Drow in the City Ch. 02

Cyra felt the hand come away and her breath return to her, and she couldn't contain a giggle either. Panting, breathless, she looked up at the human woman, who looked down at her with a grin on her face. "Fantastic, was it not?" she asked. Cyra could only nod enthusiastically as she pulled the top of her corset up over her breasts again. She breathed a deep sigh.

"You are correct, I believe these things do suit me," she said. "What price?"

"Oh, I think you earned it all," Alluva said, standing and offering her hand to the tiefling. Cyra took it and stood on unsteady legs. "Just come visit every now and then, and I'll consider your debt paid."

"Oh, I will," Cyra replied. "I believe some matching boots would be in order, I don't believe my boots exactly do the trick." She indicated the boots she had worn, which rose up about half her shin.

"Indeed. I'll get to work on that...and perhaps another item," she said in a conspiratorial tone.

"Oh?" Cyra asked.

"A surprise...perhaps next time," Alluva said. "Now, I don't mean to fuck and run, but I do have a business to run."

"Of course," Cyra said. She came forward and embraced the woman, then kissed her passionately, and turned on her heel to leave.

*****

Mikhail could not have been happier. Here he was under a crystal clear night sky with Lura, the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on (and a drow, no less!), who had been unable to separate herself from him the whole of the evening. She was dressed magnificently, abandoning her Red Robe of Sune for a dark violet velvet dress, low cut in the front so that her magnificent chest, cleavage, and neck were not hidden. Her hair was tied up, bejeweled with dazzling pins. She kept her crimson lock of hair free, as she had become accustomed to, so that it framed the left side of her delicately featured face.

She looked up at him, grinning, her pearly white teeth shining behind violet-hued lips that sparkled with gold flecks, similar to her eyelids. A delicate gold chain hung around her neck, with an amethyst encrusted heart resting just above her cleavage. Mikhail looked into her eyes, brushing the crimson lock from her face, behind her pointed ear, and kissing her softly on the lips. He smirked as her crimson strands fell back to her cheek. She returned the smile and pressed her face into his shoulder, wrapping her velvet-sheathed arm around his own.

Everlunians nodded greetings to the couple as they crossed the Knightsbridge, moving north toward the Bell Market, the heart of Everlund and trade epicenter. A crisp breeze blew over the River Rauvin, tossing Mikhail's brown hair slightly. His shirt, a crisp navy blue doublet with sleeves rolled halfway up his forearm, rustled in the breeze, but settled again over his tailored black pants. The clothes had been a gift from his beloved specifically for their night out. His shoes, as well, had been given to him from Lura, and shone softly in the silver moonlight. A thin silver chain hung around his neck, visible under the partially unbuttoned doublet.

The Bell Market was not particularly busy, as most of the stores had closed with the fall of night, but in the center of the market was a blazing bonfire, resplendent with various musicians and a revelers. Lura looked up to Mikhail questioningly.

"Why must you question me about every festival and the like that happens on the surface?" he asked her with a smile.

"You are the native here," she said, the statement emphasized with her distinctive drow accent. "The customs of the surface are still somewhat foreign to me."

"Well, shall we ask someone, or simply wander into the party?" he asked, slipping his fingers between hers.

"Let us wander," she said, feeling quite pleased with her life.

*****

Iliara watched the drow and her human cross the bridge with magically enhanced eyesight from a rooftop on the opposite side of the festival. She knew, of course, that it was a human custom, celebrating the harvest or something ridiculous like that, and that a party of any sort would draw the sunite's attention. An itch at the back of her leather bodysuit nagged at her attention, but with the discipline of a seasoned thief and a servant of Shar, she ignored it.

She stood on the rooftop, scowling at what she knew must come, and unzipped her bodysuit. Iliara tossed it aside, unworried about the fate of the disposable suit. Her only concern now was what had been hidden beneath the leather. To her ultimate chagrin, she wore a silk dress, deep forest green, with emeralds lining the low-sweeping neckline, and a choker, centered by a larger emerald, around her neck. Her sleeves were loose around the forearms, but snug along her athletically toned upper arms. It hugged her torso, her compact breasts seeming a bit larger in the tight dress. The silk loosened below her hips, and her legs only became visible when they slipped through the thigh-high slit up each side.

