Drow in the City Ch. 02

"I take it you performed up to par," Iliara said flatly.

Lura shook her head. "After the first time, I was whipped until the backs of my thighs bled. Then I was stripped naked and forced to endure a hundred spider bites on my breasts."

"Sounds fun," Iliara said.

"You'd think. As drow, pain is merely an inconvenience, and can usually be interpreted as pleasure. But when you have the symbol of Lady Lolth sucking on your tits, you can't exactly swat them away, no matter how much the poison burns," Lura said, a wry grin on her face.

"Is such a thing interpreted as the kiss of Lolth herself?" Iliara asked.

"By some of the more extreme Matron Mothers, yes. Some even condition themselves to enjoy it. But by and large no. Not unless a sword spider, or another larger breed is led to bite you, that is. But even then, only a drow who's consumed a large quantity of blackstalk mushroom would even contemplate it. Sure, Matrons will mate with demons and devils for alliances and even produce offspring--Matron Baenre of Menzoberranzan comes to mind--but a spider? Makes my skin crawl."

"Demons?" Iliara asked, showing surprise for the first time.

"Aye. Lolth is Queen of the Demonweb Pits and has many infernal alliances, though they come and go as often as a House Patron, and will send one of her allies through portals for Matrons. It is considered a blessing from Lolth herself."

"Interesting," Iliara said. "You said something about blackstalk mushroom?"

"Ah, yes," Lura said. "It's generally poisonous to any non-drow, but for my kind, it's a delicacy with a particularly enjoyable effect on the libido."

"I have some," Iliara whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "I have been taking small amounts, building a resistance. I don't know what drow feel when they consume it, but I hallucinate surreal landscapes after vomiting, but once that goes away, I feel like I could service a dwarven stronghold."

"That last part is about right," Lura said, smiling wickedly. "But I have to ask: how did you come by blackstalk on the surface? I thought it was indigenous to the Underdark."

"Oh, it is," Iliara said. "But I have unique abilities, and the Underdark isn't so bad."

"Unique abilities?" Lura asked. "Shapeshifting? Invisibility?"

"I would have to show you," Iliara said, smiling coyly. "But I believe your lover is returning with our drinks."

"To be continued?" Lura asked, hopeful

"I can't wait."

*****

Cyra had returned after her tryst with the sexy leather mistress and found her body craving a nap. When she awoke and moonlight had replaced sunlight, she was a bit surprised that her nap had lasted so long. She sat up in the bed and saw that Lura and Mikhail were still out on their date. Smiling a contented smile, she slid out of the bed, her firm breasts and taut bottom bouncing merrily as she walked nude to a silver bell hanging from the ceiling in a secluded corner of the room. She stood underneath and spoke, "Sune. Niar," which, translated from drow, was "Water. Warm." The fact that the drow word for water was pronounced similar to their goddess was a coincidence Cyra found humorous.

Immediately, warm water fell upon her head, soaking her hair and falling over her soft skin. She sighed and moaned softly to herself, leaning against the wall as the magical bell angled to follow her. Cyra ran her hands over her breasts, her fingers sliding over her erect nipples, then down her stomach, and back up, until her fingers were entangled with her pale hair. Her fingers massaged the sensitive flesh around her petite horns and smiled to herself at the pleasurable sensation.

A knock at the door roused her from her self-indulgence. Scowling a bit, she stepped out of the small seclusion and wrapped a soft towel around herself, covering her breasts. Her tail prevented the towel from covering her taut bottom, but the small tuft of pale hair atop her slit was covered. She pulled open the door and a familiar face greeted her.

"Oh, sorry, ma'am, I hope I'm not interrupting," Samon said.

Cyra smirked, "Don't be silly, Samon, come on in."

"Y-you remember my name," he said as he entered. She closed the door behind him, forcing him to pass her at very close proximity. The tiefling could smell a modest, masculine cologne on Samon, and found it endearing to the young man.

"Well of course, sweetling," she said, leaning back against the door. She crossed her arms under her chest, pushing the full, round orbs up. "What brings you to my chamber Samon?"

"Well...uhm...I was wondering if maybe you might be interested in maybe going out to this place-"

"Yes," Cyra said, stopping his rambling.

"Yes? But...yes?"

"I would love for you to take me to dinner," she said. "If you can tell me who Sune is."

"Sune? The goddess?" Samon asked.

"The same."

"Um...isn't she the goddess of Love? Lady Firehair?" He responded.

