Cinder and the Season of Monsoons

"Hm, I'm feeling indecisive. What's your wine menu look like?" she asked.

Oh, you bitch! Cinder could've smacked her.

"Beer," Cinder said in a strangled voice, leaning forward to interject both her body and her words between her friend and the waiter. "She'll have a beer."

"I will not."

Cinder bulled forward, heedless. "Yeah, she will. Two house ales," she confirmed decisively.

It was so dark that it was difficult to see the guy's face, but a pair of shadows that were probably his eyebrows drew together in a dubious expression. "Uh, sure. Hey, you know there's no outside drinks allowed in here," he said, pointing to the glass.

"It's empty," Cinder promised. But not for long. "Just a souvenir."

"Hm. Okay. I'll be back with your beers."

"Take your time," Cinder said, then turned back to Maeryll when the waiter left.

"What's eating your ass?" the snow elf said. She sounded annoyed.

Cinder leaned back against the wooden bench, hooked her fingers underneath the bustline of her shimmering dress, and pulled. It didn't take much to release the flood of her breasts, which were threatening to spill out of her dress anyway with every breath she took. Her boobs popped forth with a tantalizing jiggle of caramel-tan flesh, the slopes of her tits painted ruddy in the wan light of the braziers.

"I'll tell you what isn't eating it," Cinder snapped back, "you! Now did you get me this stupid dress for a reason, or was it just to ogle my jugs?"

"So crass," Maeryll murmured absently and without rancor. Staring at Cinder's bare rack, the elf woman had a nearly hypnotized look on her face. Her lips parted slightly, just short of drooling.

Cinder cupped her cleavage into an appealing press, and the sight of all that sweaty boobage pressed together overcame the last of Maeryll's resistance. The snow elf leaned in and buried her face in Cinder's cleavage, cradling their heaving mass with both hands, sucking on her nipples so hard that Cinder hissed in a breath through her teeth, skirting the border between pleasure and pain.

Cinder stared down at her friend savaging her tits, feeling like she could watch the other elf like this forever—head bent like a supplicant at the altar of her flesh. Maeryll's eyes, bright and blue even in the dim light of the tavern, occasionally flicked up to watch the expressions of ecstasy twisting across Cinder's face—wrinkled brow, and bitten lip.

Keyed up as she was, it didn't take long for Cinder to achieve the sweet heights of her pleasure. Cinder's head lolled back as she came, knocking against the rough-hewn wood of the booth. Heedless of the bonk of her head she groaned out nonsensical syllables, a jumbled melange of animal noises tumbling from her senseless lips. Her sumptuous body shook with pure bliss as her friend paid homage to her tits. Liquid arousal flowed out of Cinder, puddling on the bench and soaking her shiny golden panties.

It wasn't the first time Cinder had come just from getting her tits sucked, and the uncoiling bliss was a familiar friend. It wasn't particularly intense, just a flash in the pan as far as climaxes went, but it was delightful all the same. The orgasm was a lot like an appetizer, served just to whet the palate for the meal to come. A tease, a titillation, a preview. Cinder craved more.

Nipples stiff and as hard as diamonds underneath the relentless assault of Maeryll's sucking mouth, Cinder let her hands wander into her lap. She pulled aside the drenched fabric of her underwear (why had Maeryll even bothered with them, honestly?) and slid a pair of fingers into herself, thrusting as she ground the heel of her hand into her clit. She started to work up a full head of steam, but before things could really start to kick off, Maeryll slapped her hands away from her pussy.

"What—?" Cinder protested.

Maeryll lifted her head from Cinder's breasts, drool connecting spiderweb strings from her lips to the turgid flesh of Cinder's nipples. "That's my job," she said.

"Jeez! So do it!"

"I will." The pale elf grabbed Cinder's lust-marinated underwear and tugged them off, pulling them down the toned tracts of Cinder's legs and over her bare feet.

As soon as she had Cinder's underwear in hand, Maeryll pulled the alabaster tresses of her hair into a high ponytail and used the dripping, golden panties to tie it back, out of her face.

"There we go," she said.

Without further dissembling, Maeryll slid underneath the table, pushed Cinder's thighs apart, and began to kiss her cunt with a passion that bordered on obsession. All Cinder could do was rake her fingers through her sweaty hair, lean back in the booth, and take the tongue lashing.

