Gifts from Dion

Dion grunted, his hands instinctively going to Daphne's long, dark hair, finding it tied back. His fingers pushed through the locks, gently urging her down onto him. Her eyes flitted up to his, and he saw the warm desire for approval there. "Good, Daphne," he said, softly, his voice deeper and huskier than it had been a moment ago. His heart rattled in his chest, and he felt a sharp, ecstatic rush of pleasure as she grabbed his thighs, pulling him deeper into her mouth.

Gods, how had he been so lucky as to find a companion like Daphne? While her time at the pleasure house had been relatively short, she had picked up many skills while there, and her expertise with her tongue was second-to-none. The hot, tight embrace of her mouth as she guided him between her rubied lips made his head pound with need, and a shaky laugh escaped him. "Daphne, you know you don't--"

Daphne's hands gripped his thighs tighter and she pulled more of him into her mouth, looking up at him with a challenging smirk curling her lips and a bright, teasing light in her eyes. He didn't finish the comment, almost able to hear her rejection of his 'kindness.' She did enjoy giving pleasure to him, but he always felt a little guilt when she did. She did not need to pleasure him, but she chose to.

His Daphne was very good at pleasuring, too. He grunted again as she began to lead herself up and down his shaft, her lips wrapped tightly around his thick need, and one of her hands slipped down to wrap around his thick root. She knew every inch of his body now, knew every touch that could elicit a groan or moan.

And when he looked down to see that she had tugged her seafoam dress up a bit to play with herself, too, he murmured, "Good, Daphne," approvingly, his hand clenching in her dark locks of hair. He loved seeing, not just hearing, that she enjoyed his taste and the feel of him inside her mouth. And gods, he did love the feel of her lips gripping his shaft as tightly as they could, her tongue lapping the underside of his thick girth, the way her throat tightened around his cock as she swallowed and struggled to breathe.

She moaned, softly, the vibration sending chills over him as her tongue extended, lapping eagerly at his sack. He groaned, knees threatening to give way.

Immediately, Daphne pulled off of him, looking concerned. She reached for the scar on his leg, his long-healed but still aching wound, and said, "Do you hurt?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "A bit," he admitted. "The storm coming in the morning irritates it."

Daphne smiled. She doused the candles she had lovingly lit in the kitchen, covering dinner quickly, then grabbed his hand. "Come," she teased, guiding him to the bed, "dinner can wait."

Dion saw no reason to argue. It was already late; why not put it off a little while longer? Indulge in each other, before a delicious meal? He chuckled as she pushed him backwards onto the bed, following him to lounge prettily between his thighs, her emerald eyes devouring him as if he were the feast for the eve. "What has gotten into you tonight?" he asked, again feigning ignorance of the importance of the day.

This time, he thought he saw a small frown flicker across her lips, and he grinned. Good. That would make her less suspicious of the gift he had planned. He saw the doubt as she suddenly wondered if she had the wrong day, or if he had somehow forgotten such a special day.

'No, sweet Daphne, I have not forgotten you.'

Her concern was only on display for a half moment, though, then replaced by her usual tender smile. Her hands pushed his thighs apart, his cock jutting upright as she leaned over him, dragging her tongue from root to tip of his aching need. She paused, her lips teasing his velvety skin, "I missed you. I'm not used to the taverna keeping you from me after dark. I am maybe a tad jealous."

He chuckled, "Jealous? If this is the response to my being late, it might end up happening more often, my dear Daphne."

She gasped, looking amused, and she murmured, "That's not what I meant!"

Dion would have teased her further, loving the gentle humor in her green gaze, but she was tired of his taunts. Her lips wrapped around his head once more, her tongue teasing his erect cock, and he groaned instead. As always, Daphne knew exactly how to use that tongue to make him shudder with pleasure, and he heard her own moan of approval as his need for her throbbed. Her soft, slim hand gripped his shaft and stroked it up towards her suckling lips, and his hands clenched in the silken sheets of their bed.

She swallowed him -- utterly, from tip to root. Dion groaned as his dainty companion drew his cock inch-by-inch into her mouth, and her felt her tongue lap against his rod as she urged his girth deeper into her throat. He groaned softly, toes curling. This was one of the many skills that she had learned at the pleasure house, one that she had used on him the very first night they had met. He did not know where she placed his mighty sword, but she was incredibly skilled at swallowing it.

"Gods, you've gotten better at that," he grunted, appreciating her years of practice with him.

Daphne laughed, the chuckle vibrating against his cock before she pulled off of him with an audible, wet pop. Dion looked at her, lifting his head from the pillow he'd found himself lounging on, but his beautiful companion was already crawling up his body, her silky seafoam dress brushing against his skin as she settled herself over his saliva-slickened thighs. The flickering oil lamps and lit candles cast dancing shadows across her porcelain skin, and he appreciated her all over again.

She was more stunning than any work of art he'd acquired on his travels.

