Embodiment of Thunder Pt. 01

This part is mostly about build up and orgasm denial in a fantasy setting of my own creation, with the second part containing the sex with a non-gendered magical creature. If that's not your thing, feel welcome to skip this.

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Salene had been on her way home from the city when the first crack of thunder came from the skies. It was a little more than half a day's brisk walk by forest road, and oft gave her time to forage for the likes of mallow, chickweed or wild onions. Why even today, she was bringing back a bunch of honeysuckle and meadowsweet, relishing in the summer sun, thinking she had plenty of time to get home. After all, the soothsages had promised no rain.

Thunder echoed against the mountain sides.

Salene hurried as fast as she could down the road. It was impossible to tell if the storm came in from the sea, but it was a chance she was not willing to take, especially knowing of an outcropping of rock that could hopefully shelter her from any deluge. It had to be enough.

She could feel the rumble through the air, preceding the sound that followed.

The skies should have been clear. All signs pointed to it, they said on the square, but storms of magic were not unknown to trick even the strongest of soothsage, and so it was to no small relief that she saw the outcrop come into view on the forest's bend.

The rock raked out of the hillside at an angle, and the earth had fallen away for a good bit under it, creating a safe hollow framed by root and vine. It was frequented much by travellers and hunters, more often to use overnight, but on occasion a desperate visitor like herself found refuge there.

The oppressive pressure of the impending storm clung to her, thick and heavy with each breath. She could practically feel the dreaded rain, waiting to be released, as Salene dutifully stacked wood, herbs and kindling within the circle of white stones already laid. Though she noted with some concern that whoever had been here last had not replenished the shelter's stock of wood.

As the first drops hit the ground, she lit the tinder.

She watched the rain with bated breath as it fell onto the underbrush, rattling on the forest leaves like tiny umbrellas. She hoped, dearly, that the rain had not been brought in from the sea.

Only for that hope to sink when the lights came. A thousand little lights rising from the ground as floating, blue lanterns, springing out of the ground where the rain had struck. Though she knew them to be naught but motes of magic, they almost seemed... Alive. Dancing through the air like fireflies.

She diligently fed the fire, the uncomfortable, stifling smoke spreading under the outcrop, making her cough and wheeze and turning her head dizzy. But it did its job, and none of the magic ventured into her hiding place, even as thunder struck, closer now, the rumble shaking her to her core.

It wasn't a... Bad feeling. It felt raw and made her fine hairs stand on end. Her wards couldn't protect her from the deep, resonating rumble as it struck again, leaving her feeling exposed.

It was silly, really. She had never felt like this when she weathered the storms in the safety of her home. But here, with only a thin, flimsy ward protecting her from the mesmerising confluence of lights and magic, spinning in the rain? It was electric. A beautiful sight she usually hid from, now on full display.

As the thunder rumbled through her core again, it took her breath away. Either that or the stifling smoke. Though she knew it unsafe, part of her longed to put it out and enjoy the petrichor in earnest. Everything was just so warm in here, and not just from the fire. The feeling of nature shaking the earth, right up through the thighs she was unconsciously pressing together, it was excruciating. Infuriating.

Tempting.

Salene had to laugh at it, a shallow, harrowed bark. This was not exactly her idea of a pleasant night for herself, let alone a romantic outing.

But here she was, piling up her gear for a backrest, feeling the coarse blanket against fevered skin. She felt enflamed, each little hair standing on end in anticipation, and piling her garb below her to feel the wind on it did naught more than make her release a frustrated sigh. Each small breeze that wafted into her hide away sending a gust of horrifically hot air over her.

She imagined it like little fiery hands, extended from the flames, groping at exposed skin. She welcomed the breeze, the touch, between her legs, knowing full well that no sane person would be wandering the roads.

Though she did wish that some would. Ephemeral brushes of wind was not enough, and even her own roaming hands, one grasping her own breast, the other gently spreading her labia, taking each lip and softly stroking them open for the wind, it was not enough.

She arched her back, head rolling with soft sighs as she grazed her clit, feeling as electric as the vibrating motes of magic outside - their pale blue light surreally scattering through the smoke. Cooling, in contrast to the fire in her den, and the swiftly mounting heat within, stoked by her fingers pressing at her clit and nipple.

She gasped in delight, in want and need, as another clap of thunder and the lightning flash crashed down seemingly right overhead - sending impossible vibrations up through her legs and deeper still.

Her moan joined the rains chorus, as she ran her fingers up and down her slit, gentle first then feverishly, finding no relief. None came either as she rubbed her clit or pressed one, two, three fingers inside until her hand hurt from the pounding, working them in and out of her soaked opening as she roughly kneaded her breast whilst working her nipple with her own mouth and teeth through wanton moans.

But all it did was make it worse.

It was out of desperation that she pulled the log from the firewood and nestled it under the blanket, mounting it under her insufferably sensitive sex. Gently, cautiously, she pressed against the hard edge softened by her thick blanket, legs splayed over the ground. Then, reaching up to cup her breasts, she started to grind, back and forth, finding her rhythm. Breathing in time with each thrust, the pleasure sparking in her abdomen from the pressure of her weight on the log, branching up through her body.

Salene screamed as the thunder struck again, rolling through the ground and the log and up through her spine, the flash of lightning and pleasure blinding her for a moment.

But she trembled desperately, blanket soaked, teetering over an edge she couldn't push herself over, releasing a cry of frustration and need as she leaned down to grasp the log. Wishing in that moment for someone, anyone, anything to relieve the maddening need.

A dangerous wish, perhaps.