Maeryll's tongue moved and Cinder's vision grew hazy. She thought she heard a buzzing noise, although that could've just been her pulse thundering in her ears. Spurred on by the wood elf's grunts and moans of pleasure, Maeryll laved her pussy with long, artistic strokes. Her tongue darted into Cinder's anus, ducking into the tight pucker of Cinder's butthole, swirling around the entrance, and then thrusting deep within.

By some miracle, Cinder's ecstatic yelps didn't draw any untoward attention. The Meathole seemed like the sort of place where you went to eat and drink alone, but even so.

The two elves writhed together unheeded in the corner booth, Cinder's legs spread, pussy gushing, while Maeryll lapped and licked and generally punished Cinder's cunt with her tongue.

It felt like it went on for hours, but it was probably only the work of a few messy minutes for Maeryll to wring a knuckle-biting orgasm from Cinder's overstimulated flesh. She'd leaked so much sap out of her pussy that she nearly slipped off the bench, bucking and shuddering at the tip of Maeryll's tongue. The bar was dim, but she imagined the weight of curious gazes upon her.

"S-stubbed my toe, " she said out loud to anyone who might be listening to her thready whimpers, "but it's okay. I'm okay." Cinder held up a thumb and tried to put her thoughts back in order.

"Cin," Maeryll's voice slurred as she pulled herself from under the table and back onto the bench. "I've got shominthing for you."

"What? Oh, right!" Cinder grabbed the coupe glass and offered it to Maeryll. The white-haired elf spat her mouthful into the glass, filling it up with the secondhand spunk she'd gobbled from the gushing font of Cinder's cunt.

"Drink up," Maeryll urged, and Cinder didn't have to be told twice. She took the cup and drank deeply and greedily. The effluvia—passed from the geyser of her cunt to Maeryll's mouth and back again—was warm as it slid down into Cinder's belly.

"That was," Maeryll said, avaricious eyes focused on the action of Cinder's gulping throat, "very hot. Now, do you feel better?"

Cinder took stock of the situation. Her pussy still throbbed, but for now, it was a manageable ache. Squirting into her friend's mouth and then drinking it again seemed to have taken the edge off. For the moment.

"Yeah," she replied, "fwhew! I needed that."

"Great, now let's get out of here. There's a place down the street that I want to try."

When the waiter came back with the requested beers, he found the booth empty of elves. With a shrug, he downed one of the drinks himself, then brought the other to the men working the spits in the center of the tavern.

It was only the next morning that the drenched bench was discovered. The extensive water damage was blamed on a roof leak. It was the season of monsoons, after all.

Part 4: Sacred Suds

The elves stepped onto the street and back into the rain. It was coming down harder now—not enough to drive the people from their celebrations, but certainly stronger than the previous drizzling mist.

The water felt good on Cinder's skin. Raindrops ran down her cheeks and neck, trickling over her shoulders and down her back. It soaked her hair, sticking ruddy curls to her cheeks. She turned her face to the sky and smiled, eyes closed and arms spread to welcome the downpour. She savored the music of the storm, enjoying the tinny drip-drop-plop on the metal dome of a nearby building.

The mad lust might've retreated after Maeryll's quick, messy work in the Meathole, but it was by no means gone. As the rain saturated Cinder's clothing, she felt her passions begin to stir once more. The folds of the drenched golden dress clung wetly to Cinder's body, so tight that it was essentially like wearing nothing at all.

It almost seemed like the weather was making a show of her, displaying the shapely bounty of her curves, alluring to the eye and inviting to the touch. Here she is, the rain-wet fabric seemed to say, plush and soft and ripe for the plucking.

Nearby, someone tried to set off more fireworks, but it was too damp for that. The sound of the fizzled powder reminded Cinder of the buzzing of bees.

Heads turned as the rain-soaked elves passed, and a gleeful grin twisted the bow of Cinder's mouth. She was feeling herself, that was for sure. It was a warm night, and the contrast of the air and the rain combined with all the attention she was getting served to elevate Cinder's nipples to iron points. They pressed against the drenched fabric of her cocktail dress, threatening to burst through the gossamer material.

Maeryll walked a few paces ahead of Cinder, searching for some sort of landmark on the island's building-crowded streets. The svelte woman was just as sopping as Cinder, her halter top sticking to her skin and outlining the fine muscles of her back. The sight of her friend, sleek and elegant and drenched as an otter, made something stir low in Cinder's belly.

"Hoo boy," Cinder muttered, words lost to the patter of the rain, "here we go again."

"There it is," Maeryll declared with satisfaction, "Sacred Suds."