Daphne's lips met his, just a brief glance, before she leaned up, teasing her core against his straining need. The warmth of her tight, familiar entrance wrapping around his shaft made him shiver. He enjoyed the sight of the beautiful dark-haired woman as she stretched her arms over her head, her head tossed back as she reveled in their joining. Her moan, soft and whimpering, drew a pulse from him within her. "Daphne," he groaned, his hand resting upon her hip as she slowly slid herself down over his aching cock.

She didn't respond with any word, at least not one that he understood -- she whimpered, her hand resting upon his chest as she inched down on top of him, until her thighs settled against his and he was hilted all the way inside of her tight, gripping core.

Looking at her from here, she was a goddess; a shimmering, shadowy goddess -- his goddess. Dion's hand slid underneath the sheer green dress she donned to tease him, drawing it up her body slowly. Her skin dimpled with goosebumps as he bared her to his hungry eyes, loving and knowing every curve of her petite body as it rode him. Soon he bared her breasts, swaying gently to her motions as she rode his sun-darkened thighs, her dusky nippled pebbed into hard, eager buds. Then, the dress slipped free, and he saw all of Daphne, only her dainty collar left on her body to mark her as his, truly.

"Dion," she breathed, finally calling his name. His hand cupped one of her swaying tits, kneading it and teasing it until her pale flesh reddened, and she writhed and whimpered in barely-restrained ecstasy.

She sheathed him completely within herself, a cry keening softly between her rubied lips, and Dion let his companion take lead. And lead she did -- Daphne placed a hand on his chest, closed her emerald eyes, and rode him to her own frenzied desire. He felt her love and lust for him in that moment, her auburn-haired-head tossed back carelessly, caught up in her passion with the man, her body aching and rippling with need that he both saw and felt as.

She tightened, clenching her core around him, and he saw her fingers drawing small circles around the bud that dwelled between their coupling bodies. "Cum, Daphne," he urged, gently, his hand upon her hip taking some command and grinding her down on his thick, throbbing cock. "Cum for me."

Daphne looked into his eyes, and came. He wrapped an arm around her, anchoring her as a soft, bubbling cry erupted from between her lips, sounding half-startled, half-delighted. Her sex milked his cock, tightening and releasing in ebbing waves of passion and pleasure, and her body pulsed with an energy he felt as she trembled in his arms.

He held her against him for many, many long moments, feeling her gently come down from her orgasm. Her trembling limbs stilled, and her racing heart eased, and her body relaxed over his as she felt the wild passion of their unplanned coupling abating. His hands explored her as she slowly descended, marveling her soft warmth, the pliancy as he played with her ass and stroked her lithe body.

He had not cum yet, but he was content to wait until she was ready. So, he held her, watching as the candles burned down and the moon's shadow slowly moved across the far wall.

Finally, Daphne murmured, "You did not...?"

He kissed her neck, then nipped it. "Not yet." He was still hard, though, and when she clenched her core around him he felt her teasing invitation to continue. He was only all-too eager to comply.

The sharp inhale of expectation was a delight to his ears, and as his hands cupped her ass, hauling her against him, her giggle was even more so. She laughed in breathless delight as he roughly flipped her over onto her back on the massive, plush bed, pinning her beneath him while managing not to break their intimate connection. He felt her tight warmth trembling around him as she laughed, constricting and milking him with each smile and breathless gasp she made.

Dion loved it when Daphne laughed. He only wanted her to laugh with him.

Well, laugh, and moan. Moaning was fine, too. She did that, now, as she wrapped her long, pale legs around his waist. He held himself within her, feeling her tightness around his girth, clenching and unclenching as he slowly hilted out inside of her. She moaned softly, a sound he wasn't sure she was even aware she was making, and as he unwound her legs and pushed them to the side of her, that moan only grew more throaty in deep, carnal pleasure. The dying lantern light caught the glimmer of her collar --

"Dion?" she breathed, her lips brushing his chest, his neck.

He wanted to fill her with his seed: to breed her, and make her his again and again as he filled her with sons or he died trying. "You are mine, Daphne," he growled, his mouth crashing down hungrily over hers for a frenzied moment, his tongue pushing past soft lips painted red for his pleasure. Dion spread Daphne's lush thighs as far apart as they could go without hurting her, and he buried himself inside of her. The cry that tore from the pretty brunette's lips as his cock slammed into her pink pussy and his sack slapped off of her ass made him shudder, his rod seizing with threat to spill his seed.

Somehow, Dion resisted. Daphne's arched her back and wrapped her arms around him, dragging her nails down his skin, crying, "Dion! Again!"

So, he did. He withdrew until only the throbbing, dripping crown of his cock was left inside of her, and then he slammed into her again, causing her breasts to bounce and her eyes to roll back into her head, and shudder wracking through her as he grazed some internal spot he hadn't anticipated, but was pleased to pleasure nonetheless.

Daphne's trembling, quivering pussy wrapped around him as he penetrated her core, stoking a fire that he hadn't known could be kindled so high. When he looked down at her, her emerald eyes were clenched shut, and a pink flush had spread over her body sprawled beneath him, her chest rising and falling quickly as she soared towards a second release.

