a male erupt into your mouth, proof of your success; rolling the salty spunk across your tongue, blending it with your saliva, gulping it down. Even licking it off a lover's skin, my own or his. Or mine off hers, for that matter.

I felt my cock throb, and undoubtedly she did too; taking in her expression, though, I realized that my simple acquiescence would not be sufficient to display my acceptance, my agreement, my approval. "What is the Valinyi term for 'master'?" I wondered.

Without thinking about it, she answered, "Senfu."

"Then, senfu, your word is my most eagerly willing desire."

Her eyes widened, looking up at me, and though I couldn't swear her nipples had softened, they certainly swelled as I looked down at her. She replied, "And what ought your name be?"

Turning my naming challenge back upon me, of course. I thought about what we were doing, and about how aroused it made me -- not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, I was going to have a child -- and after a moment suggested, "Breeder?"

She considered this, her hands twitching sideways to indicate I should release her hands; I did so immediately. My senfu directed me, after all. "Ondoji, perhaps," she mused, resuming her stroking of me; I found myself leaning back a little, pushing my organ into her hands, wanting more. "It's the term for a rooster kept so that the hens continue to produce. It has overtones of, mmm ... 'useful only to fuck the females'." She sounded a little doubtful.

I, on the other hand, thought it sounded perfect as a bedname between us, her the caslth for her shalafi, I the ondoji to my senfu. Slut and breeder, perfect complements to each other, considering my history, and especially considering how completely sex-focused we were at the moment.

And after ...

... well, afterwards we would discover if we wanted to stay beyond the valin. And if we did -- like her, I hadn't had a bed-partner in decades. It was well past time I did; too little sex, too little connection with others, would turn you into Par-Salian, wrinkled and old and forgetting that those around you are people, not pieces on some game board.

Par-Salian would be one of the very last people I'd wish myself turning into. So I leaned over and murmured in her ear.

"Will my senfu want to stroke her ondoji's cock herself, or does she wish him to make himself cum on her food?"

---

I couldn't believe it when Dalamar used ondoji for himself -- most males of my acquaintance would not have wanted to be called something to the effect of 'fuckboy rooster' -- but then, I had suggested 'slut', so perhaps he had some of the same sorts of fond-humiliation-submissive urges as I. While considering his 'offer', I told him, "Although I doubt it will take very long at the moment, the ondoji ought to put the covers back over his food, to keep it warm."

Obediently, he did just that, twisting his torso while continuing to push his groin out towards me, as eager as any young valin-straining male. (Or female, I suppose, since I'd just done it too.) Once he had, I stepped backwards, leading him by his cock, drawing him around the corner of the table. "Move the chair aside," I instructed him, "and arrange the soup, vegetables, and cheese in front of you."

He did so with the swift grace of someone experienced in making arrangements -- perhaps old training from House Servitor, I don't know. Letting go with one hand, I turned and nudged him into what I guessed, based on what I'd witnessed of his ejaculatory strength, to hopefully be at the right distance in front of the food. After I had him positioned, I lifted his arm up, switched hands, and tucked myself in against his side. Pressing my breasts against him was nearly as sexual as stroking his dick was; I couldn't resist kissing his pectoral as I slowly masturbated him over my food.

"You asked about anal sex, ondoji," I wondered, as my other hand stroked down his back to that incredibly erotic soft little triangle of skin where spine meets the curves of both buttocks, pausing there to gently circle it with my forefinger. "Going by the way I keep catching you admiring my ass, I presume you enjoy giving it; have you ever been on the receiving end of it? "

"Yes, senfu," he replied, his hand not draping around my shoulders or, in fact, touching me anywhere; it was still hanging in midair where I'd left it. However, his head was bowed, lips parted, dark eyes fascinated by the sight of his cock being serviced yet again.

"Really?" For a few instances I considered the information, then paused to run my thumb across the darkening, glistening, pre-smeared helmet of his tip. "How so? With toys, a partner ... a male?"

"All of the above, senfu," he said, breath coming heavy in his chest as my stroking combined with the valin to bring him quickly back to the edge of orgasm.

I admit I hadn't really expected that answer -- Dalamar was popularly rumored to have slept with Raistlin's sister Kitiara before her death, and well known to have had a long-term relationship with Mistress Jenna; clearly he enjoyed bedding females. Males were ... well, evidently not out of bounds. I counted among my acquaintances more males who enjoyed both genders (as I did) or preferred males than those who were exclusively heterosexual, which meant Dalamar could be counted amongst us bisexuals. "Tell me about the male."

His face darkened, a blush rushing across it, but he didn't answer. I slowed in my stroking -- after all, I was doing it for my reasons, not his, even though it did give him pleasure -- and ran my hand back up his spine to find where his beautiful black hair thickened. Wrapping my hand up in it, I pulled downwards, dragging his head back and baring his throat.

"Bad boy, ondoji," I told him, releasing his organ and sliding my hand up his body, avoiding his wounds to tap one finger against the swell of his voice box, right in the middle of his throat, with deliberate firmness. "Don't make me have to ask twice."

He was panting almost as hard as he had been when I was pumping his dick. "No, senfu. I'm sorry, senfu."

"The male?" My hand roamed back downwards, toying for a moment with the far nipple, then sliding down his partially-defined abdomen until I could resume masturbating him.

"Males, senfu, plural. After the reclaiming of Wayreth, your ondoji served as Master of the Black; it is custom strong enough to be law for an elven Master to step down after a time -- thirty years if Master of an Order but not of a Tower, forty years if Master of a Tower or of the Conclave. They may then not serve as such again until twice that time passes."

His hair was still in my hand; I pulled on his hair again to get his attention. "Is this necessary?" I wondered.

"Just background, senfu. I went back out into the world in 454, and ... experienced life again. Took requests from the Highmage, got involved in various things --" He gasped, arching as I gave another light yank to get him back on track. "My apologies, senfu. On one such occasion, I went undercover in Sanction, in a brothel."

I considered this information, then lifted my hand and released his hair; my fingers landed where his neck met his spine, and I stroked downwards. "Good boy," I murmured, and to my delight, he blushed. Seeing it, so did I, cheeks heating up again while my hand continued to trail down the little bumps of his backbone until it had returned to the triangle of his spine meeting his rear, to stroke there. (I love the softness of that bit of skin.) "Doing what?"

He hesitated, but when my fingers started walking upwards, quickly confessed, "As a ... as an ondoji, senfu."

Oh, my. Dalamar the Dark, archmage, Master of Two Towers, wielder of immense arcane might -- yes, this I knew, this I could see. Dalamar the prostitute?? For an instant I wondered who else knew, and then I realized that whomever else did know would be an extremely restricted list -- a list onto which he'd allowed me to put myself. "You are a very good boy, ondoji," I purred to him, pressing my body against his, watching his blushing face -- and his still upraised arm, which was trembling a little from the continuing effort to keep it in position. "You may rest your arm and touch me where-ever your hand may reach."

It immediately settled across my shoulders, elegant fingers stroking as he rested for a moment, his breath coming in deep, labored gasps. Glancing down at his cock, I realized he was fighting the valin, striving to keep from cumming. Oh, a very good boy indeed was my ondoji.

"Were you a good ondoji, in that brothel?" I slowed my caresses, to make it easier for him to resist.

"I was ... adequate, senfu," he murmured, something which must have been difficult for him to admit: Dalamar Nightson, only adequate in something. It must have pinched his ego. "Your ondoji will be delighted to demonstrate all he has learned, though," he added, with a sly look down at me. I blushed, moving my hand to his buttock and giving a squeeze.

Response was, of course, inevitable; his fingers stroked down my spine, did a little spinning movement that got it underneath the fall of my nearly white hair, and gave my rear a squeeze right back. "So ... male customers?"

"Yes, senfu," he replied, watching my face when he wasn't reveling in the visual of his cock being stroked. "Somewhat under half. Most males wanted to dominate me, have their cocks sucked, fuck an elf-male's ass. The most frequent thing I heard from them, whether spurting into my throat or pressing down against my back, was 'sweet as a pussy'."

"Did you enjoy it? Sex with a male?" I wondered; I checked in on his erection now and again, quickening my strokes to make sure the flow of his precum remained steady, slowing them if it got too copious, edging him.

"Oh, yes, senfu, quite a bit. More often than not, I came while being assfucked."

That made my eyebrows go up. "How did that come about??"

Once again he paused, long enough for me to not only decide to give his hair a tug, but also for me to slide my hand up his back and do so. "Bad boy," I scolded him, admiring the line of his neck and jaw, pulled back the way it was. "Are you holding back on me?"

"No, senfu!" he gasped, his breath turning into eager panting. "Ondoji was just trying to figure out how to ... convey it."

"Simply," I suggested, and after giving his hair another tug to make sure he knew who was who at the moment, I let him go, my fingers stroking back down. This time I explored further, down into the crevasse between his buttocks. He shifted, changing the angle of his musculature, relaxing in a way I had no idea could be done to give my questing finger easier access. In moments, my finger had found his anus, and was gently rubbing in a circle. "Ondoji has permission to convey it as if he and I were equals."

Unsurprising, given my exploration, he leaned into me just a little, enough to let his hand do the same; his finger was surprisingly adept in toying with my rear. "I ... when I was apprenticed to Raistlin in Palanthas, we frequently took telescopes up to the Death Walk to study the stars. Birds would sometimes perch nearby and watch us -- black ones, rooks. One evening, I found a ... well, a dildo. Short, slim, black, made of some forgiving substance that readily warmed up in your hands."

"Mmmm." I had never cum from having my rear played with, but Dalamar was getting me pretty damn close. "Mmm-hmmm?"

"I didn't tell Raistlin about it; at the time I would not have expected him to be interested, but with even a cursory examination, any mage would have been able to see that it held magic. It has three nubs -- white, red, and black -- which, with firm and deliberate pressure, would turn, and which controlled duration, variation, and intensity, respectively. You can only set them when they're inserted --"

I laughed, imagining the scene: Dalamar spreading oil on this magical dildo, gently sliding it into himself, in front of a mirror with his knees framing his chest, craning his neck to see the base of the thing, then stroking the nubs to activate it. Glancing up at him, it was clear he was remembering something too -- and going by the way his cock was throbbing, I didn't think my imagination was far off the mark. "When did you try it out?"

"Oh, not until years later, when I was Master of Palanthas, alone and lonely, wondering if I should have shown it to him. Point is," he said, pausing to groan, push his groin against my stroking hand, and pant a little. "Point is, when between lovers I used it in my rear ... fairly regularly. Grew accustomed to being aroused, full, with it going through its gyrations, in my private hours. I suppose I got used to cumming while it was in me, so when I was ..."

He trailed off, and I licked his pectoral. "When you had a cock fucking you ..."

He nodded. "I would spurt, often at the same time as my client."

With the revelation of this, well -- his body was right there, and I wanted to go down on him again, but ... if I had, he would have had to wait a bit before giving my food its seasoning. "So what brought this rambling story on?"

"Well," he admitted, blushing again, "I brought the toy I mentioned. And it might do to, mmm, occupy and pleasure you both. It locks in place as it activates."

"Locks?"

"Magically, maybe," he admitted, his hips taking over and starting to thrust, trying to get me to stroke more, make him cum sooner, "but I don't really think so; the shape of it changes. Swells, to prevent itself from sliding back out -- a bulge behind the anal sphincter, a fat ball in the mouth. I don't know what it would do inside your cunt, but I'm sure it would stay in there."

Curious, I looked up at him. "Your mouth? What happened?"

"Senfu might want to point her ondoji's cock at her food," he warned, my edging pushing him too close to eruption. I tended to it, licking my lips as I watched his slit widen in preparation. This was the first time I had actually had a lover agree to doing this; I'd fantasized about it, on and off, for ... oh, a century or so. I had to admit, Dalamar was going down in my book as a keeper, even if only as a sexual partner.

He bent over a bit more, fingertip pressed against my anus, first digit pushing into middle of the muscular ring, but going no further. His mouth found my eartip again, and between the two, in barely five seconds, he brought me from just 'pretty damn horny' to wishing it was his cock there, not his finger. "I cleaned it a great many times, but finally I slid it into my mouth, activated it. It swelled up and locked itself behind my teeth," he breathed against my ear. "And for fifteen minutes, it fucked my mouth and my throat. I came twice; it spurted each time I did, pouring a reward of some sort of fluid down my throat. And now, senfu, your ondoji is ready to add salt to your food."

I looked down at his cock, throbbing visibly in my hand; I looked up at his face, red and straining to hold back. "You," I murmured to him, wondering if he had the same praise kink he seemed to be developing in me, "are a good boy. Now be a good ondoji, and cum in my food."

With a glad cry, spurting, he did.

Chapter Text

XXVId

Dining and conversation. Agony. Cleaning with interruptions.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palas, 2 Reapember 546 AC, Eighth Watch falling, 23
S31:L10*:N3*

"Storytime or playtime?"
-- Dalamar Darkson

We sat down afterwards to actually enjoy our food; I watched Lydia being tentative about tasting that onto which I'd released my ejaculate. She was trying to conceal that uncertainty, I knew, but I saw it, and I think we were both hoping that the reality of having a man's sperm flavoring her food lived up to the fantasy.

To the relief of both of us, and to her immediate delight, it indeed seemed to. She kept one hand in her lap the entire time, playing with herself and pausing now and again to shudder in orgasm, particularly when eating a spoonful of soup, or a piece of cheese or steamed vegetable, visibly decorated with a glob of my donated spunk.

I wondered if I dared to try the same experiment; later, maybe.

"With that color hair and skin, you know," I noted, "you look very much like a high noblewoman of Silvanesti. Granted, those curves are on the lush side; I'd take you for a morokiti. What House are you meant to be in?" I asked her, tapping at a carrot with my fork before biting into it. On the soft side of firm, but not squishy, and positively swimming in a sauce of melted herb butter.

"Mmmm? Um. I honestly ... I hadn't thought about it. Why," she wondered, lifting her masturbating hand away from her sex to lean both forearms against the edge of the table as she paused to pay attention, "is it important?"

For an instant I wished she'd been more selfish, more greedy in the Test. She had grabbed the spellbooks of the Pernicious, spellbooks which had returned to the Tower with her, but though she studied them that night, her act was judged a strategic decision, not a personal one. I would have loved to have her as my apprentice ... but then again, if she was my apprentice, the possibility of an 'after' for this would be like smoke in a tornado.

"How one elf treats another depends entirely on their associations -- House, for a Silvanesti; clan and association for a Qualinesti. Feigning membership in any particular one has its advantages and drawbacks. House Protector, for example, though in sharp decline after the Fall of Silvanost, has been earning respect back by doing a fair job of defending members of other Houses in Exile. House Servitor is always," I sighed, "looked down upon by other Silvanesti, but tend to be better received by elves outside of the Houses."

"Well," she mused, watching me enjoy my food and wiping her quim-smeared hand against her sex-spattered shirt, "that takes announcing it, right? It isn't like they can tell just by looking at me."

My grin was wolfish, though my eyes watched her fingers drying themselves on her shirt, right next to her heavy teat -- another thing to explore and enjoy. "Oh, but those who pay attention, of course along with most elves themselves, can."

Her eyebrows rose. "How?"

I lifted my fingers to my own hair, straight and plain. "This," I told her, folding up one of the slices of meat and exploring a sauce (mildly spicy mustard), "and how you're wearing yours, is the hair of a Dark Elf, an outcast -- no braids. Each fellowship, each group and association, clan and House, has its own braid-pattern. The oldest go back before the Founding, and most elves can decipher the pattern of another elf's braid and know, if not precisely with whom they speak, at least have a general idea of the House and allies of their conversational partner."

"Oohhhh," she said slowly. "I see. So to masquerade as an elf of a particular group, I'd have to not only know the look of their braid, but how to execute it properly."

I was so pleased with her I could have burst. She not only understood what I was saying, but understood the implications. "Exactly. I have almost been tempted to invent a braid for those elven wizards who have been cast out, but ..."

She nodded. "The lack of a braid is the braid; you already have one."

I sighed, concealing a smile; again, she understood without me needing to explain. "It would be useful for your disguises for you to know how such braids look," I told her. "If you like, I'll show you."

"That would be exceptionally kind of you; I accept wholeheartedly. What's a morokiti?"

I chuckled. "Singular morokita, plural morokiti. Not quite a House, nor quite a guild. They're a secret of Silvanesti -- courtesans, our high-class prostitutes. Not," I waved my fork, "streetwalkers. Morokiti are selected carefully -- albeit from those males and females who, in their adolescence, have proven to have a high sex drive -- and become well-educated, erudite, perceptive at politics and social situations. There are never more than, oh, thirty or forty of each, male and female, at a time, I seem to recall. They learn much, reveal little, but give -- so it is whispered -- excellent counsel to those who can afford to visit them, usually high nobility in disguise."

Lydia frowned down at the remains of her soup, and put her spoon down as she thought about the information. "Speaking of disguises, who exactly is 'Master Brook Forestburn'?" She started carefully tearing one of her loaves of bread in half, then hollowing one side out by ripping its core out piece by piece, using the chunks to clean up the remnants of her soup.

"Hah. Someone I came up with to terrorize a pack of renegades. They'd seized control of a fairly good-sized fishing village on the Vingaard River, and captured a devotee of Mishakal traveling by boat from Maelgoth to Kalaman. Highmage Wintrei -- the Master of the Conclave before I became eligible to become Master of the Order of Nuitari again --"

"Red Robe, I think?" She examined a chunk of cheese impaled on her fork, well-smeared with my cum, before meeting my gaze, smirking, and popping it into her mouth.

I am not typically given to smiles, but I had not played the lover in many decades, and could not help but grin smugly back at her. "Just so. She asked me to investigate and deal with the situation. 'Dalamar the Dark' would have scattered them immediately, so ..."

"... you needed a new face, someone who was unknown to them."

"Which," I agreed, "would at the very least make them overconfident due to their numbers. I decided that Forestburn was a renegade himself, and not a wealthy one, hunted by the Conclave as he was. As scarred as I was --"

"How did you get healed of that??" She studied my face, restored from the damage dealt by Kalrakin during the retaking of Wayreth.

"Patience, caslth," I teased her, and was rewarded with a blush and a duck of her head. "One story at a time."

"Yes, shalafi," she murmured, spearing a piece of cauliflower coated with butter, bread crumbs, and cum. She lifted it, then extended her tongue to catch the drip of the butter-semen blend, taking the rest into her mouth.

It was my turn to redden, and though I felt my member swell slightly, the need to take her wasn't immediate. "Where was I?"

"Being scarred."

"Right. As scarred as I was, it gave me a good reason to keep my head covered while I explored the situation in the town. Oh, they challenged me -- almost immediately -- but I displayed a competence level somewhat higher than any single one of them. After staying there for a few weeks, observing their careful predations on the local river and road traffic, I decided that while the Conclave might want them to take the Test, I personally didn't want them in the Orders." Frowning, I asked, "Lydia, what are we to drink?"

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot." She rose and went to the door again -- no, not the door, but one of the two cabinets built into the wall on either side of the door, beneath the flags and bell. She opened the upper door of the side which, as I recalled, would be on the same side as the sideboard in the vestibule, and retrieved a carrier that had on one side a sizable teapot, and on the other a pot that looked like it might contain honey; it had a dipper, at least. She paused, eyeing something else, but then let the cabinet door close and made her way to a sideboard, where she fetched out two cups. Bringing all three to the table, she smiled as she saw that my eyes were on her, admiring the form in which I intended to take every delight in impregnating. I realized as she approached, shirt-framed breasts swaying as she walked, that her proportions were only slightly less than those she'd displayed in my quarters: exceptionally full for an elf, and near enough to her own natural ones that, now that I could really see her, I could draw the parallel.

"Can you get that trivet?" she asked, nodding towards the wooden disk sitting in the middle of the table.

I rose, retrieved it, and slid it under where she was about to put the kettle. "Tea?" I wondered.

"Mm-hmm. I considered wine for today's lunch, but decided against it. Normally we'll have three bottles of wine between lunch and dinner, and six kettles throughout day and night; Cordwayner is still here, and he knows his tea. Water," she added, "can be dispensed from the sink by the necessary." Delivering the cups, she poured for us both, lifting hers after she'd set the kettle back down. "To your health, Dalamar."

"To our child, Lydia," I replied, and laughed as she blushed again, but tapped her cup against mine and sat back down.

She got her revenge almost immediately, though, as she retrieved the side pot and sat back down, dipping some honey into her tea. "Your penis is flaccid," she observed. "Honey?" she added, offering me the pot.

Looking down, I was somewhat surprised to see that she was right. "When did that happen?" I mused, accepting her offer of the honey pot, and put a dollop in my own. "I suppose because there's been no direct stimulation, though watching you strut around naked with those beautiful tits out --"

"I did not strut!!" she protested, spearing a generously-spooged chunk of cheese. She hesitated, then offered me the cum-smeared bite.

I leaned forward, wrapped my mouth around it, and drew it slowly off the fork, using the 'imagine your cock where the utensil is' tease. She watched, captivated and blushing, as I straightened up and considered the taste. Yes, definitely my own semen, but -- "Clashes with the cheese. Need a milder one, less salty. More fruity, maybe," I suggested, and smiled at the blushing delight at my consumption I saw in her face. "And you were too strutting. Not," I lifted my hand to still the protest that sprang to her lips, "that you don't deserve to, Lydia; your body is beautiful, sexually appealing, and at the moment a triumph of erotic delights. You ought to strut; I like watching it."

Pink-faced, she ducked her head, looking at her food, then murmured, "Thank you, Dalamar." A pause, then she added with the delightful wickedness I hoped to like after the valin ended, and to never to grow tired of beyond that, "I look forward to watching you strut around too."

I laughed, and returned to eating, and to my tale. "So. They were, for all they were wielders of magic, some sorcerers, some wizards, thuggish one and all, lording it over the villagers, making sure their prey could not escape, tormenting the devoted priestess of Mishakal as she went about, healing the injuries they had delivered -- and not just to the villagers, but to herself as well. Yes, I decided that not even the Order of Nuitari could make use of them. So over the two weeks following, I started making them disappear one by one, each to be discovered a day or three later in some horrific state, and the one which found the previous disappearing that very night. Dead, of course, but ... terrorizing them."

I chanced to glance up and catch her expression, then, which was ... not horrified or repulsed, the way most other White Robes would have been, nor even the neutral visage of hidden emotions the way the others (and many of the Red Robes) would have shown me. Instead, she looked at me thoughtfully, studying my face as she chewed, examining me in just the same the way I've examined parchments before inscribing them, trying to decide whether or not the flaws I've found make the surface worthless, or whether I can work with them to some useful end.

That was the moment I realized that she was already actively considering whether or not we might extend our relationship past our stay at the Pink Palace. That she recognized my proclivities, and that unlike others of her Order, she did not reject them out of hand. My heart hammered suddenly in my chest, and pain flared beyond the usual in Raistlin's Fingerprints -- not the normal steady pain, but the intense agony of their application, of those few times I'd had a priest seek to call healing upon them, or another archmage attempt to remove the curse.

I hissed at that, baring my teeth as I gritted them against the torment. Her eyes widened, and she stared at the injuries like a bird caught by the eyes of a cobra. "I hate to ask this," I gasped, "but is there a pad to use?"

She stared for a moment more, then nodded, scrambling for her seat and heading to the cabinets by the necessary. After a bit of rummaging, she returned, scooped up the windings of her breast-band, and tended to me.

Swallowing against a surge of weariness, I interlaced my hands on top of my head, keeping my arms out of her way as she carefully used one wide piece of cloth to clean up the seepings, then gently arranged a second one across the five wounds. "Hold this in place, please?" she asked softly; I lowered one hand to comply, and she quickly rolled her breast-band up, reached behind me to anchor it against my spine, then drew it snugly against my skin, around the front to bind the pad in place, switch hands, and continue the task around my back.

"Where did you learn how to bind wounds?" I asked, closing my eyes and trying to focus on suppressing the pain instead of trying to inhale the scent of her hair.

"The Tsytri teach a few of the basics; Altheia taught me some more. This is not unlike binding a broken rib," which I knew, "or my breasts," which I had not thought about. I put my hands back on the top of my head to make it easier for her to continue her task; I knew when she started tucking and fiddling with the end that she was almost done.

She announced the task was done by sealing her lips over mine and, through a practically chaste kiss, caressing the side of my cheek. I could feel my member spring back to furious attention, only four or five beats of my heart before it was back upright, completely turgid. To her credit, she didn't even look down; instead, she said softly, her forehead against mine and her breath hot on my lips, "He should not have done that to you."

"I deserved it," I told her, repeating what I'd told myself for tens of thousands of nights since then. The fingerprints had not faded when the magic had gone away; perhaps they had faded when I died, but if so, they had flared back to furious life the moment I was brought back. No, there was no escaping this curse from the Master of Past and Present. "I had betrayed him, spied on him for the Conclave."

"No crime," she told me with such gentle compassion and heartfelt sorrow that I felt my face tightening up in preparation of a good cry, "deserves so long a punishment. I will find a way to free you. Some day."

I gave a deep breath, intending to answer, but she silenced me with her lips upon mine, tongue stroking across them to quest for entry. As I granted it, letting her explore my teeth and allowing my tongue to explore hers in turn, she climbed into my lap, guided me to her, and sought to soothe my pain with the balm of giving me a child.

---

I rested there, cheek against his shoulder, my nose tucked against his neck and my lips brushing his collarbone as what was left of our food got cold on the table. He was -- undoubtedly -- cruel and sadistic, taking pleasure in the acts and in the power he had over the others. In the scenario he presented, he could have simply, and probably relatively quietly, wiped them out one by one in a matter of hours, but he hadn't -- he'd drawn it out, for that terror, for that thrill.

But he hadn't done it to the townsfolk; he'd done it to their tormentors. It indicated a solid sort of morality, one which I had seen in a handful of people in my life: those who enjoyed inflicting pain, but did so to destroy those who preyed upon the innocent -- or at least the common. In his ruthless way, he was as much a protector as any White Robe.

"So are you going to finish your story?" I asked as I traced his collarbone with my fingertips.

He hmmmed softly, then gave my forehead a kiss. "We should clean up a little, I think. I'll tell it to you afterwards."

Straightening up, I could feel him still throb inside me; a smile caressed my face as his eyes dropped to my breasts, and I leaned in to kiss him, making it quick so that we didn't get too aroused. Climbing off his lap -- and with a secret thrill as his continuing erection, withdrawing from my sex, slapped against his belly -- I reassembled my tray. As he followed suit, I told him, "The cabinets to either side of the door are pass-throughs of sorts. Left side is where the drinks are usually placed: top is a hotbox, bottom a coldbox. We put dishes and other things we've used, towels and such, into the cabinet to the right, then pull the cord next to it to let the house know they're there."

He nodded, looking thoughtfully at the messes we'd made on the table with our sexual fluids. "What about those?"

I smiled, leading him over to the cabinets, staying in front so that he could enjoy my rear. "I have a spell that will handle the rest. For most people, they'll clean up -- how much of a mess they have to deal with impacts whether or not they get a cleaning charge. Same with damaging furniture, fabrics -- even the plants. Especially the plants."

Dalamar did indeed enjoy my rear, as I did his wagging erection as I paused to watch him approach. "Noted -- payment has to be made for wrecking the place."

"Or too extensive a cleaning disaster. Usually they'll do that while we're out, but since we're not leaving, I've arranged for them to come in and straighten up while we're in the raincloset."

He put his tray in as I opened the cabinet, and I followed suit. "Should we take a bath?"

"If you like," I said, "but I think we should decide how long to extend this. And you have to tell me the rest of your story." I frowned, then stepped to the other side of the door, to open up the warming cabinet and take out the tall, slim jug I'd noticed when I'd gotten the tea and warmed honey. "What's this?"

Dalamar smiled and took it from me. "Oil for sexplay, the best the house has. You didn't think I was going to subject you to an unlubricated experience when I enjoy your rear?"

I blushed, took the jar back and returned to the table, looking over my shoulder to watch him watch me walk. "I'm looking forward to it," I smirked, turning as I reached the table to once again watch him walk to me, his jutting cock swaying.

"Mmmm, we also need to tuck my, ah, 'little toy' into you, to help us along," he agreed. "Which one first?"

I hesitated; telling the story would be more comfortable on the bed, but deciding how long we wanted to extend this, and inserting his -- dildo, I guess? -- into me might trigger a bout or three of coupling that would distract us again. Still, he could tell his story while he was taking his pleasure of me, and giving me pleasure in return.

"Let's ... decide how long we want this to go." I turned around, putting the oil on the table and leaning over to push it towards the center, smiling as Dalamar stepped up behind me and, after running his hand across my shoulder to tumble my stupidly long hair over the left one, pressed his erection against my buttocks and spine.

"How long was it with Sinul, again? Two and a half days?" His hands slipped under my arms, and for the first time he started playing with my breasts, which I certainly didn't mind. "Are there any side effects we should be worried about?"

"Around that, yes, and, um ..." I blushed, wondering how to phrase it.

His fingers found my nipples, his mouth my ear; both gave a pinch. "Caslth ..."

"Sorry, shalafi, just ... explanation."

"I seem to recall," he murmured, licking my eartip while his fingers twiddled my nipples, "you saying 'simply'."

I laughed. "Yessir. Semen production increase and phallus growth over time; retention of a proportion of each is possible, growing more likely the longer completion of the valin is resisted."

"Oh?" His hips shifted a little, back and forth, rubbing him against my buttocks and back; his lips stroked my eartip, his hands my breasts. "How much?"

"Um. You know, doing that is making it very difficult to concentrate."

"Mmm-hmm. Well, you are, and I quote, 'my devoted cocksleeve' -- and a surpassing beauty at that; I am not to enjoy you? Touch yourself, caslth," he instructed as he licked and lipped my ear, kneaded my breasts, frottaged between my buttocks, sausage-and-bun. "Now focus. How large of a proportion is kept?"

I laughed and moaned, sliding my hands down to stroke and tease myself while pressing my head back against his breastbone, my tits against his hands, my ass against his groin. "Let me think. Production doubles ... about every hundred and fifty orgasms, or something like than that. That's cumulative, so at three hundred-ish, it's four times the original, which is about when Sinul and I finished up. I would guess that the growth rate would remain steady, doubling and doubling again every hundred and fifty."

He suckled on my eartip, hands practically milking my breasts, squeezing slowly and gently from base to stiffened nipple. I could feel his seed sliding out of me, down my thighs, and I wanted him replacing it as swiftly as possible. "And size, caslth?"

I groaned, pressing my palms against the tabletop. "Uh, about ... ummmmm. Fuck. Sinul started out at about seven inches, grew to ... mmmmff ... eight and a half? I think? I think he retained some of that, maybe a quarter of the growth. Thickness too. Mmm, and a little bit of testicle size. He produced more cum afterwards, too."

He slowed, then stopped, his slow grinding against my rear, though his hands and lips continued his molestation.

"Shalafi?" I inquired, uncertain.

"Trying not to decorate your back again, Lydia," he panted.

I smirked; in giving my name, he relinquished the dominant role, which I seized, lifting my hands away from my groin to collect my hair and bring it back over my shoulder, tumbling down between us, and all around his erection. "Then spray it in my hair, ondoji."

"Oh, yes, senfu!!" His enthusiasm surprised me, pressing forward, clutching my breasts as he rubbed himself against me. My hands dived back to their work, and I leaned forward, giving him more of my buttocks to slide between in the few strokes before he erupted. The cries of pleasure he released were a delight to hear, sweet and clear, and mine followed them moments later.

Chapter Text

XXVIe

Concluding the story. Calculating times. Personal fantasies.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember 546 AC, Ninth Watch rising, 13
S31:L10*:N3*

"Ten steel for cleaning is no laughing matter."
-- Lydia

"I think I am spurting more," I said, hands gathering up her cum-spattered hair and doing what many of the females I'd serviced as an ondoji liked me doing, rubbing it through all their strands. Normally I'd've gone soft, but between the valin and the erotic business of distributing my seed on her -- which was something that always got me back into the mood quite swiftly -- I stayed jutting up between her buttocks.

"Mmmmm. So how much do you want to try to spurt?" she asked dreamily, post-orgasmic as well.

"Oh, well. Is it wrong of me to want to really push the limits?" I bit my lower lip as I asked, drawing her ash-blonde hair back over her shoulder, curving myself down around her again to reach beneath her and palm her breasts with my cum-coated hands. I smiled, and teased her ear -- her other ear, the left one this time -- with my tongue. "How much before the valin is satisfied?"

She moaned at the caresses, and I knew that eventually I would pay the price as she returned the favor; I have been made to cum just by playing with my eartips, and I suspected the valin would make that a particularly easy thing to do. "Theoretically, the moment of fertilization would do it, but our best guess is forty vaginal ejaculations, something like that," she sighed, the sound of a lover enjoying her partner's afterplay or foreplay. Right now, I suppose they were one and the same thing.

"Hmmm. Let's say forty," I murmured, giving her eartip a slow lick, my hands rolling and kneading her pale porcelain teats, capturing her enticingly large nipples, to squeeze and tug upon their pink peaks. "So with Sinul, two and a half days, forty-eight, sixty hours -- every hour and a half?"

A low groan came from her, and she pushed against the tabletop, making her way slowly up to press her back against my body and move us both almost upright, once again accentuating the eight-inch difference in our height. "That rings about true, give or take."

"Three hundred or so ejaculations in that time?" I couldn't help but sound a little dubious, but then, I had erupted seven times in the span of an hour and a half, so I wasn't that far behind.

She turned her head, her hands rising to cup mine as I played with her tits. "Yeees?" she asked, a little warily.

I blushed and bit my lower lip, embarrassed to admit what I was fantasizing about.

She reached up and back, tangling her fingers in my hair. "Ondoji," she purred, giving a little tug on it, which made me throb, "what are you thinking??"

"I ..." Tug; throb. "I ... I want to cum a lot, senfu." At the moment, I wanted to cum on her back.

She considered this, stroking my jawline. "How do you mean -- number of times, or amount of product per eruption?"

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Product per eruption, senfu."

"Mmm." Her thumb stroked over my lips, teased at pushing into my mouth. "How much is 'a lot'?"

What a baffling question, to which I had to reply, "I don't know, senfu. Just ... a huge amount." Proof of my virility, I suppose, valin-enhanced or not. I don't know if I was the only one with that sort of erotic fantasy, though I expected not; a male's ejaculate is simultaneously a display of his potency, a show of how much he can produce, and a signal of his partner's desirability, inducing him to erupt such volume.

"Well," she said slowly, using her other hand to pull mine down from her breast and to her groin, which not-coincidentally put my head down against her shoulder, and she started to get her revenge by caressing my eartip with her tongue, "you already ejaculate quite a bit. Almost a couple of teaspoons full. Caress me, ondoji."

My eyes closed as I struggled with the other drives being added to my valin-arousal, trying desperately not to erupt again, even as I stroked her labia, her clitoris, her breast and nipple. "Yes, senfu," I conceded.

"How much, then?" she wondered, hand cupping the back of my neck to keep me in place. "An entire cup, ondoji?"

I reddened, imagining spilling that onto her, then fighting off the resultant near-eruption between that and everything else. "Yes, senfu," I breathed. Her lips moved away, and she studied my face. "That would be wonderful."

"Mmmm." She shifted her lips to my ear, pulling her hair back over her shoulder so that its gentle waves once again surrounded my throbbing member. "Two cups, ondoji?"

Oh, gods. She was teasing me with my own imagination; I grappled with the concept of jetting out so much spunk. "Please, senfu," I agreed. I could feel my cock giving little spurts of precum.

"I wonder what it would be like if you were spurting four cups worth of jism every time you erupted, ondoji. Would you like to find out??"

"Yes please senfu may I cum?!?"

She laughed wickedly and ordered, "Give my hair your cum, ondoji."

Giving off whining little yelps of pleasure, I ground against her rear, spurting anew into the tumble of her hair, struggling to make her cum with my hands. I must have succeeded, because she shuddered against me and nipped and licked and suckled on my ear, murmuring 'good boy' and 'good ondoji'. Which made me have no refractory period at all, and I barely gasped, "Cumming again, senfu!!" before another orgasm spilled a third full helping of my seed onto her hair, back, and buttocks.

