Amethystra Pt. 05

"Did you sleep last night?" Silvi asked after Luriia used her formal name. That wasn't usual for the dark elf.

"Not a wink," Luriia said, winking exaggeratedly.

"Go to bed," Silvi admonished the Matron Mother. "It is not fitting for you to be in such a state! Delirious with sleeplessness!"

"Delirious with need, mayhap," she responded, rushing forward again and kissing the Aesir woman. Silvi accepted the affection despite her admonishment. Still, the taller, stronger woman fended off Luriia's advances. There was a certain satisfaction with that. The living embodiment of the Goddess of Beauty, Syrune herself, could not bend Silvi to her lusts.

Before that satisfaction could take root, though, Luriia pulled away. Her red robe solidified, covering her modesty in the finest crimson fabric known to mortalkind. "My Lady," Silvi said, bowing her head. "Breakfast will be ready in short order for all of your esteemed guests."

Luriia smirked. "Maybe I want to devour something else. Someone else."

"Sleep, first, and you can have me at your leisure, my Lady," Silvi assured the woman. "Milk and honey for the Matron Mother, in her own bed, if she so desires."

She wasn't sure, but Silvi thought she saw Luriia's lips flush with color. One could never be certain with the jet black skin of a dark elf, after all. "Fine, I shall wallow in my self-indulgence until I faint from exhaustion," she said dramatically, "so long as Mistress Silviathe of the Thaneborn Aesir is at my bedside to nurse me back to wakefulness."

"It will be the best lunch you've ever had," Silvi said, leaning in to breathe the words into the dark elf's delicately pointed ear. She slid her long tongue along the length of her ear lobe, right to the pointed tip, and felt Luriia quiver against her when she did so.

"I will hold you to that," the dark elf said in hushed tones. Then, she simply melted away from Silvi, leaving her alone in the hidden passage with a burning ache in her loins and a taste for naelf flesh in her mouth.

"Fuck," she said, a rarely uttered profanity in the realms. She stormed out of the door, her blood aflame with lust. Beautiful, if sleep-deprived and haggard, guests were beginning to fill the dining hall, half a dozen eligible men and women that she would be eager to mount then and there, for all to see, were it not for her oath to Luriia.

The matron mother might not have cared that Silvi whiled away the entire morning by dancing lover to lover, but Silvi wanted to be untouched for the dark elf. Yes, the longer she went without that sort of affection, the more profound a lover she would be for the enchanting, divinely blessed elf.

"She'll kill you."

Venos shrugged, sighed. He didn't want to hear that.

"I won't be able to stop her."

"Nor I."

Venos was naked as steam drifted across his vision. The overly large man—his dear friend and the Barbarian King himself—across from him poured another ladle of water on the enchanted stones. He sat, and a pair of slender, gleaming black thighs draped across his lap. Myrynda Torvirr, the youngest sister of Luriia and High Demarchess of Rivest, god of secrets, turned her head on the bench as Hammer's massive hands rested on her obsidian skin, one hand massaging her feet, the other her calves.

"Fool-ass," she said, shaking her head. Her hair had been cropped short, but was still long enough to be styled rakishly, and the left side of her head had been shaved down to the skin. Were it not for the recent swim she'd enjoyed in the subterranean pool, lit by bioluminescent lichen and fungi, her hair might still be swept and spiked. Now, it was swept back, slick and wet and gloriously white against her skin.

"I cannot help my feelings," Venos said.

"You can deny them," Hammer said.

"You can do what you must to keep a blade of shadow from slipping between your ribs," Myrynda added.

"There is no chance she will be understanding?" Venos asked. "Are you certain?"

"Of course I'm not certain," Hammer rumbled, his thumb digging into the arch of Myrynda's foot.

The dark elf winced, then groaned in relief as his thumb erased a knot of tension within her delicate-looking sole.

"Iliari is not like Luriia nor me. She does not share easily, or well. Whatever affair you've entertained with Cyra has been at your own peril," Hammer continued. "I have sensed tension between the two of them. Are you the cause of it?"

"No," Venos said firmly. "Cyra desires a domestic life. At least, as domestic as a woman of her kind can ever want. She wants to be a mother, a warrior, a lifebringer, a nurturer, and Iliari, I believe, sees this as an antithesis of the life she has led since she left Helor's service. She does not wish to be domesticated."

