Cinder and the Season of Monsoons

Note from the author: I originally posted this on elsewhere a while ago, but it's one of my favorite shorts that I've written and too fun not to share more widely. Hope you enjoy!

Cinder and the Season of Monsoons

Part 1: Honey and Sand

The desert spilled down the face of the dune in sandy rills as Cinder gained the crest of the rise. Booted feet on the wind-sculpted edge, she squinted into the distance, shielding her eyes with a hand and staring hard at the line of the horizon. She glared as if she could force Mansuriyahh into existence by the strength of her irritation alone.

Annoyingly, the city continued to not be there. The elf pulled the black keffiyeh she wore tight around her face and sighed through the cloth. The worst day on the trail is still better than the best day being someone's quest bitch, she reminded herself, trying to ignore the chaffing. Honestly, the desert wouldn't be so bad if there was just a liiiiittle less sand in it.

She picked her wedgie and prepared to head for the next in a seemingly endless series of dunes when a sparkle of distant green caught her eye. The color was stark and bright against the red-brown of the sea of endless sand, and it drew her keen elven eyes like a lodestone.

Cinder rummaged through her pack and brought out a map. She'd met an itinerant merchant on the trail two days ago, and had traded him for it. The desert sun had long since dried the evidence of their deal, but the pungent aroma of his spend still lingered on her skin and crusted her hair. She'd long passed the point of smelling herself, which was fortunate since she barely had enough water to drink, let alone to waste on washing up.

The elf's expression soured to a frown as she regarded the square of creased parchment. The map made no mention of an oasis in the area, and she'd passed a marker half-buried in the sand a few miles back so she knew she was headed in the right direction. Maybe the map was wrong, or out of date? Maybe the patch of green was nothing more than a mirage, a trick played on her eyes by heat and distance? Whatever. Either way, Cinder was willing to take a chance if it meant a break from the tedium of endless sand.

By the time Cinder reached the oasis, the light of the setting sun gilded the dunes, turning the waves of sand rose gold and pink. Cinder paused at the edge of the oasis, hesitating at the point where the sand bled into grass. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side thoughtfully, considering her options.

The sound of birdsong and babbling water came from somewhere within the verdant lushness of the foliage, and the evening air was perfumed by jasmine and the sharp sweetness of citrus. Her pointed ears picked up the snorting rustle of a pig trundling through the undergrowth, and the distant drone of buzzing indicated the presence of a beehive somewhere in the trees. She spotted a few small monkeys perched among the palms. They watched her with curious eyes.

"Not a mirage," she decided, although she felt the odds were pretty good that the place was some kind of trap meant to lure unwary travelers. "Lucky I'm so wary," she muttered as she stepped into the trees.

The chance to refill her waterskins—and more importantly to take a bath—was too good to pass up. Cinder liked the feeling of come on her skin as much as the next elf, but she really didn't want to show up in Mansuriyahh smelling like an ogre's spunk-sock. Maeryll would definitely make some kind of remark, and after this long in the desert, Cinder was in the mood for neither sassin' nor hasslin'.

She picked her way through the palms with the surefooted grace of an elf in the woods. Cinder caught glimpses of old, worked stone in the undergrowth. She stepped over the shattered base of an ancient pillar covered by vines and blooming pearoot and trod lightly across a sequence of cracked flagstones that might've once been part of a road. A strange pattern of interlocking hands was carved into many of the surfaces, visible even under the years of dirt and wear.

The buzzing noise of insects grew louder, and Cinder came upon a beehive hanging from the branches of a tree. An excess of golden honey dripped with viscous obscenity down the bark, and Cinder licked her lips, suddenly hungry. A cloud of bees milled about it, but they paid the elf no mind as she passed deeper into the thicket. She figured she could always come back later if she wanted something sweet to eat.

At the center of the oasis, Cinder found a clearing filled with a wide pool of calm water, fed by a burbling spring. The trees which surrounded the pond were heavy with fruit, branches sagging with swollen-ripe dates. Jewel-feathered birds roosted in flocks amid the canopy. Night had fallen as she walked, and the palms fringed a clear, starry sky, like a diamond sparkle on black velvet.

