Feldare Tales: High Society Ch. 01

"Yes," she agreed again.NO! NO! NO! a small voice in her head said, even as she leaned in closer.

She was over a foot from him and his pole was nearly reaching to her. Crissa looked at one side then the other, noting the large, thick veins that covered the mostly smooth surface and the foreskin that covered the head. Men of the Western Realms were almost all circumcised; this was the first foreskinned penis she had seen.

"Touch," the Coghlander said.

Her eyes went up to his face as he spoke, then immediately focused upon his cock again.

Crissa tentatively raised her right hand and wrapped it about the shaft of his organ midway between the head and base. Before she could think, she said. "I can't even get my fingers around its girth." Crissa playfully pushed the foreskin back, revealing the swollen head beneath. It stayed put when she let go, held back by the swell of the ridge behind the head.

He looked down, and indeed, there was a gap of almost half an inch between her thumb and middle finger.

Moisture was joining the heat between her thighs. "You like?" the Coghlander asked, and once again, her body betrayed her mind by nodding. "You know how cocksuck?" he asked, using a crude word, but quite adequate for describing the action he wanted her to take.

NO! NO! NO! NO!her mind shouted as she opened her mouth and took the huge head into herself. Her jaw popped as she opened it far enough to take him in. She already tasted precome, even now, and knew this would be a very juicy man. The skin of his pole was soft like silk and hot as it slid over her tongue.

Her other hand joined the first and she began stroking the long thick shaft with both. The Coghlander said something she did not understand, and his powerful, massive hands held to the back of her head. He was definitely a moist man, and she was obliged to swallow several times to keep breathing.

I'm sucking a stranger's cock in an alley, Crissa thought,I'm such a whore.

The Coghlander grunted and his hands locked into place behind her head. She readied herself and expected it when her mouth was flooded with gout after gout of semen. Crissa feared for a moment she would choke on it, so copious was the flow, but it subsided quickly, leaving her only a few trickles around the edge of her mouth to lap up.

He sighed, pulled her upright, and kissed her, apparently not minding the taste of his own seed on her lips. With no visible effort, he picked her up and laid her over the barrel.There it is, she thought, smiling at having been right, after all. Soon her dress was up under her arms and he was burying his tongue into her opening.By the one, even his tongue is large.

The big Coghlander lifted her rump from the barrel and began to suck and lick her entire lower groin, from her anus to her clit, and back. She groaned in pleasure as he thrust his soft, thick tongue into her backside then again into her cunt. In moments, she grabbed his head and held his mouth to her as she ground her cunt into his mouth, then screamed as she climaxed. "One protect! Take me you barbarian!" exclaimed Crissa, pulling his hair and trying to pull his head up to hers, to lay him over her body.

The redheaded man obliged willingly, moving up her until he was directly over her body, lying draped over the barrel. He lifted his kilt again and held it up as he aimed his rod at her entrance. She felt the head of his cock trying to open her and her face took on a look of momentary fear as he did so, stretching her wide open in the process. His cock had been thicker than her wrist at midpoint, but was much thicker, still, at the head, and toward the base.

As inches slid into her well-lubricated cunt, she groaned, feeling now more opened than she had ever felt. She loved Wenn, it was true, but he could not open her like this, and definitely could not drive into her with the fury that this man was releasing. His massive arms corded as he pulled her down onto his cock, impaling her on his length. She grunted as her pelvis slammed into his.

It hurt a little, she had to admit, but it felt good a LOT. He drove into her repeatedly, hammering her body with blow after blow from his powerful thrusts. All the muscles in his thighs and arms worked together to drive him into her as much as he pulled her into him; the barrel creaked in protest at the rocking motion. Again, she felt her muscles lock up as another climax overtook her, then another. She screamed out each time, calling out obscenities and demanding more. "Fuck me harder, man, HARDER!" she screamed.

The Coghlander smiled and happily complied with her wishes. Grabbing each leg with one hand, he lifted them until he was standing with them pulled to his chest and her shoulders on the barrel. With a grunt, he drove into her in this new position and knocked the wind from her as his cock bottomed out. "YES!" she screamed, "Like that!"