Thank the gods, she slowed down again, then murmured, "Do you cum just from having your eartips played with, Dalamar?"

I bit my lower lip, blushing. "Yes, sometimes." I hesitated, then admitted, "Often. It usually takes considerably longer, but right now ..."

She gave another wicked laugh. "Oh my. What trust you have in your senfu, ondoji." She giggled, then let my eartip go, kissing my cheek. "Go get me something to write on, and with that, ondoji, and you will have served your senfu well for the moment. I'll spell the room to clean up for us."

I turned my head to stroke my lips across hers. "Yes, senfu," I murmured. "Thank you, senfu." I straightened and eased away from her, biting my lower lip (again!) as I looked down at the glorious mess I'd made of her.

She straightened up, then turned, smirking and giving me a flick of her fingers towards the writing table; obediently, I turned, thought, then strutted for her, giving a bit of added kick to my hips. She whistled obscenely at me, getting a laugh from both of us, and moved about her own business.

Retrieving paper, pen, and inkwell was the work of a moment; I turned to see what she was doing, which apparently involved heading towards the necessary, taking off her shirt as she walked. Slowly I headed back to the table as she retrieved a few items from the cabinets. After several moments of thought (and, I suspect, meditation to try to push the demands of the valin into the back of her consciousness), she straightened up, and began to sing and dance, casting a spell which was, as I listened to the Magius she was singing, entirely unfamiliar to me.

No, wait -- it bore ... some resemblance to the cleaning effect of a prestidigitation, and some to the fastidiousness spell, but it was a step or two beyond it. I thought I caught a definition of an area to be affected, as well as differentiation between things to be cleaned up, but I'm afraid she lost me, in part because her body was moving in all sorts of homey movements -- sweeping, and wiping off an imaginary table, and doing laundry -- that made her body dip and sway and look like a high Silvanesti noblewoman lowering herself to doing chores. Naked. And splattered with semen.

I wanted to interrupt her, drag her down and breed her again, but I know well the dangers of a miscast spell going awry.

Smiling once she'd finished her task, she moved to place a small chunk of soap into the necessary, a cleaning-towel over the back of the screen around it, a stone into the dust bin, and then moved over to me carrying her shirt, nipples a lovely pink peak on her pale swaying breasts. "This," she said, presenting her shirt to me, "will gather up all the cum and quim we spray, or that leaks, outside our bodies. On cloth, like the sheets or a towel, it'll clean it up within a minute or two; on a surface, like the floor or table, about five. On our bodies," she smiled, "fifteen or twenty minutes. Oil similarly, though half an hour on our bodies, and it goes onto the towel. Other more unpleasant things will be cleaned up immediately, into the toilet, the towel, or the dustbin."

"That's a very adept spell," I agreed. "The delay on cleaning the oil and fluids ..."

She waggled her eyebrows, smirking. "Play reasons."

I nodded, moving over to a dry portion of the table to lay out my acquisitions. "So what do you need these for?"

Her eyes practically sparkled. "To figure out how long we should extend our indulgence, of course." She adjusted the chair so that it was side-on to the table, then climbed up on it on her knees. Pulling her cum-clotted hair over the shoulder that was towards the back of the chair, she said, her voice simultaneously a little wicked and a little shy, "I cleaned out my insides this morning, Dalamar. Would you fuck my ass, please?"

I leaned over next to her and, cupping her cheek, gave her a kiss. "I have wanted to do just that since I watched you leave my quarters," I told her, and reached for the warm oil.

--

Dalamar was absolutely an attentive lover, coating one hand in the oil the house had provided, smearing it liberally between my buttocks, slowly working one finger into my anus. I knew how to take a lover there -- I'd told him so, and wasn't lying -- but it had been more than a few lovers ago, so his careful work was appreciated. "So," I sighed in delight of his probing, dipping the pen into the ink and starting to prepare for my calculations, "Master Forestburn?" Him telling a tale would split his attention, make his enjoyment and mine last longer.

"Oh, yes. Where was I?" he asked, increasing the number of fingers spreading my anal ring to two.

"You were eliminating the renegades," I said, tucking my knees up a bit further, to enjoy his slow, third-knuckle-deep fingering a bit more.

"Mmm, yes. After I'd whittled them down to -- four, I think? No, five -- they realized it had to have been me, and came after me, thinking of course that numbers and power were still in their favor. The idiots assaulted me while I was actually speaking with the devotee of Mishakal, which was stupid of them -- what if they'd killed her too? -- but they went ahead and did it anyhow. I protected us both out of self-preservation, of course -- a priestess of Mishakal will heal anyone." He paused, then murmured, "Adding a third finger."

I took a deep breath in as that third digit wiggled against my rear then, with the slow, deliberate twisting pressure he was using, sank into me. "Ohh, that feels good."

"Mmmm, I'm glad," he murmured, then continued his story. "We were just inside the graveyard following the burial of my previous victim, which really went to show how idiotic they were. I put up a wall of stone behind them, then called the dead out of the ground, including some family pets and the like, a few dead birds and rats. They were very desperate to escape, but it was straight into the face of the dead from the graveyard, and there were more and stronger dead than they had combat capacity."

"What happened to the priestess of Mishakal?" I hesitated, staring at my calculations and licking my lips in anticipation, then carefully forced myself to get back to them.

"She was glad that I had saved the town, but less than pleased about how I'd done it. I did send the corpses back to their graves," he added, sounding defensive. "Even to the right ones. Anyhow. Have you ever heard of Domina Jessamy?"

I blinked, looking over my back at him -- the conversational topic jarred with the sight of him with three fingers inside my rear, and I'm afraid reflex took over and squeezed a bit tight. "Ow. Sorry," I apologized, and turned back, blushing. "Of course I have. Everyone's heard of Domina Jessamy. She cured all of Kalaman of the plague. Do you mean --"

"Not a worry," Dalamar murmured in response to my apology. "And all of Kalaman is an overstatement if anything is, but yes, that was her. If she had gotten there when she had been meant to, the plague would not have exploded into the disaster it had become. As it was, in acknowledgement of freeing her and the village, she offered to restore the damage done to my face and head. I, being a vain male, agreed immediately, and dismissed the shape-alteration spell. Another finger."

I inhaled, uncertain as to whether or not I could take so much, but he took great care, adding another dose of warm oil and working his littlest finger in next to the rest. "Did she recognize you?"

"She did, and she scolded me, but I pointed out that I'd had to judge them before handling them." I felt him shrug, then say, "So she rejuvenated my face and head, and I sent her on to Kalaman, and we went about our respective businesses." His four fingers didn't go in quite as deep as the two or the three, but it was still a very weird sensation.

Well, that explained the 'restoration' mystery as well; no wonder he'd told me to have patience. "From Kovar's reaction, it sounds like you kept up Forestburn's identity."

"Yes, well," he said, focused on slowly working not just his fingers but apparently also the width of his hand into my rear, which I wasn't sure I was going to be able (or want) to take. "He has turned out to be a rather useful sort. Every three or five years he returns to Wayreth, stalks like thunder through the libraries, scorns what is on offer, produces a few scrolls for sale, collects what he's owed, and hangs around long enough to terrorize most of the Black and half of the rest. He's an unpredictable scourge, made worse that nobody can predict when he's going to pop up. You ready?" he asked, bending down next to me, his breath playing on my ear.

I closed my eyes, then breathed slowly out in a controlled stream. "Mmm-hmm," I said, then turned my head and torso to watch.

He smiled at my desire to witness the sight, and made a show of it: taking up the tall curve of the oil bottle; leveraging his cock to jut above my rear, held in place with his thumb, hand cupped beneath it; dipping the spout of the bottle almost to his thumb, then lifting it as the stream of oil poured out in a thin, glistening thread. His cocktip flared at the play, and as he tilted the bottle back he stroked his hand up his shaft, spreading the oil before letting himself pull upright, with remarkably little drip upon my own porcelain-pale buttocks.

Moving to place the bottle well away from us upon the table, he stood there for a long minute, letting me watch him masturbate and spread the oil up and down his organ, piquing my anticipation: soon, he was going to bury that inside me, inside my ass!! I withstood it as long as I could, then wriggled a little. "You going to jack off for me, ondoji, or are you going to fuck my ass?"

He smirked and turned it right back on me. "You going to complain, caslth, or are you ready for me to fuck your ass?"

"Oh, I am so ready for you fuck my ass," I laughed throatily.

"Well then, little cockslut, let's get to what I've been fantasizing about since last night," he said, stepping back behind me, and of course I twisted to watch. His long, fine fingers spread upon one buttock, revealing me, and then he guided his crown to my anus. A gentle rub of the round tip against my ring, then a slow, firm pressure that I relaxed into, and he was inches into me. A withdrawl, and inches more. And more, until his hips were against my buttocks, and he and his oiled hands were sliding up my body, cupping my dangling tits. "You," came his panting breath, "have an ass as sweet as your pussy."

I pinkened, laughed, then gave a deep, pleased sigh as he started to slowly roger me. "You sure know how to make use of it. So," I sighed again, not without a fair amount of moan in it, "I figure if we want to reach a quarter gallon, considering your starting point, we're looking at almost a thousand ejaculations."

"Mmmm, so much -- and so many," he murmured dreamily, his hips slowly cycling himself, three or four inches out before returning gently to his balls-deep presence in my insides.

"Mmm-hmm. At an estimated average of six ejaculations an hour --"

He laughed and bit my shoulder, lightly. "I seem to want more than that," he teased me.

"Yes, but we will take breaks to eat -- and eventually doze," I pointed out playfully.

"Oh, I suppose," he mock-pouted.

"We'd be looking at almost seven days."

He was silent for a while, twenty or thirty strokes of his cock up into my ass, which I'll readily admit lulled me into just enjoying it, reaching my hand down around his arm to play with my own again-dripping sex.

"Ah-ah," he murmured, moving his hand to block me, nudging it away, then taking possession of my sex, stroking and fingering it. "A week. How long of a space between breeding you should we make it?"

I'd forgotten to do that, and turned back to my figures, groaning as he tried to make me mess them up. "Mmmmmfffuuuck you're good. Ummm, so forty into a thousand is once every twenty-five orgasms, which amounts to ... by six ..."

"I already came in you twice," he reminded me

That made me groan and refigure. "So ... every twenty six and a fraction from now on. If we don't balance it out."

"I'm going to cum in your ass, Lydia," he told me. "But I'm not going to stop fucking you. How long between? Given six per hour."

I calculated frantically. "Ah, uh, fuuuuck, four and a quarter, maybe four and a half hours between."

"Good girl," he praised me, then added, "Finger yourself, I want to look at you beneath me when I cum."

My hand swiftly took the place of his own, and his other hand released my breast, both of them moving to my hips to brace me as he sped up, driving his cock into my rear.

"That's it, elf girl," he panted, "good elf girl, you like my dick in your rear?"

It was a bit jarring, to hear him say 'elf girl', but I really did want to be his caslth, his dedicated cocksheath. "Yes, shalafi," I panted, fingers working my slit and clit, "I really like your long, thick cock fucking my ass."

He groaned, his hips quickening, hips slamming against my buttocks as he drove himself into me, into his fantasy. "I always thought you high-born Silvanesti fems were secretly jealous of the morokiti," he panted. "But not even a sweet little Silvanesti highborn caslth would like an outcast's member rogering them."

This was dangerous territory, because I didn't know the map inside Dalamar's head. I vaguely recalled he'd had a lover before his expulsion, but as lowborn as himself, wasn't she? On the other hand, practically nobody but other elven outcasts would have even looked at him in the intervening years, so having a fantasy of a highborn Silvanesti fem under his hand must be compelling. I couldn't change his status, but ... ah! "I don't know about other Silvanesti fems, shalafi," I panted, "but you are the most forbidden of fruits for a highborn like me. The beautiful Highmage, the Black Robe outcast whose worth is visible for all of Krynn to see, powerful and influential beyond that of kings. We cannot even look at you in public, shalafi, but I am living our fantasies -- of being able to service you in secret, to be used like a slut the way all us highborn fantasize we could be used, wonderfully humiliated with your cum soaking in my hair, your fat dick in my ass."

Again he groaned, pulling out, pausing, slamming in, back, pause, slam. "Quim for me, you highborn Silvanesti caslth, quim for me hard and fast, again and again. Show me you really are a slut, quimming with your shalafi's shaft between your buttocks. Tell your shalafi you don't deserve his cock in your pussy; beg him to at least cum in your ass."

"Please, shalafi," I begged, cheek pressed against the table as I masturbated and he took me, "please cum in my rear!! I beg of you to allow this worthless Silvanesti highborn prove that she can be your caslth, to be so much your slut that you may eventually wish to use her pussy, grant as her greatest reward the chance of giving you a child --"

His fingers dug into my hips as he slammed into me, hard, and I felt his organ swell, pushing my sphincter wider as he pulsed inside me. "Not this time, highborn," he gasped, bucking against me as his phallus poured his lust into my guts. "But keep begging me to use your sweet ass, and I might. Now prove you want it -- make yourself quim."

Moaning at being his plaything, I obediently drove myself to orgasm.

Chapter Text

XXVIf

Dangerous honesty. Lost in orgasms. A dubious fact.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember, 546 AC, Tenth Watch rising, 29
S31:L10*:N3*

"What a beautiful thing you are."
-- Lydia

I'd lost count how many times I'd cum with Dalamar's cock fucking my ass, but he finally stopped after rutting through four more of his own. His hand had been tangled in my hair for most of the time, twenty minutes or so, riding me and rubbing my ears to drive me into orgasm after orgasm, fixated on me being a 'highborn little Silvanesti slut' and 'giving' me the opportunity to be bred by him. I played along because I didn't want to break the mood, because getting my ass fucked by Dalamar was amazing, and because he really wanted his heavy-breasted Silvanesti highborn anal-sex enthusiast to cum constantly. This was not something I minded. While I wasn't sure if his lust to impregnate a highborn elf was influenced by the valin or not, the manifestation of it was entirely enjoyable -- and I was rapidly turning into as much of an ear-slut as he apparently was.

Pulling out of me, he chuckled and moved the seat next to me, not quite as shocky-weak as he'd been the other times. "Dropping into a chair after I've cum my brains out is becoming a habit," he teased me.

I laughed -- a little shakily -- and reached back to finger my rear. "This is going to be such a mess," I ruefully noted, then climbed down off the chair I'd been on to resume the same kneeling position between his half-spread legs I'd been in before. I could feel his spunk draining out of my well-used rear, but oh, how good it felt being pumped into me!!

Unable to do more than chant and gesture, I used a cantrip to call a towel to me, then another to soak it with warm water. Reaching out for his twitching cock, still at full engorgement, I glanced up at him as I wrapped the warm, wet cloth around him to clean him up.

He'd rested one elbow on the table, and his head on that lightly-curled fist; the smile he gave me was warm, but a little wry. I returned it, but changed the 'wry' to 'impish', pushing his thighs further apart so that I could scoot up to him. My gaze shifted between his groin and his expression as I carefully tended to him. "What," I finally asked, "are you thinking?"

He was silent for a time, then said, "Just about that fantasy."

I nodded, understanding; talking openly about your fantasies was, as we were both discovering, difficult, especially since we didn't really know if we could trust each other with them. If we could, all for the better; if we couldn't, well ... disaster would be a delicate word for what came of it. So I carefully wiped him, cock and balls, groin, thighs, and belly, of any oil and remnants of his mounting of my anus.

Once I'd finished, I hesitated, then looked up at him, reaching back (and yes, lifting my breasts into the air, it wasn't a deliberate tease) to wipe myself, then cleaned up the floor and spread the towel beneath me to catch any additional drips. My back upright, sitting in the position of attention I'd been taught in my very first kamaeru class, I told him, "If you want to tell me about it, I am willing to listen. If you don't want to, that's just as good."

He watched me as I watched him (although not taking glances at his erection was difficult), his organ finally starting to relax from its constant erotic vigilance. As it settled across his thigh, he said quietly, "I've only had sex with an elven female once since my banishment."

The admission made me blink. Once? No, that can't be right. I opened my mouth, intending on saying something, and then hesitated as that wry cast to his smile returned. My lips closed again as I thought about it: about the way most elves treated the outcasts. A half-remembered phrase I'd heard -- in this very House, in fact!! -- sprung back to mind. "They wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire ..." I'm fairly certain they hadn't been talking about Dalamar, but the sentiment ... seemed appropriate to the arrogant elven approach towards those they spurned. "Will you tell me about it?"

He shrugged, sitting up, then forward, reaching out to caress my cheek, tuck my hair behind my ear. "Not much to tell," he admitted. "In Sanction, I hired a Silvanesti valth, a female who had turned to prostitution. She charged plenty -- more than I did, later on -- but when she saw my outcast lack of braids, well. Spread her thighs, looked away, showed no pleasure at my mounting, never lost the expression of disgust and contempt. I spent myself the once, stood, and left."

My hand lifted to stroke his cheek in return, a mirror and echo. "That," I told him, "was ill-done indeed." I traced my fingers across his cheekbone, down his nose, across his lips, then lifted myself up to kiss him gently. "I hope you shall never see such an expression on my face."

He remained silent, returning the gentle kisses for a minute or two, our fingers caressing jaw, cheek, neck, shoulder. "Don't your knees hurt?" he finally murmured, breaking the tension.

"Mmmm, no more than usual; something you get used to, in kamaeru. First step in self-discipline, shutting out the discomfort." I smiled, tilted my head slightly, gave him another kiss. "Besides," I said softly, "being down here makes it easier for me to glory in the wealth of your balls and the hardness of your cock."

He laughed, sliding his hand up to stroke my eartip. "You're an addict, aren't you?"

Shuddering at the sensation, I nodded, blushing but grinning up at him, silly-stupid-horny-happy. "It isn't like I take on two or five or twenty males at a time," I replied with a hint of defensiveness.

"That's something I'd pay to see," came his shocking murmur.

It sparked an astonished, embarrassed laugh from me, and I ran my hand up his chest, shoulder, neck, and up his ear. "I am a very limited-time caslth, I'll have you know," I told him, rubbing his eartip, which made his cock spring throbbing back into fierce readiness.

"I hope not, Lydia" he added, causing me to pinken and laugh again; it wasn't something I was expecting him to say. He took advantage of that by sliding his hand around the back of my neck, and guiding me down onto his urgency. "Just suck the head," he panted. "I'll keep my head down so you can rub my eartips, and we can be perfectly matched: cock-addict caslth and cum-fountain ondoji. Make me cum, Lydia. Make me cum for you, again and again and again. Gulp me down, let me fill your belly with my seed. Let me paint your face, your breasts, your belly, your hair with it."

His fat tip in my mouth, I couldn't but stare up at him, dumbfounded for a moment. He pressed his lips against my forehead, kissed it with almost religious fervor, and breathed, "Let me lose myself in cumming for you."

Females can cum, fast and hard, again and again and again; Sinul had, when the valin had proved too much and I'd tried to mount him, pinned me down and made me cum for twenty-five minutes straight, at a count (or so he said) of no less than seventy orgasms in a row before he himself broke and mounted me to both our mind-shattering delights. I ... did not know how the valin would handle this, though. I knew he'd already cum twice in quick succession, into my (now spunk-free) hair, but ... would it help him erupt so frequently as he seemed to be demanding?? Would it injure him??

I confess I hesitated for a heartbeat too long, because he started to withdraw, slump back again, but my response caught him before he'd moved more than a handspan. With both hands on -- in control of -- his ears, I drew his mouth down to mine. "I like that," I murmured against his lips, just barely brushing them with mine. "Cock-addict caslth and cum-fountain ondoji. Let's see how much of a fountain you can be, my lovely ondoji," I told him, and kissed him while applying my thumbs to his eartips in slow, firm strokes.

Oh my did he cum when someone played with his eartips. His cock, untouched by either of us, started spraying his juice onto my throat and tits within five or six strokes of his ears; the muffled sound of his whining moan filled my mouth. I broke the kiss when his jets stopped hitting me, said hungrily, "That's it, ondoji. Into me, onto me -- give it to me. I am your caslth, yours and yours alone."

As my eartip rubbing brought him to another swift valin-powered climax, I ducked down, mouth open, eager to be fed.

---

"Dalamar."

The word meant something, warm against my ear, reaching my mind.

"Dalamar," came the caressing voice, a soft musical croon that drew my attention with its beauty, "come back to me."

I became aware of my own breath, shuddering in, quivering in my chest, then shuddering out of me. The ecstatic pulsing had slowed, had stopped, only a light throbbing in time to the heartbeat that thumped in my ear. A flood had washed over and through me, overwhelming and receding, only to return before I had a chance to recover and overwhelm me again. I had been lost in the rhythm, the oceanic surge and ease, left behind as driftwood upon the shore.

"Dalamaaar ..." The voice called gently, and then a shock of lightning coursed through me, and I cried out at its honeyed caress, too tender and pleasure-saturated to comprehend the delicious over-sensitivity. The groan grew in my belly, growled up into my chest, and tried to clamber through my throat, but emerged only as a slow moaning.

The succulent warmth did not fade, but sense and desire returned as the sensitivity of my glans abated to the merely erotic. My eyes finally opened to the vision of a head of tousled icy blonde hair, almost silver, bobbing slowly above my thighs. A face of fine warm porcelain skin, lovely beyond words, bowed to her self-imposed task, venerating my phallus with lips of a dark coral pink which left behind no smudging. Nearly every bit of that face, and much of the hair, was positively dripping with semen. My breathing steadied, remaining deep, ardent, yearning.

"Do you color your lips?" A ridiculous question, and I knew it was even as it left my tongue.

Her hazel eyes, again looking more blue than brown, opened more fully and looked up at me through her lashes. Her mouth never stopped its suckling, her head never ceased its bobbing, but she shook her head slightly in response -- then moaned, small hand sliding down to the base of my erection, other one rolling my testicles in its palm, trying to bob her mouth further and further down.

My hands itched to clutch at her head, delight in what I had spilled into her hair, but I recalled we were, at the moment, equals: eagerly-worshipping caslth, eager-to-be-worshipped ondoji. Managing to curl my fingers around the ends of the chair's arms, I gave myself to her, buttocks flexing to try to give her more. The dome of my tip nudged against the back of her throat, and I groaned, wishing I could have more -- and crying out in gladness when more was what I received.

Small elven hands spread against my thighs as my crown sunk into her throat; staggered, I stared down at her, to find her staring soulfully back up at me, pleading in her gaze even as she bobbed back and forth, an inch either way. The torment was exquisite as she eased my helm in and out of her throat, waiting for me to figure out what she wanted.

While I wanted to take control of her, I did not think she wished that. Well, maybe, but she had seemed to delight in the mutual submission. Too, I would erupt in due time ... so perhaps she desired the caress of my words. (Though the elegance of her ears seemed to beg for my touch, but I would turn that about soon enough.) "Do you wish me to speak?"

Her nod was not eager, quite, but half my organ slid into her gullet for several stunning dips of her head before she drew back for breath and to wait for my next question.

"Mmmm. Actual conversation?" Working out a conclusion or solution with simple yes/no answers is a time-honored exercise for trainees and aspirants.

She drew back, her eyes hinting at woebegone as her beautiful cum-sheened face exposed more of my shaft to the air instead of keeping it inside her beautiful mouth.

I could, however, see the magnificent obscenity of how stretched her jaw was to encircle my organ; it must have ached, but still she fellated me. "Lewd speech?"

Her 'yes!!' was emphatic, engulfing me with the earnest swiftness that had been missing from her last plunge. I gasped, buttocks flexing, desperately offering her my shaft as two-thirds of it disappeared between her lips, the bulbous tip occupying her throat. Three, four strokes, and then she started to withdraw.

"Mmoohhh, yess," came the croon from my lips, "for a caslth as unsurpassed lovely as you, absolutely. A cocksucking slut ought to know when her mouth is incomparably sweet, that her ondoji wants nothing more than to see her wrap those lovely lips around the very base of his cock, so that he fills her throat with it. If she does," I sighed from deep within my chest, "he promises to feed her his cream ..."

Her eyes, looking up at me, hoped for more -- so I gave it to her.

"And he will rub her eartips, and tell her she's a good girl."

Her hands moved to slide under my thighs, clutching at my hips and buttocks, pulling herself forward further and further with each dip of her head. Her hopelessly needful eyes stayed locked on mine as she took me deeper and deeper, every stroke getting closer and closer to the goal I'd set.

"Keep going," I panted, drawing my hands into her peripheral view, forefingers rubbing thumbs as if warming up to take her ears between them. "Almost there -- oh, no, pull back, you beautiful slut, catch your breath. It would not do," came my soft, aroused laughter, "for you to faint as I was filling your belly with my seed. A good ondoji ought to properly look after the peerless caslth that has been given to him for proper care ..." I paused, keeping the sentence unfinished as she flexed her fingers on my rear. When she nodded, ready to service me once more, I smiled and concluded with, "... and feeding."

Her passionate whine was cut off as she plunged my dome into her throat; looking for it, I shuddered at the gloriously carnal sight of her throat bulging to accommodate my phallus. Obscenely coated in my spunk, gaze devoted to mine, she sought the base of my maleness with single-minded commitment as I groaned encouragement. "Beautiful slut, lovely slut, perfect slut, almost there, almost almost -- thaank youuuu, oh you beautiful girl, good girl, good girl, good slut, drink it, drink it, good giiirl!!"

Good to my word, my fingers found her ears as she took the entirety of my organ behind her teeth, lovely elven jaw stretched whorishly wide to engulf me entirely. Between my fingers and my words and my cock in her throat, she surged to her own orgasm, hips gyrating as if mounting a shaft as I rewarded her for my orgasm -- and for returning me gently to myself.

---

Letting him go was difficult, in its way, but I really did want to get to the bed eventually, and I wanted to show him what he'd done, so after his pulses diminished, I drew back and gave his organ a 'cleansing' slurp as I pulled back. "Take a look," I added, putting my hands behind me, my breasts uplifted, pale body on display.

He did, cock still throbbing as he studied what he had wrought. "That's ... a lot of cum," he admitted, smiling and leaning forward to rub his thumb against one stiff nipple, then spread his hand across its breast to rub into it the semen he'd spurted onto me.

"I estimate about a cup," I told him, finding my lower lip between my teeth again, once more wanting him. My memory of my times with Tamin and Sinul may be faulty, but I don't think it is: with Tamin the valin was straight-out mindless mating, while with Sinul it was a delicious, languid heat. With Dalamar, it was ... consuming. I'd encountered obsessives before, and now I was starting to wonder if this is how they felt.

His eyebrows rose, and then he reached out to stroke my chin (very messy), then lead me back upright to meet his lips with mine in a kiss that turned out to be surprisingly sweet, gentle for all the heat it generated. "How many times?" he asked against my lips.

"Mmmm. Kiss me again and I'll tell you."

"I would fuck your mouth for that kind of lip," he laughed softly, "but that would be a reward for you, caslth." He gave me another slow kiss, hand kneading my breast, the other sliding around the back of my neck.

When he let me up for air, it took me a moment to remember that I owed him an answer to a question. "My but you're a good kisser. I'm wearing -- well, the spell is starting to clean it up -- most of twenty-five ejaculations. I, um, drank some," my eartips reddening with my blush, "but you can't tell a cum-addicted caslth to make an ondoji to cum as much as she can and expect her to not gulp down a few spurts here and there."

He laughed, and slid his hands under my arms, tugging me upwards. I stood in front of him as he spoke a word of Magius, gestured a soft towel to him, and started to wipe me clean of his semen. "Of course I don't blame you," he smiled as he gently stroked his product off each breast, then looked up at me. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to return the favor, though. We really ought to get you your first experience with ... you know, I don't know the name for it," he mused, turning the towel as it collected his seed, having me lift one foot to the seat of the chair so that he could tidy up my nether crevices.

"I think we should name it after you," I teased, watching him pay such very close attention to his delicate work.

"What, Dalamar's Dick?" He sounded a little offended.

I laughed at the name. "No, something more discreet," I replied. "Hmmm. The Lecher," I suggested, remembering how his hand on my back had drifted down to the upper curves of my rear after he'd teleported us to Neraka.

He looked even more offended, but just briefly, as he laughed at the name and leaned in to kiss my belly. "It is entirely appropriate," he admitted. "I'm constantly fighting against wanting to run my hands over you, pounce on you, use you, instead of being --"

"A courteous, gentlemanly lover?"

He smirked back at me, one hand roaming to cup the generous weight of my teat. "Your demanding shalafi or your devoted ondoji," came his reply. "But yes, also your courteous, gentlemanly lover, a partner and equal. It makes me wonder if this is what Raistlin felt with Amberyl --"

My hand leapt to his, gripping it against my breast and halting its pleasuring. "Wait -- Raistlin?"

Those dark eyes, which I'd seen clinical in his office, angry in my quarters, distracted in his study, thoughtful in his salon, and lustful, dominating, and submissive here in the Arbor, shifted to 'wary and defensive'. "Yyee -- oh," and then he said a word I'd never heard. It sounded like it was some sort of elvish, but if so, it wasn't from the one I knew.

(I think. Elves are strange, they'll teach you how to declare war on someone by way of a subtle comment about their flower arrangement, but won't teach you basic swear words.)

Dalamar was looking more wary by the moment, but he finally took a deep breath, let it out, and said, "Yes. I had intended to tell you later, when we were released from this," and a hand-wave indicated his erection, my stiffened nipples, and our eager lubricants, "but clearly I screwed that up." His other thumb twitched to be let go, and I released him; his hand dropped away, and he eased back in his chair, straightening up.

I considered him for a moment, then pulled out its complement, sitting down on the edge. "So ... you're saying that Raistlin Majere was my father."

He inhaled, slowly and deeply, lifting his hands to his face and rubbing it slowly. "Yes," he admitted, resting his elbows on the chair's arms and interlacing his (wonderful) fingers in front of him.

My gaze dropped further, brushing past his (softening) erection as I considered this proposition. "Who told you this?"

"Your new Master," he replied.

"Synna of ... where was it?"

"Shanarah."

I mulled the information over a bit more, then wondered, "Do you believe her?"

Dalamar's head tilted back as he looked up at the room's stone ceiling, calculating gaze wandering across the polished marble as he considered the question; the movement drew my eye, and I watched his face as he spoke. "I ... for this, yes. I won't say she doesn't lie, because I don't know that, but ... while you were in your Test, she told me some very unpleasant truths which she expected would get her banished from the Tower. Her confirmation that Raistlin was your father was amongst those truths." His thumbs suddenly started tapping at each other, a frown springing onto his expression. "Although ..."

Now a frown was on my face. "Although?"

"It occurs to me," he slowly replied, "that she may have lied in this, using 'all the others are true, why not this as well?' as a tactic."

I groaned, lifting my hand to press over my eyes. "I ... I need to think."

There was movement, then a press of lips against my forehead. "I'll draw you a bath."

Chapter Text

XXVIg

Putting off a decision. Bathtime fun. Possessiveness.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember, 546 AC, Tenth Watch falling, 19
S31:L10*:N3*

"What a goddamn clusterfuck."
-- Lydia Majere

I decided after twenty minutes that what I needed was not a bath.

Don't get me wrong, it was wonderful; I had the opportunity once before this visit to luxuriate in the tub of the Arbor, and it is absolutely an experience second to none. (Well, second to none in the bath department, at least.) The thing is five feet long, two feet deep, and more than three feet wide -- with only a little bend to my knees, in this elven form I could submerge myself entirely in the water. Adding Dalamar to it (which I contemplated after ten minutes of soaking) would have made it only very nicely snug, with plenty of contact required for both to fit.

But what I needed wasn't the bath.

What I needed was a sounding-board, someone to talk to -- at -- as I verbally laid out the problem I was grappling with. Fortunately, I had just such a someone near at hand.

Pushing myself upright, my hair mostly straightened with the weight of the water and bath-oils in it, I called out, "Ondoji!!"

"Coming, senfu!!" I heard movement, and looking over I saw the curtains on the four-poster sway. He had clearly been on it, perhaps checking out what was hidden behind the panels of the headboard. I wondered if I'd get the chance, later, to discover how much he enjoyed receiving a phallus, but thinking such thoughts returned the fierce and demanding urge to be bred by him to the forefront of my body's attention. My nipples and clitoris surged to eager rigidity, demanding to be touched.

Dalamar stepped around the plants with the bottle of pleasure-oil in hand, and his gaze drew across my body the way those of lovers do -- but also the way I've seen a stallion look at a mare in estrus, desirous of mounting her. His cock jutting up was certainly ready, most of it darker against the bronze of his belly, the crown that lascivious dark garnet, peeking out from his foreskin. I knew now that once drawn back, his foreskin was not liable to creep back up over his tip ... but he didn't get quite so hard as for it to reveal his cockhead entirely on its own.

"Yes, senfu?"

The bath oils were clinging to my skin as much or more than the water, adding a special glisten to me; once his gaze discovered my breasts with their jutting nipples, his eyes were locked on, member throbbing. I gestured him to the side of the tub, then said, "Hands behind your back, gripping the opposite wrists. Knees against the edge of the tub, and push your groin forward." By god if I was going to work my way through figuring out how I felt, I was going to have fun while doing it!!

He did as I bid, placing the pleasure-oil out of the way by the side of the tub. The position offered me his jutting penis; I eased myself to him, reaching up to curl one hand around his organ. My first stroke drew his foreskin fully away from his tip, and except for occasional, specific, efforts to push it back over, it didn't return to protect his crown for a long time.

"So," I said, shifting to rest my breasts on the side of the tub, glancing up at his face to make sure he was watching either my full tits, his cock getting stroked, or both. "Let me talk this out. You can make occasional murmurs of agreement and such, but otherwise, the only things I should be hearing from you are moans of pleasure and cries of orgasm, understand?"

"Absolutely, senfu," he breathed, maleness already twitching with the desire to spurt. "May I erupt at need?"

"You may. So. I have a report," I mused, watching the way his member throbbed as I stroked, "that the archmage Raistlin Majere is actually my father."

"Yes, senfu," came his murmur, precum flowing onto my hand to lubricate my caresses.

"However," I mused, "the report comes from an individual who -- and correct me if I'm wrong -- may have ulterior motives for telling me this."

"Correct, senfuuuu ..." His hips gave just that little bit more push forward, making me smile; the next stroke hid his crown, but then I slid my hand from tip to root, exposing him, and with a glad cry he erupted, panting and mewling as his seed pulsed up his shaft, through my stroking hand, and out the flaring slit to arc high into the air before splashing into the bathwater.

His whimper as he finished was marvellous.

"Given the possibility that this is a falsehood designed for some meddling or mischief," I continued, resuming stroking him, "this information must be considered to be suspect at best."

He groaned agreement, hips and member twitching.

"However, one must also consider the objective realities of the current situation."

"Nnnfff?" he moaned, shaft throbbing, building up to eruption.

"Indeed. I am currently involved in a valin-bond; such things are beyond the command of someone who has long since passed into the River of Souls."

"Mmm-hmm!!" came his agreement, and I slid my hand up to rub and squeeze the pomegranate crown, using his sensitivity to delay -- or, considering the valin, perhaps hurry -- his eruption for a moment longer.

"So for now, for the next two weeks, it does not matter, and I will not worry about it. I will accept it at face value," I told Dalamar, "so that the valin-partner I am enjoying so very much can talk about it normally. I do this in part because he is a good boy --" which is when he started to spurt again "-- and I believe he just loves to gush out his cum for his senfu." My hand stroked his barrel as he ejaculated, gouts of seed launched into the air. He was producing notably more now than even when he'd poured his seed onto my lunch.

"I do, senfu," he panted intense agreement, watching my hand fisting his dick, humping a little as his cum splashed obscenely into the bath-water. "I love cumming, I really do."

Hmmm. He sounded sincere, but. "Do you love cumming, Dalamar?"