The whole place had a feeling of abundance and fertility, a sanctuary replete with everything a traveler could want after the arid brutality of the desert. Because she was not a fool, this made Cinder extremely suspicious, but she had sand up her ass and jizz in her hair so she shrugged, sat down on the crumbling remnants of a stone wall, and began to strip off her boots.

The ancient wall which served as her seat was covered in the pattern of interlocking hands she'd noticed earlier. These, however, had an additional detail of carved bees. The little insects were fashioned from gemstones. They rested in the center of each carved palm, twinkling beguilingly with frosty starlight. There was a fortune here in corundum, diamond, emerald, and pearl, but Cinder knew better than to reach for her knife to pry any of them out.

"C'mon," she muttered, "is this amateur hour or something? Nobody's fallin' for that."

The elf had stripped off all of her clothing except for the dark keffiyeh wrapped around her graceful neck when a voice spoke from the trees. At the sound, she bent to retrieve her long-bladed knife from her garments, covering the movement with a languid stretch.

"Long years has it been since an elf walked from the desert to find succor in my haven. I'd forgotten just how comely of feature and form those of the fair race can be, how taut and ample." The man spoke in a weird cadence as if he was trying to get used to the shape of the words in his mouth. "I am also pleased that the sweetness of your beauty, mistress elf, is matched by a surfeit of wisdom."

Cinder glanced down at her knife, the weapon shadowed and untouched by the silver moonlight. Then she looked over at the ruins of the wall and the unspoiled treasure of its jeweled bee carvings.

"That's some sweet talkin'," she said, casually slipping her weapon behind her back. "Why don't you come on out so I can thank you properly?"

The voice chuckled, a sound so deep and rich it almost felt like a caress. Its owner emerged from the treeline, stepping from under the shadow of a tall palm. His simple linen shirt strained against his powerful chest, and his curly black hair fell in a glossy tumble down to his broad shoulders. The man's eyebrows were thick and dark and full as his beard. His eyes flashed, emerald green and brighter than the forbidden jewels in the carved wall. The man crossed his arms, and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt made an impressive display of his forearms.

The guy looked like he was ready to get to work. At the sight of him, Cinder's priorities shifted. The bath could wait. There wasn't any point in getting clean if she was just going to get dirty again. She loosened her grip and let her knife fall tip-first into the earth. Judging by the emerald sparkle in the man's eyes as he drank in the vision of her immoderate figure, she wasn't going to need a blade.

"Nice place," Cinder said, glancing around the oasis. "Really sorry for barging in unannounced. Hope you don't mind though?" She made her eyes wide and filled them with fabricated innocence. "I'm Cinder, by the way. Pleased to meet you." She slid a hand up her belly and over the swell of a bare breast, then kittenishly placed two fingers against her lower lip.

"I've been blessed with many names," the man said, stepping closer to Cinder, "but you may call me Barkhiya. You are a long way from your groves, mistress elf."

"I'm a long way from just about everything," Cinder corrected, "and this place isn't on any of the maps. I was supposed to be in Mansuriyahh days ago, but..." she laced her hands together in front of her and shrugged, taking the opportunity to press her tits together into a fetching squish. Barkhiya's eyes became riveted on the caramel proliferation of her chest.

"Ah, Mansuriyahh," Barkhiya mused, fingers stroking his beard. "The City of a Thousand Vices is not far. I could show you the way if you'd like."

Cinder closed the distance between the two of them until she could feel the heat radiating from him. It was like a fire was burning under his skin.

"Maybe in a bit," she breathed, head tilted to one side, lips nearly brushing his. He was a tall fellow, but she wasn't particularly short herself. Briefly, Cinder wondered if he could smell the dried come on her skin, then decided it didn't matter. "We don't need to be in Mansuriyahh to explore a vice or two, do we? What're you into anyway, big guy?"

Barkhiya didn't lean in to complete the kiss Cinder offered, but he didn't draw away either. He smiled, and his teeth gleamed in the starlight, nearly pearlescent against the dark thicket of his beard. He was beautiful, as arresting as a tiger getting ready to pounce. When he spoke, his voice held a note of teasing.

"I am into many things, my abundantly-breasted new friend. The first patter of the spring rain on parched earth, the surge of water filling an empty wadi. The rustle of roots spreading through seed-sown soil. The buzz of bees and their comb all dripping with honey. The heft of mangoes, ripe and full, the branches groaning with their weight."

