Champions Vol. 01

She spared a thought for her situation as the man beneath her picked up his pace, approaching climax. As she milked his shaft with her internal muscles, she wondered if she would eventually tire of sex with so many men at once. Since her first Blessing she had always been popular amongst the men and women that attended the services. Often her group would be the last to finish the Blessings. And it was always a group. She had yet to participate in a Blessing with just one man or one woman. She sometimes wondered if one person would be enough for her to enjoy it. Thinking of David she felt her pulse quicken a bit and stomach tighten. Perhaps if that one man was a Champion, she pondered.

As the man below her fired off inside her, it caused a chain reaction of climaxes that had her and the other two men riding the bliss of their orgasms as well. Swallowing the last of the seed she had collected in her mouth, she slid off the two cocks that had begun to shrink inside her. Next she cast a cleansing spell on the four of them, erasing her juices from their flagging members, and their essence from inside her womanhood and puckered star.

Sparing a moment to look for David, she was unable to find him before the next group of three pulled her gently back into their embrace.

The man below her sported a much thicker member than the last one, and she had to carefully ease herself onto it. It was a delicious tease to her already stimulated sex. She enjoyed every bump and ridge as she slid down his engorged shaft. Finally reaching the bottom, she began to match each of his thrusts with an experienced wiggle of her hips, while she worked to coat the next man's member with a liberal amount of her saliva. She knew from experience that it needed to be dripping wet if she wanted to enjoy him in her ass. Once she was sure it was thoroughly coated, she winked at him and motioned for him to take up his position behind her.

Turning to the next man waiting, she beckoned him forward with a single curved finger, giving him a sultry look. She slowed her hips as the man behind her eased his slickened rod into her ass. Once he was fully seated in her rear, she set her hips back into motion, and reached her hands around the waist of the last man. Grabbing his butt, she pulled him towards her mouth.

Wrapping her lips around his turgid hardness, she slowly licked a ring around its mushroomed head, before sliding it deep into her throat. Puckering her lips as they glided up and down his length, she gave his cock head a teasing lick on the tip each time she pulled it from her throat. Once she had set a comfortable rhythm with all three men, she removed her hands from hips of the worshiper in her mouth. However, those now free hands did not remain empty long, wrapping themselves around the cocks of the next two that would fill her. As the man behind her wrapped his own grasp around her large breasts and hard nipples, she grew even more excited.

The pace of the man below her quickened, the other two began to forcefully pound her other openings as well. She tilted her head back and opened her throat. This allowed the man standing before her to better control the penetration; and he was quick to take advantage of it. Grasping her hair tightly, he began vigorously fucking her mouth, thrusting his length in until his balls gently slapped her chin.

Closing her eyes, Laurena soaked in the pleasure of being so desired. These men were so enamored of her body they were willing to share with many others just to be with her, rather than choosing a more intimate joining with another woman. It was the part she liked most about the Blessings, the feeling of importance and value that their attentions gave her. She may not be the most skilled healer or user of magic, but she challenged anyone to find someone better at spreading Eros' love.

***

David was pissed. This was bullshit. He had saved her life, he had killed for her, he had kept her safe, and he had put up with her shit for three damn days. And here she was fucking a football team worth of guys she didn't even know...or at least the entire offense. Fuck this, and fuck her.

He stood up and stormed from the room, tearing the robe from his body and casting it to the floor as he left. Fuck this place, fuck this religion, and fuck that fucking whore. She could stay here and 'guide' all the cocks she wanted into her overused snatch. That 'little engine that could' can stay here and pull trains every night for all he cared, but she sure as shit was not coming with him.

As he got back to his room he re-dressed quickly, and then started violently packing his bag. Pausing a moment he noticed his hands shaking worse than they ever had before. Reaching into his sleeve pocket, he struggled to extract a cigarette from the pack with his unsteady fingers. Finally getting one out, he then worked to light it.

"Fuck all this shit," he said after his fourth failed attempt with the lighter.

He snatched up his pistol and belted it on, storming from the room and heading for the door to go outside.

I'm gonna get fucking hammered tonight, he decided.

Stopping a few steps from the building, he turned and went back to his room, locking the door. As he pocketed the key he admonished himself about nearly making such a stupid mistake. Just cause I'm mad about being played, doesn't mean I should let pussy make me sloppy.

As he stopped to light the cigarette, he was so deep in his anger and self-recrimination that he never noticed the group of men following him to the tavern.

*** Chapter 15: Retaliation and Revenge ***

132008MAR13 DW

Wolfsvale, Erosius

David made his way into the Howling Moons and up to the bar. The main dining room had a bare handful of patrons in it, and he didn't see the waitress from the previous night. Growing impatient, he was about the hop the bar and serve himself when the man Astinus had introduced last night as the owner stepped out from the kitchens and saw him waiting.

"Hello sir," the owner greeted him jovially, "I am sorry for your wait. Marissa is attending service this evening so it is just me at the moment. How can I help you?"

Nodding his head at the many bottles behind the bar, David asked him, "Do you have any whiskey back there?"