Sighing to her ridiculous appearance, she stepped from the darkness of the rooftop to the shadow of a minstrel's tent, then stepped out from behind the temporary structure, affecting a false, though enchanting smile as she began to idly mingle, slowly making her way to where she figured Lura and her human would enter the festival. She busied herself but sampling several drinks, from the painfully sweet to the pungent and bitter, and nibbling on hors d'voures. Still, she remained tense and paranoid, so the gold elf slipped into the darkness behind one of the larger temporary tents and reached for her necklace.

The tarnished silver chain that hung from her neck ended in a sheathed sword, inverted so that the tip was pointing toward her modest cleavage. She twisted the sheath and it began to unscrew from the hilt of the sword pendant. Within was a fine, crystalline powder, much like diamond dust. She lifted the object to her nose and inhaled deeply with both nostrils. The powder was pulled with the air up into her sinuses, where it went to work, the narcotic dust quickly soothing her mind, bringing her into a pleasant realm of mild euphoria. Iliara re-entered the festival with a smile on her face, mingling and chatting idly with those she did not know, until she saw Lura.

This time was different than when she spied the drow from her rooftop perch. Now, up close, Iliara could see how magnificent she looked in her deep purple evening gown, with a daring, deliciously deep neckline, thin halter, and long, form-fitting length, with a sexy thigh-high slit. She saw three clasps below her breasts holding the dress together made of thin, ornate gold that matched the gold necklace hanging from her neck. A hungry urge came upon the euphoric Shadowdancer, and it took an enormous amount of willpower to resist the sudden heat in her loins.

Quickly, Iliara found a piece of silvered glass and checked her reflection, rearranging her hair slightly and fine-tuning her own evening gown. It occurred to her that under any other circumstance, she might have simply came up to the drow and told her she meant to bed her at the earliest possible convenience, but, whether it was the drug in her system or the affect the stunning drow had on her, Iliara felt it would be a disservice to the drow, to women in general, to treat Lura with dignity and respect by courting her. Something dark and twisted inside Iliara was very angry at the situation, but her femininity shone brighter this night than the darkness of Shar.

*****

Lura was more than content as she mingled with the common folk of Everlund. They were mostly farmers, celebrating a fruitful harvest, but there were several attendees that appeared to be of nobility as well. She cared not, though, because, despite her cruel, matriarchal upbringing by the drow, she saw no distinction between the two.

Abruptly, the couple was approached by a slightly inebriated commoner, who was smiling stupidly until his gaze fixed on Lura. He seemed to sober somewhat as his eyes took in her form. Lura smiled to herself as he continued to look her up and down. She looked up to Mikhail, who simply shrugged and smiled. "May we help you?" Lura asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Huh? Oh!" The man, a farmer she figured, blushed fiercely in embarrassment. "Ye wanna try me ale?" he asked, a slight slur in his voice.

"Absolutely," Mikhail said. "We'd love to."

"Good!" the man said, turning to a nearby table and filling two flagons with the light golden liquid. He turned back and handed them the ale. Mikhail and Lura both tested the liquid, swirling it around in their mouths, and swallowing.

"I favor elf-wine," Lura began, her lips pursed, "but this is quite delicious." Mikhail nodded his agreement, smiling.

"Great!" the man said, wobbling a bit on his feet. He turned to a similar tent, stocked with kegs similar to his. "Hey! Bevin! I gots me a drow!"

They saw a man with mutton chop sideburns and a ring of hair around the side of his otherwise bald head scowl deeply at his competitor. "Name's Dandir. That's me Golden Wheat Ale, made from my finest stock. I'd be honored if ye'd spread the word for me tonight, such a fine lookin' couple as yerself's. And not many would doubt the word of a drow elf!"

"It would be our pleasure," Lura said, smiling sweetly at him. "Sune's blessing on you, brew master."

She took Mikhail's hand and led him toward music on a sudden inspiration. The tune was quick and rousing, and she felt inspiration filling her. A quiet prayer to Sune, and she felt the music flowing through her like magical energy. Lura turned quickly to Mikhail and kissed him fiercely. "Dance with me," she demanded, and he had not the power to resist her desire. The duo wove themselves gracefully into a throng of dancing people, men and women alike, and began to gyrate and grind against each other, Lura stroking his face lovingly with one black hand while the other slid up and down her man's back, quickly working its way up under his shirt to feel the perspiration growing on his back.

