Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 05

Those that were not touched by her assault gasped in horror, a couple of them turning and fleeing. The bald man glared at her and fired a bolt from his crossbow before her flames could return to shield her. She grunted when the quarrel hit her shoulder. Cyra glared at the offending object, then back at the bald man. Like some sort of hellspawn queen, fire spread out behind her in two massive wings, her horns burning menacingly as she began to levitate. In the blink of an eye, she shot forward, her hands sporting blackened talons that sank deep into the man's chest. He gasped, his eyes glossing over as blood spurted from his mouth.

He crumpled to the ground in a limp heap. Fire wrapped around Cyra, hugging and caressing her like a lover, and slowly faded away. The last to fade was the crown above her horns, and the tiefling took in a long breath, savoring the suddenly cool air as it filled her lungs. She opened her eyes and turned back to the Dreaming Dragon, and several patrons lifted up a cheer for the tiefling, while others stared at her with a mixture of fear, curiosity, and outright terror. And there were a few that eyed her with simmering gazes. It took her a moment, but the cool air grazing her skin alerted her of her nudity. To her chagrin, Lura's fabulous gown had burnt away.

Pursing her lips in a half-smile, half-thoughtful expression, Cyra strode with a confident gait back into the tavern, her breasts bouncing merrily in their liberty. She elicited several gazes, gasps, and delighted expressions, but ignored them as she ascended to the second floor, where her and Samon's apartment was. She needed new clothes, after all.

*****

Cyra was wearing loose cotton pants, a pair she had taken from Samon's drawer, and her tail curled freely over the top of the waistband as she sat on their bed, tending her wound. She winced as she applied a cleansing agent and felt it burning away any trace of infection. The creak of the front door only barely pulled the bare-breasted tiefling's attention from her wound. She knew it was Samon, she could sense it somehow.

"I heard about the attack," Samon said, his voice low. "I'm sorry I was not here, Cyra."

"There was nothing you could do," she said curtly as the burn in her shoulder wound slowly died off. "I handled myself fine."

"Of that I have no doubt," Samon said, smiling as he approached. She offered him only a passing glance. He wore, as was norm of late, the finest clothing he could find. Such were the perks of nobility, she mused. Garbed in black, gray, and navy blue, with a finely groomed head of short hair and neatly trimmed goatee, Samon was certainly very handsome. But Cyra was hardly interested in him at the moment. He had been gone too much of late, and her fancy had faded thanks to that. She might fuck him later, sure, but he'd have to do some serious work to get there.

He sat next to her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder and looking at her wound. "That looks bad," he said, his fingers trailing from her shoulder to the back of her neck. "And what happened to your horns?"

"They grew," she said curtly, "and it's not that bad. Only a flesh wound and already on the mend. What are you doing back at the Dragon, don't you have business at the Manor?"

"Yes, but I came to check on you," he said.

"A shame it took an assault on our home to get your attention," she said, seizing a loose white blouse and pulling it over her head. She stood and moved to the door before he could respond. "I have business downstairs. I'm meeting Ambrusia to discuss last night and what we're going to do about it."

"Perhaps you should let the authorities deal with it," Samon said.

"Haven't you heard?" Cyra asked, folding her arms under her breasts. "Lura was put in charge by High Lord Beresant. We are, effectively, the authorities." With that, she left, and Samon cursed under his breath.

*****

Loviatar, the cruel bitch of a goddess that she was, was well known as the Maiden of Pain. Samon was impassive as he watched her minion at work in the basement of the Armanov Mansion. Korina was pacing like a caged animal. Like the depictions of her goddess, the black-haired woman had pale skin, large breasts stuffed into a black bustier, and long, thick thighs that looked like they would suffocate a man. She was beautiful in a brutal, painful sort of way. Scars ran the length of her back and a ring of scars graced her left leg, several inches above her thigh. A product of her induction into Loviatar's church, no doubt. A whip trailed the ground behind her.