The building Maeryll indicated was an elaborate structure with a tiered, many-eaved roof made of verdigrised copper. It sported a grand edifice framed by multiple columns of sculpted black basalt. A huge stained glass window depicting a swarm of bees was picked out in amber crystal, set like a medallion above the double doors of the entrance. Despite being jammed shoulder to shoulder with its neighbors, the place exuded a sense of tarnished grandeur. Space was at a premium on the island, but Cinder got the sense this building had been here longer than most.

The cavernous space inside reminded Cinder of a cathedral, and it was packed full of people partying as if their lives depended on it. A band played their hearts out on a stage set up in the grand, spacious courtyard in the middle of the building, framed by carved columns. The courtyard's ceiling was covered by an enormous, vaulted skylight. People swayed to the music around the stage, movements fluid and graceful, faces alight with joy and abandon, their bodies ensnared by sweet melodies strummed from oud and darbuka. The music drowned out the gentle susurration of rain on the distant glass above.

"Swanky," Cinder commented, following Maeryll to a bar set along one edge of the main room. What wasn't illuminated by watery starlight from the skylight was bathed in the honey-gold glow of candle flame, supplied by chandeliers of cut glass hanging from the ceiling and dripping with melted wax.

Maeryll started chatting up a pretty barmaid whose smooth brown skin was dyed in geometric patterns with henna, circles and squares picked out on her prominent biceps. While the snow elf flirted shamelessly, Cinder caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirrored surface of the bar top.

Her skin was luminous under the candlelight, and it glistened with raindrops. There was a wild urgency to the cast of her eyes which hinted at the budding lust stirring—molten hot—between her legs. Her heart thudded in her chest, and the surging in her veins felt like an echo of the tempest outside.

Cinder pressed her lips together and half-closed her eyes, struggling to master the sudden swelling of arousal. The elf set down the soiled coupe glass she still carried upon the counter and tried to fix her dress, but the feeling of the soaked fabric sliding against her sensitive skin and taut nipples nearly set her off.

This is ridiculous. She was struck with a sudden urge to move her body, to do something to burn off all of the excess electric-hot energy that crackled just beneath her skin.

"I'm gonna go dance," she said to Maeryll, raising her voice to be heard over the music. The other woman gave her a distracted nod, still engaged in a delicate fencing match of sugared words and smoky glances with the barmaid.

Cinder left them to it and slid through the press of people, joining the crowd gyrating on the dance floor. Through glimpses of stomping, shuffling feet, Cinder realized that the ground was decorated in an intricate mosaic. Thousands of colored tiles were set together in a pattern depicting an orchard in full spring bloom. Dancing bees flitted among the fruit trees, trailing glimmering golden threads of pollen from blossom to blossom.

They really like their bees here, huh?

Cinder began to sway, lifting her arms as she let the rhythm of the music sink into her bones. The cooling effect of the rain had long since vanished, leaving her hot and almost feverish in the sweaty press of dancing celebrants. She felt naked in her dress, the insubstantial fabric clinging to every slope and dip of her.

She was just getting into it, trailing her hands up and down her sides and running her fingers through her hair as she swayed her hips, when someone jostled into her. Cinder caught a glimpse of familiar emerald eyes and a teasing, wide-lipped smile.

"Barkhiya?" she called out, but whoever he'd been, the man had already melted back into the crowd like the shadow of a ghost. "Awesome," Cinder decided out loud, "I'm going insane."

"Welcome to the club," Maeryll said. Her black lipstick was slightly smeared, and she was wearing an insufferable cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk.

Cinder rolled her eyes. "No way you work that fast. What happened with the bar chick?"

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell, Cinder."

"Hmph. I don't see how that applies to you."

"Hush up and dance with me. Also, you forgot this."

Cinder licked her lips and accepted the coupe glass her friend held out to her. As if on cue, the song changed. The previous frenetic reel morphed into something slow and seductive, driven by the beat of drums.

The two women began to move, hips swaying in perfect synchronization. Their bodies undulated, the wet fabric of their dresses rippling and flowing with each sensual movement. Maeryll's eyes were heavy-lidded with the same desire Cinder felt burning threads of sugared fire through her veins.

The white-haired elf put her hands on Cinder's hips and pulled her close until they warmed each other with the heat of their bodies. Skin grazed skin—belly and breasts and fingertips sliding against one another. Maeryll leaned in and added lips to the mix, mouth occasionally nibbling at the lush abundance of Cinder's decolletage, heedless of any eyes that might be watching.