His laugh was low and throaty, a purr of pleasure in the orgasm just past, already eager for the next. "Oh, yes, Lydia," he laughed, watching his spunk drip off his cocktip, reaching out to gather up the last bit on his finger, then lock gazes with me as he lifted it to his lips and dipped it into his mouth, cleaning it off. "I absolutely do enjoy sex, and I definitely enjoy cumming. Erotic pleasure ... well." He shifted, then put his hand next to mine on his organ, and said, "I've been wanting to masturbate for the last twenty minutes. Would you like me to?"

I felt my face heat at the question, and I nodded, looking guiltily up at him. "I -- will you rub your cock on my face while you do?"

His grin was enhanced by the way his lower lip was caught between his teeth. "Will you masturbate too?"

I nodded wordlessly, rubbing his thighs.

"Then I will be delighted to rub my cock on your beautifully sluttish face while I jack off, and I hope you will let me slide my tip between your lovely coral lips to fill your mouth when I cum."

I straightened up, pressing myself against the inside edge of the tub, my hands frantically delving and teasing as he, breath already deepening, started stroking and rubbing his seeping precum against my skin. "I love your dick," I purred, already on the edge of orgasm.

"You are such a slut for it," came his groan as he eased himself upright and stroked half-a-dozen times before running the soft, silken dome of his tip across my lips. "And a good slut at that."

My tongue chased his tip as I shuddered into a pleasureable peak, barely getting in a lick before he pulled himself upright again. "Sex is my favorite non-magical pastime," I admitted to him, panting as the brief burst receded.

He laughed, rubbing his pre-coated tip against my nose. "Spoken like an actual slut," he teased me, but then admitted, "Mine too, so I guess we both are. Caslth and ondoji."

I licked my lips and pretended my fingers inside me were his cock, watching as he stroked a bead of precum onto his tip again, then smeared it up the other side of my nose. "My libido increases when I'm pregnant."

"More than this?" he asked with mock surprise.

I gave him the same sort of scathing look I'd given him when he'd asked why the Orders should 'allow' me to take the Test. "Of course not. But ... do you know how to brew any potency tinctures for yourself?" I waggled my eyebrows at him.

His response was rubbing his tip against my lips; when I opened them, he nudged himself inside, across my tongue, giving me the taste of him as well. It, along with my fingers, sent me into a second sweet little whirlpool of pleasure. "I know of a few sources for that sort of thing," he told me, two, five, ten leisurely thrusts of his cock into my mouth, not even to the back of my throat, before he pulled out and stroked himself once more. He was getting close, the tip's redness intensifying. "Why do you ask?"

I panted, licked my flushed, swollen lips, then told him, "Because I like my male to service me, and I him, eight or ten times a day."

He groaned, pushing his tip back into my mouth, and begged, "Finish me?"

My hands jumped from my groin to his, cupping his balls and giving a gentle squeeze, firmly stroking from my lips to his base. Only his tip was in my mouth, and not even entirely; I was suckling on the curved front of it, licking the cumslit, the crown's flare visible just outside.

His hands clutched at his ass as he pushed forward, trying to get further into my mouth; I swayed back, and he groaned. "You magnificent slut," came his words, a low cry, and then he flooded my mouth with his spunk.

I swallowed as quickly as I could, but he was quickly filling me up. A sudden burst of inspiration, and I held my breath, opened my throat as if I was trying to fit his member down there, and felt the sublime wonder of his ejaculate simply fountaining into my mouth and pouring down my throat without me needing to swallow.

When his tip stopped spurting, only twitching and oozing the dregs of his cream, I slowly resumed stroking (and breathing) to coax out the last of his cum onto my tongue, where I savored it, still stroking his dick, warming his balls.

Dalamar clearly didn't mind, and stepped over the edge of the bathtub, climbing in with me. Instead of laying down, he straddled my lap, his erection still in my hand. "I've occasionally fantasized about returning to the life of the valth," he told me, "accepting coin for the delights I would gladly give for free. Surrender to the sensual flesh-pit of the pleasure-house, spend my days and nights cumming, making others cum."

He cupped my face in his hands, bending down to give me a kiss, questing his tongue against my lips. I hadn't yet swallowed -- I actually do like the taste, like the brine for olives -- and shared with him his flavor. It made my nipples jut out so amazingly hard; I wanted to do so much with this male!! He was -- willing. To give back, to share, to explore. I had just sucked his dick, and with just that kiss, tasting his own spunk, I wanted him inside me again. I wanted him to breed me, wanted to give him a whole host of babies, wanted to spend every spare moment exploring sex with the most sexually adventurous male I’d ever met.

It must have shown in my grip, for Dalamar gently moved my hand away from his temporarily-spent member, then shifted forward to press me against the back of the tub. His organ nestled into my cleavage, warm and firm and rubbing gently with the movement. His hips flexed, increasing the magnitude of the stroking.

I looked up at him, blushed, grinned, and lifted my hands to my breasts. Pressing them close around his phallus rubbed my stiff nipples against his thighs. "You know why most women don't mind giving boob jobs?" I asked him.

"Mmm-mmm," came his negative reply as he shook his head, eyes captivated by the sight of my tits around his cock, the feel of that soft skin against his own phallic silk.

"Because we enjoy it too," I murmured, watching the pleasure on his face. "The pressure, the caress, is sensual, erotic -- not enough to make me cream, but definitely enough to make me want you in me."

His lower lip got caught in his teeth; mine did too. "In you?" he asked archly.

I pinkened further. "Breeding me," I breathed.

He groaned, pushing upwards to the limits, his tip pushing out above my curves, throbbing and glistening with bath-oil and precum. "I get to breed you," he moaned, throbbing within my cleavage. One hand went to my breast, freeing mine. "Caslth," he ordered me, "make yourself quim, as much as you like."

My hand immediately squirmed down to follow my shalafi's order; before I even touched myself, his fingers were already caressing my eartip. He must have liked my whorish moans, for before my third quimming his hardness became velvety iron, the skin of his helm taut and shiny, and he grunted, panting and spurting generously over my breasts, neck, and face.

---

I am not willing to explore the mindset that leads me to take such intense, visceral pleasure in the visual of the highborn Silvanesti form of Lydia the Peregrine -- my caslth!! -- with my cock in her mouth, my semen glistening on her face and generous breasts. Yes, undoubtedly something to do with being an outcast and all, but -- I will leave that sort of exploration to the mind-healers, and simply, utterly enjoy the sight of it. I relaxed my grip on her breast -- at some point she was definitely going to have to ride me, so that I could show proper appreciation to her teats -- and bent down to once more kiss that cum-stained face and lips.

"Don't stop masturbating," I told her as I sensed her hand slowing down on caressing her sex. "I want your perfect ass again. Roll over, bend over the side of the tub."

And oh my gods what a gorgeous ass. In general, elven butts are smaller, tighter, and (dare I say it) uptighter. As an ondoji, I had enjoyed a fair number of rear ends: males and females of all races take pleasure in their anus being played with, which can gradually lead to them moaning, legs spread, as I gently speared their rears. Some even became regular customers, now glad to surrender what I had carefully taken.

But the rear in front of me was a delightful blend of the matronly and the athletic. As I shifted back to give her room, Lydia turned over, water and bath-oil and stray semen coursing off her skin, highlighting the curves of her child-bearing hips, her firmly-muscled rear. Jenna tolerated my enjoyment of her ass, but it was definitely limited; Kitiara seemed willing to explore, but ... well, it was a brief affair.

Lydia, forearm on the back of the tub, looked back over her shoulder with that sleepy-eyed 'take me to bed' droop in her eyelids. Although I was tempted to continue it, I decided to not pursue the fantasy that had gotten away from me last time we were in this position, and enjoy this as equals.

Leaning over to retrieve the pleasure-oil, I made sure she was watching as I drizzled some of it onto my fingers, then spread it to my erection. It wasn't even chafed. As much as I hated to admit it, the valin was truly a world-class piece of the Art. Lydia and her first valin-bond must really have kept up the contact for the protection offered by the valin to have failed.

For a little bit, I teased her, putting on a show by working my foreskin on and off my tip. This time she didn't say anything, just continued to jill herself through two orgasms. Cumming (or quimming) makes for a moment the faces of even the ill-formed utterly transcendant; Lydia's expression made me feel like I had transcended, just by viewing her orgasm.

Finally, though, I moved forward, dripping more oil on her rear as my fingers worked it into her anus -- one finger, two fingers, three fingers. I leaned down then and licked her ear (she was so delightfully tiny!!), then murmured, "Lydia, may I fuck your ass?"

"Dalamar," she panted, half-lidded eyes looking up at me, "I thought you'd never ask. Please do, as much as you wish."

I guided myself to her sphincter, pressing forward until my eager red tip popped through that ring. She squeaked and delighted in a little orgasm, hips wiggling, buttocks flexing and twitching. I couldn't resist, hands spreading wide across those muscles, squeezing and kneading them, moving up to catch the harder ridges of her hips to pull her back onto me.

The ensuing bout was half my thrusts, half her own; braced against the stone of the tub, she gave as good as I did. For every one of my orgasms, she took three or four, gasping my name in moans and cries sweet and unsullied, sultry and sinful. I groaned her name in turn, hands roaming freely along her back and shoulders, around her waist and hips, from buttocks to breasts and everything in between.

I think I may have gone on for quite some time, but she cooed and calmed me down after one such series of spasms. "Easy, easy ... let's take a break," she panted. "Rinse off -- the water's cooled down, and I still want that toy of yours inside me."

If my cock had been soft, it would have gotten hard at that moment. She felt the surge, and gave a wicked little laugh. "That excite you, ondoji?"

"It's going to excite you, caslth," I teased her back, and sucked her eartip before pulling myself back and out of her.

We used the bathwater to clean up (and out), opening the drain and letting the mixture dispose of itself as we dried each other, then all the spots of ourselves that we'd missed in rubbing the towel over the other's delightful parts. Her ruby-pink nipples were still so very engorged, and I reached out to thumb one just before she concealed them by wrapping the towel around herself.

Watching her become clothed again -- even if only for a moment, in such a simple manner -- was peculiarly arousing. Oh, the valin had my body eager to go, but her wrapping herself up in one simple piece of cloth sent a frission of possessive lust through my mind.

Gods, I am so greedy.

I wanted her, this woman; I wanted her mind, I wanted her body, I wanted to warm myself next to the fire of her drive. I wanted to discover her secrets, explore her sexuality, walk near her as she took whichever of those future paths she might finally decide upon. For a sudden savage moment, I hoped it would be that third path, that I might explore with her as many erotic pleasures as she might wish, share with her the welcome in both courts and beds across Ansalon, perhaps across Krynn. Between us, we could turn the most uptight dragonlance-up-his-ass Solamnic commander into as much of a moaning, spurting slut as both of us were, impaling her on his spear while he was impaled on mine. I had a sudden crazy wish to double team every knight in Solamnia, fuck his ass as he fucked her cunt, overwhelm them with erotic pleasure.

The Orders demand we treat the magic with respect, not use it in frivolous ways, not creating spells for any old reason, used for a cheap thrill ... and I have almost always agreed with that outlook, that custom that may as well be divine law. I wondered, then, if the Cousins didn't wish we weren't so uptight ourselves.

I wondered, in fact, if there were a way for a spell to create this sublime indulgence and protection, of being able to copulate freely, to orgasm ... gods, as I had, ten times an hour. Maybe it was more.

It was then that I realized that a spell -- some sort of spell or ritual -- already had created it. Whatever the valin was, it was not the hand of the Gods; Lydia had already said something to the effect that her people had done this to themselves. An ancient ritual, two thousand years before the founding of Silvanesti -- which made it more than twenty-six hundred years before the founding of the Orders. While it may, I had to concede as I took my turn with the necessary, have been some form of Low Sorcery or wild magic, using the power of Chaos instead of the echoes of Creation the way High Sorcery does, the undiminished power of it still infused the high ogres almost six thousand years later, strong enough to affect even those not directly under its sway.

Lydia was sitting on the bed, watching me as I retrieved from my travel-bag the peculiar enchanted dildo she'd decided to call 'the Lecher'; she still had her towel wrapped around her. "What are you thinking?"

"Do all of your people ask that so openly?" It was, after all, the second time she'd just gone ahead and asked the question.

"Yes," she admitted. "Because simply doing so achieves many things: it is easier, more efficient, and it avoids so many basic misunderstandings if one simply asks. And," she admitted again, "if you can trust the person to tell you the truth. I see no reason for you to lie. You have the sort of expression people get when they're trying to figure something out."

I chuckled, standing there with those ten feet between us, leaning against a dining table chair, the Lecher in one hand. "I was pondering whether or not this could be recreated with a spell. Then I realized that it is a spell, some sort of ongoing, self-perpetuating effect. And now," I smiled, straightening up and strolling -- all right, strutting, with my softened cock beginning to swell in reaction to her gaze feasting upon my body as I approached her -- "I am wondering whether or not the Valinyi have an enchantment for this."

She seemed almost to be sitting on her hands as I approached, and as I got near, I discovered that indeed she was. Lower lip between her teeth (were we going to spend half our time biting our lips at each other?) she looked up at me, then leaned forward to nuzzle my phallus, bringing it to full attention. "We do," she admitted. "But I thought the Orders frowned on, if not outright forbade, the frivolous use of magic. Fertility and sex magics would, I presume, be considered such."

I ran my fingers to tuck my braidless hair behind my ear, lust growing as she aroused me, stroked me with her face. "Yes, well. You are making the Orders rethink a number of different things. I'm wondering whether our entire approach requires ..."

"A revamp?" She started laving me with her tongue, licking to capture my crown and start to suckle upon me. I wasn't willing to stop her, staring down at this woman's stunning choice of form, fellating me. I could feel the valin rushing through my veins, making me produce.

"A review, at the least," I panted, feeling my organ twitch between her lips, excitement building to an inevitable climax. "Herb witches and the like -- I'm sure you've spoken to them. Do they have spells like that?"

Her lips came away, plumped a little from the sucking, and she smeared her face against the glistening shaft once more, even though my tip was swollen, throbbing. "I've spoken to a few; they indeed have spells for such things. Rare is the priestess of the goddess of fertility willing to visit a couple in their home to cast spells upon each of them during her fertile period so that they might mate with passionate intensity for an hour or so, in the hopes of begetting a child."

She tongued the tip, and I groaned, surrendering to the release. At the first warning throb, she could have slid me between her lips but, watching me watching her, she chose to accept the first two massive fountains against her face before engulfing my tip with her mouth and gulping down the remainder. I clutched the Lecher in my hands, mutely adoring the erotic view she was giving me.

"An hour or so, mmm?" I panted after the spurting died down, but before the throbbing had. I felt the urge to enjoy her continue to burn, and gave a little thrust of my hips to suggest that I would be willing to do so.

The sound of her sucking her way off my twitching phallus was absolutely obscene; I loved it, and wanted to hear much, much more of it. "Umm-hmmm. I guessed, based on the spells I saw. Combined with her being at the right time of the month -- yes, there's a spell to check that too -- and another spell to enhance his sperm and her egg, well." She licked me from mid-shaft to crown, then took me into her mouth again, head bobbing quickly, even eagerly.

My hands went to my buttocks, the Lecher rubbing against one, as I watched her with increasing infatuation and ever-expanding lust. "Definitely increases the chance he fucks a baby into her," I agreed. "Not so guaranteed as the baby I'm going to fuck into you, though, Lydia."

Her eyes burned with answering lust, and her hands finally moved from beneath her thighs to grasp my hands on my buttocks, to help me help her fuck my cock with her mouth.

"You are so enthusiastic, you magnificent slut," I groaned. Blushing furiously, she quickened her efforts so that half a minute later, my balls tensed up to feed her another full charge of my seed

Chapter Text

XXVIh

Conversion to cunnilingus. Accidental eruption. Using the Lecher.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember, 546 AC, Twelfth Watch rising, 28
S31:L10*:N3*

"Teach me your skills, shalafi!!"
-- Lydia

After that, well. I wanted to take control, so I did, scooping her up and giving her a toss further into the bed. Climbing in, I did it again, and again to put her into the middle of the head of the bed. "Enough, woman!" I mock-chided her, my grin fierce as she sprawled wide before me. "Time for you to be tasted!"

Lydia squealed, scrambling backwards on her elbows, but I caught her ankle and pulled her back into position. I have no doubt that even with my combat experiences, she could give me a run for my steel, if not pay out three to two on beating me. But she let me pull her back, legs splayed wide to expose her sex, breasts swaying at the light wrestling.

I gripped the back of the other knee, then slid my hand down her firm calf to mirror the hold, keeping her spread wide while my erection -- which seemed to be the new default state of my penis -- throbbed and pulsed and pointed eagerly at her folds. I did a slow, sensual shimmy I'd learned in that brothel, seeming to move very little as my knees moved backwards down the bed. Though I lost strength in holding her legs in position, more of my weight pressed against her; it didn't actually balance out, but it commonly gave the impression that I was still in full control.

Which in this case I was, given it by this wonderful, lustful, intelligent fem who delighted to play with me. I wound up with my hands slid down her thighs to just above her buttocks, fingers spread wide to keep her legs up against her muscular torso, my face only a handspan above her sex. Focusing on her, I realized that she looked uncertain.

"Never been tasted, Lydia?" I asked gently.

She shook her head. "Not that, but ..." She trailed off, hands lifting to clutch at each other between her breasts; her nipples had softened, signaling her arousal dwindling -- her, who had sported cherry-pit-stiff nubbins since I palmed her wrapped teat.

"Go on," I encouraged gently, shifting my weight to better support myself, and to slowly stroke the insides of her thighs.

"Males, even those who have been willing, have always been brief about it," she admitted. "Teasing, but not ... it hasn't excited me, really?"

"Mmm. It sounds," I judged, "like they hadn't ever been taught, or taken the time to explore. They used their fingers as well?" I drifted one hand close enough for the thumb to brush against the curve of her plump outer labia.

"Yes, but ..." She was actually blushing?? And unlike before, with outright honest embarrassment?!? How incomparably sweet. "Just, like ... enough to get me wet so that they could mount me."

I couldn't help but chuckle at least a little. "Well, you are definitely worth mounting. I'm honestly sort of irritated that we have to space my penetrations -- all right, fine, vaginal ejaculations, but I'm getting to the point where once I'm in there, I'm not going to want to pull out before I shoot -- that we have to space them out to achieve the full effect we want."

She nodded agreement but said nothing, which gave me license to continue. "I intend," I told her, "to settle down and show you many of the tricks I learned as an ondoji, senfu. And I'll continue to do so, using only my fingers, tongue, lips, and such until you want me to ... do something else." I paused, then added, "I think stuffing you with the Lecher had better be the next thing after I show you the delights that can be given a fem's sex with fingers et cetera."

The lower-lip-biting wasn't of the erotic please-fuck-me kind this time; it was 'I dunno'.

"Give me a chance? If you don't like it, I'll stop."

She licked her lips, clearly nerves, then let her legs relax sideways, shyly granting me unrestricted access to her groin.

Smiling, I lowered my mouth to her sex for the first time.

---

"OhmygodswhatareyoudoingdowntherefuckingshowmeIgottaseeeeoooohhhh fffuuuuuccckkkkkkk!!!"

---

I have noticed that a lot of males stretch their jaws out when performing cunnilingus -- almost as if they are trying to take a huge bite of her. This is a mistake which costs them endurance in giving their partner pleasure. I have found that merely sticking out one's tongue, using it for the details while using your head and neck for the broad strokes. It will certainly get you messy, but if you're down there, you ought to enjoy it, revel in it: get her sexual scent all over your face. Stroke her nether lips with those at your mouth; press yourself against her that you might delve deeper with your tongue. Rub her clitoris with your nose as you lick her. Suck her labia into your mouth, tickle them with your tongue. Use your fingers to spread her, to delve into her; use your tongue and lips to caress and tease and suckle upon her clit, coax it out of its hood, bare it to your attentions.

Lydia had started out by gripping a portion of the headboard, arching her back and breasts into the air as I kept her on the edge of orgasm, only to push her over it, let up, then tease her into orgasm again. While none were explosive, I indulged myself in controlling her body (and her mind) by cycling her back and forth across that ridge. When she begged me to stop, reaching out to me, I lashed her with 'bad girl' and 'bad caslth' and ordered her to get her hands back where they'd been.

Much to my delight, she obeyed, and I continued to drive her ruthlessly through orgasms, making her quim again and again and again. I myself was incredibly hard, enough for me to keep my knees under me so that my cock, dripping and even jetting precum as ferociously as it had before we had first coupled, wouldn't rub against the bedclothes and inadvertently erupt.

Her feet slid across my back and shoulders, thighs never trying to close completely; they were deliciously muscled, firm under my hands, as much a delight as her buttocks when I cupped them to lever her into a better position. I didn't caress her sphincter, because if I did that, I would have wanted to mount it, and then I would have wanted to mount her, and it was too early for that.

But gods I wanted to breed her again. And again, thrusting myself to the hilt in the slick tight satin of her tunnel, the entrance to which I was caressing with lips and tongue. Her entire body writhed for me, anchored by her hips, which she allowed me to keep under firm control. Lips, tongue, nose, fingers, I spent at least a solid half an hour extracting orgasms from her, turning her into a squirming, mewling, quimming mess of erotic nerves that had gotten my own face and hair (and hands and arms) almost as much of a mess.

Everything changed when I was slowly working four fingers inside her, trying to push further (as I had with her rear) to get my hand up to the base of my thumb in her; it has been another erotic obsession of mine to work my entire hand into my partner's entrances, and Lydia seemed to be capable of stretching to take it. My tongue and lips were playing with her clitoris, alternately licking and sucking on it, when I managed to ease the last of my knuckles into her. She howled in orgasm, hips bucking as if to try to get more of my hand into her, and then she let go of the headboard to clutch at my head.

I was not fast enough to stop her, and when doing so she inadvertently rubbed my eartips, and since I was so incredibly on-edge I burst into my own orgasm. I'd been toying with her for at least thirty minutes, maybe forty-five, and my arousal had been constant, so the mess I made was ... significant. And because I, fortunately like her, am indeed vocal when I reach the heights of pleasure, my cries were significant as well. And, well, I may have lost my focus, having had it stolen from me by what felt like one of the hardest ejaculations of my life.

It gave her time to recover from her own long string of peaks, and before I could recover, she was rolling me onto my back and straddling my chest. Looking down at me, she smiled with a beautiful, sensual, giddy grin, and purred, "Let me help." And then she wriggled herself upwards, going to all fours and watching carefully to make sure she didn't smother me, and settled her sex upon my mouth.

Fortunately, her anus was still oiled, so I indulged myself by tonguing and suckling her while delving into her rear with two or three fingers, not always from the same hand. Much to my greedy delight, she swiftly sunk back into wallowing in the erotic pleasures with utterly mindless indulgence, mouth hanging open, saliva gathering and dripping onto the pillows (where the spell she'd cast cleaned it up almost immediately), eyes almost completely closed as orgasms came and went. My penis once again fiercely eager, I could have watched her for hours as she gently rutted herself on my face, heavy pale breasts swaying, fat nipples peaked and needing to be played with.

Finally, though, she pushed herself upright, then leaned back on one arm, the other reaching behind her to grip my cock and, awkwardly, stroke it. Of course, her hair was tumbled almost directly onto it, and I was intensely aroused; once more, moaning into her folds, I gave my seed to her ice-blonde hair.

---

In my defense, I was weak as a kitten after, like, forty-five minutes of nearly-non-stop cumming; feeling his jism splatter into my hair and between my shoulder blades was yet another deliciously erotic tidbit on the scale. I collapsed, managing to sway sideways and land mostly off him, except for my leg, of course. We rested that way, opposite to each other, for a few minutes -- which, really, is to say that he rested, while he gave me no rest at all, two fingers still inside my rear, slowly thrusting and twisting.

In only a few more moments I would have started to rock my hips, wanting more, the valin's indulgence giving me the desire, drive, and energy. Dalamar, however, beat me to it, shifting my leg off his chest and shoulder to roll on top of me, rubbing his face in my groin the way he'd been doing for three quarters of an hour, the way I'd worshipped his cock earlier.

And speaking of his cock, as he straddled my head, the half-hard length of his member slid across my face, smelling strongly of his semen and his musk. With my hands free, I could indulge as well, rubbing his shaft against my face, licking his tip, tilting my head to guide him into my mouth -- and then, groaning, into my throat. My hands slid along his hips to grasp his buttocks, and I squeezed and tugged. In short order Dalamar realized what I wished, what I was offering, and indulged both of us by slowly rocking his entire body. As his tip paused in my mouth to be subjected to my tongue's frantic caresses, his own tongue teased my clitoris. Shifting forward drew his lips and tongue down my folds, thrust his organ deeper into my mouth, against and into my throat. His lips paused; his hips did not, and again and again he mashed the root of his masculinity between my use-plumped lips.

I came, I believe, another half-dozen times; he stopped as he neared his own eruption, making eager little strokes of his tip in and out of my throat. My hands clutching his buttocks drove him forward again, and he released himself deep inside my throat, feeding my greedy tummy another generous serving of his sperm.

(Nothing, I'll note, like what he poured out onto the bed. When I'd sat up to roll him over, I had to find out how much he'd gushed, and put my hand in it; it had been a fucking puddle, I swear. Now, around twenty minutes later, it was a memory, the semen soaking the shirt I'd sacrificed to it. I don't know what the final result of that was going to be, but if things didn't work out between us, I was keeping that shirt just as it was -- or however it was going to wind up. Hell, even if it did work out, I was still going to keep that cum- and quim-soaked shirt, if only for the delicious memories.)

But finally the two of us collapsed again, reversed side-by-side once more, yet still unable to keep our hands off each other; I stroked his thighs and caressed his nutsack, he stroked my thighs and trailed his fingers across my folds. "It's too bad you don't have a larger clitoris," he said, breath still heaving deep as he brushed a fingertip across said clit.

"Why's that?" I wondered, one leg shifting to spread further, give him access. He had certainly converted me into appreciating a male who knew how to orally pleasure his partner, so indulging his mental erotic wanderings seemed to be only to my benefit.

"Well," he temporized, then laughed as I moved the closer leg to trap his neck beneath it. Fingers slowly penetrated my sex, and I moaned. "One of my regular customers was a fem with a two-inch clitoris, large as my pinkie. I would suckle on it as if performing fellatio, my fingers working her sex below. I teased her that if it ever got stiff enough, she could fuck my ass with it."

My hand slid upwards, started playing with his member; he was fully erect in moments. "Did she?"

"Not directly with her clitoris," he sighed in pleasure at my fondling, "but eventually with a harness and a soft leather dildo that her clit fit into."

I nibbled my lower lip in thought, pondering whether or not I ought to try. It would be a subtle shift, but there were a few others I'd been thinking of, minor tweaks that would ...

Well. That would make me a more perfect cocksleeve for Dalamar during the duration of the valin: a slight increase in stretchability in my nether entrances (because clearly he wanted to get his entire hand inside me, and I was getting curious as to what that would feel like), greater vaginal depth behind my cervix (because he was already longer than when we'd started), a bit of easing of my throat -- maybe some extra stomach capacity, considering how much he wished to be able to produce.

While I was considering this -- would simply my intent be sufficient? It had been so far, but these changes would be terribly specific and delicate -- Dalamar gently lifted my leg off him, withdrew his fingers, sat up, bent over, and gave me a slow kiss. I moaned into it, then smiled when he let me go. "Thank you," I told him.

He smirked, and said, "If you let my dick go, I'll get the Lecher."

I've played with toys before, but never with a partner, and Dalamar's smile was far too anticipatory for me not to pinken. Giving his phallus a couple more strokes of farewell, I let go, then propped myself up on my elbows to watch his sleekly muscular form climb across the bed to retrieve the forgotten Lecher, then the oil. (To be entirely honest, a good half of that attention was riveted to the jutting sway of his erection, still eager to penetrate me.)

"You know," I wondered as I watched him crawl back, "do we really need to use it? You've been doing fine so far."

He climbed up past me, set the oil jar down on the ledge, then moved down with surprising alacrity to pin me: hands on my wrists next to my ears, his knees on my thighs just above my own knees, spreading me deliciously, helplessly wide. His spread legs made his cock and balls stand out, jutting towards me, and he lowered himself to rub his length against my folds once more. "I," he panted, "am doing my best, but every minute I'm erect and not inside your cunt is a major battle to keep me out. I'm stuffing you with the Lecher." He bent down to give me one of those demanding breath-stealing mind-blowing kisses, then growled at me, "Go get the oil, caslth."

Blushing at his intensity (because to be fair, it was a stupid question -- I wanted to climb on and have him inside me too) I rolled over, got my buttocks fondled, crawled up to retrieve the oil, was ordered, "Now backwards to me, caslth," and wriggled my way back to him, butt first. He guided me between his legs, then made me stop and lift my hips until they were well in the air, my shoulders still on the bed. Taking the oil from me, he ran his hand up my buttock, then my back, moving strands of my hair out of the way before saying softly, "You have a lovely back, slut."

"Thank you, shalafi," I said, breath already quickening in anticipation of what he'd be doing.

He spent little time teasing me this time, using the cleft of my buttocks to catch runoff from the oil being spread onto the enchanted dildo. He returned the curved oil jar to my hands, then slowly and carefully inserted the slim Lecher into my cunt. At a touch of his fingers (I rather wished I could see what he was doing), it thickened inside me, particularly right above its base; the knot of a dog, keeping its spurting tip deep inside its mate, was rather firmly brought to mind, I must admit.

"Huh."

"What?" Dalamar being surprised was not something I wished for at the moment.

"It lit up in a ring around the base. Yellow, and bright. It's never done that before."

"Uhhh ..." I chewed my lip. "Never?"

"No, not that I know." He fell silent, then let out a low 'ahhhh', and stroked my rear. "It's okay. I've never, uh, used it in a vagina before. Only by myself."

"Oh." Never with Jenna? I wondered privately, but then he and Jenna had no need to keep away from each other, as it were. Feeling very exposed with my rear up in the air, oil soaking into my anus, I considered the possibilities. "Does it turn?"

"Well, it's almost flush with your entrance, but let me see --" I felt his fingers against my dildo-spread folds. "Hm. It does. The light darkens, then goes out. Thoughts?"

I considered what he'd told me. "You said it squirted down your throat."

"Hmm. Yes ... and inside my rear," he admitted. "Are you thinking this would control that?"

"Turn it down, or off entirely, yes, I think so," I replied, looking over my shoulder at him. "Perhaps it can detect your sperm inside me, and that's a control to adjust whether or not it gets ... diluted."

His intense, calculating gaze shifted from where he was studying -- me, my rear and sex, which was both chilling and arousing at the same time -- to my face. "So turn it to dark, you think?"

I nodded. "I think that would be the safest thing. I'd rather not throw a gnome spanner into what I know of the valin, since we're trying to make use of it."

"Agreed," he said, and I felt his fingers twist a bit more. "There." His hand shifted, to stroke along my sex, and the dildo inside me awakened.

First it thickened, reaching not quite Dalamar's girth; then, slowly, it lengthened from its four-inch size, pushing into my depths like a lover testing the waters. "Ooohh, fuck," I breathed, my eyes sinking in lust. "I see what you mean."

Dalamar grinned at my reaction, straightening in the waning light to oil up his penis, then stopper the bottle and set it back on the headboard. Squatting behind me, he brought his tip to my rear, cupped my hips, and once again started enjoying splitting the globes of my rear with his cock. "Oooh, yes," he panted agreement. "Like someone else is fucking you too."

Feeling him moving in my rear while the Lecher worked within my sex was incredible. "Is this what that feels like?"

"Mmm-hmm. Good, isn't it?"

"Very," I panted. "Now if you'll pardon me, I'mma be a happy slut with two dicks in me, gonna go ahead an' just cream my brains out for a while."

Before I could quite reach that point, Dalamar bent down, hips still working his erection in and out of my ass. He panted in my ear, "Clearly we need to get a cock for your mouth, too," then sucked on my eartip and sent me tumbling into orgasm.

---

After I released myself inside her rear the first time, I carefully rolled Lydia onto her back while never removing myself from her. She looked up at me, clutching her knees to either side of her teats as I pushed them there, with an expression which, if the valin hadn't been keeping me hard and wanting more, would have gotten me hard again anyhow, wanting to reward the blend of surrender and importunement within it. She wanted me to keep mounting her; she wanted me to use her for my pleasure. Surrendering to my lechery and her own subsequent climaxes were all she wanted.

Yes, all this from her expression -- that, and the two words she moaned: "Please," and "Again."

I slid my arms beneath her legs, to grip her shoulders and meet her gaze as I moved inside her, as the Lecher swelled and stretched, twisted and pulsed in nearly perfect complement to my thrusts. Her whimpers each time she was pushed back into climax would have been pitiable in their utter vulnerability if they hadn't been followed by her depraved moaning words. Kisses were given and taken, long languid possessive ones that said 'I'm/you're fucking your/my ass' without either of us needing to speak.

Twice I erupted within her, the Lecher pulsing obscenely along with me, as if it too were spurting; if what we'd done hadn't turned it off, perhaps it did. At the end of it, I groaned, settling down against her, and nibbled on her jaw. "How many times have you climaxed?" I licked her ear.

"Th-th-th-thirty I th-th-think," she panted, shuddering in the midst of that number.

I laughed, soft and triumphant; my cock throbbed inside her ass. "I think we have a winner," I teased her, making her laugh, grab my neck, pull me down for a kiss, and then adroitly wrestle me into a reversal of our positions. I didn't resist very much -- though I decided that later, after the valin, we were going to have some fun with that -- because laying on my back with my lover happily using her anus to fuck my dick while I finally got to play with the full tits she'd been flaunting naked in front of me for, oh, somewhere around six hours was a win condition for me. Her hands braced themselves on either side of my chest, mostly to help her keep her balance as she rocked herself back onto my phallus; I could feel pressure of the outer portion of the Lecher low on my belly as she rode me.

Her teats were, I think, the largest I'd ever seen an elven frame sport, and maybe even a half-elven frame; of course, half-elves remain relatively rare, but still. Though strictly speaking smaller than those she'd shown off to me in my quarters, on this petite frame they gave the illusion of much greater size, and I showed my appreciation of them as generously as I could -- squeezing their wealth, hefting them as she swayed, stroking from base to tips, gripping her thick nipples to let her movement tug on them.

"I can't wait until you're giving milk," I panted, then fell victim to her pressing down on me, kissing me with sudden fierceness. I clutched at her hips, lifting mine and thrusting to bring us to a mutual orgasm.

Chapter Text

XXVIi

Raincloset delights. The consequences of manipulation. Bindings.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember, 546 AC, Evening Watch falling, 28
S31:L10*:N3*

"AGAIN?!?!?"
-- Dalamar Nightson

The flag raised, ringing the bell to indicate the arrival of our latest meal. "Dinner?" inquired Dalamar, his breath warm on my ear. After some additional indulgence, I had first turned to face away, then lay backwards on top of him, my back against his chest, keeping both him and the Lecher within me. Though I still sheathed his cock firmly and deep within my bowels, our main delight was the roaming of his hands across the front of my body, to squeeze my breast or nipple or clitoris, stroke my thigh or belly or labia, as the desire led him. Between riding him face-to-face, and being stretched out upon his body, I had lost count of the times he'd pushed me beyond the peak of orgasm.

"Mmm-hmm. We should probably go get it," I murmured, stroking his hip beneath my buttock.

"Not without a last delight before the break," he murmured; his hands clasped my hips, his own rolling slowly beneath my buttocks, once again enjoying the pleasure of my rear. Well, why not? I rubbed my cheek against his, one hand on my breast, the other at my groin, to bring myself to orgasm along with him. After he'd jetted his latest into me, he laughed huskily and licked my ear. "Time for a rest, mmm?"

I nodded my agreement, and he expertly managed the nubbins on the Lecher, then gripped the base and drew it gently from me. It ached, some, but it was a pleasant ache which I would normally equate with having a long bout of delightful copulation with a partner sporting a member just a little larger than that with which I was normally comfortable. Dalamar then lifted it up into our sightlines, and there it was: the same slim slightly-spongy false phallus that he'd sunk into me. "I see why you like it," I murmured, reaching out to trail the back of my fingers across its glistening surface.