"I can relate to that," Hammer said. His hand left Myrynda's calf and slid up her thigh, kneading the sleek musculature therein as his thick, strong digits inched ever higher. The dark elf arched her back, letting out a hiss of anticipation when he reached mid-thigh. "The gods have seen fit to bless me with three children, the first of which is now a man grown and a fine warrior, eager to depart his nest. It is its own adventure, parenthood, rife with fun, peril, and frustration. It takes a certain heart. Iliari may well be ill-suited to the task."

"Or she may have her own reasons to not desire the role of motherhood," Myrynda added, to which Hammer nodded.

"That doesn't make Cyra any less her wife, though," Hammer finished. It was like a slap to the face, but one Venos sorely needed. "To go behind her back is dishonorable, my friend, and you owe it to yourself, and to her—and to Cyra—to confront the truth head on."

Venos sighed. "Of course," he said, rolling his eyes. "No easy way out."

"The hard way is usually worth the effort," Hammer advised, grinning.

The half-elf stood, took his towel, and said, "Enjoy," before leaving the sauna to soak in an ice bath.

"Don't let your bits shrivel overmuch," Myrynda jibed, staring right at Venos's buttocks as he departed. They heard his laugh as the door closed.

Hammer was considering his words when Myrynda's legs left his lap. He felt them parting and looked down at the pinkish cleft, nestled like some decadent fruit framed by silken white hair.

"I thought he'd never leave," she said to her sister's husband. Hammer smirked at her as he pressed his thumb to the little gemstone stud accentuating the crest of her labia, hinting at the sensitive flesh beneath. She licked her lips as he massaged that stone in circles around her clitoris, her back arching again.

"When has an audience ever stopped you?" Hammer asked, recalling many times over the years that both the sisters Torvirr had indulged their lusts with him amidst a throng of worshipping onlookers.

"He wasn't of the right mind to enjoy a show like that," she said, batting Hammer's hand away as she deftly slid off the sauna's bench and onto his lap, straddling him. Her hand, slick with sweat and steam, reached down between them to take hold of Hammer's half-turgid member. "Godsdamn. The morning truly suits you, human."

One hand on his manhood, the other combing through his beard as she stroked him, Myrynda pressed her small breasts forward, the stiff nipples too tantalizing a target for Hammer to resist as his lips clamped down around one, then the other, fighting the mithril barbells shot through them to tug and twist with his lips and teeth. Myrynda moaned hoarsely at the savagery he visited upon her delicate peaks, but her grin grew as she felt him firmly stiffen in her hand.

Without another thought, without even another breath, she sheathed him in her loins, letting out a sharp cry of both bliss and discomfort, for Hammer was far too large for her to easily accommodate. But this was far from their first time, and Myrynda, despite her duties to Rivest and his secretive church, knew it would be far from their last.

The large man gave her a breath to settle on his manhood, his hands sliding softly up her thighs until they wrapped around her hips. His thumbs rested on the subtle bony protrusion at the front of her hips while the fingers of his massive hand wrapped around her back and buttocks. She bit her lip in response to his hold on her, draped her forearms across the thick cordage of muscle sweeping down from his neck, and let him guide her hips forward and back.

She arched her back and flexed her hips in time with his guidance, grinding herself as he guided her, feeling his immense thickness warping her depths in a not-unpleasantly uncomfortable way. Myrynda was too full of Hammer, and were she a lesser woman, she might have cried out in pain. Instead, her breath came in ragged gasps as her eyes rolled up into her head and her eyelids fluttered closed. She tangled her fingers in his long, dark hair, then pulled his face into her chest, letting him savage her breasts. His beard tickled her sensitive skin, his tongue flicking against her pierced nipples, drawing out magic in the mithril that set those small shafts of metal to humming. The vibration sent shockwaves of pleasure from her nipples to her throat, then down her spine and straight to her most intimate, sexual core.

Her body was shaking atop him, trembling with bliss. Myrynda wanted to climax then and there, but she bit her lip to bite back the cresting wave of bliss. She dug her nails into the thick muscles next to Hammer's neck and began to work her hips independently of his hands' guidance. Eventually, he took the cue and let his hands slide up her slim, tapered back, callouses coarse against her soft skin as his hands slid back down to squeeze her pert, taut cheeks.