"Very good. Did you know I am a disciple of Sune?" Cyra asked, stepping forward slowly.

"I didn't, no," he replied, watching as she slowly approached.

"Now you do," she said, stopping a pace away from the young man. "How old are you?"

"Twenty summers," Samon said.

"Do you know how old I am?" she asked, smiling sweetly.

"I wouldn't want to guess," he said, "for prudence's sake."

"Cute. And smart," Cyra said. "I am seventy-three years old."

"You...what? You can't be. You look as young as I do!"

She smiled at him. "I am a tiefling, sweet thing. Infernal blood courses through my veins. Does that bother you?"

"No," he said, his voice firm for the first time since his arrival.

"Good. Now, get out, Samon."

"What? But dinner..."

"In a bath towel? I must change, my dear, so allow me to do so and I will accompany you."

"Oh, of course!" Samon turned quickly and left, leaving Cyra smiling to herself. She giggled quietly and went about the quick task of putting on something pleasant and presentable. Samon paced nervously as he waited, but a surprisingly short time later, Cyra opened the door again, and he found himself in sincere admiration for her simple beauty.

Cyra had elected a pair of dark gray breeches, tight around her thighs and hips, and growing more loose near her polished black shoes. She wore a sheer black blouse over a black camisole which hugged and accentuated the generous swell of her breasts. The tiefling's reddish skin shone under the gauzy black material with an alluring glow, and where he skin was bare, she seemed to sparkle with latent heat. She hooked her thumbs over a thick black belt with a silver clasp, and smirked at him as his eyes wandered over her body.

After she took the time to appreciate the effort he had put into his dress, she cleared her throat suggestively. Samon, who was wearing thick black pants and a thick gray tunic that hugged his torso almost like a second skin, realized his mistake immediately looked back to her smirking eyes. She realized that the garb he worked in was not very flattering to his body, and admired the swell of his arms beneath the short-sleeved tunic, as well as the tapered shape of his torso as it descended to his waist. Cyra had a sudden desire to pull his shirt off and explore his undoubtedly chiseled torso, but refrained from doing so.

"Shall we?" She asked, holding her arm out for him to take. He nodded excitedly and hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the hall, then down the stairs. Cyra immediately noticed some of his coworkers and patrons staring at him wide-eyed.

"They didn't think you had the stones for me, eh?" she asked, a small smile on her full lips.

"No," he said sheepishly, doing his best to retain an air of confidence.

"What was the bet?" she asked, a little flattered.

"No bet, they just told me I wouldn't do it," he said. "But I really did want to ask you out tonight. Don't think I was trying to prove anything, please."

She smiled wider and pulled her arm from his. He was a slight bit taller than she was, so she was able to comfortably wrap her arm around his waist and rest put her head to his shoulder as they walked. He took her cue and wrapped his arm around her deceptively strong shoulders as they walked to the door. Before they reached the portal, though, Cyra put her hands on his face and kissed him deeply, letting her lips linger on his and looking out of the corner of her eye as several patrons fell out of their seats. Then, she abruptly broke the kiss and led him out the door, grinning widely as he stumbled after her, a dumb smile on his face.

"Thank you?" he asked when they were outside.

"My pleasure," she said, intertwining her fingers with his. "Now where were you planning on taking me, Master Samon?"

"Perhaps one of Everlund's fine restaurants? Maybe a playhouse?" he responded tentatively.

"Boring," she said flatly. "Where do you really want to take me?"

"The Lady's Tree. It is beautiful at night, and the leaves will be almost silver with the full moon tonight. There will also be a sacrifice at the Altar of Malar tonight, if you'd be interested in that. Then there is a small tavern that almost nobody knows about. We can get our pleasure there, then go to the rooftop and watch the stars."

"You do that on a regular basis?" She asked him.

"Watching stars, yes," Samon said, "and the Lady's Tree has always appealed to me, not to mention the half-elf that tends it is quite kind. But I've never witnessed a Malarran ritual. I've heard they're quite bloody."

"And, as a being of infernal blood, you would assume that a bloody ritual would appeal to me?" Cyra asked.

"Well...no...I mean I'd never presume to..."

"It does," she purred, grinning fiendishly as her petite fangs poked into her lower lip. "Let us enjoy the night, handsome, and see where it takes us."

Samon, having no more words for reply, simply led her away to the region of the city that was home to the Lady's Tree. He knew that she was likely not a servant of Mielikki, if she even was aware of the goddess's existence, but he figured that a beautiful woman would be able to appreciate the beauty of the tree in winter.