"Actually," he mused, nuzzling my ear, "I'm wondering if it matters who activates it."

I 'hmmm?'ed in response, not entirely certain what he meant, but he dropped the Lecher onto the bedclothes, wrapped his arms around me, and rolled us over so that he was on top. Giving a few slow teasing pumps into me -- which rhythm I couldn't help but immediately enjoy -- he bent down to ask in a low, sultry murmur, "Would you like me to continue?"

I think a lot of people -- me included, from time to time -- would have answered 'do you even need to ask?' or the more biting 'if you have to ask' version. We were still getting to know each other, so I just panted, "Yes, please, fuckboy!!"

Which set Dalamar to laughing, which made his thrusts very erratic for a few moments. "Fuckboy??"

"That's essentially how ondoji translates," I replied, looking over my shoulder to where his hips pressed against my buttocks, then drew back, only to push his wonderful organ back into me. "Don't you want to be my fuckboy, Dalamar?"

He didn't answer, concentrating instead on the steady, rhythmic pumping of his hips, the pleasure of fucking my ass, which felt very nearly brand-new. The valin is like that -- every orgasm, every sexual experience, is renewed. Not always the first time you've done it, but like it's the first time it was really good.

I was going to have to ask Dalamar to give me a non-valin-enhanced experience of cunnilingus. And if it was comparable to the other forms of sex we were going to be having, well -- I was going to definitely enjoy having his head between my thighs as much as I enjoyed having my head between his.

Then he broadened his strokes, long lunging ones from crown to root, and I felt my own pleasure rise to match his. "Your fuckboy's going to cum in your ass, slut," he panted.

I slid my hand down beneath me, to finger my slit. "Good fuckboy," came my moan, "fuck your spunk deep into your eager slut's butt!!"

"Good girl," he moaned for me, "good slut, good caslth, good giiiirrrrlll!!" He hilted himself for the first couple of gushes, then gave happy little jerking thrusts against my buttocks as he squirmed and whimpered through the rest of his orgasm. "Lusty slut and her lovely ass," he murmured, before finally pulling himself out, sitting back on his heels with his organ jutting up as hard as before he'd first mounted me.

On my belly, I smiled, head resting on one arm, the other's hand playing with my slit as I looked over at his valin-driven arousal. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing that."

His response was a preening arch to enhance the upthrust of his crown, then a covetous leer, once more reaching out to spread his hand across my buttock. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of your rear, but I'd rather not wind up like Tamin. Should I get a towel?"

"How practical," I teased him. "Yes, please." He rose and strutted away, erection wagging proudly; I reached back to slide my fingers between my buttocks and caress my anus, already springing back into position. I suspected that a post-valin Dalamar-and-Lydia would enjoy anal sex frequently, moving up to constantly once my pregnancy progressed beyond the point of vaginal copulation.

I was still going to swallow that gorgeous dick, though.

I found I was looking forward to having a valin-partner who, after the binding was past, would still be interested in coupling -- intensely, from my point of view. Even the Valinyi, taking Sinul and my various other bedpartners and co-parents as examples, felt that once every week or two was an active sex life; my occasional (usually human) sexual partners since I'd earned 'Peregrine' had of course been more interested, but they hadn't had the personality or intellect to keep me involved with any of them for more than a handful of months, and usually not more than a few weeks' brief fling.

Returning with the towel, Dalamar bent over to give my cheek a kiss and my ass a squeeze before helping me to secure it -- temporarily, anyhow. "Let's take a turn in the raincloset," I suggested.

"Food?" he inquired archly.

"It'll keep," I told him, and held my hands up to be helped out of the bed.

---

The raincloset was better than Lydia had advertised; the wide spray of hot water pouring from the 'flower' had me thinking within two minutes of how to do something similar in Wayreth -- or, failing that, somewhere else. I had never been one for making my own domicile, but if I could include one of these in it, I would seriously consider my own place of some sort.

Part of the allure -- besides streams of hot water spraying on your skin -- was of course my partner. She'd pulled the cord to let the staff know we were 'stepping in', and then proceeded to strip off the bandage about my chest, soap me up, and enjoy getting me clean. That wound up with her head bobbing at my groin while the hot water deliciously seared my chest and belly. Giving her an aperitif whetted my appetite, and soaping her up resulted in me pinning her against a wall and experiencing an extravagant pair of orgasms (and, I assure you, a much greater number for her) fucking my sweet little caslth's slick soapy ass.

Which led to more cleaning, another possessive engulfing of my organ by her mouth, and then mutually swearing off the evil cycle, at least for the moment. We managed to avoid falling back into it by bringing each other manually to richly indulgent orgasms -- another pair for me (which made me certain I was producing more semen), another dozen or more for her.

Gods, I love making my partner orgasm. Being honest with myself, I love to do it because I love the satisfaction of knowing that I'm the reason they did, that I was the cause, I was in control, I made them experience that. I guess it's selfish of me, but ... I think everyone who enjoys sex feels some of that sort of greedy, power-hungry lechery.

Emerging from the raincloset, we found that not only had everything been tidied up (and our meal brought in), the lights throughout the Arbor had been activated by the staff during their swift maintenance of the room. I smiled at the pleasing pockets of light and shadow, the dim glow shone by a lamp hanging high in the bed, and glanced sideways to see that Lydia was as enchanted as I. No wonder they demanded fifty steel a night for the place.

As we dried off, Lydia made a suggestion that ... somewhat surprised me. "I propose that we stop holding back."

My eyebrows lifted; we had begun at about Seventh Watch, and it was Last Watch or later, which meant we had been engaged in active, erupting sex more-or-less constantly for the last seven hours. With our eagerness, had we pursued the completion of the valin, we certainly ought to have been done by now. (I was not, note, complaining that we were extending it; very much the opposite.) "How do you mean?"

She looked fondly at my swollenness, the balls in their sack below which felt heavier, seemed to dangle lower. "Just that we should stop trying not to cum," she replied. "If it's there, welcome it, throw yourself into it. If you're about to erupt, yearn for it, pursue it, focus on pouring your seed out."

I considered this approach as I watched her set aside the wet towel and reach for her White Robe which, admittedly, did look cozy at the moment. She stroked it, focusing her intent, then murmured a phrase in Magius that sounded very much like a request -- something, I think, about a veil.

To my surprise and delight, the Robe of the Three Cousins appeared to acquiesce to her request, becoming a thin silken bathing-robe which she pulled around herself. It covered everything but concealed nothing: the fabric clung to the mounds of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples jutted distinctly against the the thin fabric, and the only fastener was above her left breast, so that every time she moved, the front of the Robe would flow wide, parting to reveal not only her lithe legs, but her groin, at least one of her hips, and much of her belly. My cock yeared to breed her again.

But the orgasm was not there, just the urge. "I believe I can agree to that," I said, taking up my own inner robe from where it had been hung and drawing it on, slipping only a few of the tiny jet beads through their eyelets so that my robe would mirror her own in concealing and revealing.

When we sat down at the table, though, hers stayed in place, while my treacherous robe slid right open to put me on display.

Lydia didn't seem to mind a bit.

---

"Perhaps, instead of going by time," Dalamar suggested as we ate, "we should go by number."

"That would require keeping count."

"Not necessarily difficult," he said, taking a bite of something which he described as 'an absolutely heavenly bouef brightblade'. "Just tedious. And it isn't like an exact count need be made."

"Hmm." I pondered this idea. "True. And even though the urgency of the valin tends to ease the more breeding -- actual breeding, you lech!! (I laughed) -- the more breeding is accomplished, we are off to a ... spectacular start. Should we make a list?"

"At least a count," he agreed. "Should I get paper and pen?"

"No, I'll get it this time," I said, pushing back from the table and standing up, smiling as his eyes were pulled to the sway of my breasts, the gap of my robe. I stepped around the corner of the table, and leaned in to give his temple a kiss and his thigh a caress; his shaft was taking a well-earned rest.

I'll admit to intentionally strutting a little as I went to and from the writing desk; it had been forever since I'd gotten the chance to be on display for a lover, and I wanted him to enjoy every moment of the sight of me walking around. Sitting back down, I resumed eating while starting to catalogue the pleasures in which we had so far indulged.

"Well," I said, making marks as I went, "we started by breeding me bent over the table. Then you made me stroke you off onto my tits --"

"And into your mouth, at your request," he said, sounding pleased, pouring each of us another glass of wine.

"Mmm, yes. And I sucked you off. Three."

"Then I rubbed between your folds," he pointed out.

"Oh, yes, that was very nice. Cumming on my food," I continued.

"Mounting me after putting on the bandage," he said, touching the new one.

"That was a breeding," I noted, and circled the mark to indicate it, then went back to circle the first one.

"Rubbing against your ass," he continued, "three times."

"Do you really like my ass so much?" I wondered, making the three Xs.

"Well, I think I rather demonstrated that immediately afterwards, didn't we? I came ..." He thought, counting on his fingers. "Five times. No, six. No, five. I think. Call it five."

I marked it so. "That makes fourteen. We cleaned up a bit, and then came -- the ear rubbing." I made it suitably dramatic.

He had the good grace (or at least obscene memories) to flush, and not just a little; his eartips darkened. "How many times?"

I nearly purred at the look on his face, at being so amazingly trusted, not to mention being the target and instigator of such intense eroticism. "I guessed twenty-five. Add in the fellatio that followed, and we reach ... forty."

"Stroking me at the edge of the bath."

"You masturbating in front of me, spurting into my mouth. Which was intensely erotic for me."

"I'll have to do that again, then. Fucking your ass in the tub -- seven times there. I don't compliment your ass enough."

"You do with every lustful look you give it," I teased him, and he blushed again.

"Sucking me at the edge of the bed. Twice," he added.

"Mmmm, yes. Dalamar cock, veeeery tasty," I teased him again.

He gave me a warning shake of his fork. "Much more of that out of you, caslth, I'll stuff the Lecher into you and fuck your ass until I chafe."

I giggled. "Yes, shalafi. You, um ... cumming spontaneously while performing cunnilingus."

"Well, you orgasm so sweetly. Which is how your quim tastes, I swear. And you brushed my eartips, so I disclaim all responsibility." He tapped a piece of meat with his fork, then suddenly asked, "Caslth, Is that really your preferred Silvanesti form?"

I hesitated. "No," I finally (and somewhat reluctantly) admitted. "I mean, I --"

"Did Synna suggest it?" His voice was arctic, brittle.

"No!!" I refuted the idea immediately, but then had to backpedal a bit. "She did say I ought to try a Silvanesti look; my only other elven form is golden-haired Qualinesti. I thought of ..." I blushed, because really, I was admitting to trying to be his fantasy. "I tried to think of what you might like, shalafi. So ..." My hand gestured down to the body barely hidden by the nearly-sheer Robe. "Silvanesti elven, very long ice-blonde hair, a generous helping of my natural curves."

He stared at me, then suddenly stood up, lightweight Black Robes shifting to conceal. Stepping around the table corner, he drew the robe back to expose himself, muscled belly and the intense readiness of his erection; without a word, his hand went to my head and pulled me in.

Without a word, I knew what he demanded, and opened my mouth to receive him. A small whimper came from my throat as he thrust, groaning -- or growling -- as he worked himself to pushing against the back of my throat.

"You are a slut, Lydia," he stated to me, cold and soft and frightening even in the midst of making me fellate him; the obscenity was not playful, and using my name had not made us equals again. "Look up at me. Yes, even with my cock in your mouth. I name you what your actions show: a slut, instinctive and manipulative. You chose precisely the right appearance, the perfect fantasy for me to bury my member into." He was watching me as he spoke, watching his dick get worshiped by the exact facade of a highborn Silvanesti fem. "When I look at you, I want to mount you, sheathe myself in you, spend my days with your mouth wrapped around the base of my cock, spend my nights fucking your perfect ass until the bedclothes are soaked with your quim, you've orgasmed so much. I want to fuck a thousand babies into your curvy, petite Silvanesti body." His fingers slowly worked his way into my hair, and then he snarled, "Swallow it, slut," and pushed his suddenly-erupting cock down my throat.

I was nowhere near my peak, but then his hands moved to take possession of my eartips and, humping helplessly at the chair, I exploded into an unexpected, practically unwilling, orgasm. My hands lifted -- but I didn't want to hit him, my shalafi, not even a little, so I drummed the heels of my hands on the arm of my chair, the table next to me as he made me orgasm without letting me breathe. Afterwards, though he did pull his tip out of my throat, he didn't let up otherwise, using my mouth to fuck his dick, testing to find the best way to rub my ears, making me cum again and again, each time calling me 'slut' in a myriad of ways: delightful ways, eager and cock-hungry and cum-guzzling; shameful ways, desperate and depraved and worthless; bitter ways, manipulative.

He did not call me 'caslth' even once.

By the time he was done experimenting, he had pumped his cream down my throat twice and made me orgasm at least two dozen times, having discovered how to push my valin-primed body into ecstatic mind-blanking helplessness with only three or four firm fondlings of my erotically-sensitive ears. He gave me a moment to regain my equilibrium, and then resuming fucking my throat full of dick. It seemed like only moments later he was once again blasting his sperm down my gullet.

He pulled out before he was completely done, rubbing his spitting crown against my face and squirting the last few strands across my cheekbones. Then he bent down and said huskily, into an ear the tip of which he still held, still in very firm control, "I do not like to be manipulated, slut. Not by anyone, but especially not by a White Robe. Your Master Synna has confessed to manipulating me to an obscene level, and I will not be so manipulated again, do you hear me? In the future, if there is a future for us, Lydia Majere the Peregrine, we will share information, we will plan what to do, we will discuss what shape you might take if your wish is to please me. Understand?"

"Yes, Dalamar --" I gasped, and then he cut me off by pushing his organ back between my lips.

"Shut up, cruel slut. I am not pleased with you at the moment," he told me while slowly fucking my mouth. "So I am going to take your tally and sit down and finish my dinner. You will be given a choice. The first is the chance to apologize to your shalafi. You will display your remorse by wallowing in how much of an utterly shamefully debauched slut you are, climbing under the table and sucking and stroking my member to make me cum again and again, swallowing my seed or letting it spray you, knowing you are a vastly bad girl, until I finally tell you that you are a good slut, and once more my caslth."

I flushed so hard that it spread all the way down my neck to turn the upper slopes of my tits all rosy. What was in my mind, of course, was kind of a 'yaaay', but a part of me couldn't help but wonder 'orrr ...?'

Dalamar didn't make that part of me wait long, giving me the 'or' after a generous pause. "Or. You can finish your dinner, and go sit on the bed for a few hours, jilling yourself insane while you watch me stroke myself to fountains in front of you." He pulled his cock out of my mouth, then, and started stroking it right in front of me, jutting at my face. "I will put on a fucking show for you, arrogant slut. I will sprawl on the couch, or on a chair, and I will spend hours stroking my dick and making myself cum. I might spend days, work myself up into that phenomenal ambition of ejaculate. I will make an unholy fucking mess of this room, and I will not let you touch me or taste me. And when I finally want to fuck the cunt of a useless, manipulative slut, I will come over, rut into your pussy until you're bred, and then kick you the fuck out of my life."

My head ducked as the realization of guilt surged through me. By all the Gods, I had offended him. Though I hadn't thought about it as manipulation, I'd listened to Synna's suggestion, I'd considered my own interest in the Highmage, and I'd carefully selected details for a form that I thought he would want to pleasure himself on, desire even after the valin released us. And I suppose perhaps Synna, using me as an unwitting tool, had thought about this, foreseen this, intended this -- Lydia her apprentice, with leverage on Dalamar the Highmage.

A chill raced through me -- this was the woman to whom I had agreed to apprentice? We, she and I, were going to have to have words. Boundaries clearly needed to be set -- not unlike what Dalamar was establishing with me right now. The choice he was laying out was simple: 'promise not to do this to me ever again, or forget anything after I am done with you.'

I ... I could be free of him.

I could go sit on the bed, and watch him indulge himself, and accept his mounting when he came to me, then walk away with his valin-child growing in my womb, forswearing even the possibility of a relationship beyond archmage and apprentice, at the cost of having made an opponent for life.

I could study at Synna's cottage, for two years learning what wisdom she had to teach as his baby grew under my heart, until it was time for me to travel back to the Valinyi and give birth. He would never see his child, never know her ...

... what an ugly thing to do to someone: to place before them an unlooked-for joy they have so quietly lost hope of gaining, shining a light into their blackened oubliette of loneliness and despair, only to snatch it away and send them plunging back into the nightmare pit once more.

There is an Irda proverb that came to be after people realized the effects of the valin: 'Decide nothing while the VALIN has you in its fist.' The urges and urgencies inherent in this state make you want with unparalleled intensity, make the most foolhardy desires and plans seem not just reasonable, but incredibly wise. There are stories (which I am fairly certain are just stories) of families bound together for centuries, fortunes wasted, magic drained, disasters of every shape and kind created due to the folly of promises and decisions made during the valin.

But I did not want to be free of Dalamar Argent, Darkson, Highmage. I wanted to ... what I wanted was to be free to want him. To make a decision after the obsessiveness of the valin was gone, to touch him, talk to him, listen to his experience and insight, scramble to keep up with his brilliance, squirm with mindless shuddering physical delight under his hand, give him ease, and comfort, and eventually the unmatched joy of holding his newborn child in his arms. And decide for myself.

But ... if I decided now, under the valin, that performing his erotic apology was too extreme, too demeaning, beneath my pride, wouldn't I be spurning that wisdom? Not to mention the freedom of choosing, that all-important gift which Eadamm had given to Igraine, and which Igraine shared with the rest of us? I'd be ... I don't know. I couldn't think. I wanted him, wanted him, to the point my blood felt like it was boiling in my veins, my tunnel a raging fire only his thrusting and fountain could quell. (And his directions for my 'apology' conjured fantasies of hiding under his desk and clutching at his chair, his cock down my throat as he spurted, while he conducted the business of the Orders. Likely to remain a fantasy, but ... maybe one I could tell him. Later.)

"Hold still, slut," he ordered, snapping me back to now. He had continued to masturbate as the thoughts flashed through my mind, and now his strokes were quickening as he followed the indulgence I'd suggested, surrendering to the orgasmic urge. I looked up at him through my lashes, accepting the guilt I had earned. Seeing my expression, he groaned and erupted, his slit flaring wide to release the repeated heavy spurt of his seed against my face, into my hair. As his jets dwindled, he once more pushed the tip between my eager lips, to let the rest flow across my tongue. "Now," he panted, "make your choice."

Delicately I sucked the last of the cum from his member, tongue-tip stroking across his slit, then looked up at him again. "I wish to be a good girl, shalafi, a good slut," I said in a small voice. "May I be allowed to crawl under the table, to stroke and suck your cock until you are satisfied I am your good, humble, willing, obedient caslth?"

He rubbed his cum into my hair, then gestured peremptorily towards the area beneath the table.

I immediately slid out of my chair, shedding the Robe, and waited for him to get settled. I heard him gather up the pen, papers, and ink, then bring them over to his chair, where he sat down, pulled himself into place, then let his thighs spread to give the slut with whom he was so irate access to begin her apology.

"Mmm. Now, let me see, where were we. Aah, yes, cumming spontaneously while licking Lydia's pussy. Well, she came a couple dozen times, and then she rubbed my eartips; that amount of arousal, that kind of touch, it's to be expected that an excited ondoji spontaneously squirts his juice all over the bed. Of course, my senfu then rolled me onto my back and settled her hot little fuckbox down on my face; I got to make her cum another ... lots of times before she finally rewarded me by stroking me to another orgasm. Then I pinned her under me for some mutual oral appreciation ... mmm. Lydia certainly knows how to take an eager cock down her throat, and seemed to appreciate my balls on her nose."

Some scratching sounds, pen on paper as I bobbed my mouth upon him, stroked his thighs, fondled his swollen balls as I sought to push my lips up around his base once again. "Inserting the Lecher, and mounting her, then putting her heels behind her ears, fucking her ass ... totals, mmm, three very delightful orgasms. Wrestling me over -- we are definitely going to have to have rematches -- and riding me, so three more times for me there. Another time with her laying on me. I enjoyed those; I got to play with her wonderful tits, then all the front of her body. She squirms so wonderfully when she quims."

He chuckled, then groaned, his cock blasting semen down my throat. It made him fall silent for a time, then he sighed. "The dinner bell rang, so one more time in her rear in bed ... then the raincloset. Lydia really is an excellent, eager cocksucker. A pair of eruptions down her throat, two in her ass, and two ... well. All over, but mainly all over her."

I felt my eyelids sinking as my focus narrowed; my world was becoming the erection in my mouth, persuading it to pleasure. Vaguely I heard something about demanding something three times, and splattering on her face, and an apology accepted, but ...

I don't remember. I don't know if I wanted to remember. At that moment, there was nothing else for me, no future worth exploring, unless Dalamar indulged me, accepted me, forgave me. I gulped down what I could of the endless-seeming fountains from his turgidity; other times my jaw hung open, sore but unwilling to close as my hands coaxed out another series of copious jets of his semen to bathe my face and breasts. I could feel it soaking the entirety of my swaying tits, dripping from my pinkie-tip nipples onto my thighs.

At some point, he'd slouched further, tangled his fingers in my hair, and gave me encouragement, whether words like 'that's it' and 'all the way' and 'here it comes', or tugging me to engulf him entirely, my lips about his base as he moaned with lascivious abandon, indulging himself in the slut servicing his endless lust.

An eternity later, of my hands and mouth on Dalamar’s heavy, pendulous balls and jutting organ, my face and body wearing a third of his product (as well as the stray spurt and occasional leak), my jaw aching from stretching open for him, my belly bulging with being fed so much spunk, my shalafi graciously accepted all my apologies by drawing me out from beneath the table to stand beside his chair. His eyes and his hand roamed slowly up and down my body, sinking into my soaking wet tunnel, squeezing my teat, twisting my nipple, spreading his semen across my face.

Sweeter than his caresses were his words: "Good girl, beautiful slut, lovely caslth." My hands clutched each other behind my back, and I shivered in wordless, sensual delight: I was his again.

Climbing to his feet, cock losing its eager rigidity, he slid his fingers into the cummy tumble of my hair and bent down to taste himself on me, kissing and licking my lips and jaw and throat, then tangling me up in That Kiss: the fiercely intense consuming kiss of his, the tongue-tangling demand that I be his, that he take possession of me. It stole my breath then as it had before, and combined with my spunk-driven lightheadedness, it nearly made me faint.

But he lifted me in his arms and, carrying me to the fractured light in the bed, stroked my slit as he continued to murmur his words of possessiveness and praise. He climbed up onto the bed with me still in his arms, carried me to where I'd been when he'd begun my introduction into the delights of cunnilingus and fingering, and laid me back.

Straightening up, he shed his robe, casting it off the bed, then leaned down over me once more. His breath was hot on the skin of my bust; I could feel him slowly inhaling the scent of his semen on me, giving me teasing little licks as he settled the rest of himself. My thighs were lifted by his, and his member -- not erect, but full and thick and long -- lay heavily against my mess of a cunt. (Except for having tangled his fingers in my hair and demanded more of me from time to time, while I had been under the table he had not teased me, nor had I touched myself -- but I had shuddered through a dozen or more orgasms while submissively servicing him.) "That," he breathed into my ear, stroking it with the side of his nose as his possessive hand slid over my shoulder, "made ninety-nine times. Ninety-nine times I have cum; ninety-nine times in the last nine hours. An average of every five and a half minutes." The bronze of his hand was a shadow on my skin as it moved down to match the curve of my breast, to give a gentle but firm (and long) squeeze.

My lower lip caught between my teeth as my body rolled slowly under his caress, my hands sliding along his ribs, my heels just brushing his buttocks. We stayed that way, each of us finally exploring the way the other fit into their skin, listened to the soft murmurs of delight at a caress, noted where that spot was, resolved to return there. Despite the lifting of my groin in mute pleading, his will kept us separated for long minutes that the valin turned into hours worth of denial. Eventually I could take no more, and pleaded in a soft whimper, "Please, shalafi."

Dalamar moved slowly, lips tracing across my cheek as the sensitive surface felt my skin. "Please what, caslth?"

I whimpered again. He was hard, had become again, the pool of his lubricant slowly becoming the lone survivor as my lingering spell cleaned up the last evidence of my time under the table. Sometimes he would press against my mons, even between my folds, but never rocked to rub me. "Fuck me, shalafi."

"I do love your ass, caslth," he replied, softly taunting.

My moan was unabashedly sluttish. "Fuck my pussy, shalafi."

"Mmm. I suppose a few strokes would be a good reward --"

"Breed me, shalafi!!" I begged, my knees rising higher, trying to present myself to him, angle my hips to catch the curve of his crown with my cunt.

His hands caught my wrists, surprised me by pinning them above my head, and his body's weight bore down on mine, pressure greater than that of simply laying upon me; he was digging in with his feet, thighs hard against my buttocks. Shifting to create sufficient space between he and I that we might interact, he looked down at me with cool intensity. "Promise," he said with precise diction, "to never manipulate me again, Lydia."

My breath heaved in my breast like a beast wild to escape a trap, lust like a whirlwind spinning my mind into vertigo. But his use of my name cut through the howling urgency of the valin, gave my will something to latch onto, claw my way into the calm centerpoint. My breathing deepened, slowed, calmed.

When he saw that I was returned to sense, Dalamar's head dipped slightly, gaze intensifying further. "Promise to never manipulate me again."

Held by his, my body wanted to be bred; held by his, my mind wanted a return to the ready companionship we had been discovering. My sense fought free of the valin, finally, and I thought back to his words. "I promise. I swear -- no." I spoke with soft intent, my oath shivering the very air. "I bind myself to never manipulate you again -- that if a decision is to be made between us, a future for us to be planned, that I will share with you all the information I have that might bear on the situation, that I will plan with you what to do, that I will discuss what shapes might please you -- and use no such weapons against your heart."

His hands still pinning my wrists, he stared down at me, clearly not having expected me to swear such a pledge. His eyes closed for a moment, then reopened, and he said with equal vibrance against the backdrop of the fabric of the world, "In return, I bind myself that that if a decision is to be made between us, a future for us to be planned, that I will share with you all the information I have that might bear on the situation, that I will plan with you what to do, and that I will never knowingly manipulate you in regards to our personal affairs." He sounded at the last as if making such an oath was cutting off a hand, but I noticed 'knowingly', and had to concede that one could not expect a prodded crab to not instinctively pinch. That he surrendered doing so intentionally was ... significant.

I pressed my head into the pillow beneath me, arching my chin -- my lips -- upwards enough to be noticed. "Am I forgiven, Dalamar?"

Let it be known that Dalamar Darkson is certainly willing to take an offered kiss, and spent some time exploring my lips and tongue-tip with his own. Finally, though, as my sighs were deepening again, he flicked the tip of his tongue across the middle of my upper lip and said, his voice low, "Lydia, you are forgiven."

"Will you give me your seed, then, that I might have your child?"

His firm member returned to being a bar of velvet-sheathed steel. Still, he held me in place, length pulsating against my ready folds, waiting.

"Please, Dalamar ..."

He shifted his hips, then, to tease my soaked, flushed, swollen and emergent inner folds with his tip; I had only but to shift my own hips to catch him, and his increased thickness was finally pushing into me. One slow stroke made me shudder, a second deeper one made me moan, and as he returned for the third time he murmured against my lips, "Lydia my slut, it is my honor and pleasure to breed you."

Chapter Text

XXVIj

Pleasurable punishments. Spellcasting mishaps. An unexpected toy.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Palast, 2 Reapember, 546 AC, Late Watch falling, 11
S31:L10*:N3*

"So, Lydia. Any other kinks you'd like to tell me about?"
-- Dalamar

Taking my time with spearing Lydia's sex was absolutely incredible. Oh, the first time was transcendent, and the second was healing, but neither of them were exactly sensual. This time we were in a bed, focused on each other, able to really have the experience, and I decided almost immediately that breeding her was going to be the one time I did not let myself just orgasm; if I was limited to releasing myself inside her only once every twenty-five times, by the gods I was going to take my time with that once!!

So I fought the urging of the valin, the drive to rut into her and erupt as swiftly as I could. Instead, I moved slowly within her, stroking deeper and deeper, finally pressing my groin against hers as her labia stretched around my base. Being inside her was magnificent, for she was tight without clamping down and making it difficult to move. Certainly her lubricants and mine assisted with that, but leaning on her, gripping her wrists and holding them above her head so that I might focus our attention entirely on where we were joined ... magnificent.

After the first few root-deep strokes, I adjusted my positioning, for my weight was leaning rather more than I liked on her hips; moving was energy intensive, and oh yes I wanted this to last. "Keep your hands there, caslth," I murmured to her, and let her wrists go; delightfully, she did. I braced my hands to either side of her breasts, adjusted my legs, and continued my slow, leisurely spearing, bending down to murmur in her ear, "Good girl."

"Thank you, shalafi," she moaned softly, her eyes closing for a moment as I felt her tunnel ripple around the more-than-normally thick, long, and hard erection I had; I rocked, focusing my drive into giving her pleasure instead of taking my own.

Her breath swiftly grew ragged, shuddering little gasps and sighs, never complete, never full as she rode the edge of orgasm. I suspected she was fighting it as I watched her teeth catch her lower lip, and so I rubbed her nose-tip with mine. "Caslth," I said, voice low, "are you trying to not quim?"

Even though my erection was stroking inside her femness, halfway out to fully within, the adorable little slut still blushed. "Yes, shalafi," she confessed, looking up at me with guilt in her eyes.

Shifting my weight, I slid my hand up to curl around her throat, giving a slow squeeze which made her whimper and push herself up onto my member. "Bad girl," I scolded her, causing her to blush even further. "What happens to bad girls?"

She bit her lower lip again, pinkening even more, and didn't answer. I squeezed her neck again, firm but not really hard, to warn her. She moaned, pressing her head back against the pillows, then gasped out, "Bad girls get punished, shalafi."

"Indeed," I drawled, pulling out, then stroking inwards again, delighting in the way her labia moved inwards with me, pulling her clitoris down to get raked by the last couple of inches of my organ. I paused, fully within her, to consider my options, but the best one was right at hand. I cupped the back of her calves, ran them up to her ankle, and slowly pushed them further up.

Undoubtedly in her martial training, she learned all sorts of stretching; here, she folded up with most delicious marital ease. "Hold these," I told her, pushing her ankles into her hands. She latched on, turning herself into a compact erotic package.

I could not resist pausing after adjusting my position again and smiling down at her. "That," I told her, "is not the punishment. Since you won't surrender into quimming your brains out, it's clear I have to make you quim, lovely slut."

Her eyes got wide as I adjusted myself. "Shalafi??"

I smirked at her as I settled into something of a squatting position -- at least, my feet were flat and braced, thighs spread but ready to put my cock to serious work. "You've been a bad girl, little slut. Accept your punishment." My forearms weighed on the backs of her thighs as my fingertips slid up her ears to their tips. With my knowledge of her sensitivity, I spiked her pleasure in only moments, then started to hump into her spasming slit, rutting her irregularly to accentuate the pleasures I was pushing onto her.

She moaned and writhed, but didn't let go of her ankles, diligently keeping her hands over her head to maintain her licentious folded-up-fucktoy position. Though undoubtedly my forearms helped, I was focused primarily on fucking her tight, shuddering cunt, my fingers on her ears forcing her to quim again and again and again, giving her no surcease. Every time she quimmed, she squealed, "Shalafi, oh yes, shalafi!!!" Music to my ears.

When she hit twenty I started nearing a desperate need to blast my spunk into her. I stopped my thrusts and finally let her eartips go, lowering my face to breathe across her lips, caress her cheek with mine, and whisper in her ear, "I just made you quim twenty times. Are you going to be a bad girl again, caslth?"

"Yes, shalafi," she moaned -- probably a foolish honesty, possibly just playing with me. But could I take that chance? "You are a very bad girl," I told her, and returned my fingers to their places, rocked my hips and stroked inside her a few times, to send her back to her 'punishment'.

Though I rested, this time I pushed her through thirty spasmodic sets of her tunnel tightening around my staff before letting her rest. "Thirty more quimmings. Are you sure you're going to be a bad girl again, caslth??"

"Mmmaybe," she moaned, her hopelessly needful eyes glazed, but looking up at me.

I smiled, and licked her lips. "You are a glutton for punishment, pretty slut," I complimented her. This time I started slowly fucking her, enjoying her body as I 'forced' her through forty more orgasms, smiling at her whimpers and wails and occasional babblings of 'please' and 'cumming' and 'I can take it' and especially the squeals of 'shalafi!!'. Finally I stopped, my cock's throbbing a desperate plea to be allowed to gush into her. "Forty times. Well, caslth?"

"... ... ... i'll try not to be a bad girl, shalafi," she finally whimpered.

My lips caressed the smoothness of her cheeks as I inhaled the scent of her sweat and sex. "See that you do," I murmured to her. I let my hands slide down to her shoulders, then asked softly, "Would you like your shalafi to breed you?"

Her answering moan was far more intense. "Your caslth very much wishes to be bred, shalafi."

"Open your eyes, slut," I purred.

She did, at least as much as she seemed to be able to when in such a sexually-charged state. "Shalafi?"

"You are such a good girl," I crooned, making that wonderful blush of hers return, quiver in another sweet little orgasm. "A good girl should watch her shalafi while he fucks her, don't you think, slut?" I bent down, possessively kissed her into breathlessness, and purred to her, "I want you to see when I give you my cum and breed you." Lifting my head again, I met her gaze, then did just that, slowly fucking her for twenty, thirty more steady strokes, smiling as she surrendered to each orgasm as it built up and overflowed through her body. "Good girl," I murmured each time she did, making her redden further.

Finally, I could feel the overwhelming tide rising within me. "Are you ready for me to breed you again, Lydia?"

Her smile was abashed, pleased, aroused, and happy, her hands twisting around her ankles, keeping herself in place despite my use of her name releasing her. "Dalamar, my fuckboy," she panted, beaming up at me, "I would be delighted and honored to be bred by you."

I couldn't help but laugh at her rephrasing, but I locked gazes with her and repeatedly rocked myself into her slick, tight tunnel crown-to-base until the one dry throb told me the rest was on its way, and thrust myself utterly into her sex before I erupted.

---

Dalamar was so wonderfully sweet, so intensely vulnerable as he spread my folds with the base of his organ, pushing against me and into me as fiercely as he could the instant before his ejaculation began. I understood his reasons for holding off; it was agonizing to have to go without this particular experience, his cock sheathed tightly in my cunt as he gushed his increased load into me, for twenty-four times before being allowed another one.

And I wanted to reach out, pull him to me, but he'd tucked me into one of the best positions for getting pregnant, what we called the breeding press, and was half-squatting over me, leveraged to be buried as utterly within me as possible. With the possible exception of getting bent forward and mounted, it was my favorite -- probably because, as with the bent-over positions, of the surrender of control. Those positions excited me; they aroused me, to voluntarily moment by moment give up the ability to act, acquiesce to the actions of the male sporting with me, pounding me, using me.

I guess I just really like getting fucked.

"Good boy," I breathed up at him, and laughed wickedly as he ducked his head a little, blushed, and grinned helplessly as his lust kept him pushed against me, his balls emptying themselves. I suspected that, after the valin released us, he would very enthusiastically occupy himself with pinning me down and taking his pleasure of my sex; I wondered if he would want to stay past the allotted two weeks. For the first time, I pondered the hidden little pocket spellbook that held a number of the sex spells of which the Valinyi maintained knowledge, teased out of the valin; understanding them held the key to breaking the valin's hold over the high ogres.

Dalamar lowered his lips to mine as his orgasm dwindled; I released my ankles to wrap both arms and legs around him, holding him to me. He stroked my forehead and cheek as we kissed, murmuring, "I wish we could do that all the time."

"I know what you mean," I replied, then gently pushed his own legs and arms out from under him to give me all of his weight. "Mmmm, I do love the weight of a male on top of me."