Stuffed into stocks for some punishment or another, Samon could honestly not remember what for, another woman silently accepted her fate. He recalled something about stealing, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. The whip cracked, there was a stifled groan, and Korina looked at Samon with a lust-fueled glare. She got off on her tasks, and he knew it. Even now, stuffed into her pussy, a pulsating, rubbery object was shifting about as she paced. A thin stream of pearly liquid was visible in the dim candlelight on her thigh. He held up her hand at the precise moment the Painbringer raised her whip for another strike. Pretending not to see it, she brought it down across the woman's back anyway. Samon stood and watched the long, angry red welt rise up on the woman's flesh.

"That is enough, Korina," Samon said. The raven-haired woman smiled at him like a predator.

"Your turn?" she asked hopefully. He smirked, then waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, your loss." She stuffed her hand into the leather clad about her loins and removed the quivering mass that had been stuffed within. She walked over to him, the drenched phallus presented. He could smell her pungent odor, and while it was not the delightful aroma he was used to, the strong odor elicited that primal part of him...

He shook his head, then nodded to the side, where her expansive, underground chamber waited. She pursed her lips at him even as he moved toward the wench in stocks. The woman looked up at him with moist eyes, and smiled. He ran a hand over her smooth-shaven head, then unlocked the padlock that detained her. She slowly extricated herself, and Samon could hear her back popping. He'd lost track of how long he'd kept her down here. Then, to his surprise, the bald woman lunged at him. He noticed for the first time that she was naked, and her breasts, big enough for his palm to cradle, bounced as she fell to her knees. She was thin, waifish, but had a wiry beauty. If not for the fresh welts, some of them bleeding, he might consider her well enough to fuck.

But even before he could push her away, her hands were lunging for his trousers. "Damn it, Korina," he said. She'd given the captive lustvenom. It was a brew that his own alchemist had created as an aphrodisiac, but had proved too potent to distribute as a legal substance. Without delving on the details, he let the woman act out her strongest desire. She pulled out his cock, flaccid from disinterest, and sucked hungrily. Her hands grasped the base of his shaft, covering the small thatch of trimmed hair above his member.

He noticed several pinpricks, one of them with a fresh bead of blood, and cursed again. Korina had kept the thief doped up on the lustvenom since her arrival in the cellar-prison. There was no telling what sort of depraved things the painbringer had forced on the poor thief. A flash of pity, then nothing again. His cock was responding to the physical sensation of her hot mouth, and clumsy tongue and he could feel his slowly hardening member going deeper and deeper into her mouth. Her oral attack stuttered as the broad head of his cock slammed into the back of her throat, a couple finger-breadths of the shaft still exposed. She made another attempt, gagged, then finally forced his cock into her throat. He grinned malevolently as her neck bulged weirdly.

Succumbing to his carnal desires, he pushed the bald woman away, pushed her back into the stocks, then slammed the wooden prison shut around her neck and wrists. But lust still burned in the woman's eyes and he complied by forcing his cock into her mouth. Without any way to stop him or control his movements, she simply accepted his manhood. He forced himself into her throat. It was painful at first, but eventually she relaxed herself enough that he was pressing against her esophagus without more than normal tribulation. Spit and precum oozed from her mouth, coating his hefty sack as it smacked against her narrow chin.

He jerked himself out of her mouth, leaving her gasping and still prepared to accept him orally. Samon stalked around behind the woman and examined her backside and exposed nethers. She had certainly taken a beating from Korina, and not just from her whip. Her pussy was red and swollen, her fuckhole distended. She'd taken something huge, much bigger than his own prick. Her asshole was still plugged with something black and solid-looking. He touched the flat surface, felt it's metallic texture, and started sliding the object out. He subconsciously decided he needed to have a chat with Korina as he watched her asshole stretch beyond its limits. A howl that sounded like a mix of agony and ecstasy erupted from the woman's throat, and when he finally removed the object, he realized it was something akin to a horn's mute. The black metal gleamed with something viscous, slowly sliding down the narrow tip to the base of the object, which was as broad as Samon's fist. A narrow section connected it to the flat part, where he now held.

He stared at her anus, which was not quite ready to return to its puckered shape. So he took advantage of that, pressing the head of his phallus into her distended bowels. She hummed to herself as he took up a methodical pace. He didn't bother with any of the things he normally would have done for Cyra: he left her clitoris alone, didn't bother fondling her handful breasts, and certainly wasn't about to play with her hair. He simply fucked her ass and nothing else. Then her body went limp.