Puzzled the man responded, "I am not familiar with that. I brew my own ale, and I have wine and a number of exotic liquors that I get from traders who pass through. But I have never heard of 'whiskey'."

"It's a distilled alcoholic beverage made from fermented grain mash; mostly barley, corn, rye, and wheat. It's typically aged in wooden casks - which are generally made of charred white oak - and it is the nectar of the gods," David explained.

Contemplating his description, the owner pulled a dusty bottle from the back of the top shelf, and poured a measure of dark gold liquid into a small glass. "Try this," he said, placing the glass in front of David.

Taking a whiff, he quickly threw back the contents of the glass, and savored the familiar burn.

"That's the stuff, I'll take the bottle," he told the tavern owner.

Looking at the soldier in surprise, the man none-the-less handed him the bottle with a nod.

"Not many care for that stuff, and I have had a hard time getting rid of it. As a friend of Astinus you can have it on the house, no charge," the owner said. "Just be careful, it is powerful stuff."

Thanking the man, David took the bottle and glass to a table in the corner, hoping it was very powerful. He hadn't had a drink since he left the states; and after the shit-show he had just left he wanted to make sure they had to drag him out from under the table in the morning.

As he took his seat he noticed four men enter the tavern. Three wore dark cloaks with their hoods pulled low, and took seats in the opposite corner from him, where the lighting was soft and the shadows deep. The fourth man wore a more colorful cloak with the hood thrown back, and he was greeted warmly by the owner. The newcomer placed an order for the group, and then joined them in the corner.

David kept an eye on them for a while. Something just seemed off about the group, but eventually his bottle convinced him that they were no threat. About an hour, and three-quarters of its contents later, the bottle also convinced him that drinking heavily with an empty stomach and a body that had abstained from alcohol for half a year was a bad idea. He grabbed the bottle and staggered out the front door, barely making it to the side of the building before expelling the liquid contents of his stomach onto the ground.

He remained bent over in the moons-lit night for another minute, cursing his foolishness at drinking so much on an empty stomach. He should have ordered dinner as well. But the owner's words about payment had reminded David he had neither money, nor even any idea what they used for money here. Trying to decide if he could make his way to the temple's kitchen and scrounge something without seeing the priest or the whore, he almost missed the scuffling of feet behind him. Almost.

Turning he saw the four men from earlier charging at him in the partial darkness, and at the last moment he stepped out of the way of the lead one, staggering slightly. The man's missed swing threw him off balance, and the stranger slipped in the puddle of sick, falling to the ground.

Shit, am I gonna have to fight four guys when I'm piss drunk? He thought in exasperation.

Contemplating dropping the bottle in his left hand, he instead used it to block a poorly timed haymaker from the second attacker. Then he stepped in and struck the man in the throat, the fingers of his right hand curved at the second knuckle, and clenched into rigidity to transfer the greatest about of force with the small striking surface.

As the man fell to the dirt gasping and desperately trying to breathe through his damaged airway, David assessed the situation with his drink addled mind. Four on one was normally bad for the one, especially when that one was as drunk as he was. But he wasn't a normal target.

These assholes have no idea what I can do, David thought with a malicious smile. Thanks again Mr. West.

[A short side story about David and Mr. West:

The middle-aged man who owned the farm next to David's parents had always been nice to him as he was growing up. Trying to run his farm alone was hard on Mr. West, and David often volunteered to help him when he could. Mr. West was thankful for the help and David was happy for the free soda pop and candy that Mr. West always gave him when he visited. It wasn't until one day in his fifth grade year that David learned Mr. West had not always been a farmer.

David had gotten into a fight at school; although 'beat down' was a more apt descriptor for what the three older boys had done to him. When he got home he went to Mr. West's house hoping that he could stay there until it was dark so his mother wouldn't see the bruises on his face. She hated fighting, and always told him violence never solved anything. So he snuck over to Mr. West's farm, leaving a note for his parents to let them know where he had gone. But when he arrived the farmer was not pleased with David's condition.

He insisted David tell him what had happened, and grew upset as he learned that the boy had been assaulted by three older attackers.

"Didn't your Daddy teach you how to fight?" he asked the boy.

"No sir," David replied nearly in tears, "my momma doesn't believe in fighting, and my daddy says hurting other people is wrong."

"David, I love your Momma and Daddy. They are good people, and they are raising you to be a fine young man," Mr. West said. "But they are wrong. Violence solves quite a lot. And letting yourself get beat on just so some punk can feel better about himself is not the right answer. If you can keep it a secret from your parents, I'll teach you how to defend yourself," the older man offered.

David didn't like the idea of keeping a secret from his parents, but he hated the idea of getting beaten up the rest of his school career. So he nodded his agreement, and that day they began martial arts training that lasted until the day he left for college. He never learned the names for any of the moves the man taught him, but what he learned ensured that no one attacked him again without paying a very steep price.

Later, after he had returned from college and eventually decided to join the military, Mr. West came past the house to talk with him again.

"David, you know how I would never tell you where I learned all the stuff I taught you?" the now much older man asked him.

"Of course Mr. West," David said with a grin. David had constantly asked the man how he knew so much and where he had learned it, but the old man would never tell him. Eventually he had given up, and accepted that he was just lucky to be able to learn from the farmer.