"Really? I'm not squashing you?" He still seemed tense about it, so I ran my hands across his shoulders, then worked my fingers into the muscles on either side of his spine all the way down to his tailbone, where I curled my fingers around his buttocks and squeezed, echoing the actions of my hands with flexing my sex around his hardness. He was certainly stretching me, but I exercise.

"You are not squashing me," I agreed, my eyes going down to his lips. "You ought to kiss me more," I suggested, something that he apparently agreed with, because he lowered his head to tangle my tongue up with his. My hands roamed across his back, feet rubbing his thighs, toes curling and uncurling in delight. "Mmm. Have I told you you're a good kisser? You're a good kisser."

"You've told me," he laughed against my neck.

"Mmm, deserves repeating," I purred. "Fuck, I want you to do that again. Not, necessarily, the orgasm torture --"

"You didn't like that?" Oh, he was definitely teasing me.

"If that's to be my punishment for being a bad girl," I laughed, gently biting his jawline, "you are going to wind up making me into a very bad girl, Dalamar."

I felt his cock swelling inside me again, eager to get to work again. "What can I say," he murmured, his hips shifting in a vague gesture towards thrusting, "I like being in control of your orgasms." His buttocks rose against my hands, knees finding purchase again to withdraw him from my tunnel, but then he stroked back in, as slowly as he'd withdrawn, until his crown was once again sleeved in the very back of my tunnel.

"Mmmmff. That was a hundred, right? You could fuck me again, we have one to spare."

"I'd ... like to hold off on that," he purred to me, even though he was pulling almost all the way back out, then easing in and pushing my vaginal walls apart once more.

"Build up a reserve?"

"Exactly." Withdrawl, return; withdrawl, return. Again. Again. "Though fucking you is absolutely a glory."

I groaned, not wanting him to stop, knowing that he ought to. Well, there was an alternate; I lifted my legs again, pulling my knees up to frame my teats. "Care to shift locations? I think we're both lubed up enough."

He groaned as well, drawing back until just his head was inside me. "Prove you want me to fuck your ass," he demanded.

My laugh was husky and hungry, my hands sliding down to curl around the base of his organ, stroke down to the tip. "You will pull fully out of me, ondoji," I ordered.

Disobedient in turn, Dalamar circled his hips, moving two inches in and out of me. Immediately, I slid my hand up his back to tangle in his hair, then pulled. A little gasp of pleasure escaped his throat.

"Bad fuckboy," I told him, pulsing my hand around his cock, then squeezing; if he orgasmed, his cum wouldn't be getting out. I slowly circled my hand around the back of his head, gathering more of his hair, then collected it into my grip, and pulled it back again before pulling him downwards to get my mouth at his throat. "Pull out, ondoji."

Panting even more heavily, he stroked his sex into mine, making me turn my head and stretch my jaw to capture his exposed throat in my teeth. A firm tug on his hair recommended he obey, but he continued with his little thrusts until I closed my jaw just a little. His breath rasping, he gave five or six quick, frantic thrusts before pulling out. I felt the throb as he did, then made a snap decision: since he had pulled out, he could cum. With my hand directing his spurts onto my belly and breasts, and stroking him through completion, his whimpers squeaked between my teeth before I relaxed and let his cries of ecstasy emerge.

"You're amazingly verbal when you cum, ondoji," I murmured in his ear as he decorated my belly with his jets.

"Yes, senfu," he admitted, twitching as I squeezed out the last of his semen and toyed with his sensitive tip. "I've always been that way."

"But you've been a bad boy," I reminded him, giving a series of little tugs on his hair. "You know what that means."

His bronze complexion darkened, though I could feel his hardness against my folds. "Punishment, senfu," he said softly.

"Mmm-hmm. You don't get to use my ass for a while, ondoji."

"I'm sorry, senfu," he said, looking down at me from his head-arched-back position, "but senfu's pussy felt just too good not to fuck."

"That's not good enough, fuckboy." I released his organ, slipping my hand back out, then around to cup his buttock and pull his hips down to nestle the base of his erection against my folds. "Now stay there," I told him, then released his hair as I slid the other hand up his back, capturing his eartips between my fingers.

His eyes widened as I wrapped my legs around his hips, holding him to me. "Senfu ... ?"

"You are to beg me," I murmured as I met his gaze, "'Thank you, senfu, may I have another?' Every time, cum-fountain."

"Yes, senfu," he said softly, eyes practically glowing in delight. It seemed that most of our punishments were anything but.

"Let us begin, then," I told him, and rubbed my sex and clitoris against his erection as I massaged his eartips.

He spurted wonderfully quickly, whimpering soft cries of ecstasy to me as his load spattered my body and his, then panted, "Thank you, senfu, may I have another?"

He asked so sweetly I gave him another, and one after that, and another after that ...

---

"Good boy," her lips breathed into my ear, hands caressing my back, heels stroking my thighs. "Good ondoji, good Dalamar."

"I should fuck you for calling me 'good Dalamar'," I told her, laying my full weight on top of her once again. I'd completely lost track of time, or even how many times she'd made me erupt. Going by the wetness soaking my body and hers, it was at least ten.

"Mmmm. You can if you want," she murmured. "Or you can get into my ass like I suggested."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows so I could get a look at her, stroking her hair away from her face. "How many times?"

"I figured two-for-one was a fair exchange." She grinned up at me.

My eyebrows rose, hips pushing against her without me even telling them to. "Thirty-five times?"

"If it weren't for the clean-up, we would be in such a huge puddle of your spunk. Fortunately, we're not. Added bonus, not much friction on your cock, so I could make you jizz again and again and again. But I really would like you in my ass again, Dalamar.

I lowered my head to kiss her, slow and leisurely. "Lift your legs, Lydia, and I will."

It was wonderful how quickly she pulled her knees back up to her tits.

---

On my back, half a dozen times. He pulled back, rolled me over onto my knees without taking himself out of me, and mounted my rear doggie-style, leaning down to curl around me, to lick and suckle my ears and fondle my tits as he stroked crown-to-root through my sphincter and deep into me another half a dozen times. Then pulled my shoulders upright, for me to prop myself up like a seated but alert watchdog, and settled onto his heels. His hands on my hips kept us steady as he enjoyed me for a third half-dozen ejaculations, finally pulling me upright to hold me to him, one hand on my breast, the other spread across my upper chest, fingers and thumb caressing my collarbones, a hint away from gripping my throat.

I'd managed more than two-to-one that time, but his wonderful declarations of lust enabled me to keep track of his orgasms even as I squealed and writhed forty times myself. Panting, I turned my head to kiss him, admitting, "This amount of pleasure could break a person's sanity."

"Mmmm, yes," he agreed, receiving and returning expressions of delight from and to my lips. "Mostly I think it's making me want to do this even more."

"Certainly our intent," I laughed softly, then moaned as his hand caressed down my belly to stroke my sex and tease my clitoris. "I might be able to make it bigger," I blurted.

He paused in his pleasure-giving. "What's that?"

"My clitoris. You said it was too bad it wasn't larger," I reminded him. "I'm just ... I could try some changes. Anticipate your growth, though the valin adjusts me for it. Make it easier to get into my throat." I bit my lower lip, wondering if the measuring items I'd requested had been brought up, and if so, where they'd been placed. "Increase the size of my clit."

Unconsciously he licked his lips. "Really?"

"I ... I think so, yes. I haven't managed a form-to-form change yet, not without returning to my true form," I admitted, "but I'd be willing to try. The tweaks ... would be difficult, I think, but not impossible."

He considered my offer, cock still firmly planted inside my anus, hands idly caressing my sex and breast. "You said you had a blonde Qualinesti form," he murmured thoughtfully. "That's elven. Would you be able to become that?"

My heart dropped a little -- more than a little -- at his request. It sounded to me very much like he would rather I not stay as the silver-haired Silvanesti. "I could, shalafi," I said submissively. "At your command."

Gods, his masculinity inside me fairly swelled to twice its size. It didn't, really, but there's a definite difference between 'pleasantly turgid dick' and 'steel bar cock'. His hands on me also stilled as he focused. "You would, caslth?"

My eyes closed, and I tried to wrestle down the guilt and misery of having done to him what he hated most, being manipulated. "Yes, shalafi. As you desire."

His hands resumed their movements, and the warmth from his lips spoke in my ear, "Turn your lips to me, caslth."

Submissive, I turned my head, and Dalamar took possession of my mouth, tangling tongues and lips. He also took possession of the rest of my body, hips once more cycling to fuck my ass, hands playing with teat and nipple, slit and clit, until I cried out into his mouth, and again, and a third time as his own call blended into mine, his organ again gushing his seed into my guts. (Having not had a chance to expel any of his semen, my belly felt full, tight, almost to the point of discomfort.)

"You will make any changes to this form, my wonderful slut," he told me afterwards, "my winsome submissive caslth. Some other time I will breed that blonde Qualinesti cocksleeve; this time, my Silvanesti sheathe will bear my child."

I whimpered, arching into him, desperately joyous to have gained such fierce approval from him, the final indicator of his forgiveness. "With immeasurable joy, shalafi."

He nuzzled my ear, hands curved possessively around crotch and breast. "You are far higher-born than those Silvanesti valths, Lydia. I would not exchange you for a dozen of them as broodmares."

"Thank you, shalafi," I panted. "It fills me with great happiness to be chosen."

"Mmmm," he purred, then licked my ear. "Should I retrieve a towel?"

I reached down to pull the hand toying with my pussy up to press it against my fluid-hardened belly. "You should. Without your cock to plug it, it's going to be terribly, well, not nasty coming out, but ... dreadful. I imagine. It would get cleaned, but it would feel wrong, just letting it out onto the bed."

"Didn't you say there were anal plugs in here?" he teased, gently twisting a nipple.

I laughed. "Yes, but -- get a towel anyhow. "

Easing myself back downwards, I looked past him to try to spot my component pouch. Ah, there it was! Mage hand fetched it as readily as the towel was responding to Dalamar's summoning; towel beat component pouch, and my lover busied himself with tucking it into place beneath our joining as I retrieved the old brass key Master Magicfingers had spotted. But even as I started to cast the open cantrip, Dalamar that goddamn bastard curled his hands around my hips and started fucking my ass again.

If you're wondering if I lost the spell, of course I goddamn well did. "Dalamar," I panted, laughing as I tried squeezing my rear around his casually thrusting erection.

"Mmmm, yess?" he asked archly, rubbing his hands across my buttocks, then up over my lower back.

"You're making it very gods-damned difficult to concentrate."

"Mmmm, I'm disappointed," he mused behind me as I tried -- and failed again -- to cast the spell. "I'm kind of going for 'impossible'."

Three more times I tried, but between firm thrusts and his hand tangling in my hair and tugging on it, I failed miserably. "Dalamaaar," I half-whined, half-laughed.

The Darkson curled around me, one hand on my belly, the other on my breast, his voice pouring liquid seduction in my ear. "I'm not going to stop fucking my cocksheathe's ass just because she wants to cast a cantrip," he told me, then licked my ear. "Concentrate, my little slut."

And I tried, but I failed again -- but the one following that was successful, the gesture of the key sliding the distant cabinet door open. Unfortunately, there were no plugs inside.

That caused Dalamar to laugh wickedly, nibble on my ear, and then suckle on it just in time to make me flub the next casting of the cantrip. "Do you need to quim, my sweet slut?"

"I need you to stop fucking meee-hee-hee," I laughed, breathless, "but yeah, cumming would be nice too."

"Will make you quim," he agreed. "No promises about not fucking you." And with mouth on my ear, hands on my breasts, and his cock spurting another load into my rear, he curled his hand in my groin and brought me to orgasm.

Fortunately, in the moment of his resting, I was able to close that panel and open another -- but no luck there. I had really not been paying attention to where the butt plugs were.

That gave the malicious goblin time to start circling his hips again, making me lose the next cantrip. His fingers squeezed and twisted my nipples, making me squirm under him, but I drew breath and managed to close the second compartment with one casting and open the third compartment with another, which almost had to contain plugs.

Nope. Oils.

Dalamar laughed again, straightening back up and starting to thrust with intent; I'll admit to whining in the middle of my casting and spoiling the effect, but I was, I suppose, getting used to his timing, because I managed to succeed twice, to close the third compartment and open the fourth. Finally!!

However, calling one to me required another mage hand, and Dalamar spoiled the first attempt. Not the second, however, and in only a moment more I was in possession of a butt plug.

Dalamar slowed and stopped to curl up around me as, red with embarrassment, I stared at the plug I held in my hand. Though made of a firm but soft leather, it was very adroitly ... sculpted. Its design ... "Feeling extra-frisky, caslth?"

"My aim was off," I said, looking at the canine phallus-and-knot meant to go inside, and the almost-rigid leather curve designed to remain outside and ride up towards my spine before arcing outwards into a two-foot-long bushy tail. "Someone was fucking my ass."

He straightened up, and his hips gave a buck to impale my rear once more. "I see several more unusual ones in there," he teased. "Want to try again? You might get a draconian cock next time." Then his heat was curling around me once more, his hands sliding around to possess my teats. "Your Hithik might, I think, be a very interesting person to know. At the moment, though, I kind of like the idea of having a sexy, slutty little elf-bitch wagging her tail for me."

My blush shifted from 'embarrassed' to 'guiltily aroused'. "I don't think I ought to try again," I conceded, and he laughed, stroking my tits as if trying to milk them. "And maybe not bitch. Pup?"

"Mmmm," he considered the alternate. "Puppy?"

"Ohhhhm. Well. That puts me in mind of a wriggling little one."

He laughed in my ear. "Well, you are a wriggling horny little thing, aren't you?"

I blushed, but couldn't find fault with his teasing. "True, shalafi. Put it in me?"

"Mmm-hmmm. After I pump a last load into you. Get your shoulders on the bed, my lovely slut puppy."

I gave him the plug, and obediently sunk down onto the bed; he took the opportunity to finish fucking and blast cum into me one more time before finally pulling out and easing the knotted-dog-cock plug into my rear. "Oh, my," he laughed, squeezing my buttocks, then playing with them to make the tail wag. "That's amazing. I think you might be able to sit normally," he teased. "Let's go get cleaned up. Actually, it's been a while; do you think the raincloset is available again?"

I blinked a little, stupidly, since at the moment I was crimson with an impossible-to-separate blend of embarrassment, shame, and arousal. Dalamar liked the plug and the look? It ... wasn't uncomfortable. I could wear it for a while ... and if it amused him, even wag my tail for him.

"Lydia," he murmured, leaning down to nuzzle my ear, though one hand fondled my rear before playing with the plug.

"Ahhhmmm," I gasped, unable to muffle the arousal.

"I think the horny little puppy likes having her tail played with," he laughed in my ear. "Gods, I want to fuck you again already. Do you think the raincloset is ready yet?"

"What hour is it?" I wondered stupidly.

He snorted. "No idea." He sat up, looking around at the Arbor's evening lighting. "Late. Oh -- the meal flag is up. We missed it."

"Mmmf." I straightened carefully up, feeling the canine-shaped knotted dildo moving inside my ass, pushing against my cunt from the other side. It was ... strange but not unpleasant, erotic of a different type: the artificial counterpart to having the Lecher in my sex. "After twelve-thirty in the morning, then. Don't worry, it's mostly cool things anyhow. We went in ... umm. Yeah, the raincloset should be available again."

He reached over to stroke my hip, then moved his hand under my buttock to pull me over to him. I squeaked, getting moved, then looked down at him as my breast rubbed his cheek. "I say we use it, let you drain." He slid his hand past the tail, cupping my other cheek before smiling and turning his head to capture the closest nipple between his lips and suckle.

"Nooooo," I gasped, tangling my fingers in his hair. "Don't -- please -- fucking Abyss, Dalamar, you're making me so horny. Get me into the shower now."

"Yes, senfu!!" he answered enthusiastically, half-lifting me with his arm under my buttocks, scooting himself to the edge of the bed, then scooping me up with his arms behind my back and under my legs. The raincloset door was open, and he put me down inside, then squatted down behind me. "Best take this out while we bathe, senfu," came his suggestion.

"Go pull the cord first," I told him, waiting until he returned. "Clean it immediately, ondoji," I ordered, bending forward to press both hands against the wall for stability, spreading my legs but trying to relax and lessen the flex in my buttocks. Dalamar extracted the canine plug with care, then courteously turned away to take care of its cleaning.

I turned on the water's spray and felt my body push the truly prodigious amount of semen out the way it came in. While I could theoretically have left it to spill out on the bed, allowing the spell I'd cast to clean it up, that would have felt wrong; the necessary or the raincloset drain were the places to care for it. Once it was complete, though, I carefully inserted a forefinger inside my rear and gave myself a quick rinse using the same water-jet cantrip I'd used to clean myself this morning. This morning. This morning.

"Wow."

"What?"

I looked up at Dalamar from where I squatted, the spray catching only part of me. He had clearly cleaned up the doggie-dildo-tail-plug (I could see it sitting on the shelf at the back of the raincloset) and had soaped up part of himself already. "Oh. Just -- we weren't even here this morning. We started, what, twelve hours ago at this point? Not quite?"

He chuckled, one hand holding the bar, the other slowly 'cleaning' his cock. I couldn't keep myself from staring as I irrigated myself. "We are," he agreed, "rather well past where we should be. Nearing what, a hundred and sixty?"

I wanted him to stop stroking his dick; I wanted him to continue until he showered me with his seed. "A hundred fifty ... seven. I think. Six times each position?"

"Seven, six, and seven," he said, dark eyes fixated on my glistening body.

I chewed on my lower lip, then murmured, "A hundred fifty-nine, then. A hundred sixty when you cum on me."

He laughed, low and husky, and took the two steps necessary to stand over me, water spraying his body free of soap, his cock looking utterly fresh and new -- and I'd guess most of an inch longer than when I'd sucked on it at the very beginning. "I'd say I can't help it, but I can," he told me. "I just don't want to."

"I don't want you to either," I replied, sliding my finger out of my ass, wiping it clean of stray semen, then lifting both hands to present my breasts. "I want you to decorate me with your cum-fountain, lovely fuckboy."

"Delighted to do so, beautiful slut," he gasped, and proceeded to make a wonderful mess of me.

Chapter Text

XXVIk

Washing with care. Puppy ownership. Taking measurements.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Majetag, 3 Reapember, 546 AC, After Darkwatch falling, 7
S31:L10:N4

"Clearly, frequent testing is required."
-- Lydia and/or Dalamar

Of course, she practically attacked me after I stopped spurting. I hope to suffer many, many more such attacks.

The way she engulfed my erection made me wonder if she really needed to reshape her body; we'd have to talk over what she was intending, but at the moment she was sliding her mouth back and forth on my dick, gradually gaining traction to take it down her throat to the root. My hands on her head were purely ... you know, I can't call it pro forma, I can't call it cautionary, I certainly can't say I was guiding her. Holding on for dear life, perhaps, because my curvy little highborn Silvanesti slut was proving how much of an eager cocksucker she was. Gods, she was going to make me cum faster than rubbing my eaaahhhh!!

I vocalize when I cum; I do. I always have, this is nothing new. Often -- very often -- usually -- I can keep it soft, little gasps and whimpers of orgasmic pleasure, muffled further by a pillow or my lover's flesh. With Lydia, with the valin, I didn't want to muffle it: I wanted her to know each and every time she was making my balls clench, my cock throb, my semen jet from my member, feeding or decorating my magnificent obscene slut.

So much semen!! I caught (barely) how much I'd spurted onto her before the water spray swept most of it off her; she looked like I'd ejaculated twice. My testicles simultaneously ached with release and to release, glad to have once more jetted eight or nine blasts of my seed down her throat, but wanting to do it again. For a moment, I wondered if extending the valin this far was a good idea ... but my body didn't feel wrong, it felt overcharged. I was damn near vibrating with the desire to copulate, to have sex with the daughter of my former Master.

(Which felt kind of odd to think, but facts are facts.)

"Why don't you clean up first?" I suggested, and staggered back to half-collapse on the sex-ready stool. Lydia gave me a look that was both soulful and sultry, staring at my straining cock, then straightened to make a show of cleaning herself, washing her hair with the special soap provided, arching her body to best display while she scrubbed herself.

I would say that I didn't respond, but she took long enough that my erection should have started to settle, and it did no such thing. Watching her and wanting her was too much in the forefront of my mind. As she rinsed herself off for the last time, I stood, picked up the stool, and set it into the middle of the spray, sitting down upon it as Lydia temporarily orbited.

Looking up at her, the water coursing down me, I saw her smile -- not sexy, not impish, but a warm and gentle response to my hopefulness. She stepped around me, gathering up the soaps she would use, then proceeded to give me perhaps the most sensual cleaning I've ever experienced. She knew how to wash a lover's hair, massaging my scalp while doing it; though her breasts rubbed against me as she worked, laving and rinsing, and though she had me stand after cleaning my back so that she could wash the rest of my body, even kneeling in front of me to do the same to my legs and feet and, yes, cleaning my penis and anus, nothing was especially erotic. For over a dozen wonderful long minutes, her hands were upon me, firm and calming, caressing without exciting. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed its simplicity, turning about when her hands bade me do so.

The smile she graced me with when I finally opened my eyes and looked down at her was sweet, welcoming, and would have melted the heart of the most callously calculating person, on Krynn or off.

"Thank you," I said, soft but heartfelt.

She smiled, and pushed close to me, rising on her toes to take a kiss which I most willingly surrendered. It didn't hurt that we were both naked and wet. "Mmm," she murmured after only a moment of enjoying our lips brushing against each other. "Water's getting cooler. Best turn it off."

"Yes, senfu," I murmured, and was pleased to see a blush rise on her cheeks once again before I turned to manage the water flow. "However, you do need to put your hands on the wall."

Her eyebrows were lifted when I turned back around. "I do?"

I closed with her once more, my valin-perpetual erection rubbing against her skin, her breasts pressing against me in return as I dipped to kiss her again. "Mmmm-hmm. Have to put your tail back in," I teased her.

She blushed more. "I thought --"

I silenced her with another kiss, my hands stroking her shoulders, arms, waist. "Just temporary? For shame, my brilliant caslth, think of all the hard work you did in retrieving it. It would be a sin to waste that effort."

Her ears were reddening; oh, she was embarrassed, but a check of her nipples to find the plump things jutting out hard suggested strongly to me that it was of the sort that aroused her. "Shalafi?"

I rubbed her lips with mine again. "Do you really not want to wear it?"

"I --" She hesitated, stopped, thought about it, her own hands stroking my sides and hips, no doubt as intensely aware of my erection and the precum it was already seeping as I was. "Do you really want me to wear it?"

Gods, yes, I thought it as erotic as hell -- I wanted to fuck her with it in her. Strange, the things that chance pops up before you, for you to discover that they arouse you. I didn't know if I would find it as arousing afterwards, but for now, hell yes. I thought before saying anything, though, and had an idea. "If you wear it, I'll put the Lecher back in your pussy."

She bit her lip and let a little whimper slip out. "You will?"

"Mmm-hmm. And then when I slide my cock down your throat, beautiful slut, you'll have something in each hole."

She nearly glowed at the reminder, and shyly turned herself about, to press her hands against the wall and present her ass. Smiling, I went to get the canine-design plug, and turned back to realize that seeing her bracing herself against the wall was itself an incredibly erotic sight. She was trusting me, putting herself into my hands, indulging my urges. Not without exchange, I was pleased to know, but still willingly giving herself to my control. I lifted a bottle, considered the oil within, then approached her, bending my knees to press the base of my thickness between her buttocks.

"I have an idea," I murmured to her, one hand cupping her hip, the other curved around her, still holding the firmed, sculpted leather and the swishy tail it sported. The phallic plug rubbed against her belly.

"What's that?" She sounded nervous, shy, but also willing.

"Well, I could use the oil," I murmured, and traced the leather up between the weight of her dangling breasts.

"Mmm?" Her moving hips, whether intentional or not, were rubbing her rear cleavage against my post, exciting me further.

"Or I could use some ... natural lubrication." My hand slipped from her hip down into her groin, teasing her hooded clitoris, then her already-wet labia.

"Mmmmm ... you just want to get your dick into my pussy again," she panted as I toyed with her.

"Guilty as charged," I admitted, my breath warming her ear.

She rubbed her buttocks against my member a few more times, then arched her back to present her sex marginally more. "Okay," came her pliant agreement, soft and shy and biddable.

I shifted myself backwards, to clear her body, then rubbed myself forward between her folds, fingers catching and pressing my member against her sex without guiding myself into her yet. "Are you playing with me, caslth?" She was an experienced fem, after all, mother of six; an ingenue she was not.

"No, shalafi," she replied, and looked back and up at me. "Trying to be a good girl, and a good slut, and really wanting your cock in my pussy, even only for a minute. We're three and a half up."

"Are we, now??" I teased her gently, hips pulling back to draw my shaft along her folds, then using my fingers to guide my crown into her. "Think it's time for me to give your tight, deep cunt a good solid dicking, is that it?"

She moaned as I sunk into her, pulled back, pushed deeper. "Fuuuck ..." I do love those little uncontrolled protestations of pleasure. "If you want to, shalafi," she panted.

I couldn't keep myself from licking that little bit of flesh right in front of her ear. "If I want to, slut?" My hand was back on her hip, the other keeping the canine-shaped dildo between her breasts as we slowly coupled against the wall.

"Yes, shalafi, because having your cock in my twat is something I always want," she confessed, her breathing jumping in her chest, arousal quickening towards orgasm.

Mine, thankfully, wasn't so ready, though I certainly could have gotten there if I'd wanted to; pushing entirely within her mashed my tip against the back wall of her sex, an erotic inner fist squeezing my crown. "Why don't you instead quim all over my cock, caslth, to lube me up for your ass?"

The beauty impaled upon me whimpered, nodded her agreement, and quickened her hips' rocking until, only a dozen seconds later, her voice sang sweetly off the raincloset's stone as her sex clutched mine.

"Good girl," I purred in her ear, taking a few extra strokes myself -- purely to make sure I was lubed, of course -- then held her in place as I pulled back, reoriented, and pressed my thickened dome against her rear.

With the amount of anal we'd been having, she relaxed herself quite competently to allow me entry; in short order I was delving as deeply into her ass as I had been her cunt. Even better, she was panting in continued arousal, pushing herself against me.

"Good slut," I murmured into her ear, my tongue-tip caressing its rise as my hand drifted downward, dragging the canine plug-dildo across the skin of her belly, then her mons. "You ready to lubricate?"

She seemed distracted, so I suppose there was some element of surprise involved. "Shalafiiieeeeeohghhooooods," she moaned, her hips quaking forward and back, seemingly torn about enjoying my organ in her rear, and being uncertain about the firm leather canine phallus I was pushing carefully up into her sex. That I was making certain I caressed her clitoris no doubt kept the matter a blend of embarrassing, shameful, and arousing.

I, on the other hand, had some experience with such toys -- again, both giving and receiving. Work in a bordello can be quite the education. "You didn't expect my sweet slutty puppy to not get the chance to get her pussy knotted, did you?" Again I licked that little inner bit of her ear, then whispered, "Hold still, lovely slut."

When the tail was brushing her belly and the sculpted knot was embedded inside her pussy, I moaned and told her, "I'm cumming, my perfect caslth," and jetted my seed inside her rear.

---

Having even a fake dog's cock inside my pussy was, well, embarrassing and humiliating ... and arousing as well, with Dalamar wanting me to accept it, wanting me to indulge him, to submit myself to him again. And gods if I didn't want to submit. So I did, my body responding to the slightly-painful ridge of leather inside my sex, to the peculiarly pleasureable knot which wasn't too much unlike the bulge the Lecher created to hold itself inside my sex, but most of all to the hands of my lover clutching me, his cock buried deep in my body and erupting in glad, lusty approval of coupling with me. I might not have orgasmed on my own this way, but with my valin-bond it was another story.

So yes, with the leather doggie-butt-plug-used-as-a-dildo buried in my twat, I too came. And did so a couple more times, delighting in my lover’s lust and the pleasure he took of me, my quim soaking the leather as Dalamar’s cock came again inside my ass, hand cupping the plug as if to hold it inside me, or perhaps to merely confirm that it was there, that I was submitting to him having fucked me with it.

He pulled it out before withdrawing himself, his other hand sliding up my back to spread wide between my shoulderblades. "Are you ready to be a puppy for a while, slut?" He teased my recently-used sphincter with the tip of the plug.

"Can I be a sexy puppy, shalafi?" I swayed my rear.

His laughter was low, rich, pleased. "If you want, my caslth."

"Can I be a slutty puppy, shalafi?" I wiggled my rear.

More laughter. "If you want, my caslth."

I wriggled, practically writhed. "Can your sexy, slutty, puppy gulp shalafi's cum from his cock?"

His laughter became a groan, and he momentarily replaced the tip of the plug with the barrel of his shaft, rubbing sausage-in-bun against me. "You think there's a collar and a leash in here, my sexy, slutty puppy caslth?"

It was my turn to laugh, low, rich, pleased. "Only owners get to leash their puppies," I told him, head turned to the side. "And to become a puppy's owner, she first has to be a puppy in heat ... and then you have to breed the puppy in heat."

He straightened up, his breath heaving, and brought the plug back into play; carefully, using the cum starting to seep out of my ass to ensure lubrication, he gently twisted the plug into place, making sure the silly long-haired tail (probably horse hair, but it was swishy and wonderfully soft) curved up between my buttocks to arch outwards at my tailbone. He gave a squeeze of each buttock, then wriggled the tail's hardened spine, making the plug stir inside me. "I guess you're a puppy in heat now, then, hmm, caslth?"

Fuck I wanted him inside me. The canine cock was clearly designed to fit where it was. "Arf," I softly imitated a medium-weight dog's vocalization, then flexed my buttocks to wag my tail.

He groaned again, clutching my hips, squatting to get the angle right, adjusting himself until his dome pressed against my flushed and eager inner folds. "Breed a puppy, own a puppy, huh?" he panted, easing into me an inch, maybe two.

"Arf!!" I agreed, and wriggled my ass and my pussy, rubbing my walls against his crown, his crown against my walls in encouragement. "Arf!!"

He leaned in then, and told me, "If I collar you, own you, sweet little succulent slut, horny puppy in heat, the collar is going to stay on until the valin wears off." He gave a tempting thrust, then a second. "My caslth. Mine."

That ... was a steep concession for getting my pussy fucked, but indicators of pairing are common across the world. Even collars. He let me think about it as my ass wriggled, trying to get him to fuck me, rocking his own hips to entice me otherwise, never more than a couple of inches of his dick inside me.

Well ... it was only until the valin wore off. And wearing his collar, being his, would be enjoyable and erotic in its own way.

Finally I nodded, looking back at him with what felt like every ounce of desire I'd ever felt alive in my eyes. "Yours, shalafi."

He thrust into me, taking only two strokes to return to the depths of my cunt, and pounded me against the wall of the raincloset like a demon of lust conquering its first victim. I squealed (and yipped) in delight and orgasm, cumming almost constantly as he bred me, claimed me as his puppy, earned the right to collar and leash me. His orgasm was growling, triumphant, teeth biting lightly at my shoulder.

Then he kept going, holding me in place with only enough room to wriggle to help, working himself to a second orgasm while driving me through another -- an orgasm which he abruptly denied himself, pulling himself violently out before letting me go and leaning on the wall.

"You wanted your owner's cum from his cock, sweet slutty puppy -- time to gulp it down," he panted.

Tail wagging eagerly, I turned and knelt, tasting my quim on his shaft, bobbing my head as one hand found and fondled his growing balls, the other pumping at the base of his organ. It didn't take him very long to gush forth his seed, pulsing it out and down my gullet.

"Good puppy, swallow your owner's cum, oooh, suck his dick, make him cum again, having my hot little puppy in heat suck my dick feels so good ..."

I greedily suckled and stroked, wagging my ass, eager to play and please. Soon, his hand cupped the back of my head and he gasped, "Here you go, greedy puppy, guzzle it down --" before pumping another double-sized load of spunk across my tongue and down my throat.

---

We managed to get out of the raincloset and dry each other off without any more sex, though not without a generous amount of caresses and fondling. She played up (I think) the canine mood with a fair bit of nuzzling and licking (which she hadn't done previously), zeroing in on the various spots of mine to which she’d discovered I responded.

It wasn’t one-sided.

But we finally escaped to find our trays on the table, the bedclothes changed, and a set of interesting items on a third tray. "What are those?" I asked as Lydia went immediately to the third tray, expressing delight in what she found.

The imp smirked up at me. "Measuring tools," she said, then displayed each in turn. "Cups with which to estimate the amount of semen you're ejaculating, a catch-funnel to aid in its collection, and a dressmaker's chain to measure the length and girth of your penis." She gathered up the latter and approached me. "Show me your cock, ondoji."

I too can blush; being ordered around sexually is such a turn-on. Obediently I turned toward my plug-tail-wearing senfu and pushed my hips forward, to give her complete access to my phallus.

Kneeling down in front of me again (and what an incomparably erotic view it was, something that would never grow old, I was sure) she curled her hand around my shaft just behind the crown and bent it forward. It ached, a hint of pain as she bent it into position.

I watched with fascination as she used the other hand to draw the chain along her thumb, and ran the rest down to the base, chain mostly taut, to press one end of the chain into my flesh, down to the bone beneath. The other hand manipulated the chain to the tip of my member, fingers grasping the last link as she gently let my erection straighten up. "Done this before, have you?"

She smirked up at me. "Once or twice. How long are you?" she asked, stroking my length lightly before looping the chain around it for a moment, to catch the point where it met itself once more.

"Nine inches, I think?" I had my lip in my teeth, enjoying her manipulations, which to my disappointment she discontinued.

"Not any more," she said, holding up the chain, a few links before a red one. "Between nine and three-quarters and nine and seven-eighths. Your girth," she added, shifting to where the other hand held its link, "is a bit under six inches, but I don't expect that to change until you get above ten or so." She eyed my member, which was twitching with every beat of my heart, wanting nothing more than to be played with and praised once more. "You're only going to get bigger. And," she added, standing up and giving my shaft a caress before turning to put the chain back, "thicker, and spurting more and more."

I wasn't surprised when my hand moved to curl around and stroke my erection at the thought of getting bigger, jetting more spunk. "Should we measure how much I'm making now?"

She looked over, then pinkened but smirked as she saw me masturbating. "I would love that," she agreed, retrieving the catch-funnel and the smallest of the cups. "Stand facing the table?" she instructed me.

I obeyed, continuing to stroke myself. She stepped around to tuck herself in underneath my left arm -- no doubt because I was using my right -- and, fitting in perfectly, pressed her breasts against my side as she positioned the cup just below the tip of my shaft, then readied the catch-funnel to intercept my spurts. With her hand on my rear, index finger sliding between my buttocks to tease at my anus in encouragement, she murmured, "Make sure you aim for it, fuckboy. We don't want to get an incorrect measurement."

"Yes, senfu," I agreed, and "no, senfu," I agreed, my own hand stroking down her back, toying with the tail, laughing softly at her moan. We played with each other for two or three minutes before I felt the urge to erupt grow swiftly within my groin. "Cumming soon, senfu," I warned her.

Carefully keeping the catch-funnel positioned, she bent her head and licked my nipple. "Give out your semen, ondoji -- let's see how much you're making."

Glad to obey, it took me only a few more strokes to reach the point of no return, and so I whimpered, "Cumming, senfu!!" and worked my hand just at the tip, watching my cock spurt for my lover for her to collect.

She directed me to diligently squeeze even the last dregs of spunk from my phallus and into the cup; gathered, it looked woefully little, though my senfu was pleased enough after she'd wiped the cum clinging to the catch-funnel into the cup to give my ass a lecherous rubbing as she looked up at me with lust in her gaze. "We should do this every mealtime," she suggested. "It'd help keep track -- and give me a dipping sauce."

I moaned with desire, staring down at her lips, wanting them stretched around my cock again. "Senfu?"

"Yes, ondoji?" She stayed next to me, looking up into my face.

"I love your lips, senfu," I confessed.

"Do you want to kiss them, ondoji?" she asked, licking those lovely dark coral curves.