Myrynda's hips began to rise and fall as they glid forward and back, grinding elliptically atop his impaling shaft. Her breathing began to quicken as her taut figure undulated atop her mountainous lover. His hands fully eclipsed her backside, and she felt his fingers beginning to spread her cheeks, exposing her, which evoked a grin on her face. As expected, his thick, sturdy finger pressed against her dark star, poking at the taut hole and pressing through its resistance as she relaxed.

Her head fell back, a coarse moan sang from her throat, and she began to shake atop his lap as the stimulation burst through her self-control. Her climax sundered her thoughts into disarray, and she began riding Hammer with an almost animalistic vigor. She shoved him back against the wall, her hands on his chest as she slammed her hips down harder each time they fell. Her voice cracked when she tried to cry out in pleasure, a squeak barely making it past her lips as she stared right into his deep blue eyes.

Hammer seemed completely placid, at perfect peace, but she could feel the tension in his muscles, could see how close he was by the set of his jaw.

Myrynda leapt off him, landing gracefully between his knees and grasping his shaft with both hands. She stroked him masterfully, still looking up in his now-wide eyes as his seed burst forth in thick, virile ropes. She grinned. Much of it landed on her hands, on her wrists, even on her breasts, but more still landed on his thighs and stomach.

"A plot twist," Hammer said when he caught his breath. He remained hard even as she began licking her hands clean like a decadent feline. "Why dismount?"

"Pregnancy is going around," Myrynda deadpanned. "I don't want to be next on the list. And your seed is particularly strong. I'm not sure my countermeasures would be potent enough anymore."

Hammer grinned, standing up and towering over Myrynda. She looked up at his face, her hands instinctively, blindly, going back to his still-turgid length. She turned around slowly, eliciting a grin and a growl of excitement from Hammer. A minor magic came to her mind, and without even a word, she reached back and pressed her middle fingertip to her anus.

When Hammer slid in, conjured oil eased his path, allowing him to slip in effortlessly, though Myrynda still found herself wincing and grunting, eyes screwing shut in effort to accommodate his great size. As he withdrew, she tried to steady herself, to take a deep breath, but he was soon sliding deep into her again, and for a moment Myrynda thought she would never catch her breath.

Mercifully, Hammer stopped, holding himself deep inside her and wrapping his arms around her torso. He drew her in close, and Myrynda's back arched as her head came to rest against his chest. She took a few long, deep breaths, then felt the big man's hips rocking slightly, pushing against her and pulling back swiftly, but shortly, causing her bottom to slap lightly against his hips. His cock barely moved inside of her, but the frequency of his pulsing thrusts created an intense pleasure with in her that had her crying out in pleasure yet again.

With one huge hand around her neck, the other holding her by the hip, Myrynda came again, her body shivering as she reached down to claw at her own sex. She coaxed out a much more powerful orgasm as she stroked herself, aided by Hammer's plundering manhood.

Then, it came again. And again. And again. And on and on over the next several minutes, then the next hour, as the big man manhandled her through various positions, hollowing out her backside with his pillaging member before, both of them dripping sweat, he mounted her on the floor, her feet against his shoulders and her knees against her own chest as he plowed deep and hard into her anus.

His climax was thunderous, and there was a certain magic to it that filled Myrynda with a vigor she hadn't felt in a long time. She could feel him pulsing within her, warming her core with his molten flow, and, when he finished, felt her flesh craving him, clinging to him, as he withdrew. She watched as his immense manhood flagged slowly, both of them panting, trying to recover from the physical bout of lovemaking.

It would have been a minor magic to cleanse herself of the sweat, the oil, the utter sex that was clinging to her. But as she rose to her feet, she decided to wear the atmosphere as her only clothing out of the sauna and into the bathing area. "Take care where you release yourself," she said over her shoulder. "I doubt very much that Luriia wishes to have other women bearing your children, Hammer Thunderborn."

Hammer, sitting on his haunches in the steaming sauna, nodded his head, agreeing with Myrynda's assessment as she departed him.

Hammer sat on the floor of the sauna, knees propped up and sweat dripping down his seven-foot frame as he mustered his resolve to stand up. There was an exhaustive list of his exploits over the years, of foes vanquished, lovers slaked, and nations rescued. Yet none of them compared to the titanic effort of hauling his very large ass off the floor. With a great groan, he got to his feet again, stretching high overhead and touching the ceiling as he felt his muscles unwind.