Another orgasm gripped, her, the master of the others she had experience so far. Her hands gripped his wrists and she helped add to the thrusts, lifting her shoulders from the barrel as she came, he rammed into her one last long stroke and she felt his come pour forth, even as her own climax subsided.

Crissa could feel each pulse of semen as it filled her womb, and there were many. She sighed with each, slumping back onto the barrel as he held her legs locked to his chest, spending into her. He moaned with each pulse of the fluid into her, and sighed contentedly as the last shot forth. He sat her down gently as his knees tried to buckle beneath him.

He moved down to his knees, his organ withdrawing from her and sliding out. Her cunt felt empty now, like something was missing, and she groaned in protest at the absence. "Please, tell me you're not done," said Crissa.

She lay there panting, and feeling the warm rays of the sun on her exposed thighs and pussy. The Coghlander stood up, finally, and sat on the crate again, his cock still half erect and forming a gentle arc out from his body and then down. "You want more?" he said, disbelief marking his features.

Crissa sat up, smiling. "Not really," she said. "I think more might do permanent damage." Then she laughed. "I'm going to hurt for a week over what we just did."

He grinned at her. "Sorry," he said insincerely. "If there another time, I go slower," he informed her. For a long moment he thought, and then said, "My name is Douglas."

She giggled at that. "I do suppose we've not been introduced. My name is Crissa."

"Is short for?" he asked.

Crissa stood up, her knees were still wobbly, but manageable now. "Just Crissa, my parents didn't believe in long names."

"You live in Norboro?" asked Douglas.

She tried to straighten her hair. "I do now, I've lived here a week."

His face grew saddened. "You just get here and I have to go," he said. "My unit loose contract, and we leave on morrow."

Crissa's face grew saddened, as well. "That's sad. Where are you going?"

"Crystern Islands, big war there with Theocracy," he said in his pidgin Westron.

"Oh, my. May the One protect you," she said reflexively. She had heard that the Crystern Chain was a meat grinder of a war, and that most men who went there never returned.

He nodded solemnly. "Yes," said Douglas. "I want thank you, though."

"For what?" asked Crissa, avoiding the obvious reason a man might be thankful right about now.

He smiled wanly. "You give me good memory to take with me," he said. Then in a conspiratorial whisper said, "You only woman I make love with in Westron lands. You first tall beautiful one I saw."

Crissa blushed at his continued compliments, even though he had already gotten what he wanted from her. "Happy to be of service," she said, winking. She looked about, though, noting the shadows on the walls about her. "Oh, my. It's gotten late, and I need to get home," she said, noting that it was almost suppertime and she was the cook this evening.

He nodded. "Thanks again," he said, and held out her wicker basket of supplies to her.

She kissed him heartily, pressing to him again and suckling upon his tongue for a long moment, then smiled as she took possession of the basket. "Thank you, and be careful," she said.

"I will," he replied, "Got something to come back to Westron lands for." He grinned broadly at her and Crissa blushed again, turning to walk out of the alley.

When she had gotten home, Wenn was terribly upset; rumors of a random spat of unexplained sexual promiscuity had already spread throughout town. She had completely forgotten that without the wards, her orgasms would send forth great pulses of unbridled lustful emotions to all and sundry for dozens of yards around.

"Wenn, we never promised anything to each other," she said defensively as he stomped up the stairs to their room. He had just announced that he was going home. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and she sobbed gently.

"I will speak to him," said Marrat. "He does not understand you fully, my dear."

"I don't even understand me fully, Master Marrat," said Crissa.

"I know dear. Just give him a while and let me talk to him." Marrat patted her shoulder and went up the long winding stair to the turret bedroom.

She was never sure what Marrat had said to him, but after that, Wenn did not get mad about her indiscretions. She was not terribly frequent with them, but they did happen. It bothered her, though, to know she was hurting him, even if only a little.

Now, when it came down to it, she was a little jealous of him going out with another girl. She had to remind herself that she had, indeed, started it, so should still her tongue and comfort herself that it was for the best.You know he loves you, she thought, and you love him. Then another voice in her head, a meaner voice, said,now, if only you could keep from bedding every good-looking man you came across. Her head shook miserably and watched Wenn dress in one of his better outfits and preen in the mirror over their dresser.