"Yes, senfu," I admitted, adding, "but after they've sucked me."

The sultry look she gave me made me pulse with desperate yearning. "Who's the obscene one now?" she teased me, but my senfu took mercy, turning me towards her again and, ordering me to keep her hair out of the way so I could watch her, bent forward at the waist to wrap her lips around my tip, her hand around my shaft, and fellate me.

Watching her do something she so clearly enjoyed, and all the more so because of the valin, was intensely arousing. She didn't take me into her throat, or even far into her mouth; no, her work focused on the tip of my organ, head bobbing only in little nods, hand working my length, her other undoubtedly pleasuring herself while her tongue licked and swirled around my tip. Bent over, the butt plug's tail was like a flag, waving back and forth in little flutters as her rear flexed, her anus twitching around it. I found myself rushing suddenly into orgasm, barely able to warn her with a gasped 'cumming!!' before I was watching her look up at me, receiving my spunk onto her tongue as I whined and whimpered and moaned in the pleasure of it.

After she fisted the last of my seed out of my shaft and into her mouth, she gave a lewd little 'slrp' pulling off it, then straightened up, still stroking my erection, to present her lips to me, waiting for me to kiss her. I was a little surprised (but not very) when, as I did, her hand caught the back of my neck, sealing her lips against mine, and opening up to share my load of cum with me.

Ordinarily, sharing semen does not especially excite me; it is something I have done with clients. But my senfu's hand was stroking my continuing erection, and she was holding me to her, demanding I enjoy a half-share of the bounty of my balls. Submitting to her dominance was its own reward, as it thrilled me to do so, and through that I found new delight in the sharing -- though her hand gave me a reward as well. Clearly, my senfu wanted her fuckboy to cum a lot, and so before we had even split up my shared load, I was whimpering and thrusting my cock into her stroking hand, then (since she did not stop for even the briefest moment) onto her magnificent, heavy breasts and the toned musculature of her belly.

She finally broke the kiss, keeping her mouth open to show me her half of my cum, then closing her mouth, swallowing twice, and parting her lips to display her empty mouth, proof that she'd taken it into her belly.

It was, I swiftly deduced, in the line of 'example behavior'. So I opened my own mouth, lifting my tongue to exhibit my mouthful of my own semen, then closed it, swallowed, swallowed the dregs, then opened obediently up to demonstrate the lack thereof.

The sweet slut gave the kind of smile which had been given by the cat which ate the cream, self-satisfied in both having a belly full of tastiness as well as getting away with something, impish and, well, creamy, then pulled me back down into another tongue-tangling kiss. She was ... not bad, but I was willing to teach her better ways of kissing. So I gave her an example of those techniques.

It was completely about teaching, and not at all about turning her into a breathless, horny wreck. Honest.

Both her hands wrapped around the back of my neck, and she panted, "Lick me, fuckboy."

Well. Another chance to demonstrate my competence.

I hoisted her up onto the edge of the table, went to one knee between her thighs, and obeyed the command of my senfu; sitting halfway off the edge, she stayed sitting upright, leaning back on her spread hands, arms turned just so to locked her elbows to support her without effort. The presence of the sculpted plug made fingering her very interesting. It also made her quim exceptionally hard, so it isn't really my fault she was quimming so fiercely for twenty-odd minutes she was incoherent and unable to catch her breath to tell me to stop.

Once she had, though, I obediently did so, licking my lips and standing upright once again, hands behind my back and desperately gripping the opposite wrists as I stared down at her -- more specifically, down at her lush, flushed, well-licked pussy. My cock was once again iron-rod hard, throbbing in the agony of wanting to fuck her, needing to cum. "Senfu?"

Panting, still upright, she replied, "Yes, fuckboy?"

"I really need to cum."

She finally opened her eyes, looking down her body at the straining cock jutting from my groin. "All right, fuckboy," she smiled creamily once more. "Decorate me."

"Oh, yes, senfu!!" I eagerly exclaimed, one hand fondling my sack while the other stroked, my eyes feasting on her languid, momentarily-satiated reclining form. It didn't take long at all for me to jet my spunk onto her body, spreading my cum from thighs to face in time to my cries of ecstasy.

She laughed with delight as it splattered her, watching my member avidly as I milked myself. "Again, fuckboy!"

"Yes, senfu!!" I cried again, cupping my balls and kneading while I returned to masturbating in front of her. She played with my cum, spreading it across her body, then rubbing it into her skin like lotion before delicately licking the remnants off her palm. Lowering her hand to her pussy, she masturbated for me, with particular focus on exposing and playing with her clitoris. I thought of what she might do, if her shapeshifting was capable of such detailed adjustment, and had to cry out, "Cumming, senfu!!" and spurted my second load onto her.

She moaned in her own orgasm as I showered her with my seed, then said huskily, "Again, ondoji. This time, rub yourself between my folds."

I was quick to obey, because although I wanted to push into her folds and breed my senfu, she didn't want that yet so I took what I could get. Clutching her thighs and hips, I rubbed between her folds and against her clit, her propped on both elbows, me rocking my hips, both of our lust-glazed eyes staring at the quim-glistening cock rubbing between her folds and against her clitoris. I was pleased to make her quim multiple times before I finally moaned, "Cumming, senfu!!"

"In my face, ondoji!!" she cried out, so I obediently cradled my cock with one hand, used the other to cup the back of her neck and pull her downwards to meet the jets, lifted one leg to push myself closer, and did my best to target her beautiful visage.

"Good boy," came her croon as my fierce spurts splashed against her face.

Chapter Text

XXVIl

Making requests. More food and tea. Collaring.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Majetag, 3 Reapember, 546 AC, After Deepwatch rising, 5
S31:L10:N4

"So you're saying there's more?"
-- Dalamar

Panting, my neck still cupped in Dalamar's hand, my face wearing his latest fountain (with a generous taste of it on my tongue), I stared at the tip of his cock. Barely a foot in front of me, swollen to the point of making the soft silken skin stretched tight and shiny all on its own, flushed the deep garnet of his most intense engorgement, it continued to visibly pulse, the cumslit open a little -- no, more than a little. I wanted to take it into my mouth once more; I wanted Dalamar to feed it to me, cradling my head in his hands and using my mouth.

Maybe it was the generous amount of semen on my face; I always get a little submissive when my lover sprays his load onto my face. It makes me feel ... marked, owned. Mmm, owned. He was going to put a collar on me ... I was his slutty little puppy. Well, not for a bit.

Unfortunately, the plug-and-tail was digging into my butt and spine, becoming more uncomfortable the longer I sat there. And as much as I wanted to feast on his cock, have him cup the back of my head and thrust himself into my mouth, we had food to eat, a note to write, and rest to take.

"Dalamar."

"Yes, Lydia?" He lowered his head, easing up on pulling my neck down to let me straighten. I would have continued, but he attacked my mouth with his, letting go of his shaft to grip my buttock to pull me closer, crush my groin against his.

... maybe I could handle the stupid tail digging in for a bit longer ...

When he finally let me breathe again, I was two seconds away from dragging him down on top of me on the table. Or on top of him on the floor. Something, I don't know. "Food," I reminded him. "And, um ..."

"Something besides food?"

"Mmm. Oh, right, I need to write a request."

"For ... ?"

I looked up at him, trying to pout winsomely. I've known people who could do it really well, put their soul in their eyes and look all hurt and lonesome; I can't do it. I've tried. "Don't you want to put a collar on your puppy-in-heat?"

His hand squeezed the back of my neck. "In fact, I do," he murmured, and gave me another (brief) kiss. "Go write out the request. I'll get the Lecher."

"Mmmm, I'd forgotten the Lecher," I murmured back, then looked up at him as he straightened, licked his lips of the semen transferred from mine, and sauntered off to the bed to find the enchanted dildo. I sat for a moment, his seed dripping from my chin onto my tits and thighs, watching his rear and his swaying erection before finally pushing off and going past the necessary to pick up a cloth to wipe myself off.

Waste of good cum. Ah, well, we'd make up for it.

I was very conscious, as I walked, of the plug inside my rear, the way the leather of the tail was wobbling against my buttocks. The hair didn't touch me, as the tail's arc bent away from my back, but I could feel it interacting with my hair.

Hmm. Really, the hair was getting in the way; I should have made it shorter. Maybe something to suggest.

I didn't even sit down to write the note, figuring that bent-over me would be pleasant for Dalamar to see, and scratched out my note.

Request --

Numerous leather thongs sufficient for tying up hair, at least a score. A leash at least four feet in length, no more than six or seven, to go with a collar of a material suitable for an inexperienced wearer, small of neck, to keep on for several days at a time, or advice for proper use so as to not injure the wearer.

-- Peri

P.S. - Reduced salt a positive development; continue as instructed.

I sanded and brushed the paper, then looked around. "Dalamar?"

"Necessary!"

"Hmm. Good idea." I padded over to the pass-through, then pulled the general-use cord to let the downstairs know of the request before padding over to the trays on the table. A quick inspection showed me that yes, finger-food for snacking; yes, nothing hot; and no, the spell had cleaned up the sample of Dalamar's semen from the cup. Ah, well -- if I really wanted, I could get another one, I'm sure.

I moved the trays to the low, solid table in front of the couch; this ought to be 'down-time' for us. I knew from Hithik's complaints in the past that the table was likely durable enough to take the weight of at least four or five people, but the couch was probably more comfortable. Straightening up, I started to retrieve the teapot and cups, but Dalamar reappeared, his black robe rippling about him, exposing his body and legs -- and the delight of his groin -- to my sight as he moved.

Seeing me watching him, he smirked, adjusting course to come to me; I met him halfway, sliding my hands under his light robe to run them over his body as I crushed myself against his front. "You need to take the plug out so I can use the necessary too."

"Do I, now?" He lowered his head to stroke my lips with his, then studied me while one hand played with the core of the tail. It wriggled it inside, which made me very much want to take him down to the floor to have my way with him. (One of these times I'm going to have to do just that so he doesn't get too complacent.)

"Please, yes sir," I said with sardonic sincerity on the 'sir'. "I could take it out myself, but then I wouldn't put it back in; it was digging in and uncomfortable when I was on the table, and it makes me want to pin you down and have you balls-deep in my twat."

"Well, we can't have that before time," he agreed, and bent down to give me another kiss. "Over to the necessary, then, pup."

He wasn't hard when he released me, but by the time he followed me back to the necessary, his penis was jutting out between the folds of his robe, blatant. "I guess you approve," I teased him.

"Your ass will still be oiled," he murmured, stroking my shoulders and the curve of my back. "May I ... ?"

I stepped aside to the cabinet of shelves the towels were kept in, to lean forward and brace against it with crossed forearms. "Absolutely," I murmured, smiling at him but pinkening still.

He took care in extracting the canine plug, setting it aside on a towel before returning his hands to my hips. The difference in our height required him to bend his knees, but he knew how and was guiding his crown into my recovering rear before it could make things difficult. "Mmmm, I love watching that," he panted as he sunk himself deeper with each slow thrust.

My soft whimpering sighs undoubtedly informed him of my own enjoyment, but confirmation is always a delight to have. "It feels marvelous. I wonder how big you're going to get by the end."

He chuckled, hands on my hips, enjoying giving me a leisurely experience. "Do you think it goes up faster the larger I get?"

"Mmm, I don't know," I moaned. "We'll have to figure out where we are in the tally."

"We will," he agreed, breath quickening despite the slow stroking. "Just at the moment, though, I'm thinking to add three, maybe five more to the total."

"Well, then," I panted, "you won't mind if I added a few more to my own?"

"Please do," he agreed, drawing back almost to exposing his crown, then sliding in all the way to the base of his organ. His thrust was slow enough I may have only imagined the sway of his nutsack against my skin.

And so we coupled there for fifteen or twenty minutes, my whimpers rising to soft cries of delight when my fingers brought me to orgasm; I always reached further back to catch, stroke, and even gently squeeze his plump balls as he rode me. In turn, one of his hands, usually his right, lifted to grip my shoulder when his own orgasm rose within him, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more dominant as it neared. His own exclamations were soft and sensual, pitched high in his vocal register; to say that I felt gifted to hear the sultry sounds of each one would not be exaggerating. Dalamar was not only the most expert lover I'd had to date, he was also the most emotionally rewarding. Hearing him cry out at the peak of his pleasure was hearing an offering to his lover like an offering to the gods; I felt I had given him a precious gift, helping him cum.

The valin allowed him to continue without fear of damage (well, at least for a time), and so he did, strokes slowing, a pause of two or five seconds each time he was hilted in me, but always resuming, always looking down with delight at how his cock was spearing my anus. Only after the unexpected flag and soft 'ding!' of another arrival did he finally lean forward, curl his hand around my throat, and growl in my ear, "I expect that's your collar, my slutty puppy-in-heat. Time for your owner to wrap it around your neck."

I shuddered and wriggled, unable to explain why his hand in control of my throat was so arousing to me; I hoped the collar would make it feel like that all the time. "Quim for me, puppy. Quim for your owner now, and I'll give you a treat."

As rewards go, it wasn't a particularly good one, but I did want to cum, and I did want to please my 'owner', so I 'yipped' softly and bared my clitoris, to squeeze and pinch and twist it until, whining through the grip on my throat, I bucked back against his organ and came.

"Good puppy," he panted. "Turn around, down on your knees, and beg."

The removal of his erection from inside my rear gave me room to obey; his hand released me to do so, and so I sunk to my knees, turning as I did. Dalamar had shed his robe at some point, and was switching support hands to remain bent over me. He wrapped his freed hand around his member and masturbated himself, pointing the tip at my face. Since, moments after his withdrawl, the spell tidied him of anything unpleasant (and I doubt there was anything unpleasant inside that passage at the moment anyhow), I was witness to his hand stroking a most wonderfully debauched oil-and-semen coating across his shaft, and got to stare at the tip I'd watched throb and gape at me do just that once more, this time in preparation to spurt his growing load into my face.

I looked up at him, mute and panting, both my hands finding my groin to quickly return my own arousal back to its heights. "Little puppy playing with herself?" he panted. "Slutty little puppy should look at it. Lean in. Don't lick, don't touch, just get nice and close, you'll get your treat very soon ..."

Obedient to his desire, my hands stroking and plunging and pinching in my groin, I leaned in towards his member. Perspective made his glistening tip huge, the flared slit a drooling mouth ready to spit his fluid at me. Leaning on the shelves, stroking himself, looking down at the proximity of his glans to my face, Dalamar groaned, "Here it is, puppy, are you ready for it? Here it is, here it cuuuummmms --"

At which point the widened slit flared just incrementally, then fountained his cum into my face. I’d snapped my eyes closed at the warning, and felt the deliciously warm spunk splash against my skin, much of it splattering down onto my teats as the next gout filled his cock and was squeezed out into my face. "Yes, beautiful, lovely slut," he panted, "good girl, good puppy, mine, mine, wear my cum …"

I knew why we were so intensely focused on copulating; I'd told him. I'd remind him again once we got to the couch -- if we ever got to the couch. Maybe we'd even listen to common sense, because as it was, I certainly was not; even before he was finished ejaculating, my hands were on him, mouth stretching greedily around his tip, to suck the last of his load from his urethra and bob, eager to make him cum again. He was more than obliging, he was willing, intensely so, the valin driving his lust as much as it drove mine. His hand moved from stroking to cupping the back of my head, guiding and encouraging me in my desperation for him to erupt once again. "Yes, yes, suck me, suck me, suck my dick, suck it you hungry puppy, fuck I'm gonna cum again soon --"

Very shortly, he did.

Fortunately, after he had he gripped my hair and kept me from trying to make him cum again. "That's enough, pup," he panted. "Go take care of yourself."

One hand on his thigh, the other cradling his balls, his crown still between my lips, I looked up at him and tried to pout, but I guess it's difficult to really put your soul into your eyes when they're half-closed and you're licking cum seeping from his tip.

"Enough!!" Dalamar laughed, and pulled me away, then up, tongue questing successfully after mine as he kissed me. He seemed to enjoy both the taste of his seed as well as the hopeful stroking I was giving him, but finally broke away, turned me around and gave my ass a squeeze and a little push, and turned the other way, taking the canine plug-and-tail with him.

I staggered over to the necessary and sat down, trying to fight my way back above the valin's relentless drive; if you give into it, like I had under the table, like both of us had any number of times, it would absorb your focus for minutes -- hours, even. It was after three-thirty in the morning, and we hadn't even had the extensive snack they'd delivered after midnight, having spent the interim indulging our genitals.

"Collar and leash, look like velvet, a very pleasant dark red wine color. A number of leather thongs, and more food. Is there going to be wine in the cool cabinet, or tea in the warmer?"

"Tea," I called back, his question helping me find clarity. "A sustaining blend. Hithik has -- had -- an expert tea-master, and I doubt she's changed her mind on that."

"Good choice. Where did -- oh, I see, couch."

I focused on my cleansing, and my soft singing drew his attention and thus presence. The screen was only perhaps chest height on me, a little lower for him; he crossed his arms on it, watching me with intent curiosity in his expression as I used the cantrip as a quick rinse.

"I don't believe I know that one," he said.

"Simple water jet. Useful for personal tidiness," I teased him.

"So I see. Did you use that in the raincloset?"

"Mmm-hmm, a bit."

"How does it get around the forbiddance against conjuring an element inside a body?"

"Not completely sure, but I think that it's sourced at the tip of the finger, and that it's my own body might have something to do with it."

He nodded thoughtfully, then lifted his hand, showing me that he had the tally we'd been making. "I thought we might need to update this."

"We certainly do," I agreed fervently.

"Good. You can do it while I eat; I'm absolutely famished."

"It's only going to get worse, you know," I said, rising and turning about to check that the cleaning-pebble was still in its spot; it was, hurrah. That part of the spell would stop functioning if the stone got too far away, which it would if washed down the drain. Thank gods for uptight Palanthans and indoor plumbing.

"What, me being hungry?" Dalamar watched me, smiling at the way my body moved in bending and turning; I wasn't surprised to see his flaccid member twitching back up towards full mast as I stepped around the screen.

"Yes, you being hungry," I replied as I took the pen, ink, and tally from him, turning towards the couch and the table now well-supplied with food. "And thirsty, too, I expect. Your semen and fluid is still produced by your body, even if the valin is supercharging the rate which our activities demand. Would not normally be a problem, but we're pushing it."

Although I knew he had taken at least a few moments to watch my rear as I walked, he'd also gone to the warming cabinet to retrieve not one, but two pots of tea, and apparently a new jar of pleasure-oil. "That makes sense," he conceded.

I put down the tally and went to retrieve cups, as well as a pitcher for water, going to fill it after putting the cups down. "We have everything?"

"Plug, Lecher, food, drink, ink, tally -- oh. You said the Valinyi had spells. I don't suppose you have access to any of them." He looked at me with intent interest.

I returned his study, considering the situation. This wasn't an 'us' thing, this was a request from the Highmage about magics with which he was unfamiliar -- magics which, at least up until now, the Orders frowned heavily upon. I could lie (because of course I had some of them), but if I was unwilling to share at least some of the knowledge my people had, Dalamar wouldn't be able to prod the Orders into new growth, a new balance.

Hm. That ... came across as odd, mentally. Like I'd thought it or heard it before, but forgotten I had. Strange.

In any case, I finally nodded. "I do. Would you like to examine them?"

"That would please me to no end," he gravely replied, giving me a bow.

I smiled. "Get the plug and the Lecher ready, then?"

He smirked back, reaching for the oil.

---

As I carefully spread a thin sheen of pleasure-oil across the plug and the Lecher, I watched Lydia return to her pack, which I knew full well contained far more than it seemed, but exactly how much more was still in the air. There she murmured a few words (I think in ancient ogrish) and withdrew a fairly slim tome from beneath the flap, closing it up again and bringing the book over to where I sat on the couch. I set aside the Lecher, wiped my hands clean, and looked up at her.

"This is a partial copy of Valinyi Valin," she told me as she laid it carefully in my hands, "which is the collection of spells my people have managed to deduce and extract from the valin in attempting to understand it. This also contains a copy of the water jet cantrip you saw me using -- mostly to fill in the corners, as it were. It does not contain all of the Valinyi Valin spells, though it does contain several which, even now, I expect I would be incapable of casting; there are complexities and subtleties of the channeling of power of which I am not yet familiar. You, on the other hand," she smirked up at me, "are undoubtedly capable of using the set."

I weighed the book in my hands; light, small, probably not more than forty or fifty pages of fine vellum, using the sort of inks that would help give figurative weight to the words for the insight necessary to memorize the information and cast the spells they represented. "Thank you," I told her gravely. "I will delight in examining -- and perhaps practicing -- these with you."

Her eyebrows lifted in something akin to surprise. "Not while we're, mmm, engaged," she said -- or perhaps 'recommended' would be the better term for her tone and phrasing.

"Oh? Why not?" I wondered, setting the book on the couch to one side, then sat on the edge and clasped her hips, turning her gently about.

"The valin," she replied, bending forward at the hips as I guided her, finally placing her palms against the table. "Everything in that book -- nearly everything -- is derived or deduced from the valin. Casting such spells would be throwing a bucket of salt-water into the sea -- entirely lost. Oooohhhmmmm."

"Goood puppy," I murmured, gently working the canine knot entirely into her rear, making sure the tail was in the proper position as it finally popped beyond her sphincter and into place. "Stay there," I added, reaching for the Lecher. As I slid it into her sex, carefully activating its controls and twisting the sunlit dial to darkness, I replied, "I can see that. I kind of wish I could practice."

"After we satisfy the valin," she suggested, "we can make use of them."

"Will we want to?" I wondered, watching her close her eyes and moan in delight as the Lecher activated, locking itself in place, and immediately began toying with her. I was suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that until I took one or the other of those out, her only way of pleasuring me were her mouth and hands. Well, and breasts; I wouldn't say no to titfucking her again. Or doing pretty much anything with her. Though now that she knew about my ears ...

I had a sudden sharp image of her standing behind the couch, me sitting in the center of it, thighs spread and clutching at the cushions as my senfu kissed and licked and sucked on and stroked my ears, fist gripping and pulling on my hair to hold my head against the couch back as I helplessly stared at my cock as she made me spurt again and again, making a beautiful, obscene, decadent mess. I wondered if she'd do that to slash for me. I wondered if she'd put the Lecher in me for it, too.

"Pick up the collar, puppy," I told her, "then turn fully and hand it to me." For now, at least, I wasn't going to chance her being disobedient, as much as I'd love to push her through another score orgasms, this time with both Lecher and dog-knot in her.

She obeyed, her eyes a little bit wider, a touch more intense as we came to doing this. It was an odd thing; I'd wanted to collar her; she demanded I breed her for the privilege, I pushed further by demanding she wear it for the rest of our valin-bond. And now we were at the point: she had the canine-cocked tail on, which must have been somewhat demeaning (or I don't know, maybe she did like canine cocks), and I was going to put a collar on her for the next several days. I examined her expression, as she was studying mine, then asked her, "Are you ready to wear your owner's collar, puppy?"

She bit her lower lip, then asked in a soft and innocent-sounding voice, "Does puppy have a name?"

That threw me for a loop, momentarily; I didn't expect the question. Considering it, I decided that caslth wouldn't work; that was separate from this, though admittedly adjacent. I didn't want to come up with another name, nor did I want to use 'Peregrine' ... hmmm. All right, l thought to myself, let's see if she responds favorably to this.

"Well," I said, "there are several I could use. How about when puppy likes the name suggested for her, she sucks her owner's dick." She pinkened most wonderfully as I spread my thighs wide, and I laughed softly, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "I like a friendly puppy, don't you??"

She nodded, biting her lower lip, looking up at me, now eager to hear the suggestions I might make.

I toyed with her, of course. "Fifi? No, hmm? Bitsy? Fluffy? Nosy?" I went through a dozen or more absolutely silly names, culled from ones I'd heard in so-called 'high' society in Palanthas, Gwynedd, even here in Neraka, each one more ludicrous than the last, before I finally said, "Well, how about 'Slutpuppy'?"

The blush returned to her face as she moaned, bending forward as she nuzzled my groin, then curled her hands around my girth and her lips around my crown. "Oooooh, there's a good Slutpuppy," I crooned, reaching out to encircle her neck with the three-fingers-wide strip of velvet with its ring, pull the tongue through the buckle's frame, then close it slowly until it was snug but not tight -- I could still push a couple fingers beneath the wine-colored velvet. By chance, it looked ... good on her. Distinct. Not black, but dark.

"My Slutpuppy," I panted as her bobbing quickened at the feel of the collar being fastened. "My good little slutty puppy, my Lydia-Slutpuppy. Mmm, I am going to feed you so much cum, Slutpuppy ... ohhhh, good girl, very good girl indeed ..." My hand settled on that icy-blonde head, and I slouched against the back of the sofa, watching this clever, powerful, complex woman willingly submit to my play, my desire ... which, I supposed, must have meshed well with her own.

It felt as if the valin created a space which I supposed was unlikely to come about between us again: one in which, since I had agreed to indulge myself, indulge our selves, we were open to explore and reveal things about our sexual preference that we wouldn't easily let out to a new lover -- or even an old lover, I suppose. The bindings we each took -- I am still in a mild sort of shock that she did that, and that I did that in return -- seemed to have amplified the effect, turning straw walls to stick, stick walls to brick, brick to stone. I felt, with her binding, that I could reveal myself to her without fear of future harm, without fear of present judgment. Even more, I was willing, I expect due to the valin, to actually go ahead and reveal such things.

Not just reveal, but do.

All of this while my hand was riding her head and I was watching her mouth stretched wide around my cock, her hands stroking and cupping and kneading, eyes half-lidded as she sucked me, worshiped me. Of course she'd done so previously; under the table, she'd apologized by making me spurt two dozen times. Now she was doing so again, willingly and willfully, such intense and prolonged pleasure, displaying the fact that performing fellatio was something she liked doing.

For an instant, I wished we were done, so I could find out how much of a cockhound she really was. Later -- later, I reminded myself as I panted, then moved my hand off her head, stroking her ears lightly (the toying making her whimper as her arousal spiked), then slid them across my thighs, pulling my legs wider. "All right, Slutpuppy," I told her, "your owner is famished, I have to eat something besides puppy's clitoris. Make me cum."

Without a moment's hesitation the clever little slut slid her hand underneath me and wriggled her forefinger between my buttocks and against my anus. "Oh," I gasped, "going for the prostate, are you?" She gave me a sultry-but-driven look, and I relaxed; her finger was slippery, so I expect she'd gathered up some of the excess oil around her sex or ass and was putting it to (very good) use.

It took her a few moments of stroking and searching, but she did find it, and when she caressed my prostate, I just stretched my arms and legs out as far as they could go and luxuriated in the phenomenally intense orgasm that resulted. "Gooood Slutpuppy," I managed to say through my whining and whimpering and crying in delight.

My slutty little Slutpuppy didn't let me even recover from that one before doing it to me again, and I writhed on the couch, my hips squirming in place, as I pumped a second magnificent load of twelve or fourteen productive spurts into her throat.

And then the little slut did it again, and I absolutely had to clutch her head in self-defense, ruthlessly rubbing her ears as my third orgasm trailed off. Lifting her head away from my dick was in the line of a precaution because both of us like my dick, but my Slutpuppy kept her front paws on my thighs as I rubbed her ears and made her squirm and make a puddle of her quim on the floor beneath her groin.

After I'd made her cream three times as well, I let go and tweaked her nose. "Food, Slutpuppy," I scolded her.

She wriggled, and I could see the arc of the tail swish behind her rear, but then she pushed at my belly and said, "Back some." Once I'd scooted backwards, sitting fully on the couch again, she handed me a couple of plates, rose, bent over the table (her ass was right there and I think that's why she handed me the plates first, so I couldn't palm her buttock), and pulled the surface almost to the couch. "Feet up?"

One foot lifted, and she cleared space for it to rest on the table, then the other. She pulled the table almost completely to the couch, then climbed up and tugged it even closer. "There!!" Taking one of the plates from me, she very nearly flopped down across my lap, her breasts fitting in between my thighs, side pressed against my member as she took a bite of what was on her plate, some sort of vegetables in paste, wrapped in a pastry or something, then cut into bite-sized slices.

Her ass was well within reach, so I indulged; I figured she knew what she'd done, and put my plate on her back, making her shiver a little, then giggle. "So, the last tally mark looks to be one hundred -- circled. After that ..."

We ate as we counted the tally; I ate a lot more than I thought I was capable of, but I was incredibly hungry. She shifted and reached out to the table, gesturing and using mage hand to pull plates, cups, even the teapots to her and handing them to me as I requested. I in turn filled cups and did what required a mostly-vertical person, which admittedly was just about only that; otherwise, we ate, drank, and talked about how and how many times I'd cum. It was incredibly pleasant, incredibly erotic, and my cock softened enough to lay warmly against her side, taking a well-earned rest.

"So," she said, marking off the three times she'd made me cum just before the tallying, "that makes for ... it looks like a hundred eighty-one."

"Or thereabouts," I said, one hand still popping tidbits into my mouth, washing them down with warm tea, and stroking her back and buttocks simply for the tactile delight of doing so.

"Or thereabouts," she agreed, turning her head to smirk down at how my hand was slowly kneading her buttock, making her tail wag a little.

"How does it feel?" I wondered, letting my hand slide down to her thigh, then push between the two to stroke at the nether end of her sex.

"Interesting, for the plug; I've only ever worn a plug once before, and that was before I earned Peregrine. My working theory is that the canine phallus is thematic, to go with the tail; normally, the knot would just be a bulge, the cock a simpler shape." She took another bite. "The Lecher, on the other hand, is amazing," she admitted. "A solid presence, occasionally pulsing, never quite building up to an orgasm, just warm and firm and indulgent inside me."

"Anything before? When you made me cum?"

"Then? Oh, yes. Every time I slid your cock deeper into my mouth, it 'pulled out', and vice-versa. I was getting shuttled between two males, with a third resting in my ass. I may have been too busy making you cum to give any indication, but I came each time too."

My member, warmly thick, had hardened up again. "I wonder ..."

"Mmm? Oh, my," she laughed, pushing her side against my member. "Stiff again. What is it you wonder, my owner? I need to call you something better."

"I wonder if masturbating would make it ... work. Better than 'owner'? Yeah, you're right. What fits with Slutpuppy??"

"Grm. Have to think about that." She took another bite of her own. "Going to experiment?"

I looked down at myself, then caressed my phallus lightly, cupping the barrel and just brushing the concealed flare; softened, the tip had hidden itself behind my foreskin. "Mmmm. Yes, I do believe so."

She turned to look as I started to masturbate; smiling, I slid my free hand along her buttock, down between the thighs which she spread for me, to let it roam between her rear and her sex. After a little bit, I felt her hand slide up my thigh, beneath her breasts, to find and cup my testicles, holding them warmly and squeezing encouragement now and then.

I watched her, slowly masturbating myself, and got confirmation when she moaned softly. "It's moving," she told me, and I smiled.

"In rhythm?"

Her eyes closed, then re-opened, half-lidded as seemed usual for her when engaged in sexual activity. She watched me stroking my prick, licking her lips as she felt things happen inside her sex, then nodded. "Mmm-hmm. You masturbating is the Lecher fucking me."

"Good to know," I said, pausing long enough to get another bite of food before returning to pleasuring myself and, as it turns out, her. "Tell me when you're close to quimming, Slutpuppy."

"Yes, Cumsir," she moaned.

I laughed. "That's perfect," I decided. "Slutpuppy and Cumsir. Now I'm going to enjoy jacking off even more."

And I did.

Chapter Text

XXVIm

Undercover. Reassurance. Sleep, then slowing down.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Majetag 3 Reapember 546 AC, Early Watch falling, 9
S31:L10:N4

"Well, let's get on with it, then."
-- Lydia

I had no idea what Dalamar -- sorry, 'Cumsir' -- had in mind when he told me to warn him when I was nearing orgasm, but as I've said, I was willing (and had already) put myself into his hands, entrusted myself to his lust. My hand was wrapped around his balls, so I at least trusted he wouldn't do anything too radical. I ate the finger-foods and tidbits that had been sent up for us -- including buttering bits of the house bread, which was absolutely to die for -- as Dalamar did the same with one hand, stroking himself and causing the Lecher to thrust into me with the other, occasionally fondling my rear, wiggling the tail, or stroking my labia as the whim took him. But within a handful of minutes, his idle stroking became a building tension inside me. "It's soon, Cumsir," I said, breath deepening in my breast; my hips started to twitch, wriggle a little in a useless attempt to make fucking happen faster.

Dalamar either intended the same or he took the cue; his hand quickened even as he palmed my buttock, the Lecher thrusting inside me to the rhythm of his strokes. He varied them -- short ones up near the tip, deep crown-to-base 'thrusts', snapped-wrist strokes that made the Lecher slam into me. With him stroking himself against my side, I shuddered and quaked, finally pressing my mouth against the couch pillows to squeal my pleasure.

And he didn't stop, which I suppose is something I ought to have expected; the valin pushed hard for us to breed, but would settle for cumming, and it was a very hard push. That Dalamar had been able to, more than once, control that overpowering urge in the midst of fornication was little short of superhuman.

Fortunately, the Lecher wasn't manhandling me the way Dalamar had been in the bed, and I used mage hand to draw one of my plates over to me before switching out mine for his -- the one on my back, that is. If he was going to erupt, I ought to get a taste of him, right?

I did cum again before he finally spurted, though; don't know if that was sensitivity or willingness, but the Lecher throbbed and pulsed inside me as Dalamar did against my side. Some cum overshot, landing on the table and a plate or two close to us; most of it landed on my back, or on my plate and the food it carried.

Wriggling in puppylike delight, I looked back and up at him. "Cumsir happy?"

He laughed, and took in what he had wrought. "I didn't see you swap out. Well, you ought to get a taste, mmm? Your sample cup got emptied out a long time ago."

I smirked at his parallel thought; he grinned back at me, and swapped my empty plate for my now semen-covered full one. His own spells returned his food and drink to him, and he returned to devouring the food. I didn't have a really good handle on how much was needed to create what he was producing. I had a sudden horrid image of an emaciated Dalamar with an enormous full-fleshy member spewing out amazing amounts of semen, becoming even more skeletal as he did. For a ghastly moment, I wondered if, somewhere, there were that sort of revenant, consumed by the valin and converted into an unliving monstrosity.

Considering Chemosh, it would not be impossible, twisting a life-creating compulsion into such a repulsive obscenity ...

I shuddered, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to dispel the image before marking down another 'X' on the tally sheet. "Almost a fifth of the way there."

Dalamar murmured acknowledgement, then said around the bite in his mouth, "Fast, for the first day."

"To slow it down," I reminded him as I took in the taste of one of my wraps seasoned with his seed, "you'd have to breed me more."

"How much more?"

"Mmmm, a quarter to a third of the way there?"

"So ten to fifteen times total?"

"Guessing about that, yeah. It wasn't that way with Tamin, of course."

"The soul-gaze."

"Exactly. But with Sinul, yes. And others have said."

"Hmm. I'll consider it," he temporized, rubbing his semen into the skin of my back. It was luxuriously sensual and delicately erotic -- I knew it was his seed, and not some lotion. "Let me think, what else do we need to talk about. Altering your shape --"

---

"I need to not have objects inside me," she warned.

I nodded. "What else?"

"Well, I have questions."

I laughed. "Of course. What's your first?"

"How long were you -- and I say this with as much dubiousness as I can express -- 'undercover' in that Sanction brothel?"

I waggled her tail. "I was truly undercover, Slutpuppy," I teased her. "There was a renegade wizard, fairly strong, operating very carefully in the Sanction underworld; it took me quite a while to get a line on him, but eventually I did. After all, nobody would think a fuckboy valth to be a powerful wizard." I snapped my fingers. "That's where I know her name from!"

"How long, ondoji?"

"Sorry, senfu. About twenty months."

"And you enjoyed it?"

"Much of it; most of it."

"How much were you worth?" Her tone was curious. I couldn't see the look on her face, considering her position, but I liked the position she was in, and didn't want her to shift.