Samon sighed, pulling his shaft out of her ass. She slumped to the ground, pushing the unlocked stocks away and falling unceremoniously on her face. The worst part about lustvenom was its common side-effect of leaving its user unconscious at random intervals. The woman would likely awake and remove herself from his private dungeon. Scowling with unspent lust, Samon turned to Korina's private chambers.

Without bothering to knock, he forced the door open, his erect cock protruding plainly. She had been expecting him. Steel rings cinched around her long, rubbery nipples. He reckoned them about the size of a halfling's toe. Her thighs were spread and he could see red marks where she'd lashed herself with...something. Her pussy gleamed wet, and her anus was plugged with something that looked a lot like what he'd pulled out of the bald woman. A thick rod was in her hand, something made of quartz by the look of it, and she was tugging on her thick clitoris. Samon figured, not for the first time, that she had come from some sort of barbarian clan. She was thick of limb and her midsection was not svelte like Lura's or taut like Cyra's. It was strong, thick with muscle and a bit of fat. Her thighs were the same, and her breasts were bulbous things perched between broad shoulders and strong arms.

"It's about time," she snarled. She put the rod to her pussy and arcs of lightning shot into her flesh. She grunted and bit her lip so hard blood trickled down to her chin.

Samon decided his lecture could wait. He marched forward, seized her by the backs of her knees, and plowed his cock into her cunt. The piercing on the hood of her clit bounced as he slammed repeatedly into her. He took hold of the obsidian stud attached to a steel ring and jerked it upward, pulling her clit with it. She howled with delight, touching the quartz rod to her metal-encircled nipple. Lightning danced onto the steel and into her nipple, then bounced to the next nipple and its steel ring. She grunted and repeated the electrical surges over and over again, timing them with Samon's hungry thrusts. It wasn't long before her body seized up from a combination of electrical overload and orgasm, and she felt Samon's body tense similarly. He jerked his cock out of her pussy and spurted viscous cum onto her large breasts and stomach. Grinning, her orgasm was a small one but left her with a warm, contented sensation.

Samon backed away, his rapidly softening member glistening with a mixture of viscous nectar and his own cum. Korina grinned up at him, pearly white cum starting to drip from her savaged canal. He scowled.

"Do not abuse my prisoners, Korina," he said. "I value my employees more than these trysts. If I find my peddlers injured anymore, it will be your hide."

"Yes, Lord Armanov," she said, idly scooping cum from her pussy to savor his flavor.

****

The gentle sway of Lura's buttocks had Calafein's attention. She and the barbarian, Hammer, had just left Celise and him alone. The moon was full and the sky was clear. He looked up at Selûne and her winking tears, but his gaze was inevitably drawn back to the translucent, almost gauzy backside of Lura's red robe. He could all but see the crack of her ass, and he was a man—a drow—that appreciated a good backside. Celise drew him from his mesmerized state by firmly gripping his own backside.

"Keep your eyes on your lover," she purred, pressing herself against the leather-clad warrior. His sword belt hung on a low branch next to the small pool of water where the four had taken a late supper. There was nothing cinching his leather breeches tight, and thus nothing to keep her questing hand out of his trousers. Her nimble fingers, the fingers of a swordslady and a mage, grasped his cock as her soft lips left faint violet marks on his neck. Turning to face her, Calafein put a hand on her cheek and lifted her face to his, his tongue delving deep into her warm mouth. And just like that, Lura was a forgotten name in his mind.

Celise's right hand stroked softly at his impressive member while her left buried itself in the white shock of hair that fell haphazardly about his shoulders. The seasoned warrior, a full two hundred years her senior, almost purred into her mouth as her fingers tickled his neck. Grinning wolfishly, he slid his strong hands to her slender shoulders. He slipped the thin straps that held her sheer white, form-hugging dress off her shoulders and, with naught more than a whisper, it pooled around her feet. She stood naked facing her lover, breasts taut and firm in the cool night air. Her nipples, onyx studs atop mounds of a slightly lighter black, were rigid and protruding. She looked into his crimson eyes, bit her lip and slowly stepped backward. Rough bark pressed into her soft back and a breeze that wasn't there before whipped around her gently, tossling her hair.