They didn't take long to reach the Tree, and Cyra did indeed find her breath taken away by the almost radiant leaves swaying in the crisp night air. "It's beautiful, Samon," she said quietly, her arm tight around his waist. He draped his arm over her shoulders and smiled at her.

"Ho, ho, wot we got here, lads?" came a loud, slurred voice. Cyra looked quickly behind them, seeing a bald man with loose clothing and a scraggly goatee approaching, glass bottle half-filled with a brown liquid in hand. He was followed by two more thuggish looking cohorts, one with short, spiky hair and the other with a long mop of black hair.

"It's ok," Samon said to her quietly, and without looking at her turned to face the three. "Who wants to know?"

"Why don't ya run along, laddy, and let real men handle the lady for the night," the bald man said, laughing and nudging his two cronies.

"Afraid I can't do that," Samon replied. Cyra noticed a distinct change in the young man's demeanor and posture. He was standing with his wait on the balls of his feet, and his fingers were tense, as if waiting to strike like a cobra at any given moment. "I promised the lady a night out, and I'd be remiss if I failed to do that."

"Well maybe she'd rather be with a real man, someone who knows a thing or two about handling a real woman," the brute said.

"For your information," Cyra said, her voice laced with venom, "Master Samon has treated me exactly the way I wish to be treated." She punctuated her statement by grabbing him by the jaw and pulling him into a passionate kiss, her tongue assaulting his mouth. Samon was quick enough to play along and not act surprised by the tiefling, a lesson he was beginning to take to heart.

The three men had approached to arms' reach by the time she broke the kiss. "Maybe ye just need to taste a real man to know for sure, heh," he said, a leer on his face as he reached out for Cyra's shoulder. With a lightning quick motion, Samon intercepted his hand, grabbing the bald man by the wrist and pushing him away.

"Insolent whelp!" the man said. He reared back and launched a haymaker punch for Samon's head. The young man easily leaned back, dodging the blow, then grabbing a hold of the fist and elbow and pushing, hard, sending the inebriated man sprawling forward. That was all the provocation his cohorts needed, as they launched themselves at Samon. He intercepted the long-haired thug first with a kick to the side of the head as he bent down for a shoulder slam. The second had maneuvered for a similar attack, and Samon simply sidestepped it, kicking out at his knee as he passed. He finished on the balls of his feet, hands out before him defensively, weaving around in the air.

The bald man was up first and brought his hands up in a typical boxing posture. He launched several jabs, which Samon was able to lean away from or dodge to the side. The bald man tried to get creative, jabbing once, twice, then following with a right-handed punch to Samon's middle. Samon blocked that attack, knocking the fist out wide as he stepped in and drove the heel of his palm up into the bald man's nose, splattering it against his cheek. He followed up with a chop to the throat, closing the bald man's wind pipe. Another strike found his chin, this time by a hard fist, and the bald man was unconscious.

By this time, his two cohorts were eyeing Samon warily. He looked to them and said, "You don't have to end up like him. Pick him up and be gone. Now." They complied immediately, and after a few calming breaths, Samon unclenched his fists and turned to face Cyra.

"Impressive," she said, arms crossed beneath her breasts. "Quite impressive."

"He was drunk," Samon said, shrugging. "Easier to deal with that way."

"Regardless. You protected me from three would-be assailants. I think that deserves a reward." Cyra came forward suddenly, hands on his chest, which rose and fell steadily from exertion, and kissed him lightly, letting her tongue linger for a while. She hoped he would seize the moment and take her mouth passionately with his tongue. She was not disappointed.

Overcome with adrenaline and excitement, Samon put both his hands on her face and pulled her to him, his tongue slipping past the meager defense her lips formed, and wrapped around her fiery hot tongue. She moaned quietly into his mouth, her arms hooking under his shoulders as she held herself to him, feeling the passionate heat emanating from him.

When the kiss finally broke, Cyra found herself short of breath and smiling. She put her palms on his chest again and pressed her forehead against his. "Are you ok?" he asked, lifting her face by her chin.

"Absolutely," she replied. "Let's go get that drink. I'm in the mood for a bit of star gazing, and now I simply must know how you learned to fight like that."