"Mmmm. Honestly, not all that much," I admitted, rubbing her back, then her rear, then sliding my fingers down between her spread thighs. "I learned a lot, but I was ... at the time, the skills I learned there were far more technical and less, ah, emotive. I was competent, but not good, not really readily responsive to a client's needs and desires," he admitted on reflection. "I may have just been too pleased with the sex."

"Getting your ass fucked a lot?"

"And sucking cock, and getting mine sucked. Fucking an eager pussy, rogering a willing ass. Being paid to cum two or three or five times a day. More. More. At the end of my time there, and if I remember correctly, two silver for an hour."

"Well, you're worth more now," she murmured, turning her head so I could see her smiling.

"Thank you, senfu," I murmured. "I appreciate that."

"So what did you mean, her name?"

I hesitated for a moment, then stroked her back as if I was actually keeping a canine calm. "The, ah, elven lady you encountered."

As I expected, she went still and tense at the reminder of her Test. "You saw?"

"Not all of it," I admitted, "and I would not have seen any of it had we not lost control of it."

She stayed silent; I could feel the pounding of her heart against my thigh, and I commiserated with her for the stress. "Shhh, it's all right," I murmured, stroking her spine, nape to tailbone, then again, again, again. "You're safe, you're out of it, you're with Dalamar, your shalafi, your ondoji, your Cumsir. It's all right."

Finally, she inhaled slowly, and nodded. "Thank you, shalafi. The Pernicious."

"Yes. She was in Sanction when I was undercover," I related to her, continuing to quell her nervousness with my caress. "I think she was seeking him to learn from him, my target, if not steal his magics. Thinking back on it, she probably was involved with him; I may have gotten my first decent lead from her."

"Was she a client of yours?"

I barked a laugh. "That one? No. She spat in my direction once; I think she hated all other elves. But she was a chatterbox, loved dominating her valthi, and very much wanted to impress people with how beautiful, talented, and powerful she was."

"Mmm. Was she?" Lydia wondered, and I think I heard quiet misery in her tone.

So I gently turned her over, then pulled her upright to straddle my lap, cradling her head against my neck and slowly stroking her back again. "She was beautiful," I conceded. "She was somewhat talented. She was ... not as powerful as she believed she was. She was ambitious, though, Lydia, and had that desire to dominate others, to see them cower before her. To have a dragon enslaved under her hand."

She was silent, but it felt like she was crying, so I never stopped stroking her back, trying to soothe her. "Lydia ... she was not a person who would ever have been willing to cooperate. Not with anyone, I don't think. She wanted to dominate without ruling, which is the worst combination."

Silence for a few more moments, and then she murmured, "Are you sure?"

I chuckled, stroking her back beneath her hair, then sliding my hand up to her neck, gently kneading. "Yes, because they don't care for those they dominate. Over time, they destroy the place they've claimed, driving people away or ruining their well-being in order to prove their power -- which they're only really proving to themselves, and their own self-doubt forces them to prove it again, destroy another thing, and another, and another. Eventually, there is nothing left for them to lord over, and they go elsewhere to try again. Most bite off more than they can chew, and go into the ground wondering where they went wrong."

She straightened up, sniffing hard, her eyes red; she hadn't cried, but it looked like that was from pure stubbornness. She looked down at me with miserable uncertainty, and once again I thought that though the Tests ought not to be changed, perhaps how we handled the people who emerged alive from them should be ... reconsidered.

I brought her down to a kiss, and another, and another slow one before she braced her forehead against my own. "What she had done," I told her, "what you ... stopped ... would have had to have been investigated, and that right soon. We are not meant to treat non-mages the way she treated those of ... whatever the town was called."

"Testor's Point."

"No, that's from the original mindscape. An examination of our documents might eventually find the actual name of the tower and town. I've considered it."

She heaved a deep sigh. "So it was real."

I considered her state of mind, then nodded. "I think so, yes. The dragon, too."

She grimaced, and settled down against me, head on my shoulder. "Do you mind if we ..."

"... yes?"

But her breathing had deepened; she had dropped off into a doze. Which, I realized, was not that bad of a thing; there were worse ways to fall asleep than sitting on a comfortable couch with a beautiful, naked Silvanesti girl straddling my lap. I let my head sink back, and closed my eyes -- just to enjoy the moment.

---

I woke with an overwhelming urge to masturbate, which is typical for snoozing while under the effect of the valin. The light-wells through the roof above us were still dark, so still in the deep hours before dawn; the valin usually allows only fifteen or twenty minutes of rest before it demands sexual activity. Dalamar, asleep, had one hand on my thigh, but the other hand was below the small of my back, on that sensual triangle of tailbone-and-buttocks. Unfortunately, his middle and ring fingers were on either side of the 'tail'.

Figuring there were three ways to handle the situation, I decided that trying to quietly masturbate was the best choice -- I didn't want to wake him, and I didn't want to try to get out of his embrace. So one hand eased down, pressed firmly against my belly in order to avoid brushing against him and waking him up, and started to slowly toy with my clitoris.

I tried for a low-key orgasm, but that's difficult to achieve with the urges coursing through you, and my body quaking must have woken him up, because he murmured in my ear, "Slutpuppy want to move to the bed?" His fingers bumped against the tail, moving the plug inside me.

"Yes, please, Cumsir," I murmured against his neck.

"Slutpuppy's going to swallow my cock, yes?"

"Oh, yes please, Cumsir!!" I hadn't noticed, but his phallus, laying against his belly, had hardened up as he'd woken to my masturbation.

"Mmmm. What's the tally at?"

I looked over at the sheet, laying on top of my lesser copy of Valinyi Valin. "Mmmm ... a hundred and ... eighty ... two."

His hands finally moved, fingers spread as they slid up, caressing my back and tangling in my hair. "The urgency lessens after ten or fifteen times?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"And we've bred ... four times so far."

"Yes."

He slowly kneaded my shoulders, the icy-blonde waves not-quite-snarled in his fingers. "If we cum, we can doze again?"

"Mmm-hmm. Wake every fifteen, twenty minutes, indulge, doze off again."

"Not very good for getting a full night's rest."

"We won't, until the valin is done," I admitted, "but after two or three hours of that doze-fuck-doze cycle, we'll be fully recharged."

He nodded, one hand resting on my shoulder, the other on my hip. "You're nice on top of me too, Lydia."

I nestled in. "Bed?"

One hand slid down my back again, disengaging from my hair, to toy with the leather in my rear. "Without this," he decided, then gripped the base and slowly started to extract it.

Groaning was a requirement of me during the removal; I did not disappoint. Panting against him afterwards, I finally said, "Come to bed. We can spoon with you in my ass, and ..."

I wasn't quite coherent enough to finish the suggestion, but Dalamar understood. "That sounds like an excellent plan. Let's go put it into action."

I climbed off his lap, intensely conscious of the Lecher inside my cunt; it wasn't really active, but it was thick and long, resting in there. I collected the tally and spellbook, several thongs, then my robe, and handed his robe to him as he returned from the writing desk; he showed me one of the new writing-sticks from Khur, which I should not have been surprised to learn that Hithik had acquired. "Would rather not spill the ink," he said, then led me to the bed.

The robes went over a chair by the side of the bed, the book, tally, and writing-stick within reach on top of the cabinets. Dalamar stood in the middle of the bed, to fiddle with the canopy light ...

... well, his cock was hard, and I did agree to swallow it, so I did my very, very best to distract him from deducing the lantern's function. (Failed, but enjoyed the trying.) He groaned and moaned, the Lecher awakened and played counterpoint to his member in my mouth, and standing there in the glimmering shadows, he clutched my head as I wrapped my lips around his base. Moments later, his groans and gasps and cries of pleasure delighted my ears the way his pulsating member delighted my lips and tongue and throat, and his load of semen delighted my belly.

After, Dalamar tugged two sets of curtains down from their wrap while I did the third; the darkness within the bed was complete. He settled down beside me to watch me tie my hair into a horse-tail, then make several shoulder-length loops out of the fall. "Nice," he murmured, helping me to first hold, then tie them in place.

I smiled at him, then bowed forward to renew the lubrication of my saliva upon his member. I think we were both in the mood to not resist enjoyment, for he groaned, stretched his legs out wide, and fell back onto his elbows. For my part, I nursed upon his member, coaxing one, two, and a final third gushing ejaculation from him before I sat back up, smiling in the absolute darkness to which our elven eyes had adjusted. It may have lacked all color, but did we really need that at the moment?

"Do you really like sucking dick that much," he asked the canopy, flat on his back, "or is it just the valin?"

I bent down, nuzzled his neck, and murmured, "Frequency may be the valin. Enjoyment ... definitely my own."

"Anal?"

"Not as great of enjoyment, but enjoyment nonetheless. I'm ... compared to other high ogres, my sexual appetite is extremely high. Speaking of which ..." I settled down within the curl of his arm, turning my back to him, and lifted my upper leg.

Smiling, he rolled on his side, big spoon to my little spoon, and slowly sunk his well-slicked erection into my rear. Pulling the light sheet up over us, he nuzzled the back of my ear and said, "Kind of wondering if I'll just half-doze through fucking you."

I turned my head, giving him a kiss. "Try to remember to make a mark on the tally," I teased, then we snuggled together, his arm beneath my head, his other hand cupping my breast, cock pulsing slowly in my ass as we both dozed off.

---

I woke, I suppose, a dozen times or more, always with Lydia in my arms, against my body, always with my member throbbing an erection in her rear end. I woke her up as gently as I could, as it were, the Lecher playing counterpoint within her sex. For her part, she woke willing and eager, reaching back to stroke my neck, pull me into a kiss, and rock against me. "I think," I murmured at some point, "I could get used to this."

"So could I," she replied, then shuddered and whimpered as she quimmed. I smiled, licking up the back of her ear, my arm curling over her shoulder to cup her breast, the other nudging her leg upwards for access to her sex. Teasing her clitoris, feeling her rear flex around my member, I spurted within her, feeling the Lecher throb as well. She moaned, squirming against me as she orgasmed again ... and then we settled back to quiescence as sleep overtook us once more.

When I woke the last time, I felt energized, awake; gently I rolled myself on top of her, by the end of which she, too, was awake, head turned to look at me out of the corner of her eye. "Are you still horny, Dalamar?" she teased as I slowly rutted into her rear.

"Yes," I panted, pushing myself deep within her, pulling almost all the way out, then groaning with the long stroke necessary to return.

"Me too," she sighed, then pushed back onto me, wriggling to gain purchase with her knees.

I eased back for her to do so, clasping her hips to keep myself within her; tucking her legs beneath her, she made for a different compact package, one which I was quite pleased to wrap around and screw. "Tempted to just stay in bed all day," I told her as the urge to erupt surged within me, my strokes becoming stronger, slamming in harder. Her gasps and whimpers only encouraged me, and I quickened my pace, soon declaring the peak of my pleasure before not quite collapsing around her, still pulsing.

After some minutes, she murmured, "Well, we have the tally. And the spellbook. We could study some of them."

I considered this for a while, then admitted, "I am hungry again."

She nodded acknowledgement. "Why don't we get and eat breakfast?"

I straightened up a little, my hands going to put my weight on her hips, and rocking my own to make use of her rear. "Just for the eating?"

She gasped at my renewed assault, her fingers clawing sensually at the bedclothes. "Well ... we ought to measure your production," she panted. "And I've requested no salt in my food except for dinner."

I grunted, fists down by her breasts, thrusts increasing until I spasmed and spent myself within her. Collapsing again, I breathed in her ear, "I do like doing both of those."

"Mmmm, so do I. Can you get me a towel? If it's light out, we can use the raincloset again."

"I think I would enjoy that," I told her, and gently pulled myself free. She rose as I did, then stayed, rear in the air, as I pulled the bed curtains open, revealing that indeed it was morning, sunlight bounced in through the light wells. I retrieved a towel, pulled the cord, and helped her into the raincloset to enjoy our half-hour of hot-spray heaven.

And the sex therein, as well.

We emerged to the evening lamps turned off, the table set with our breakfast, plus a generous number of snacks in baskets. Our first step was to remove the Lecher, then gently test to see whether or not there was any soreness; there fortunately did not seem to be, but we decided to allow her to recover for a while.

Next came measurement and volume testing; she confirmed I had grown to over ten inches in length, and then proceeded to masturbate me while I held the collection funnel. With her stroking, I'm fairly certain I produced more than I would have alone, but whatever the cause, she confirmed that it was considerably more than even the first time we tested.

After that, well, she sat down and watched while I stood next to her and stroked myself onto her breakfast -- which led to her engulfing my member to the base. I guess there's something about seeing me masturbate that just really makes her want to suck; competition, perhaps. Whether shalafi or ondoji, though, Cumsir or just Dalamar, the sight and sensation is incredible. I hoped that the rapidity of my eruption was a result of the valin … though I suppose I wouldn’t be completely unhappy if it wasn’t.

She made a few final bobs on the still-engorged flared tip -- and I thought she might have been going for a second time, so clearly did she seem to enjoy toying with it with her mouth -- but drew herself off and stroked the top few inches with a fondly lustful look to her. "You can hold my head when you're cumming, you know," she said as she tilted her head back in that 'you ought to kiss me now' attitude.

I bent over to taste her lips and tongue, and a bit of myself as well; I'm not shy of saying that I throbbed in her grip when I did. But we broke the kiss, and I sat down to devour my food. My erection softened only slightly as we spoke. "I haven't been quite certain where those limits are," I admitted as I dug in.

"Hmmm." She eyed me thoughtfully, spooning up her eggs semen-Dalamar with visible relish. "Perhaps … we should experiment. I do like to be …" She considered the word which she wanted to use as she chewed her latest bite. "Used."

"Used?"

She waved her spoon as she swallowed. "Fucked, without caring about whether or not I'm being pleasured. Everything in service to your pleasure, there for making you cum."

"Hmm." I considered this as I wolfed down my food, guzzled the tea and water provided. "But I do like making you quim."

"Do that after, then," she replied, "or if my" -- she looked at me a little oddly -- "quimming is part of making you cum. Quimming?"

I smiled, watching her take a bite out of semen-spattered toast. "Yes, quimming. Quim is what females produce as they orgasm, from the surfaces of the labia and inside, as men produce cum, so it only makes sense to me to describe the female orgasm as quimming instead of cumming."

"Hmm! Never thought of it that way." She saw me watching her eat my seed with her food, blushed, and smiled shyly. "Do you like watching this?"

I leaned back to display my continued erection. "Yes," I told her, my hand falling to it to slowly stroke in confirmation. "I do. Keep going."

Watching each other, as I polished off every tidbit of my breakfast she lingered over her meal, entertaining and arousing me with every bite and spoonful. As she finished, I stood and stepped to her, aiming my cock at her face only moments before erupting into it.

She squealed, laughed, and lifted her hands to catch and redirect the splatter back onto herself, tilting her head back and opening her mouth to catch some of the spurts. Though the orgasm dwindled, the urge to do so didn’t, and as I watched her rub my cum into her breasts, I continued to pump myself.

She swallowed what had gone into her mouth, rubbing the spunk across her face to clear her eyes, then realized that I wasn’t done. One hand dipped to her groin, the other clutched a tit as she looked up at me, a question -- a request -- in her eyes.

"No," I told her, "not yet." I watched as her arousal rose and her eyelids sank, staring at me flaunting my erection in her face, stroking myself in front of her. The valin let the orgasm quicken readily, and in only a minute I was peaking. Without letting her wrap her mouth around the engorged flare, I stared down at her and once more released my spunk into her face, giving voice to my pleasure as well.

As the last of my seed dripped from my tip, I told her, "Now you can suck a load from me. Only into your mouth," I told her, and groaned in delight as she set to with a will. Reaching down, I caressed her hypersensitive ear-tips, rewarding her with a string of squirming orgasms before my hands moved to grip her head and I took over, thrusting a dozen more times to pop the crown in and out of her mouth before calling out the ecstasy of my release.

She took it well enough, keeping what she could in her mouth, but some did start to leak out the sides. "Hold it," I ordered her, finishing off my orgasm before removing the tip. Bending down, I licked up the cum trailing from her lips before murmuring, "Give me my share, slut."

She pushed herself up into the kiss, laving my tongue with semen before her hand tangled in my hair and pulled me downwards. Going to one knee, my head tilted upwards as she poured my seed into my mouth. She broke the kiss and murmured, "Show me, fuckboy."

I displayed the mouthful she'd given me, then swallowed it down and showed her my empty mouth. She drew me back in and gave me the rest, then, and murmured as I swallowed it, "At some point I am going to make you spurt into your own face. And then I'm going to either lick it all off, feed it to you, or both."

"Both, please, senfu," I panted. "Last night while we were on the couch, I had the image of you standing behind it and using my ears to make me cum."

"Ooooo, very nice. Not just once, I trust?" She pulled me in to give me a kiss that had all the elements necessary for the breath-stealers I gave her. Lust, hunger, possessiveness ...

"As many times as you wish," I responded, straightening back up and reaching out to palm her cream-smeared teat. "I trust my senfu -- and we do have a goal of a thousand orgasms …"

With her face glistening with spunk, she smouldered up at me. "I do love the sound of that," she told me. "We need to catch the tally up, find out where we are."

I tweaked and tugged on her nipple. "Then come to bed, and we will."

---

It turned out that what he meant by 'come to bed' was 'I am going to let you ready the tally, and then add to it while we figure it out.' "I understand the compulsion, considering your people," he said, breath heating my ear as he pushed into my rear, going for his fourth time in ten minutes, "but why such intensity of pleasure? These have all been really good orgasms, with some of them the best of my life."

One of my hands dwelt in my groin, pleasuring myself as he indulged his lust for my ass. "High ogres," I said, which really wasn't an explanation. "There are theories. I agree with the one where they put in everything they could think of to seize the attention and keep it long enough to guarantee breeding."

He didn't answer for a minute or two, focusing on fucking my ass, gripping my shoulders to finally release his cries into my ear and his spunk into my rear. "Well. I appreciate it. Even if this was definitely not something I was looking for, it does seem to be …"

"Enjoyable?" I panted as I too recovered, reaching shakily out to make another mark on the tally, to count his latest.

"Addictive," he replied, nuzzling my neck before reaching out to stroke the back of the hand with which I held the writing-stick.

"Well, consider the people it's meant to work upon," I said, watching his elegant bronzed fingers stroke along the alabaster of mine. "Most of those not Valinyi are inconceivably adverse to such indulgence -- the possible other exception being the few hundred Nzunta -- and consider sex to be ... distasteful, like defecating in public: something to be tolerated only if absolutely necessary. Instead of encouraging them to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh in moderation, it drives them deeper into self-isolation. Even marriage is rare, and that usually only among the Fitulh, and that usually only for the length of child-rearing."

"That's ... kind of sad."

"It's very sad. Although as I understand the Fitulh, one can occasionally be married to two or three others simultaneously, because of the children, and they also to two or three others."

"And that has to be confusing."

"Could make the entire society kind of one big group marriage," I agreed, "but I can't imagine disentangling the relationship tree involved in that."

"What about yours?" he wondered, gently biting my shoulder as if to establish the willpower, then slowly pulling himself out and rolling over onto his back.

He was absolutely beautiful.

"Matrilineal," I replied, shifting to my side and inserting myself under his arm, leaving the writing-stick behind with the book and the tally. "Child of Mother, of Mother, of Mother, all the way back." His arm wrapped around me, and I cuddled happily against him. "Often we memorize the father's line back three or four generations -- now that I think about it, I guess I'm going to have to discover Raistlin's patrilineal descent, for at least two or three generations -- but we focus on our mothers. Because of the potential age gaps, we don't tend to care much about siblings. We'll delight in them if and when we come across them, but ..."

"Not something you focus on," he said, a little breathless.

I pinkened; I hadn't realized that I'd started to stroke him. "Mmm-hmm."

"But hold on," he gasped in protest. "Ogre age of majority is ... ninety, you said?"

"Yes?" I looked down at what my hand was doing, and gave serious thought to giving it an assist with my lips.

"If two or three Fitulh would be married, they would have two or three children under ooooohhhhhm. Ninety."

"Mmm-hmmm?" When something's in your mouth, like my shalafi's cock in ine, non-verbal's the key. I felt Dalamar's hand settle on my head, companionship and pleasure instead of guidance or dominance.

"I just ... mmmmff. Thought your people were losing numbers."

"Mmm-hmmm." I took a few moments -- maybe more than a few -- to bob his tip back and forth through my lips, luxuriating in the oversized flare's 'pop' in and out. Gods, I hoped he would be as lustful afterwards. Rubbing the well-smeared dome against my cheek, I said, "Fitulh tend to associate primarily with their own gender. I've been told three has happened, but that one is the most that usually does. Difficult for the breeding-spell to affect you if you're surrounded by your own gender." I returned to my pleasurable duty.

A few minutes of mutual fellatic enjoyment passed between us, ending in a marvelous eruption that overfilled my mouth and had me licking and panting after the spillage. After resting for a moment, he pulled the slim tome and tally to himself, added to it, then smiled down at me. "Vengeance?" he asked as he sent the trio back and watched me bob back and forth across his dome.

"Mm-mm," I denied the accusation, and slurped my way off. "I just really like sucking your cock. Although ..."

"Although ... ?" His agile fingers caressed my cheek, toyed with my lips, dipped between them.

I blushed as I sucked his fingers, like I didn't when I sucked his member. "We have ten or eleven breedings to do," I reminded him.

"A torment to end worlds," he agreed, continuing to tease my lips with his middle and forefinger, now and then plunging them into my mouth.

"Mmmmmmmmff. How many are we at?"

"Twooo ... hundred eighteen."

"Fifteen from forty is twenty five ... two hundred ... mmmm, two-fifty makes for seven-fifty, by twenty-five is thirty-to-one. Eleven breedings in the next thirty-two copulations. Thirty-one. Then one every thirty after that."

His hands captured me, pulling me up on top of him for That Kiss. "You are so fucking sexy."

"You have got to teach me how to do that," I gasped, only realizing as his crown kissed my drawn-apart labia that his hands had slid down beneath my thighs and spread them. "...... ooooohhhhh ..."

"I'll teach the mother of my child," he murmured, kissing me again -- though more lightly, this time.

"Okay," I agreed readily; my concentration was on pushing myself upright, bracing on his chest, and reveling in the glory of his erection inside me, that overly engorged flare of his tip just raking at every sensitive spot on my vaginal walls. "Mmmmmfff, you are definitely better than the Lecher ..."

He laughed softly, hands moving from my hips to my teats, enjoying them again as I rode him. "So how big of a clit can you make?" he wondered as he tugged my nipples to full aching engorgement, then pulled me down to suck on each of them in turn. I quimmed; he, fortunately, did not yet cum. We were definitely going to have to enjoy the Valin spells afterwards.

"How big do you want?" I wondered, looking down at him but mostly caught up in the sensations he was giving me.

He considered, then lifted his forefinger and middle finger together.

I bent down, mashing my breasts into his hands, and paused to kiss him. "You want me to be able to fuck your ass with it?"

He blushed, his hands roaming down my back to cup my rear and hold me in place as his hips rocked his erection through my tunnel.

"You do!!" I teased him. "I'm gonna fuck the Highmage's ass."

"Hey, now," he rumbled, hand sliding upwards, headed for my throat.

"Sorry, shalafi," I apologized, then softly gloated, "I'm gonna fuck my ondoji's ass ..." His cock throbbed inside me as I spoke; I sat back up, accepting a few rough thrusts before putting my palm on his belly and saying, "Settle, ondoji."

He slowed, and stopped. "Senfu?"

I looked down at him, then asked, "On your back?"

He hesitated, then nodded mutely.

"Legs up?"

He nodded again, blushing.

"Holding onto them?"

His bronze skin was delightfully dark with embarrassed agreement.

I lowered myself to him again, rubbing my cheek against his, then started rocking my hips once more. "When I do, I am going to make you cum so hard and so much, fuckboy ... now give my pussy your cum."

Five, ten more fierce thrusts, and he did.

Chapter Text

XXVIn

Spell study. Long-term effects. Natural libidos.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Majetag, 3 Reapember, 546 AC, Fifth Watch falling, 13
S31:L10:N4

"I both dread and anticipate this being over ..."
-- Lydia

After emptying myself into her, I lusted for more; my body howled to be caught up in the pleasure of spear-and-chalice, to mount and breed and breed and breed this fem, to pursue it to the exclusion of all else. Instead, I pulled her lips down to mine, kissed her breathless, and gently moved her off me. I wanted more of all of this, and the valin seemed to be opening doors within me that I'd long thought stuck from disuse.

So instead I climbed to the pillows, leaned against them, and picked up tome and tally. Add one, circle, groan -- the groan wasn't intended, but the amazing, adorable, stunningly sexual woman with whom I was partnered had wormed between my thighs and wrapped her mouth around my cock.

"I'm going to start examining these spells," I panted, which got some moaning approval from her; I opened up the book.

The penmanship was, by wizardly standards, barely adequate; neither sloppy nor sparse, presumably due to the care taken to ensure comprehension on the part of the reader and future caster. I examined the first page. "A Spell fragment, to Enable a male to Produce as Normal Per Ejaculation despite an increase in Frequency Thereof; vide amplify copulation," I read aloud, pronouncing the words with the subtle emphases the writing -- her writing -- seemed to contain. "Interesting choice of words for capitalizaiton."

I turned the pages, curious. "Amplify copulation. A spell of the Least complexity, meant for One Individual, to Enable continual Sexual Activity Throughout the duration of the spell. Protection from Typical Dangers consequential to such increased activity is Imparted. Often Coupled with enhance fertility."

Inhaling sharply, I put my page-turning hand down to cup the back of the head of my worshipful caslth, and gave the sweet, eager fem what she sought: the product of my balls. "Oh, very nice, you silly little cocksucking slut," I told her after I'd stopped pulsing, meeting her eye; she hadn't taken my crown out of her mouth. "Should I read enhance fertility next?"

She shook her head, swallowed, then slurped off my tip. "Next one." Only for a moment, of course, her lips returning to the stunning visual of her stretching her jaw to accommodate my organ.

While she returned to her fellatio, I followed her advice. "Increase size. A spell of the Least complexity, meant for One Individual, to increase the Volume of the individual's Sexual Characteristics. Typical affected areas are breast and Penis --" I paused and looked around the book at her. "You capitalized penis, and it is very carefully written."

She reddened beautifully, to the tips of her ears, but didn't answer, only continued to worship that which she had taken such excellent care in writing out. I continued to read.

"Typical affected areas are breast and Penis, with both nipple and clitoral volume potentially affected. Vaginal, anal, and oral passages are granted increased ability to accommodate Engorged partners. Hmm." I peeked at her again; she was still blushing to beat the band, knowing full well that I had noticed 'Engorged' was as perfectly written as 'Penis' had been.

I flipped a couple more pages, pausing. "Enhance fertility or Production. A spell of minimal Complexity, to Enhance the Fertility of a woman, or the Semen Production of a Male." The care with which 'Semen Production' had been written, well ... "Lydia?"

She looked guiltily up at me, but slurped off my phallus and slowly stroked while she waited for my question. "Yes, shalafi?"

"You are a cockslut, aren't you?"

She was blushing wonderfully, embarrassed and shy at being called out. Such things are mental, no matter the amount of physical shared; I hoped she would continue to be so embarrassed for some time to come.

"This looks like there are spells to cover ... virtually all of what we're experiencing, except for the increase in pleasure."

"There's one for that in there too," she confessed. "Magnify pleasure."

"So ... why are we delaying and extending the valin?"

She stroked a dozen more times, then finally paused, letting my member rest against my belly. "Because," she said slowly, and I could see her binding at work in her explanation, "I did not initially think of the spells, as they are not -- still -- on the approved list of the Orders. And I didn't think I would be sharing them. And because the spells work off your baseline.

"Dalamar, because the valin has for males the side-effect of which we've spoken -- that you will keep as a new baseline a portion of the size and production which you reach during the valin -- I am hoping that you will have a very great increase in your baseline, and that I will be able to share in it." She was crimson by the time she finished; the blush had gone under her hair, down her neck, was even turning the tops of the generous pale mounds of her teats a rosy pink.

I watched her confession, then said, "You want my cock to get bigger, and to shoot more spunk."

She ducked her head, as if trying to hide her face. "Yes, shalafi."

Considering this, I reached out to push her mouth back onto my member; if she was going to baffle me, she was going to suck my dick while she did so. After a few minutes, I reached down again to clutch at her head as I spurted a second time into her throat. "Good girl," I panted as I did. "Good, good, good girl."

She remained quiet in response to my cries of pleasure, focused as she was on getting my tip into her throat -- which she did, praise her. Afterwards, though, she remained quiet, gently nursing with my tip resting on her tongue.

"Slut."

"Mmm-hmmm?"

"How big?"

Slurp. "How big what?"

I considered the question, which admittedly was a good one; I had been vague. "How big ... am I liable to get? We started to discuss that, but never did."

She was silent for a long time, slowly rubbing her face against my erection. "Caslth?"

"Sorry, shalafi, trying to figure from what I know of others. Nine inches ... every two hundred, but a thousand times ... um. Fifteen inches? Ish? Of which you'd keep, probably, two to three of the extra. So you'd wind up eleven or twelve inches in length, girth up by one half to one inch or so." She returned to stroking and suckling on me; I watched her in thoughtful fascination.

"Lydia, does the valin have this effect on high ogres?"

She pinkened again, looking up at me with my phallus in her mouth, one hand curled around and pumping, and nodded.

"But most high ogres don't ... they avoid the valin."

"Mmm-hmmm." Her tongue wriggled, and very nearly sent me off, but not quite. I considered the topic of conversation, then said, "Do that again, and I'll cum down your throat."

So of course she did it again.

---

Honestly, I wasn't trying to derail him, but I had the opportunity to make my lover orgasm, so of course I took it. Feeling his crown swell in my mouth, practically sealing him in; the jets of his spunk against my tongue and the back of my throat; the heady flavor of his cum, as he fed it to me, opening my gullet and letting it slither down into my belly; his hand on my head, his voice crying out his pleasure, sometimes praising me; heaven, all of it. I was really hoping we could find a way to have a relationship. A sexual one -- definitely a sexual one.

I kept his cockhead in my mouth (because why wouldn't I?) as he settled down; the way he rested, limbs splayed out, was a wonderful reward, and I gloated internally for having done that. Before he could ask anything further, I slowly drew my mouth off him (with, yes, a slurp, because drips and such, not to mention a slurp is such a deliberately lewd sound) and said, "You were wondering about the high ogres and the valin's long-term side effects."

"Mmmph. Just a moment."

I giggled, and made sure he stayed hard.

"Slut," he complimented me once he'd recovered, looking down at me with a smirk. "So. Most high ogres avoid the valin."

I nodded. "Whether a solitary life or, as with the Fitulh, keeping almost entirely to the same gender."

"Really? That seems ... difficult."

I shrugged. "I'm told that since many hands make light work, a group of women can do what an only somewhat smaller group of men can do."

"Hmmm. Good point." He contemplated this for a few moments, reaching down to stroke my head in approval of my continuing ministrations. "The Valinyi, however, do not avoid the valin."

"Mmm-mmm," I agreed in the negative, rubbing his crown with the inside of my mouth and the entirety of my tongue.

"How many children do they have?"

"Well," I admitted after slurping off him again, my gaze fixed on the jut of his cock as I kept one hand around the base to keep him upright and used the other to masturbate him, "I had six in ... roughly sixty years. That, according to my physician, was a little excessive, but ..." I felt my face reddening.

Dalamar laughed softly. "I'll make accusations later. Go on. Other Valinyi ogres?"

"Most don't breed with quite the same frequency, but ... they are willing, and since we interact with others much more frequently, we experience the valin more frequently. The greatest child-bearer of whom I know for certain is Sorcha, who stopped bearing late in her ninth century, after thirty-six valin-children and sixty-eight others, out of sixty-three additional to-term pregnancies."

Dalamar whistled. "That's quite a few." He smirked at me. "Looking to rival her?"

I considered the tip of his phallus, scant inches from my nose. "At the moment, yes." I wrapped my lips around it and bobbed as he laughed, then groaned, his hand returning to my head as he cried out and erupted in my mouth.

Panting, his fingertips playing with my hair, he said, "You are such an amazing slut. How about the males?"

I hesitated, then slurped off his cock, finally propping myself up on one arm to masturbate him as I spoke. "The ... well, the one I know about is Walce, who was almost eleven hundred when I left. He had ... fairly recently completed a valin-bond -- his forty-first."

Dalamar whistled. "And outside the valin?"

"Strictly speaking, that's very difficult to tell, but he is said to have been a popular single-partner, and active in the mating circle as well."

"During that entire time?"

I glanced down at his member; engorged, flared, wanting. "Uh-huh."

He must have caught something in my expression, because he asked, "Did you want him to breed you?"

I licked my lips, feeling the slight swollenness of them from sucking on him, stroking his erection as I did. "I ... did fantasize about it, but ... it would have been difficult."

"Do I want to know how big he is?"

I blushed again, bent over to kiss his tip, then pushed up to give him a kiss, my hand still stroking him. "I'll tell you if you really want to know."

His hand shifted from my hair to my breast, kneading gently. "And how much he cums?"

I bit my lower lip, nipple hard between his fingers. "You'll think it impossible."

He regarded me for a moment, looking at my lips, then met my gaze again. "Will you be telling the truth?"

I nodded, stroking his cock.

"How do you know?" he challenged.

"Oh, damn you," I laughed, and bent down to kiss him again, as thoroughly as I could. "Because I've stroked his cock, you bastard, and made him cum."

"Lydia!" he exclaimed. "An ogre over a thousand?!? What would your mother have said?!?"

I bit him.

---

All right, I deserved that; fortunately she bit my shoulder, but she bit me pretty hard, so despite my laughter I did have to exclaim, "Ow!!"

By which point she was straddling my hips, her labia pressing against the base of my erection. "My mother," she said, forearms braced on my shoulders, "would have been scandalized. She didn't approve of my mother-brother Keryl leaving for the Valinyi, but she took an assignment from the Knistra elders to come to Ansalon in search of the Stolen despite her distaste for contact." Holding my head still, she leaned down to kiss my lips, as if to silence me.

My hands settled on her thighs, as inoffensive a place I could manage. "I apologize," I started to say, but she kissed me again.

"Don't," she replied. "I am who I am from because of her choices, for good or for ill. But if you must ask for judgment upon me, you can wonder what Keryl would say."

I hesitated, sensing a trap, but she looked down at me with the dangerous patience of a woman who has set up the structure of the conversation and is waiting for you to do your part. If you did, it might be bad ... but experience with lovers and mages both has taught me that if you avoid the conversation in the wings, it will be worse. "What would Keryl say?"

She giggled. "Probably 'good for you, grandfather, and for you, Lydia; enjoy each other,' but I never asked him."

Inevitably in a smaller community there's consanguinity involved down the line, but the potential ages of those involved when it comes to elves -- or high ogres -- can be confusing enough to give one pause. To be honest, I wasn't sure what I ought to think; the situation she presented was so thoroughly outside of my experience, I was having some difficulty processing it. "Hmmm."

Kissing me again was at least her temporary answer, and she sat up, drawing my hands up to her breasts. "It is probably a cultural difficulty," she conceded as I enjoyed the physical delight of my partner's sizable-for-her-frame teats. "A fair number of my kindred are accomplished magicians, capable of remedying the physical issues that accompany aging. Walce is almost as spry -- and, I am told, entirely as randy, if not moreso -- as he was as a youth of two hundred. So the choice of participation in sexual activities and erotic pleasure is ..."

"A personal decision," I concluded, earning a firm nod of agreement, and a kiss as a reward.

"Very much so. As it is for those growing up. In Valinyi'chet, there is a building, the Valinyi'sh'a --"

"Is everything 'Valinyi'-something?"

"Nothing strange about that," she defended her culture, "but no -- the only other place is what you would call the debate forum, the Valinyi'huk."

"Hmm." I thumbed her nipples thoughtfully, then pulled her forward so that I might kiss them.