Calafein's hands worked with practiced ease. His leather hauberk fell to the ground, followed shortly by the tunic he wore beneath it. Azure lines crossed here and there on his chest and chiseled abdomen, a gift from the Spellplague. His spellscar winked in the moonlight as his arousal continued to grow. A spark of azure flame danced along one particularly long scar from just below his left chest, all the way to his right shoulder. Celise watched him methodically approach, stalking her like a wolf. She could feel herself dampening at the sight. Moisture clung to her nether lips and spread to her closed thighs.

Her gaze hungrily devoured his body. He was a stunning figure of drow masculinity. With a strong jaw, rippling musculature, and the look of a seasoned warrior, he was the type of man that human women read about in novels and Matron Mothers commanded in the bedchamber. Celise, of course, had been neither. Her brief tenure as a High Priestess in Menzoberranzan ended abruptly a decade ago when she had been discovered consorting with spies from the surface. Her flight had been quick and she was never given an opportunity to gather any belongings or money. Celise's first few weeks on the inhospitable surface of the post-Spellplague world were destitute and hopeless. It wasn't until goodly drow found her that she found any sliver of hope. It was also then that she had met Calafein.

She pushed the past out of her mind and focused on the drow in front of her. He had untied his breeches and she could see the clean-shaven expanse just above the hilt of his cock. Then she saw the bulging form straining at the leather prison. Silently thanking Tymora for smiling upon her, she licked her lips as Calafein stopped to thrust his breeches down. His cock sprang out, rigid and thick, shot through with veins, some of them glinting azure in the starlight. It was the first time she had encountered such a phenomenon, when she first gazed on his member. The way he told the story, the Spellplague touched him in the throes of love-making with a past lover. The blue fire shot through his chest, down his abdomen, and into his manhood. And thanks to this, what most considered a curse, Calafein considered a blessing.

His cock curved slightly to the right and up at its most rigid state, something that had always pleased Celise beyond reckoning. Longer than the length of his hand and as thick as three of his strong fingers, he was easily the most well-hung drow she'd met in her comparatively short life. Recalling her days in Arach-Tinilith, where all drow females were sent to begin their training as a high priestess of Lolth, she'd known more than her fair share of cock, drow and otherwise. Calafein surpassed them all, not by size, but by skill and enjoyment.

Then he was upon her, and Celise regretted that her mind had wandered so during his approach. His hands were cupping her face and hers were on his manhood, stroking slowly with both hands and feeling a distinct tingling sensation from his spellscar in the process. She lifted his cock vertical and pulled him close. When she had it flat against her slim stomach, she slowly knelt, her back sliding against the rough bark, to her knees. His cock was nestled between her breasts, and as if instinctually he began to thrust slowly between them. Excited by the sight, she pressed her breasts together. She knew she wasn't as well endowed as Lura was, but her girls were good enough at stroking Calafein's cock. Celise didn't spend too much time doing it though. Quickly enough, she abandoned stroking him with her breasts, wrapped both her hands around his cock, and began to kiss and lick up and down the length of his shaft.

Calafein put one hand on the tree behind his lover and the other at the back of her head, feeling her silky smooth, silvery hair caressing his calloused hands. Straight and smooth, her silver hair formed a pristine veil around her face, and he watched as her mouth opened and his prick slowly slid past the barrier of her lips. She looked up to him with joy in her eyes as they glinted in the moonlight, the head of his cock encased by her warm mouth. When she looked away, she immediately began to suck more of his shaft into her mouth, until his impressive member pressed against her throat. Looking back up to him, she relaxed her throat as she'd learned and slowly accepted his meaty cock further into her throat. He groaned, clenching his eyes and teeth as her lips pressed against his hilt. He even grunted aloud when her tongue slid out, just barely, to press against his heavily swaying sack.

She began to slowly, methodically slide her head back and forth, her tongue sliding back and forth across the underside of his cock while she repeatedly throated him. Calafein's breath shortened into quick gasps as Celise's tongue worked magic along the thick, spellscarred shaft in her mouth. He could feel a pleasant tingling in his loins, and felt his cock vibrating slightly against her tongue. She began to hum as her head bobbed back and forth, making a blissful melody that tickled at his sensitive underside.