Myrynda had been a long-time lover of his, and her sister—his wife—had sanctioned the coupling due to overwhelming love and concern for her sister as the younger naelf had gone down a very dark road early in her service to the dark deity Rivest. While not wholly evil himself, the deity commanded dark and malevolent forces, living shadows, and had infused the young drow with them against her will.

It had been a work of great love and affection to bring her back from that dark place, purging her of the darkness within, of the living shadows suffusing her very soul. Iliari had been similarly afflicted, though she had taken the shadowstuff into herself willingly, eagerly, and had mastered them. Myrynda had not been so fortunate.

Once the younger naelf had been purged of her shadowy infestation, the affair between her and Hammer had continued off and on, while Myrynda had openly courted Venos and a handful of other prominent warriors, including Iliari, over the years.

Hammer could feel Myrynda pulling away romantically, though. Their intimate familiarity had lent itself to occasional romps, such as this most recent one, but they were, at best, good friends.

When Hammer left the sauna, the underground bath house, and the three story festhall west of House Torvirr, the cool air refreshed him, washing away the stifling humidity and heat. He gave the Wandering Waif an approving nod before picking his path back home. Quilin would be there to gather his things, he supposed, before taking up the road with Wolfe and Ravin. Most parents might have lamented the departure of their eldest son, but Hammer found himself excited. He could recall his first foray away from home, into an adventuring life. The thundering peaks of the Thunderborn lands in Aesir had called to him with every step, but he used the peels of thunder as a sign of his triumph, rather than a lamentation. His family was in good hands, his brother nobly at the helm of the clan and their domain, and his own father had gifted him the sword he even now had strapped to his back.

The Thunderblade was a family heirloom, passed down through countless generations. Massive and unwieldy to those without the natural strength to wield the greatsword, Hammer had used it comfortably for years now. He considered whether he might pass it down to his son, Quilin, now that he was taking up the road to adventure, but the young warrior favored smaller weapons, and often one in each hand. It would not suit him.

As an heirloom and nothing more, Hammer couldn't bear to part with hit. Perhaps one of his daughters might be worthy of the blade, but even then, he had his doubts. Both of them were proving adept at magic akin to their mother's, even the babe who still suckled at the teat.

For a moment—only a moment—Hammer lamented leaving home. A strong Aesir woman might have birthed him a child that would grow tall and mighty enough to wield the Thunderblade. He thought of Mistress Silvi, then. She was beyond her child-bearing years, but she might have been a worthy mate in years past.

He shook the troubling thoughts out of his mind. He was happy with the life he had made for himself. He loved Luriia with all his heart. Hammer would change nothing of his life, not for the sake of some family heirloom.

But that didn't change his heart, or his thoughts that it should be passed down to another Thunderborn scion.

Just like that, his mind was made. He would return to Aesir, to his homeland, to his family, for the first time in over a decade. He would give the Thunderblade to his brother, that he may pass it down to his heir. And if not him, then another Thunderborn. There were many, for they were a prominent, ancient, and powerful clan amongst the Aesir.

A smile was on his face, then, and purpose came to his stride. It occurred to him that, for the first time in a long time, he was excited for an adventure. A true adventure. How might the Aesir lands have changed in the last decade? And the last time he had been there, it was briefly, and by way of magic, so he had not seen much of his homeland.

He would ride there, he decided, nodding and grinning all the while. With Luriia at his side.

Matron Mother Luriia Torvirr took her time catching her breath, trying to master herself. It was not unusual for her to wax lustful, but this was something far beyond what she had ever experienced naturally, even when under the enchantments of Syrune herself. The Lady of Love, the Divine Beauty, encouraged her followers to embrace their carnal needs as a means of expressing love and worshipping physical beauty, and Luriia was a paragon of those qualities. It sensibly followed that her libido might be greater than those of her peers.

She thought of Miria Heartward, the elven cleric and paladin of Syrune, who had taken in Luriia and many of her friends years ago in the free city of Argentmoon. She had provided home, hope, and guidance to those who were lost or adrift in life. For Hammer, she had provided a new family, comradery, and purpose. For Cyra, she had given the woman a path to Coetae, Goddess of Sensuality, a fierce and rapacious goddess in league with Syrune, and that path had given Cyra a focus for her own carnal needs—and calling to do greater good in the world.