"The sweetness on your tongue," Cinder agreed, "and the juice running down your chin." She was a fan of mangoes. Who wasn't?

Barkhiya laughed. "We are of a mind, I think." He gently stroked Cinder's face, trailing a finger down her pointed ears until his hand rested upon her keffiyeh. The coils of fabric hung about her neck like a scarf. She reached up and took his hand in both of hers, then moved it down to cup the slopes of her bared breasts.

"You were not made for shame," he said, caressing her warm flesh, "Cinder of the groves."

"Oh man, not so formal. Just Cinder is fine." She kept her eyes locked on the man's face as she slowly squatted down on the grassy earth, her hands caressing the planes of Barkhiya's chest and belly underneath his shirt as she sank to her knees. From the trees, the monkeys and the birds watched in silence, although the drone of the bees continued uninterrupted.

"You were sent by Fate to me tonight," Barkhiya said, his green eyes alight with playful fire. "It has been a long, long time since I've given my blessing to someone on tonight of all nights, but it is time. I think you will not squander it."

The guy's florid language was a little over the top, but he was hot enough for her to play along if it meant getting into his pants.

"Yeah, you should like... bless me all over my face," Cinder suggested.

Her mouth watered with anticipation as Barkhiya pulled the cord of his pants. She breathed in the scent of his groin—sweet honey, sandalwood, and something unidentifiable but musky and masculine. Barkhiya reached inside his trousers and Cinder opened her mouth eagerly, already anticipating the feeling of his prick swelling against her tongue.

Then Barkhiya pulled his hand out. The elf nearly fell backwards onto her ass when she saw what he gripped in his fist.

"What... what the fuck?"

Instead of a nice, healthy cock for her to gag on, Barkhiya had retrieved a long ribbon of parchment from inside his pants. The parchment fluttered in the jasmine-scented breeze, and from somewhere nearby came the sound of buzzing bees.

"Go onward to Mansuriyahh," Barkhiya said in formal tones, "and take my benediction with you. The season of the rains begins tonight, and you will be its herald."

"Man, I have no idea—WAUGH!"

Cinder's annoyance twisted into a startled yelp as Barkhiya suddenly burst into flames. He lit up like a torch on a dungeon crawl, and around him, the whole oasis—monkeys, ruins, bee jewels, water, and everything—faded into a sparking flurry of embers. It was gone in an instant, a flash of fire and light that ended in the smell of dry sand and the cold brilliance of stars in a desert sky.

The last thing to fade was Barkhiya's smile, broad and impish, until that too dissolved to red-orange motes scattered by the breeze.

The elf blinked, squatting there in the desert all but naked, with the strip of parchment hanging from her head. Absently, she pulled the paper from her hair. It was perhaps as wide as two of her fingers and long as a belt. The lettering was done in elegant calligraphy, and Cinder's elven eyes had no trouble making use of the starlight to read the flowing ink of the script.

Swell and ebb

Flesh a glistening country

Boundless and surging

A chin-throat-lip-thigh trickle

Honey-thick, spilling unquenched

Stinging and sweet

Cinder felt like shouting or smacking something. Maybe both. A second ago she'd been ready to suck the life out of a hot guy, but all he'd left her with was some shitty poem and a deep, horny ache so strong it was almost a physical pain. The elf felt naked, vulnerable, and unbelievably aroused.

She got to her feet and let out a frustrated breath as she felt a trickle of wetness decorate her inner thigh. Apparently, she'd been craving action more than she'd realized.

Grumbling to herself about sexy, bearded clit-teases who lived in magical oases, Cinder took stock of her situation. On the downside, her boots, clothing, and knife had vanished along with Barkhiya. On the upside, instead of being stuck in the middle of nowhere, she now found herself on the outskirts of a large city.

Mansuriyahh! She'd made it after all.

Mighty walls rose out of the desert sands, the pale stone lit by flickering torches set in sconces at regular intervals. In the distance, she could see a shadowed cleft in the earth that she assumed was the Waveless Ribbon. The river was mighty in the spring, but the long, dry winter had shrunk it to a trickle.

The city's many gates were open, and the sound of revelry and golden light spilled out of the arched portals like an upended treasure chest. Laughter rode the night breeze along with the scent of spiced meat from cookfires.