Lura straddled his leg, the slit in her dress revealing her shapely obsidian leg as she ground herself on his thigh, hands running furiously over Mikhail. She relished in the feel of his warm hand as it slid up her thigh, under her dress to her bare hip as he moved in concert with her. His other hand pressed possessively against the small of her back, pulling her tighter against him as they both danced furiously. Then, to her surprise and delight, she saw another pair of hands, lightly tanned in their complexion, slide up Mikhail's arms to his shoulders. She glanced over his shoulder and saw Iliara, the appearance of the gold elf a bit of a surprise, even more so when she considered the gorgeous evening gown the elf wore. After her initial meeting with the leather-clad, athletic-looking gold elf, she had not pinned her as the "let's dress up and play princess" type. She was glad she had been mistaken.

An almost animal-like hunger flashed through the drow's eyes as Lura locked her eyes with Iliara's. Her mouth dried as intense arousal took her by surprise, that sensation heightened by Mikhail's ever wandering hand, which was now buried under her dress, cupping and caressing her shapely bottom, and the fact that her loins were grinding against Mikhail's firm thigh. Iliara reached her hand from Mikhail's shoulder to the back of her neck, which was moist with sweet-smelling perspiration, and pulled Lura's face into a deep, tongue-dancing kiss. Iliara punctuated her intentions with a painful bite on the drow's gold-flecked lower lip.

Mikhail's neck was against her cheek, his perspiration dampening her finely-chiseled face, and she latched her lips onto his neck, sucking and licking the sweat, savoring its sweet saltiness. To the happy couple's delight, Iliara was quite light on her toes and was able to keep up with the two easily, complimenting their movements while keeping her body pressed tight against Mikhail's back and her hands busy about the man and drow.

For his part, Mikhail couldn't have been stuck in a better position. On his thigh he felt the burning heat of Lura's legs and groin tight against him and her bountiful breasts against his chest. Behind him, he could feel the compact breasts of the stranger he had not yet met pressing into his back and her hands on his shoulders and his woman. Then, abruptly, Lura turned around, her bottom pressed against his groin, grinding against a slowly growing swell at the front of his pants. She leaned back, her head resting against his shoulder and her hand wrapping around the back of his neck, playing with his hairs. His rested on her shapely hips as the danced this way and that, and he grinned wide when he saw lightly tanned hands reach around him to slide up and down Lura's stomach and flanks.

Iliara forgot her duties to Shar for the moment, relishing in the physical sensations presented to her. Surely the Dark Lady would forgive her one night's indulgence before she acted out her duties. She slid her hands up the taut abdomen of Lura to the full, magnificent breasts barely restrained by the drow's enviable evening gown. She kissed idly at Mikhail's neck and slid her palms over Lura's hardening nipples. She could feel the tight little buds poking through the fine fabric of the violet gown. Grinning as she nibbled at Mikhail's ear, she slid her hands back down, bending more at the knees so that she could reach down to Lura's thighs, sliding them tantalizingly close to the hot nexus of her shapely legs.

Mikhail pulled his hands from his beloved's hips and reached back, sliding his fingertips up the outside of the newcomer's legs, eliciting a whispered purr as her lips hovered near his ear. He repeated the movement, gliding hands up and down her legs, until her gown had been hiked up much further than it was designed for. It bundled around her hips and he felt her bare thighs under his hands. With strength he didn't anticipate, the stranger turned him by his shoulders to face her, her hand clasping his face while she thrust her hips into him, her other hand finding a handhold on the growing length in his pants.

Iliara was smitten by his boyish good looks, the loose tangle of hair atop his head and the sparse, though stylish goatee on his face instantly attractive to her. She ran her hands over his body, feeling the taut muscle beneath his fine clothing. The gold elf undid several of his shirt's buttons, revealing sparse, fine hairs smattered about his chest, then slid her hands under the shirt, feeling his chest, his nipples beneath her palms, and pinched them lightly, drawing a gasp from his lips and a stutter in his dance.