Grinning, he led her to a secluded part of Everlund. "This is Firehair's Back-room," Samon said. Tucked against the tall city wall and a large inn was a narrow building, just as tall as its neighbors, with a small courtyard walled in by a short stone partition. A stone arch with a wrought iron gate was the entrance to the courtyard, which housed about four circular tables and chairs, where a few patrons were sitting, drinking, and chatting with each other. It was a very cozy, unique establishment, and she could smell freshly cooked desserts and home-brewed drinks saturating the air. A zig-zagging stair wound up the side of the building, and Cyra supposed they would be heading up that way in the end.

Samon ordered them both a light ale with some crisp bread snacks, and carried both flagons and the reed-bowl up the stairs, the tiefling in tow. Cyra followed Samon up the stairs, enjoying the view of his muscular hind-quarters as he ascended. When they came to the summit of the stairwell, she was surprised at what greeted her. Meticulously cared for plants lined the waist-high wall that girded the roof, and dwelling within the plants were glow-bug hives. They were harmless, and emitted a soft, yellow bioluminescence that added a relaxed, delightful atmosphere. There were tables scattered about the roof, with an unobtrusive bar nestled away in the corner.

Cyra eyed the rakish looking man, with a long black pony tail and stubble beard, as he chatted idly with a young couple. Samon noted her interest and only smiled to himself as he led her to his chosen table. He set the two thin-handled flagons on the short table and put the crisps between them. On either side of the table were two long, reclined chairs, and Cyra followed Samon's lead by laying down, crossing her legs and folding her hands behind her head.

"I must say, Samon," Cyra began, "this is much better than I thought it'd be. I was half expecting some run-down watering hole."

"I'm full of surprises, I suppose," Samon said, smiling as he glanced sidelong at the tiefling.

Cyra, her head turned toward Samon, smiled coyly and reached for her ale. "So you just lay here and gaze at the stars, do you?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Alone?"

"Not tonight," he said, turning to face her. She rolled over onto her side.

"That's right. And what do you intend to do with your company?" She asked, affecting a purr to her already sultry voice.

He rolled over to look at her, taking a sip of his ale. "I intend to talk to you and get to know you."

"Really?" she asked, genuinely surprised. "Just talk?"

"Yes, why so surprised?" he asked.

"Look at me," she replied, indicating her petite horns, the slender tail, and impressive curves. "When men want to take me out they think sex and all the dirty, nasty things a tiefling might be into. Not conversation."

"I'm full of surprises, remember?" was all he replied, smiling honestly. She looked at him incredulously, then shrugged her shoulders, smiling.

"Very well then, Samon. You got a last name?" she asked.

"Samon Armanov," he replied. "My family and all my ancestors as far as we've known have been entrepreneurs. I am the exception. Does Cyra have a last name or family history?"

"Not one that many ask about," she said, pointing to her horns. "I don't know much about my mortal family, since I was cast out at a very early age. But my ancestry, that's something I've researched." She rolled onto her back, clasping her hands behind her head and wrapping her dexterous tail around her left leg. "The demon that mated with my great-great-grandmother was from the Plane of Shadow, a servant of Shar, and had an unnatural lust. He was gray-skinned, with a tail and short horns, and though he lived in unnatural cold, radiated heat fueled by his unquenchable lust. He came to the Prime Material Plane in search of women and men to sate his sexual cravings and deviant tastes, and found my mother. The story I was told was that she felt honored by his attentions and they mated throughout the night. She survived only barely, and lived the rest of her days scarred by the demon's lash and bites. The rest of my lineage was normal, it wasn't until my birth that his heritage became obvious."

"Wow," was all Samon said. "I'm sorry, I hope that wasn't hard for you to recall."

Cyra sat up on her chair and stood, turning to face Samon, her face impassive. She walked to his chair and laid next to him, facing him, with one of her shapely legs draping over his hip. "The only hard thing is that recalling my great-great-grandfather ignites something of his that I inherited. His unquenchable lust. Now, I have to figure out how to sate it. Any ideas?"

Samon grinned at the tiefling. "I don't suppose you have any whips or chains, do you?"

*****

Lura sat on Iliara's bed chewing a blackstalk stem. It burned her tongue as a fine liquor might, and she already felt a smoldering heat developing in her loins thanks to the aphrodisiac. She opened her eyes and looked at the gold elf, a grin on her face. The two females had left Mikhail to his own devices, and last she knew he had engaged Donnara in conversation that would likely end in sex. Lura couldn't bring herself to care. Iliara was watching her reaction while her hands idly drew lines over her athletic breasts.