"May I continue, then?" she asked, watching me lick at her dangling teats.

"Have any spells that cause a woman to lactate?"

"They exist, but I don't have them with me. May I continue?"

"Hmmm. I suppose."

"Thank you. Even most Valinyi are, relative to other races, reluctant -- an active sex life is once every couple of weeks. It can make it difficult to find partners interested in copulation at the same time as you are."

"I imagine. This sounds like a problem with a solution, though."

"Mmm-hmm. The Valinyi'sh'a. A large building, roughly circular, not unlike a speaking forum. There are a number of more private rooms -- I say 'more private' instead of 'private', because they have no doors -- around the edge, but the central room is domed, about a hundred feet across, with a series of four descending rings, each ten feet wide, around a twenty-foot central circle. The edges are rounded, sitting height, and slopes here and there to go from one to the next."

I admit she had caught me up into visualizing this, studying her face as I learned more about her culture. "All right. Stone?"

"Mmmm, I'm not sure. There's thick, lush grass over pretty much everything, so the whole place is almost like a meadow."

I chuckled. "I expect that saves on cleanup."

She laughed with me. "Oh yes -- excess fluids soak right in. The more nature-minded of our kindred take care of it. Anyhow. Children aren't allowed, but those who have reached puberty are permitted inside to watch, if they are curious and wish it, coming with their guardian the first few times. Such are guarded, as it were, by those inside, and watched thereafter by pretty much everyone, to make sure they aren't taken advantage of."

"Sexual predators?"

"They've happened. They're taken care of, with extreme prejudice. One of the ways we protect, however, is to forbid mutual sexual exploration anywhere except within the Valinyi'sh'a for those who have not yet had their first valin-bond."

"That seems ... like it wouldn't work."

"Ah, but inside the Valinyi'sh'a, they are allowed to explore to their libido's contentment. We watch, exploring our own bodies as we do, then often approach or are approached by others our age, and fumble around a lot."

"Out on display?" My hands slid down to her hips, then her rear, stroking between them, then lower. Caressing her folds, I asked a silent question.

To answer, she bent down, working on her possessive kiss. I turned it back upon her, then held her to me and rolled on top, pressing my arousal against her own. Her response was approval, lifting her legs upwards, to curl her hands around her calves and present me with the extremely fuckable erotic package I'd put her in before. "Breed me," she begged me.

I looked -- we looked -- down between our warm, naked, sweat-glistening bodies at the down-jutting eagerness of my erection, the partially-parted folds of her sex awaiting me. "It always reminds me of a stinger," I said, then darkened as she giggled.

"Oh, noooo, don't blush -- or do, I want you to blush a thousand times more," she laughed, resting her ankle on my shoulder as she stroked my face. "But you're right, it does. So, my horny hornet, plunge your stinger into my flesh, pump me full of your venom, make me swell up all big and fat."

Her teasing made me laugh at myself, my embarrassment, and with her embracing of the parallel. "Well, if you put it like that..."

---

I am never going to get tired of Dalamar fucking me.

Okay, fine, I say that during every valin, or at least I thought it with Sinul, but with Sinul there was a prior relationship getting in the way. And frankly, Sinul didn't fuck the way Dalamar does.

I'll call it 'having sex' and 'making love' after the valin's done; at the moment, it was all fucking.

"Mmmmffffuuuck, that feels good. Where were we?" I panted as he thrust, enjoying my cunt.

"Mmm, it does feel good. You are amazing. Tight, but not too tight. Have I called you a beautiful, wonderful, lovely slut lately? No?? Mmmm!!" That was him kissing me. "My slut. Mine. Cock-hungry slut, cum-guzzling slut, baby-hungry slut, pretty slut, lovely slut, eager slut, caslth, caslth, my fucktoy caslth, oooohhhhhh, take my cum and make my baby, my perfect slut!!"

I couldn't answer; he'd had me whimpering and quimming when he called me his slut. Gods I hoped we felt the same way when the valin was over!! I kept shuddering through orgasms as he pushed deep, thrust despite already being hilted in me, and spilled his seed within me; wrapping my legs around him to keep him in place (and to keep him from moving too much) was in the nature of wanting to continue our conversation.

He turned his head, to murmur in my ear, "Good girl," which made my nipples and clit ever so hard again. Bastard was giving me a praise kink.

"Mmm. Bad boy," I teased him back, "I'm not pregnant yet."

"If you want me to --"

I shut him up with a kiss. "Silly boy, keep being bad."

"With great pleasure, senfu," he replied, and gave me That Kiss back.

When I recovered -- when he saw that I had recovered, wearing that smug smirk which I knew was all about him being pleased he could do that to me -- he repeated, "You were saying, about being out on display? In the Valinyi'sha?"

"Bad boy; breed me again. Valinyi'sh'a." Obediently, Dalama began to stir my sex again, watching my pleasure course across my face as he worked inside me. "Only the central circle is really full-light; it gets darker the further out you go, so the outermost rings are dim and very dim. Able to see further in, not really able to be seen by them."

"Ahh, so increasing levels of exposure."

"Sexual exposure, yes. It is very hot and humid in Valinyi'chet, always. The coolest it gets would be the peak of a sweltering summer in Wayreth."

He paused, considering this information, when it was presented, what I'd said immediately beforehand. "People don’t wear much in Valinyi'chet," he deduced.

"Very good boy," I purred, and kissed him. "But there's no titillation. Without the sexual component, clothing is entirely about environmental protection and comfort. Only children of fair skin, of which I was one, wear much of anything as we develop. Women undergoing their courses -- period --"

"I know the various terms," Dalamar said dryly, then bent close to murmur in my ear, "but that's not something you'll need to concern yourself with for a couple of years --"

I blushed, laughed, and bit his jaw -- lightly. "Women undergoing their courses will wear a pad and loincloth; fuller breasts, a band. Men with … sizeable equipment, a loin wrap as well, as much for support as a heavy-breasted woman would wear a band. Though not always."

"Lydia," Dalamar asked, slowing further in his sensual fucking, "are you telling me that Valinyi’chet is a city of mostly-naked ogres?"

I looked upwards, towards the headboard and its lewd engravings, shivering through a small orgasm; he wanted to make it last for him, but I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible. "Mmmmmmmmm. How many souls for a city??"

My lovely bronze-skinned elf laughed and palmed my pale teat, increasing the rate of his thrusts. "Five thousand, I believe. How many in Valinyi'chet?"

"Good boy, well-spoken. Around four thousand, but it varies a lot. Hold on, I need to --" My back arched as I clutched his shoulders, the pleasure of his fucking roaring through me in the valin's majestic erotic sensuality. Once it dwindled, I could gather my scattered thoughts and speak again. "Mmm. Where was I? Mmm, population varies -- those leaving, or returning with those from other cultures who are frustrated with their homelands."

"New recruits."

"Of a sort. Most stay and learn."

"So a large town of mostly-naked ogres."

I laughed, blushed, and nodded. "Mostly non-sexual ogres."

"… mostly." He pushed deep into me, lifting my hips from the bed, then moved my legs up beside me again. At his expression, I wrapped my hands around my ankles and held myself ready to receive him and his cum, to orgasm with him. "Lydia, before your first valin, how often did you visit the Valinyi'sh'a?"

"Mmmm, good boy," I complimented his pronunciation again, and got a kiss in return. "Once or twice a week."

"Your age-mates?"

"Every two or three weeks."

"Mm-hmm. After your first valin?"

I blushed, but admitted, "While pregnant, two or three times a day. After giving birth … at least once a day."

He pinned me with forearms and dark, warm, penetrating eyes. "Lydia … are you an ogrish nymphomaniac?"

---

The quality, color, speed, spread, depth, and overall magnitude of her embarrassed reddening was nothing short of prodigious. With visible effort, she broke my gaze and turned her face away, which may have been a poor tactical decision on her part. My fingers and lips both captured her ear, one the tip, the other the canal, and as I stroked with fingers and phallus, I murmured, "Quim on my cock, you beautiful ogrish nymphet."

"Thank you, shalafi," she whimpered, and obeyed, her twat flexing around my organ as she did. I barely had to thrust. Which gave me an idea.

"Quim for me nine more times, caslth," I told her, pulsing inside her while watching her toes clench and release, "and I'll breed you."

Her crimson-with-embarrassment face turned towards me, and that needful gaze silently begging 'please make me quim' I now recognized as the curtain being drawn back on her hopelessly perpetual lust looked up at me. "Please rub my ears and make me quim for you, shalafi. However many times an ogrish gythat, a Silvanesti caslth, Cumsir’s Slutpuppy, Dalamar's cockslut ought to quim in order to earn her breeding."

I smiled at her, kissed her slow and long, took her eartips between my fingers and ruthlessly plunged her into orgasms, kept her aware enough to know she was utterly wallowing in the sensation, and crooned her sweet words: slut, and Slutpuppy, and caslth, and the new word, gythat. I took my time, enjoying the relentless fluttering and squeezing of her tunnel around my shaft; I confess I did not keep count, but it was many, many orgasms for my delightful good girl.

When I finally let up and returned to slowly fucking her, she panted, "How many times, shalafi?"

I adjusted my position, deepening my thrusts, grinding the padding of my pubic mound against her engorged clitoris as I fucked her. "To earn your breeding?" I asked, in the most obscene, sensual, seductive tones I knew.

The look was still in her eyes; I suspected that I would never again miss the hint of that desperate craving within her gaze. "Yes, shalafi."

I quickened my pace, hissing as I held myself back until we tumbled together headlong into the intensity of an explosive mutual orgasm. Wonderful words were cried out by both, caslth and ondoji, senfu and shalafi, Lydia and Dalamar, good boy and good girl.

Afterwards, with her legs splayed wide and my entire weight resting on her, I murmured to her, "You don't need to quim at all, senfu, to earn a breeding. To be bred is your right, and I am now most grateful to have been chosen to be the one to do it."

Her hands, spread on my back and holding me to her, slowly roamed down to my rear. "Then do it again, lovely Dalamar, that I may present to you your child."

I would have undoubtedly begun moving within her again with almost any encouragement, but those words -- 'your child' -- did something exceptional to me. My child. My child. My child.

"With the greatest of joy, Lydia," I told her, and set to with a zealot's will once more.

Chapter Text

XXVIo

A new way to cope. Vague plans. Subtle alterations.

The Arbor, The Pink Palace, Neraka
Majetag, 3 Reapember, 546 AC, Seventh Watch rising, 27
S32:L11:N4

"What will we be when all this is done?"
-- Dalamar Argent

Only a few minutes into his delicious breeding, Dalamar slowed down, then guided me over onto my hands and knees before entering me from behind. Being taken that way is my very favorite position, in bed or out; what can I say? I am a gythat, and a rather submissive one at that. Within a minute, my moans were being muffled by a pillow, my hands clawing at the bedclothes.

Dalamar and his gorgeous thickening, lengthening, now-ten-inch dick stroked leisurely inside my sex for a glorious half an hour; amazingly, he came only twice, pouring his fertile spunk into my waiting womb. I, on the other hand, luxuriated in the seductive pleasure of his cock in my cunt, spending most of the time shuddering from ecstasy to ecstasy.

He got his, though, because after he spent himself that second time with his lusciously heavy sac nuzzling at my clitoris, he slowly pulled himself out (letting me shudder in orgasmic aftershocks for a moment) and got the oil again. I don't think he really needed it, but he is an attentive lover, and so he lubed up my rear once again -- then pounded himself into my ass for fifteen minutes straight, cumming at least five times.

Okay, I did quim a couple or four (dozen) more times while he took my rear; at that point, I'm pretty sure I could have cum just from him breathing in my ear, "Cum for me, caslth."

... actually, I might have done just that while he was mounting me; his mouth was right there, and he was lipping and licking my ears, and I absolutely was willing to cream at his command.

He finished up by sliding that silly doggie-knot-tail plug into my rear, and flopped on his back, one arm out to me; I tucked in against him, pressing my groin against his thigh, feeling his seed inside me, leaking out, but also imagining I could feel it swimming in.

"The bell rang," he said, taking the deep, heavy breaths of someone recovering after an exertion of some duration.

"Mmm, lunch," I murmured. "You ready to be measured again?"

He laughed softly. "Rain-closet first?"

I felt my lower lip slide between my teeth. "Will you ... cum on me again?"

He chuckled, and licked my eartip. "Sure you don't want to jump straight to the cocksucking?"

I pinkened, teasing one nipple then the other, avoiding the wounds. "If you want, shalafi. But I do enjoy you stroking yourself and spraying your seed onto me."

"Mmmm, beautiful paint for a beautiful ... what does gythat mean?"

I felt the blush rushing onto my face again; he had discovered one of my secrets. Well, not too much of a secret, considering we were trying to make him (and kind of me, too) fuck and cum a thousand times in the span of seven (or probably six or five, now) days. "Addict, I guess would be the closest term; sex addict. As you guessed, I'm an ogrish nymphomaniac."

He heard the tone of my voice, and pulled my thigh across the top of him, his other arm moving my body. Deliberately, he cupped my hips, ground his wet, oiled erection up against my folds, hands keeping me pinned in place as he looked up into my gaze. "My nymphomaniac," he hissed, despite there being no sibilants in the words.

I reddened further, turning my face away; he caught my jaw, and drew me back. "No," he told me, steel in his voice, perhaps bearing layers of cruelty as well. "You don't get to do that, Lydia the Peregrine. You acknowledge your challenges; you must. One of your challenges is that you like sex, a lot, even when the valin isn't driving you."

Gythat is not a 'good' term; it's usually used by the Valinyi to describe those of the Nzunta who overindulge in carnal lusts, as compared to lusts for power, gyzhent, or food, gyhech, or for blood, gykhor. I spoke my shame every time I used the term --

"Say it."

I blinked up at Dalamar, my jaw still in his grip. "Shalafi?"

"No -- just Dalamar. Say it -- name the challenge you face, Lydia."

I so did not want to -- my embarrassment was a flag covering my entire face, my ears, even my neck -- but he held my gaze and would not relent.

"Say. It."

"I ... I'm a gythat."

"And what is that?"

"A, a nymphomaniac, a sex addict."

"Say it again."

"I'm a gythat, a sex addict, a nymphomaniac."

"Again."

"I'm a gythat, a sex addict, a nymphomaniac! What --"

He shut me up with That Kiss of his, fierce and demanding and greedy and shamelessly, utterly sublime in its all-encompassing desire. One hand gripped the back of my neck, the other splayed across one buttock and controlled the canine tail-plug; his hips ground up against me, sending shockwaves of arousal through me as he tormented my folds and clitoris. "And how are you going to cope with being a sex addict?"

"What -- I, I --" My brain wasn't cooperating, what with him playing with my body as he pushed at my mind. "I -- I don't, I don't, I push it away and ignore --"

He shut me up again, lips and tongue dominating my own for sinfully lustrous long moments. "You know denial is not an answer, Lydia. You are Valinyi, not Knistra, to isolate yourself even from yourself."

"It's worked so far!!" I protested.

The hand on my rear waggled the plug inside me, making me moan, causing my pussy to squelch some more of his seed onto his rigid cock. "Not a solution, Lydia." His tone was biting, relentless.

I whimpered, clutching at him, nipples hard against his torso, crushed against him by the bounty of my breasts; my traitorous hips continued what his hand had suggested, humping against his member. What did -- what -- how could I --

Restraint sacrificing necessary action.

... no. No, Dalamar was right -- denial was not the answer. Nor was wanton indulgence -- there had to be a middle ground, reserve without total restriction. But I couldn't think!! His dick was humping right against my pussy, and --

"Oh. Fuck me," I blurted.

He ground up against me, mocking my oath, and I groaned, then clutched at his head and kissed him, so fierce and wanting and possessive that he started humping up against me with real intent. "Tell me."

"You asshole," I said against his lips, grinding against his thrusts. "You bastard. Of course. Indulge, but safely, when time can be made for indulging."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Like now."

"MMmmmmm, yes," he groaned. "You feel shame when I spurt my cum in your face, caslth?"

I struggled against the question, but I had to confess it. "Yes, shalafi."

"Mmm-hmm. And arousal as well, not just at the semen, but at the shame?"

Fuck me. He understood. What else had he learned in that bordello? "Yes, arousal as well, shalafi."

"Oh, you beautiful caslth." His hips pushed us up off the bed, lifting my petite form into the air; my feet hooked on, and my hands gripped him, one shoulder, fingers deep in the unbraided strands of his hair as he glowered his lust up at me. "Slut."

"Fuckboy."

"Gythat."

"Yyyyyesssss, gythat, right now a gythat, fuck I gotta cum, Dalamar, I love your cock, I love riding your cock, it feels sooo good against my pussy and clit -- cum for us, ondoji, cum for your gythat senfu, you gythat ondoji, you're one too, oooohhh, cum for us!!"

I felt that first dry throb, and pressed down against him again, breasts firm against him and my lips conquering his as he yowled his pleasure into my mouth, sprayed his seed against our bellies.

---

She was absolutely getting it.

The concept of 'safe indulgence' was practically ingrained in the teaching and training of those who follow the Black Moon; one cannot sink into the wonder of the magic unless one's position -- physical, magical, personal, political, all of the above -- was established as being secure. Even then, one keeps a little extra hidden, just in case someone has plans to stab you in the back -- but one makes sure one is as safe and secure as can be unreasonably established. Ladonna never made a move before she was certain of her defenses; Raistlin certainly planned things out meticulously, setting up protections and reserves in order to account for potential deviations from his plans. I, too, learned that lesson -- not before having had some close calls -- and put it into practice.

You had better not have thought I hadn't put my own protections in place around the Arbor. One doesn't survive long in the Order of Nuitari if one puts one's safety into the hands of others.

Which made it possible for me to relax and indulge -- a realization to which Lydia, all the gods bless her luscious fecund curves, was finally coming. Indulge in safety; put pleasures away otherwise. Denial was as foolish and dangerous as rampant indulgence. Although to be fair, I was extremely rampant at the moment, and indulgence was my life just now.

Lydia's kiss was coming along quite well, and after I'd plastered our bellies with my spunk, she finally released me, wriggling down (and though I didn't look, I could imagine that silly dog-tail wagging as she twitched her ass) and --

If I'd had my eyes open, I would have blinked. What she was doing was certainly keeping my cock ragingly hard. "Are you ... rubbing your face in my cum???"

She didn't answer, but her guilty silence filled the space of the bed. Lifting my head, I looked down at her, at how she slowly moved her cheek across my belly, her eyes turning up to look at me through her lashes. I stared at her, watched her in her abject worship, feeling my erection throbbing with a ruthless desire to attempt to satiate myself with her.

For a long, intensely erotic minute I watched her indulge herself, wondering if it was debasement or glorification -- or if it mightn't be both. She in turn watched me watch her do so, her pale skin red in her embarrassment as she reveled in the scent and slick texture, the slow conversion from slime to fluid. I wanted to ... in fairness I don't know. Grab her by the hair, certainly, but what then? Thrust myself deep into her throat; kiss her so fiercely I passed out. Once more I couldn't help but wonder what she would be like days hence, after the valin was done with us.

Then another question struck me: what would I be like days hence, after the valin was done with us? I didn't think it was altering my appetites and preferences, for while Lydia was introducing me to new things with her indulgences and fantasies, they were close cousins to my own urges and experiences. I didn't think there was anything she, we, were doing that I would not want to do on my own ... was there?

Fury flared within me, the same sudden dwarven steel-furnace conflagration that had erupted as my first real reaction to our binding: I was not to be controlled. At the same time, the urge to possess her blazed a fire of passion as intense as the rage. I wondered whether both weren't enhanced by the peculiar mysticism of the valin, and twisted my fists into clutching at the bedclothes beneath me.

The movement caught her attention, and she looked fully up at me, not just her lashes-shrouded sultry devotion. I do not know what she saw, but I think it gave her pause, for she did just that, gaze meeting mine. A handful of heartbeats later, she kissed her way down my belly and, heavy breasts swaying against my thighs, orally engulfed my erection.

I doubt there is a male willing to be ferociously angry with a woman when she simultaneously worships and enslaves him, taking him into her in such an intimate manner; I certainly am not. With a groan, I let my head drop back to the pillows once more, and gave myself up to the slaking of her veneration.

Eventually, after feeding her twice and pulling her mouth off so I could paint her face once, I coaxed her upwards. "Come here, Slutpuppy," I groaned, my words slurring slightly, pleasure-drunk as I was. One finger was hooked into her collar, but though the tug was feeble, she crawled up my flank and nestled under my arm, head resting upon my shoulder with her hand gently petting my phallus.

Her voice was soft and sweet, murmuring "Cumsir?" even as the petting became more.

Though my cock throbbed in obedient response to her coaxing, I composed myself to ignore the urgencies of my body. "Lydia," I said, using her name to re-balance our dynamic, "I need to make something clear."

Her hand continued for a dozen or more strokes, then slowed until she was only encircling me. "Yes, Dalamar?"

I considered my words carefully, then spoke. "You are a delight, and I anticipate great pleasure in our exploration and its results, both short and long term. But I really must let you know: I ... resent ... this compulsion."

Her hand squeezed gently around my base, then released me, but then she turned her head to look up at me. "I know," came her simple answer. "So do I."

"Hmmm." Thinking back, she had been irate. "You said something about being here -- Wayreth -- in regards to the valin. Why?"

She slowly caressed my skin, avoiding the pits of Raistlin's wounds, dawdling to entice my nipple to erection. "Because," she said softly, "for the most part, my people -- the high ogres -- rely on the valin to manage their breeding. And because of that, my people are dying out, fading, to dwindle in five or ten generations, to vanish and leave behind only the ogres and the various bizarre kinfolk as our heritage. I need to find how to break the valin and return the high ogres to unity and ..." She trailed off, and was silent for a minute before she turned her face against me and pressed it close, as if to hide.

"To life," I said into the quiet surrounding us, a place that allowed us to speak truths we could not face elsewhere. "To life and to hope."

She said not a thing, only nodded against my shoulder.

I pondered her goal, to undo a ritual so powerful, so ingrained in her race, that it remained in overwhelming force almost six thousand years after its casting. It seemed hopeless; it seemed mad, sheer insanity-driven hubris. How could she possibly succeed?

But ... I could feel it, that form of insanity: shaped from her own thickened, congealed, solidified wrath at the burning need the valin engendered, with someone she might not choose, might have barely met -- the valin of her mother Amberyl and her father Raistlin. More, after that brief time, having to deal with the consequences of such a sudden, random imposition -- for the months of the pregnancy if not for the decades of her child's early life. The communal raising of children suddenly made more sense to me.

"The elves," I said, studying the bed's canopy without really seeing it, "need that too. Unity instead of divisiveness. Hope for the future and life as a people, sundered as they are." It would be a life without me, banished as I was, a banishment only emphasized by those two times those still of the Nations had come to me to do their dirty work. My heart seized in my chest at the memory of the torture I had experienced as my 'reward' each time, self-inflicted though it had been. Different than the searing of the fingertips of the Master of Past and Present, but no less agonizing.

"At least," she murmured, "they don't have a spell giving them an illusion of a future."

"No," I agreed grimfully, "they destroy their futures all on their own."

---

I laid there against him for long minutes, my heart thumping in my chest. More layers of my concealments peeled away, more of myself revealed. "Ogres first," I murmured, trying to lighten the mood, "elves second?"

Dalamar laughed, a rough black sound. "Bring all the high ogres to the elves in disguise, get everyone to experience the valin. That'd show them."

My laughter was a burst of sound, which I'll admit I tried to pretend hadn't come from me by pressing my (delightfully semen-smeared) face against his shoulder.

"Well, it would," he replied, running his hand down my flank to cup my buttock for a moment before pushing himself up and against me. "So many elven egos would run against this," he said as he rolled me onto my back and straddled my waist, cock throbbing above my breasts, "and just shatter. It'd reshape their entire damned existence."

I looked up at him, pink- and cum-faced, reminded of my own 'high Silvanesti' appearance as he stroked the fullness of my teats. "Impractical," I murmured, "but a delightful fantasy."

His smile was crooked as he gathered my breasts together and tucked his rigidity between them, starting to roll his hips; that firmness sliding between my teats, massaging the soft, sensitive skin there, was its own form of erotica. I stretched my arms above my head and let him slowly pleasure himself with my body, watching him watch himself. I wondered if there was anything he enjoyed that I wouldn't; I wondered if his own ego was running up against the valin and shattering, if he would emerge from this as a subtly different Dalamar than the one who had left Wayreth.

The quickening of his breath was all the cue I needed; my arms dropped, hands sliding under his to take over. His eyes shifted to meet mine, and then he bent down to brace himself against the bed, cup the back of my head, and lift it to put my face in the line of his ejaculate. "Yes," he groaned, "gorgeous gythat, beautiful gythat, delicious gythat, my lovely ogrish sluuuuhhhht --" And he erupted, blasting me with his seed, pouring his gift into my mouth, onto my face, holding me in place as his huge spurts decorated me.

Of course, I wrapped my lips around his crown once his production tapered off, but I don't think I expected him to resume thrusting. It took nearly no time at all before he was gushing again, feeding me, letting my head go before panting, "Again." So I curled my fingers around his organ, caressed his balls, suckled upon his crown until my nursing brought him to and over the brink once more -- and "Again," and "Again," his voice sounding more and more needy each time, even desperate: "Please, again!!"

Fifteen times, twenty, until my jaw ached, my hand cramped, my face was a mask of semen and my belly was full and hot from his product, almost painfully so. His cock remained urgently turgid, and I knew he might be on the verge of losing himself entirely to the lust, so I overthrew him (not without shamelessly using his cock and balls to control him), straddled and pinned him upon his back with my hand around his throat, and slid him root-deep into my sex while carefully kissing him as thoroughly as I could.

"Gently, ondoji," I murmured against his lips, then circled my hips to rub his crown against my inner walls; he lifted his hands above his head, clenched them, then pressed them against the top of his head as I rose away, leaving a fair amount of his semen behind.

"Yes, senfu," he gasped, his erection throbbing within me, pulsing from root to the flare of his crown, again and again. "Thank you, senfu."

Beginning to move, slow and careful, I smiled down at him as his seed dripped from my nose and chin onto his face. Submissive with my hand still locked around his throat, he accepted it as his due while I slowly took my pleasure of him. "Your member feels so good inside me, ondoji," I told him as I rocked, watching his expression. "Your cockhead is raking at all the best spots right now. We are going to have so much fun when we can play mortar-and-pestle exclusively, but that's not now. Right now, you wonderful elven fuckboy ... breed your caslth."

"Oh, thank you, senfu!!" he groaned, finally bringing his hands down to grip my hips and thrust up into me six times, a dozen, before finally pushing up hard and lifting me into the air as he pulsed inside me, delivering his delicious spunk to my womb.

Straightening, I sighed and ground my groin against his, stirring him inside me. "I think we have another few ... but," and I smirked down at his cum-spattered face as a rivulet ran between my teats, "I think we need a cleaning."

---

"Are you serious about the elves?"

She looked at me over our luncheon; I suspected I was drinking more than I ate, but it felt necessary. For a moment she twirled her noodles upon her fork, then lifted their sauced mass to her mouth to engulf and chew. My penis, quiescent at the moment, twitched a little at the sight; part of that sauce was my semen, and knowing she was enjoying it made my lust stir. (Not that it needed any encouragement; damn valin.) But she met my gaze with as serious and thoughtful an expression as I might hope to see on any of my apprentices. "I think, perhaps," she said, then paused to swallow. "I think, perhaps, that there is something dark in all of us -- all the races, with the possible exception of the kender -- that needs fixing. We seem to deliberately want to throw ourselves off a cliff, at least in a communal, societal sense."

It was a valid point, and I took a drink of the house's fine tea while I considered it, naked save for the binding and padding over Raistlin's fingerprints. "Fixing all the world seems to me a tall order, Apprentice Lydia."

She gave a shrug (which set her breasts to swaying) and twirled up another forkful of noodles. "I agree, Highmage, but since I've undertaken to fix my own people ..." She shrugged again, wrapped her mouth around the forkful, withdrew the fork and began to chew.

I found myself staring at her lips, noble-slim, with just a hint of that aristocratic haughtiness which made it a wonder to watch her do anything lewd with it, especially fellate me. At the memory, blood began rushing back into my member, and my hand went down to stroke. "I suppose that's true," I managed to say, trying to wrench my mind back to the conversation when in fact all I wanted to do was to masturbate onto this fem, fuck her, breed her. "Any ideas?" I could not, of course, tell her mine, because they all had to do with pounding my cock into her, and nothing at all to do with 'fixing Krynn'.

Once more she shrugged, and I leaned back, cup in one hand, erection in the other, to watch the way her breasts swayed, how she ate the meal I'd gushed onto. "I am certain, over years of study and research, something ought to present itself. Mistress Synna might discover something, or I may once I have learned the lessons she has to teach."

"Synna ..." I paused in my speech to gather my thoughts, though my hand continued its pleasuring. "In my experience, while she may have reasons to do what she has and has not done, her methodologies may leave much to be desired. I am," I admitted, "loathe to interject myself into a Master-Apprentice relationship --"

"Though you're certainly not loathe to ejaculate," she murmured, teasing me even as she watched my hand stroke.

"A-hem. To interject myself into a Master-Apprentice relationship," I repeated, my lips twitching at her momentary apologetic pose and expression of contrition, "I feel that giving Mistress Synna absolute trust would be a mistake on your part."

She watched me for a few more moments, then lifted one hand to toy with one breast, forefinger and thumb slowly rolling its nipple to turgidity. "How many apprentices," she wondered, "are in need of that warning?"

I exhaled, finishing off my tea and setting the cup aside, slouching to enjoy the exhibition she was giving me. "Black Robes, none," I said. "Red Robes, some. White Robes, many."

She laughed, soft and amused, twirling up another forkful and extending her tongue to guide it into her mouth before putting her fork down and slipping her hand into her groin. "Far too trusting?"

"Mmmmph. Often," I agreed, pushing myself out a bit more so that I could see under the table, enjoy the sight of her masturbation. Within moments my breathing quickened, deepened, the flowing precum started to give little spurts of eagerness as I neared my orgasm. "Oh, Gods, Lydia," I groaned, watching her middle finger quicken on her clitoris; my eyes closed, my head lolled back, and I spattered my body with my cum.

I must have missed her movement, for the next I knew her fingers were in my hair, and her mouth was on mine. By this point I was not afraid to unleash a deep groan of pleasure at her kiss; I wanted her, I wanted all of her, forever and always, but I couldn't tell if that was me or the damned spell.

But she released me, and I managed to open my eyes in time to enjoy the curve of her rear as she pushed my plates away from in front of me, then hoisted herself up onto the table. Blinking, I looked up at her as she braced her feet on my chair, to either side of my hips, and spoke.

"I haven't ever done this sort of fine refinement," she told me. "I should be able to do it, but -- first time, you know?" She bit her lower lip in blatant uncertainty, then looked down at herself, at her thumb and forefinger stroking around the base of her clitoris. "Let me know when it's right for you, okay? I'll, I'll try to grow it slow."

Fascinated, I only nodded my head, masturbating as I watched her coax her clitoris to hardness, then stroke it into greater size. It seemed to grow glacially slow, but in only a few heartbeats it was noticeably larger.

She took her time, undoubtedly taking care she was getting it right, stroking it like a tiny penis, forefinger and thumb, using her middle finger as well as it lengthened and thickened. My own masturbation kept time with hers, and when she paused to wail herself into a wonderfully shameless orgasm in front of me, my heavier balls tightened and sprayed a second load onto my torso.

Smiling down at me, she caressed her vagina for a long few moments, as if making sure it was still fully there. "Is this arousing, shalafi?"

"Enormously," I laughed, slipping my hand down to cradle my testicles for a moment. "Though you aren't large enough, I don't think. Get the measuring chain?"

Blushing, she reached back to do so, relinquishing it to me before leaning back on both hands. I teased her for a few moments, stroking the glistening, unhooded delight, then used the chain. "An inch and a quarter -- a little more." I put fore and middle finger together, laying the curve between their knuckles against the base of her resized clitoris, and suggested, "A third of the way there?"

She nodded, then huffed, "You ... you do the stroking. I'll focus on ... mmm, the growth."

Smiling, I tossed the chain onto the table, and began stroking once more -- one hand upon her enlarging button, the other upon my own increasing engorgement; I was a full third of an inch larger than when we last measured, and getting close to producing an entire quarter-cup of semen. My testicles felt so full and heavy, all the time.

I am not certain if my attention strayed, or if there was something in me that just wanted her to have more, to be able to play with it and for her to play with me using it, but it was significantly past the length of my middle finger when I realized how large it was getting and said, "Lydia, you can -- you can stop."

She looked down, and moaned at the juxtaposition of her new pseudophallus and my hand; another moan came when I slid those two fingers into her sex and lowered my head to slide my lips around her obscenely enlarged clitoris. Her hand found my head, digits tangling in my hair as I fellated and fingered her, hips rocking at first gently, then strongly, then erratically as she orgasmed. So of course, I did it to her again, and again, and another few times, watching her expression and listening to her wail out her pleasure.

I was stone-hard and throbbing when I rose, and I knew that if I pushed into her, I'd spurt immediately; instead, I set myself between her spread thighs, gently rubbing my erection against her clitoris and reaching down. She shuddered and whined as I adjusted my position, looking down to watch as my hand curled around both of us sufficiently to stroke us simultaneously.

She came, loud and lovely; I came as well, an explosive eruption that painted her from forehead to belly button. I bent forward and panted, "I'm going to breed you again, Lydia."

"Yes please," she groaned, and pushed dishes out of her way so she could lay all the way back and, stretching her legs wide, give herself to my breeding.

---

I very much did not want him to stop at two -- not with him masturbating my thumb-thick clitoris that had to be nearing five inches in length -- but again, Dalamar's willpower is greater than mine, and he managed to withdraw before he could go for a third time. "Hey."

"Unnh."

Soft laughter was my reward, as well as an electrifying caress upon my new clitoris before he began to wipe me clean with a towel. "Sit up, caslth. We need to finish eating."

I didn't want to finish eating, I wanted to fuck, but Dalamar had a point. "Yes, shalafi." Forcing my eyelids open, I pushed myself upright, and once he was finished, was helped off the table by a most gallant gentle-being who gave me a tender kiss and settled me back into my chair before handing me my cup.

He poured himself one of water, drained it, drained the second, and then drank half a cup of tea before gathering his plates to himself and sitting back down. "So. We have been here barely a day. Since then, we have made plans to save the world --"

"The people of the world," I corrected.

"Very well, the people of the world. And examined some spells. And told a salacious tale or two."

I reached down to caress my new enlargement, feeling a shiver along the internal revision I'd been managing at the same time; Dalamar was going to get big, and I needed to be able to accommodate him, not something I thought I would be able to adapt to on the spur of the moment. "And had a truly spectacular amount of mind-blowing sex."

"Hmmm." He considered this while he examined a piece of something, potato or I don't know what, on the end of his fork. "I suppose I must grant that, but it seems of little worth."

Laughter snorted from me. "Liar. But if it is, then I suggest we work on something of value. You said you would instruct me in the making of proper braids?"

"Why, so I did. Do we finish our luncheon, and we can adjourn to the couch, where you may sit in my lap while I see if my fingers remember their patterns."

"That, my friend, for in this moment I dare to believe I might call you, at least in the privacy of only the two of us, a friend, would be a most informative pastime to enjoy."

It was his turn to snort laughter at my overblown, almost syrupy, delivery. "It is going to be a long week," he conceded.

"Oh, I think we'll make it work. Besides, the way we're going, we'll be done in five days."

"You think so?"

"Something like that. Let's face it, we can't manage to keep our hands off each other."

"Mmm. True." He looked at me with that appraising eye, and I suspected that his cock was getting hard again -- if it had even gotten soft. "Do you want to use the Lecher?"

"While I sit in your lap?" I considered the possibilities, and the help it would be in keeping him out of my yoni. "I suppose so, yes."

"Then eat up, most beautiful to me, and we can work on remembering and learning things."

I looked at him for a long moment, then blushed and lowered my head to address my food.