"Well, I hear you are going to join the Army. And I think it's time we finally had that talk," Mr. West explained.

As they sat in the kitchen of his mother's house, the old farmer told the young one his story.

James West had been drafted into the Navy in 1970. Hardworking and studious, the country boy got the attention of a new unit that had formed less than ten years earlier called the SEALs. They only accepted the best, and were both respected and secretive. James was allowed the chance to join them, and after successfully completing their grueling selection process he found himself amongst the ranks of the navy elite.

Years passed, and James had decided to stay in the Navy after his draft time finished. He liked what he did, the people he worked with, and as tough as his job was it was still easier than working on his parents' farm. Plus, they taught him a lot of interesting things he could never learn anywhere else.

After over ten years with the SEALs, an officer came to him and asked if he was interested in joining a new Team they were forming. He would still be a SEAL, but now his job would be counterterrorism. James figured it sounded more interesting than what he was doing, so he agreed. The next ten years were very different than the last, but in some ways they were still similar. He still did PT, he still had training courses to attend, and he still spent time on the firing range. But now he did PT in civilian clothes, the courses he took taught him how to be a far more lethal warrior, and he now shot more rounds in one month than he used to in an entire year with his old Team.

He enjoyed his time with the navy counterterrorism unit, but shortly after Desert Storm he decided he was tired of the fighting. Farming was hard on your body, but killing was hard on your soul. So he retired from the Navy, and returned to run his parents' farm.

"So that's how I know what I know," Mr. West explained to a stunned David. "And if you are going to become a warrior, you need to learn some of the stuff I didn't teach you before."

The next day David began training with his mentor again, but this time what he learned was far more lethal than what he had as a child.

Mr. West taught him knife fighting, knife and tomahawk throwing, stick fighting, surveillance, counter surveillance, close quarters battle, room and building clearance, infiltration, and how to shoot every weapon in the old man's significant arsenal. For nearly a year, while David worked his way through the process of joining the Army to be an officer, Mr. West worked him through the process of becoming a very lethal warrior.]

The first guy that had charged him was off to his left, the second was writhing in the dirt at his feet, and the last two had paused their charge after he dispatched their friend with such ease. Nodding to each other, the two dropped their cloaks and pulled short swords from sheaths at their waists.

David's inebriated mind recognized the mismatched armor they wore. These assholes were fuckers of those friends he had killed...err...friends of those fuckers he had killed. Shaking his head at their stupidity, he dropped his bottle and quick-drew his pistol. Using liquor bottles as weapons was cliché anyway. Aiming at the nearer target to his right, he pulled the trigger as the two began to charge him.

Bang, Bang.

Quickly firing two rounds from the hip, the soldier ended up putting the first round in his target's chest, and the second into his forehead. As the now deceased attacker's forward momentum carried his body face first into the dirt. His compatriot stumbled and turned a shocked look at David.

Lifting the pistol from his hip and leaning into a two-handed Weaver stance, David shifted his aim to the second target. Sadly, his inebriated mind couldn't help getting a verbal jab in before punching this guy's ticket too, "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?"

As shock and horror shifted to puzzlement on the attacker's face, David squeezed the trigger. Unfortunately he had forgotten about the first attacker.

Bang.

His shot missed wide as his hands were pushed out of line by an unseen force. Fucking magic, David thought to himself as his pistol was ripped from his grasp. He really needed to learn that crap.

Realizing he was caught between two opponents, and now understanding they were armed with magic he didn't understand, in addition to weapons he did, David moved to the side. He needed to get all of them back in his field of view, and maybe recover his pistol. He had heard it land several feet away in the darkness, but was clueless as to where. I should have brought a second fucking M9 with me, he cursed himself.

Looking around, he noticed the man he had throat punched earlier had not recovered from his strike yet, and the first man that had charged him was on his feet, and drawing a club from his belt.

I guess they want to do this the old fashioned way, he thought as he reached into his pocket for his folding tactical knife. It only had a three and half inch blade, versus the two and half foot sword and the three foot club, but it was better than nothing.

Seeing what he had drawing from his pocket, the sword-wielder laughed.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to bring a knife to a sword fight," the man parroted an alteration of David's words back mockingly.

"Actually, no," David responded matter-of-factly to the man he had labeled as 'sword boy' in his head (thank you Bruce Campbell and Sam Raimi). "You would be the first."

As they approached he began to put a little more sway in his stance, exaggerating his intoxicated state. He needed every advantage in this fight, and that included being underestimated. He watched them separate to flank him, and he decided that a risky tactic was his best option. Faking a stagger toward the club-wielder that he had decided to think of as 'baby seal' because of his overly large brown eyes, he quickly planted his feet and changed his direction toward sword boy. That man had rushed at David's exposed flank, trying to capitalize on the perceived opening. David took two rapid steps toward him, flipping the knife in his left hand to a reverse grip but concealing the move with his body.

His gamble paid off. Too far into the charge to change direction or attack, 'sword boy' tried to swing through David anyway. 'Sword boy's strike didn't find his target's body, but his right wrist did find a world of pain.