"Careful," Cinder said a little breathlessly, "you're gonna give me some ideas, and I think we've got an audience."

Maeryll demonstrated exactly how much that concerned her by sliding her hands underneath the hem of Cinder's dress and walking her fingers up to her ass. She cupped the flesh of her buttcheeks and sweezed. Cinder groaned at the touch, slobber dripping from the lips of her trembling vulva.

The music became more intense, and the movements of the elves turned frenetic as they gave themselves over to the rhythm of their desire. The women pressed their bodies together with heedless urgency, their dresses a nearly non-existent barrier.

Cinder had her hands all over Maeryll, sliding up under the woman's halter top to tease her cherry-like nipples, squeezing, kneading, pinching. The snow elf returned the favor by lifting Cinder's skirts and cupping the warmth of her pussy, grinding the heel of her hand into the redhead's clit while she worked a pair of fingers into Cinder's eager cunt.

By the time the song reached its climax, the two elves were pretty much having sex in the middle of the party. The women were breathing heavily, their bodies slick with sweat. Cinder had been ready to squirt around Maeryll's fingers and make a mess on the pretty bee-themed mosaic dance-floor, but when the notes faded away a little bit of rationality wormed its way back into Cinder's brain. She glanced up and found that their creative interpretation of the term 'dance' had not gone unnoticed. Several onlookers were staring at them with what Cinder chose to interpret as awe, no doubt captivated by the sight of the sensual elvish performance.

"By the open palms of the Even-Handed God," swore one astonished man as the band launched into their next song, "can I have the next dance?"

"Sure—" Cinder began, but Maeryll had a hold of her wrist and was already tugging her through the crowd, away from the press of people.

"Do you still have the cup?" she asked, heading off Cinder's protestations.

"Sure."

"Then let's find somewhere more private and put it to use."

They headed deeper into the cavernous building which housed Sacred Suds, threading their way through tables and away from the crowds around the central courtyard and the bar. They passed through a door and into what looked like a service hallway. The light was dimmer here, with fewer candles in the chandeliers above. Cinder half-expected someone to stop them, or at the very least ask what they were doing, but it seemed the staff of Sacred Suds was fully occupied by the Al-Rabea party.

"Let's try this one." Maeryll pushed through another door, and the elves found themselves in a private ballroom.

The ballroom appeared to be set up in preparation for some sort of function or party, with empty tables dressed in white linen and silver cutlery. A staircase led to a second story where a series of balconies overlooked the parquet dance floor. A stack of champagne glasses was set up in a pyramid shape underneath one of the balconies, waiting to be filled with sparkling wine.

"Good enough," Maeryll said, and then she was on Cinder like a pouncing jungle cat, lips crashing into Cinder's in a demanding kiss that left no room for thought and barely enough for air.

"Ah-AHhhh," Cinder relaxed and sighed as Maeryll's mouth traced a line of fire down her neck and to her breasts. The snow elf used her teeth to pull down the bust of Cinder's dress. Her tits bounced free, obviously eager to be released from the confines of the golden fabric prison.

Sweaty bodies locked together, the two elves stumbled towards one of the linen-covered tables. In her passion, Maeryll swept the place settings to the floor with a tinkling crash, then pushed Cinder none too gently onto the tabletop. A fork that Maeryll had missed jabbed into Cinder's shoulder, but she didn't care. She was too busy rucking up her dress and spreading her legs.

Maeryll took a moment to appreciate the sight—the dress a golden belt around Cidner's waist, her lust-slick, red-tufted cunt spread open like the petals of a rose, her pendulous breasts heaving as her chest rose and fell with excitement—before she fell upon the curvy elf.

Maeryll lowered her face between Cinder's legs and began to feast, and Cinder didn't bother biting back a cry of delight as she tangled her fingers into her friend's pale hair and bucked against her wicked tongue.

"Maeryll YEsss, f-fucking eat it, just like that!"

And boy, did Maeryll eat it. A pair of fingers joined her tongue at its work on Cinder's pussy, index and middle fingers sliding into the tight sleeve of her sex. While she thrust her fingers, Maeryll rubbed her thumb against the delicate bean of Cinder's clit, coaxing it from beneath its hood. Cinder's thoughts melted into an incoherent, sexy goop as she felt Maeryll consume her, alternating between gentle flicks of her tongue and hard, needy sucks. Cinder's clit buzzed like a swarm of bees, and she felt hot and sensitive all over.