---

Wenn had left for his 'date' over three hours ago, and Crissa was growing restless. Little flashes of what might be happening kept flickering through her mind. Unlike the incident with the Coghlander, these were simply her jealousy and imagination ganging up to beat up her insecurity.

She sighed and sat up, and then walked to her wardrobe. Peering inside by the flicker of the single candle lighting their turret, she pulled forth the 'elven style' dress that Wenn had bought her soon after they had arrived in Norboro.

Crissa looked at it for a long moment, then slid off her long peasant's dress. The mirror reflected her nude form and she smiled. Slowly, with deliberate care, she donned the elven dress, watching herself do so, in a form of reversed striptease. Elven dresses showed when one wore a loincloth, for those who knew about such, and she did not. She turned about, craning her neck to see the results on her backside. She admired the finished product.Not bad, if I say so myself.

She chided herself for doing something so naughty; like wearing a dress Wenn gave her on the one night he was not about to appreciate it. Then she flipped her long straw-colored hair over her shoulder and plaited it into three long, neat rows, again elven style.

"You're too tall to be a elf," she said to herself, then giggled and unplaited her hair. No, she would not be quite so elven as that. Enough that she was wearing the scandalously short skirt with no undergarments.

If only I had the temerity to go out like this, she thought to herself.

---

Men turned to stare as she entered the tavern. Crissa had intentionally selected a small tavern with a very small clientele; she was not yet up to presenting herself half-naked to a large crowd.

It was a seedy little place, built of clapboards and only one story, without even any rooms to let. It was purely a place to imbibe alcohol, and served no food, even.

They gazed at her long cloak and turned back to their drinks and conversations with one another and the handful of other women who were here.

"Take your cloak, miss?" the bartender asked, pointing toward a long pegboard inside the door. She smiled sweetly and turned her back to him. He slipped the cloak off her shoulders as she untied its neck strings. Many men's eyes found cause to return to the doorway now; she was still wearing the elven outfit. A few men among the crowds' eyes widened at the sight and there were even a few murmurs of appreciation. She felt a low-key rush of desire wash over her and through her mind. With a broad smile, she stroked the bartender's hand as he moved toward the pegboard. This elicited a quick pang of desire from him, which she mentally lapped up like a kitten drinking milk.

She walked on into the tavern and slid onto a stool toward the end farther from the doorway. Upon sitting, a young man approached her. "Buy you a drink, miss?" he asked.

Crissa regarded him. "If you wish it," she replied, gracing him with a broad smile. The almost boyish rush of pleasure and relief that emanated from him made her smile even more broadly and turn toward him. "My name is Crissa," she said, bowing her head slightly, something else the people of the duchy had picked up from the elves in the last few years.

He nodded a quick bow in return. "My name is Charel," he replied. "I've never seen you about. Are you new in town?"

"Somewhat," said Crissa. "I've been here for four months now."

"Then you must have been hidden away, for had I seen you before, I would remember," said Charel, smiling.

"I am one of Marrat's apprentices," she said. "The old man keeps us quite busy most of the time." She took a long look at Charel, he was a tall lad, and slim, probably her own age or near it. She liked his hair. It was curly and laid upon his skull like a cloth cap. He also had appealing gray eyes, rather unusual in a Westron.

His eyes widened. "Marrat's apprentice?" he asked. "Wow. Then you are a wizard in training?"

"In a manner, yes," she said with a smile. "But fear not, my powers are feeble." She felt a short burst of panic cross from him to her, then relief at her disclaimer of power. An inward smile formed on Crissa's mental lips. Slowly, over a few minutes, his mood again turned back toward desire, and she felt that swell inside her as she absorbed the free-flowing lust from the aether.

Charel and she chatted for a long while, talking of this and that and about her apprenticeship and his apprenticeship to a local tailor. "I may have made that outfit," he said. "Does it bear a label?"

She thought for a moment then said, "I believe it does." Almost negligently, she lifted the hem of the skirt and peered at the inner seam, indeed there was a label, and he peered at it and nodded. "I did," he said as she felt a fresh and more powerful wave of desire strike her mind like a wave coming in during a tide. She glanced down to see that from where he sat, he had a clear view of her pubic hair, if not her actual entrance.