Lura turned when she felt her lover turn away, her full breasts pressing firmly against his back and her hands reaching around his waist, fingers gliding just beneath his waistline. The drow watched the simmering lust in Iliara's eyes and found the gold elf's insatiable desire an aphrodisiac. Abandoning any sense of decency, she thrust her hand down inside Mikhail's pants, her fingers wrapping around his half-mast shaft and squeezing. Iliara felt the act, as her crotch was pressed firmly against Mikhail's, and her surprised expression soon melted into bliss as she ground her covered pussy against the action in Mikhail's pants. She felt keenly Lura's hand as it stroked Mikhail's--

"Hey!" a very angry sounding voice called. The trio looked with alarm at an approaching, steel-clad guard, complete with a shield on his back and a sword at his hip. "You're only warning: go someplace private or spend the night in a dirty cell! We won't tolerate your lewdness here, Sunite drow!"

A smattering of disapproving jeers were hurled at the guard, but Lura respected the man's duty to maintain order and decency. She silently reprimanded herself for being so wanton in public, but her drow sensibilities relished in the thrill.

"Wait," he said suddenly. "Is your name Lura? Lura Darklust?"

"Perhaps," the drow said, a sensation of trepidation washing over her.

"Heard about you from some Silverymoon citizens. I'll warn you once now, there'll be no prostitution in this city. You have one chance."

"I assure you, sir, that no Sunite has ever whored herself out and remained associated with the church of Sune. I, being her Chosen, can assure you that. You can be certain that, should a Festhall of Sune appear in your fair city, it will be the picture of cleanliness and will obey all the laws regarding temples and faiths."

The soldier found himself taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. She stood imperiously before him, one hand on her hip, the other casual at her side, but her eyes, like garnets twinkling in torchlight, pierced into his very soul. Her words held no anger, but he felt a very real warning that he ought not every accuse any of her associates of prostitution. Ever again. "M-my apologies, Lady," he muttered. "But I must insist that you and yours take your...dancing elsewhere. If I may, it has crossed the line of decency."

"Of course," she said, her smile disarming. "You'll forgive an honest drow for losing herself in the moment?"

"Aye," he said, smiling a small smile.

"Might I have your name?" she asked.

"For what purpose?" he asked. The guard quickly added, "If you don't mind me asking."

"In case I ever run across your superior, I am sure he would like to hear how admirably you performed your duties tonight."

"Lieutenant Dar Handren," he said, bowing his head slightly.

"Very well, then, Dar Handren. A good evening to you, and Sune's blessing upon you," Lura said, curtsying. He turned to leave, and she turned to look at Iliara, who was scowling deeply.

"Don't do that," the gold elf said in a serious tone.

"What?" Lura asked, her delicate white eyebrow arched.

"Curtsy. For a drow, the movement is somehow demeaning, and though I hold no love for your race, I fancy you the domineering, brutal Matron Mother type, and seeing you act like such a lady takes some of the...eroticism of that stature away."

"You dare question me, iblith!" she asked, her face instantly turning to a scowl, her eyes glowering with the fires of rage she had long ago left behind. Her hand shot out to the gold elf's neck, squeezing slightly as she bared her teeth.

Iliara smiled, grabbing the drow's surprising strong hand and pressing it tighter against her neck, squeezing when Lura would not. She struggled to breath, and when Lura's demeanor reverted to the kind, caring expression she normally wore, she released, laughing as she choked in a deep breath. "That's better," she said, her reddened face taking its natural hue again.

"Well, at least that wasn't arousing," Mikhail said. Lura and Iliara simultaneously looked to his bewildered face, then to the erection he was trying to hide with his hand. Lura patted it gently and kissed him on the cheek.

"Get us some drinks, beloved, won't you?" she asked, smiling sweetly at him. He nodded, sighing as he turned and walked away. Lura led Iliara to a bench with intricately crafted wrought iron supports and polished wooden slats. The two sat, sitting almost sideways, legs crossed, so as to talk with one another more easily.

"You are a submissive lover?" Lura asked bluntly.

"When the situation calls for it," Iliara responded quickly. Her throat was dry, though she doubted it had anything to do with thirst and more to do with getting into the drow's skirt.

"Indeed," Lura said, her eyes flicking quickly over the elf's body.

"Your scrutiny would be more thorough--and more enjoyable--in my bedchamber," Iliara said, her voice a purr.

"Of that I have no doubt." Lura pursed her gold-flecked lips in thought.

"What?" Iliara asked as the drow studied her.

"I'm just wondering how much you would like me as a Matron Mother. My Mother and hers before her were known for their cruelty. Many of our patrons died after a handful of visits to the bedchamber, and even the fledgling priestesses that were commanded to service them were often beaten severely if they did not perform up to par."