"Looks like a party," Cinder said to herself as she watched a stream of colorfully dressed people flowing into the city.

She looked down at her nudity, and the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. Probably should do something about that. She pulled the keffiyeh from around her neck and twisted it around her breasts. The dark fabric wasn't quite up to the task of containing her extravagant bosom, but it was better than nothing. Then, for lack of any other ideas, the elf wound the poem-parchment around her hips and between her legs, repurposing the long strip of paper into the world's weirdest bikini bottom.

Her ass swallowed the parchment strip and she felt the thick paper already getting soggy with pussydrool—she still couldn't get Barkhiya's muscled forearms out of her mind, what a dickhead—but there was nothing to be done for it.

Cinder rolled her shoulders and raked her fingers through her sand-dusted hair. She wasn't sure if it was the near miss with the blowjob, or if there was just something in the air tonight, but she was amped. She felt keyed up, riled, and it took an effort not to just fall down on the sand, spread her legs, and let her fingers strum a little frustration out of her pussy.

"Jeez, get it together," she scolded herself. There would be plenty of time for that later.

The elf shook her head and joined the crowd of nighttime revelers headed into the city. Maeryll was in there somewhere, and the sooner she met up with her friend, the sooner she could get all these pent-up cravings taken care of.

She just wished she'd had the time to take that bath first.

Part 2: A Thousand Vices

She and Maeryll had agreed on a place to meet before roving out so Cinder had a vague idea of where she needed to go, but it was her first time in Mansuriyahh and she needed to stop and ask for directions several times before she found the right place.

She drew her fair share of stares with her improvised attire and elvish heritage, but to her surprise, Cinder was less out of place than she'd expected while dressed mostly in a poem.

From the broad boulevard of the main road to the narrow alleys of the sidestreets, the city was packed with people dressed in all sorts of wild outfits. She'd clearly arrived during a festival of some sort. Streamers of gold and black hung from balconies and dangled from street lamps, and people danced beneath them. There seemed to be a minstrel on every corner, and though they played different tunes, the melange of music wasn't discordant. It wove together into a tapestry of sound and bubbling laughter that swept Cinder along like a rain-swollen river.

Most of the cavorting people favored garb of yellow and black, but whatever color they wore their garments were cut with the intention of being provocative. There was more sweaty skin on display along the stone streets of Mansuriyahh than you'd find in a Kazmarckian nunnery (which was really saying something).

She saw a topless woman walking around with what looked like a crock of honey. A closer inspection revealed that it was actually a pot of gold paint. As Cinder watched, two men dipped their fingers into the woman's pot and smeared shimmering gold across one another's lips. Cinder realized that many of the celebrants had fingerprints of gold pressed upon their skin. The paint dripped down necklines and streaked across cheeks. Glittering trails covered hips and breasts suggestively.

Cinder didn't know what the occasion was, but she fully supported the methods of celebration. She couldn't help the grin which took up residence on her face, and she returned winks, jests, and catcalls from the cavorting public with rising glee.

A woman with a smile-lined face held out a gold-dipped hand to her. After a moment's thought, Cinder parted her lips and took the woman's fingers into her mouth. She swirled her tongue and sucked wantonly, and found that the paint didn't taste of paint at all. It was syrup-thick and as sweet as honey. The crowd whirled the woman away from her, but the encounter left Cinder feeling distinctly stirred. The paper of the poem between her legs grew ever damper.

Cinder eventually found Maeryll in the Thukrish coffee shop they'd agreed to meet in back in Bad Grass. People laughed, danced, and drank on the street outside, but quiet as it was, the shop felt like a harbor sheltered from a stormy-tossed sea.

The other elf was sitting on a pile of purple silk cushions in the shop's courtyard, relaxed as a snow leopard after a kill. Maeryll wore a short-cropped black halter top and a matching pleated black skirt, cut to mid-thigh. Her lips were wrapped around the stem of a hookah. As Cinder entered, Maeryll took a puff from the water pipe. She exhaled, the silver smoke rising up through the courtyard's skywell to curl its way toward the stars.

"This place is great," Cinder said by way of greeting, plopping down unceremoniously on the pile of cushions next to her friend. She waved at the celebrations unfolding on the street outside the shop.