Crissa blushed profusely at the realization and put her hem back into place atop her thighs. A tiny pang of sadness shot through the aether and she smiled to know he wanted to see more. She looked toward Charel and smiled, seeing him blushing as well.

"I should tell you, good Charel," said Crissa, a seriousness coming into her expression, "I am a mentalist, and can feel some of your stronger emotions." She gave him another broad smile that she hoped was disarming.

He nodded slowly. "I feared I was an open book to you, but find myself surprised at how open," said Charel. "I hope I've not given offence with my thoughts."

She narrowed her eyes a little and let one side of her mouth quirk upward. "I'm still speaking with you, aren't I?" she asked.

A wash of relief settled over her and she sighed to feel such a pure emotion in such abundance. Relief had no 'flavor' and it was like cleansing one's palate after a sip of wine meant for tasting. Now that her mental palate was clear, she turned to him again.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" asked Crissa.

A strong feeling of excitement slid over her mind and a fair amount of desire again. She luxuriated in the strong emotional current and turned herself to step down off the stool. As they came to the door, the bartender helped her don her cloak again and, arm in arm, she and Charel walked out into the darkened street. She let herself swell with the pride that Charel emanated as people turned to watch the couple move down the street. If he was proud to be with her, then she was proud of herself.

---

Wenn's mind kept seeing Crissa. He even caught himself three times thus far trying to say her name in place of Shanelle's. Shanelle was charming, in her own way. Pretty, petite, and quite intelligent, he found. She also had an uncanny ability to keep the topic of conversation firmly away from anything to do with Crissa.

They were walking down the boardwalk on the Ryss River. Riverboats were moored to the docks and longshoremen were busy offloading and loading freight. It was a fun place to walk though, as many impromptu merchants set up shop right off the boat, at least until the guards came and chased them off or got their bribe money. Shanelle was wearing a one-piece elven cut dress and the short hemline and the high-heeled boots she wore in addition very well displayed her long legs. This outfit and her natural good looks caused many a longshoreman to decide it was time for a minutes' break as she passed.

"I've never spoken at length to a wizard before, Wenn," said Shanelle. "Do you know any spells?"

Wenn smiled and nodded. "But nothing very impressive," he amended. "Would you like to see?"

She smiled broadly. "Oh, yes," she said, excitement suffusing her lovely face.

Wenn passed his hand over her hair, incantating as he did so. She smiled, but her face was rather confused looking as he stepped back and smiled at her.

"What did you do?" she asked, touching her hair, then gasped as she realized it was now braided in a very tight braid, close to her skull and intricate of design. "Interesting, a coifomancer," she giggled.

He smiled at that. "I can do more showy, if you like, but you need to keep in mind that you're asking me to do it," he said, a hint of warning creeping into his voice.

Her brown eyes glinted in the torchlight of the riverfront docks. "Okay, I will keep it in mind," said Shanelle, a bit of flirt in her eyes.

They walked a little ways down the docks, to where no boats were moored and he began incantating again. She saw nothing happen when he stopped, and regarded him with a look of concern. "And what did you do to me this time?" she asked.

He walked her to the water's edge, where she could see her reflection in the river water by peering over the dock's lip. "My dress is blue now!" she exclaimed. She looked at Wenn with wide eyes. "How long does it last?" asked Shanelle.

"Until I change it again, or someone dispels the magic," replied Wenn. "You do like blue, or do you have a preference for another color?"

She nodded. "I like purple, most of all," she said. "But no one about these parts had any purple cloth when I commissioned this dress."

Wenn snapped his fingers and she looked down at her now royal purple dress. "There," he said, grinning. "Let me know if anyone dispels it."

She giggled. "You'll hear them scream when I pinch them for taking my purple away," she said. "One more trick, please?" she begged.

Wenn thought a moment. "Mind something a little less obvious, but much more potent?" he asked.

She nodded. "Sure, I want to see real wizardry," said Shanelle, her eyes again sparkling and with a tiny tremble in her voice. She knew she was walking on the thin ice now, and it was thrilling her. He cast his most potent spell upon her.