He came when she did, hers for the second time, milking him sweetly. She screamed as she came, and he hastily caught the cry with his mouth, devouring it hungrily as she convulsed around him. His cock tightened and drew hot, then pulsed as he shot rope after thick, creamy rope of seed into her honeyed embrace.

Daphne held him as he filled her, then continued to hold him as he slumped to the side, spent and exhausted. She smiled at him, and he saw the warmth in that smile. For a moment she turned away, leaning over the side of the bed, and he frowned. When she turned back, he realized she had only been fetching her gift. Stubborn wench. She was supposed to be satisfied with gifting him a delicious meal and an indulgent feast. She had delivered on both so far, and yet she still planned more, it seemed.

It was in a small bag, one hand-knitted, and as she held it out to him he felt what it was immediately. He smiled, upending the bag to reveal the ring. He was startled as it spilled onto his palm -- the loping silvered wolf was a precious sigil, and he glanced to Daphne. The glimmer of joy in her eyes as she looked at his face, not the ring, confirmed to him that he had been right in choosing her that first night.

"You had this made?" he asked, surprised. It was a touching gift. He had created his own sigil upon being being released as a soldier, and he had yet to start adorning their home with the symbol. This was one of the first physical images he had seen of the design. It was handsome.

But, Daphne shook her head. He frowned. She had found it?

"I made it," she clarified, and he stared at her for a moment, no comprehending the simple claim. "For you," she added, a smile curling her kiss-reddened lips. "Over the weeks while you were away, I have been working on it while I can. As a gift for you, my love, for the years you have given me in happiness where I would have otherwise found only patrons and clients."

He gently cupped her cheek, not wanting to think of that. "I love it," he admitted, quietly, surprised by how touched he was by the simple trinket. That she had not only designed something so intimate, but had hand-crafted it, too? It was a precious treasure. He stood, though, and he saw the flash of surprise in her eyes that revealed that she'd accepted that she'd possibly mistaken the day.

"I have a gift for you, too, my dear Daphne," he said, withdrawing a long, slender box that he knew was an immediate tell: a necklace lay within.

Daphne's hand went to her collar, and he smiled. A fair assumption.

He carefully opened the box and revealed -- nothing. A roll of plush velvet where a necklace could be lain, but there was no jeweled prize nestled within. Daphne's brow furrowed in confusion, and she glanced at him, clearly curious. He placed the box down, then gestured that she should lay on his chest. She did, then tensed as his fingers found the clasp to the necklace that she had been wearing for two years.

Her collar.

"Dion?" she asked, softly, and the confusion in her voice made him ache. He hoped that he could ease that soon. He smiled gently as he pulled the collar away from her neck, her eyes lifting to meet his once more as he placed the delicate strand to the side.

He saw the fear in her eyes, and he realized that she dreaded the worst.

"No, no, Daphne," he murmured, brushing a kiss against her temple, then her lips. He chuckled, softly, realizing his mistake. He reached into his abandoned trousers, pulling out the small box, revealing a gift of his own -- another ring, this one meant for a woman's delicate finger. It seemed as if their minds strayed towards similar ideas, though his had not been so intimately crafted by his own hands. He had bought it on his journeys: a brilliant green gem, settled into a golden band, blessed by some mountain oracle in a far away land.

Daphne stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, and he chuckled. Sometimes his beloved did not have all of the answers, and that was okay.

"I approached the council a few months back with a petition to re-negotiate your contract," he said, softly, "so that you are no longer a slave by my side, but a wife. Still mine, still belonging to the household we have been building together, but free. With me." He took her hand and gently guided the ring onto it, adding, "Only if you agree to this change, though, of course. I cannot force you to become a free woman."

She looked at the ring on her finger, then at the man who had placed it there. "A wife?" she repeated, as if she hadn't heard him right.

"A wife," he confirmed. Then, he smiled somewhat crookedly, "My wife."

Daphne smiled. When Daphne smiled, it made his heart ache with joy, and when her lips crushed against his he couldn't help but laugh, somehow finding more happiness in that moment than in the one when he'd made the initial trade to purchase her. This time she was giving herself freely.

She was his, and she was his forever.

"Dion," she gasped, softly, finally pushing him backward to whisper his name against his lips. He stilled, somehow, barely finding the strength to keep from shoving her into the plush mattress to make love to her anew right then and there. Only the urgency in the way she whispered his name made him hesitate, and he was glad he did so.

She had pulled out another gift -- another bag, this time a little larger. He hefted it, then frowned. "What's this?" he asked, thoroughly befuddled where he had not been with the ring.

"Open it and see," she teased, though he saw a pale pink flush on her cheeks that indicated she was nervous about this gift. Why nervous about this one? How could it be any more wonderful than his beloved hand-carving a personalized ring sigil?

Dion slipped his hand into the canvas bag, and withdrew a small, wooden object that nestled neatly into the palm of his hand. He frowned for a moment as he realized that it was the mouse oil lantern that Daphne had kept for many months after they had moved in, using it often for her various personal tasks that needed only a small light. It had vanished one day, and she had professed that it had broken. He'd been devastated for her, as he'd figured she was saving it for their own child someday.

"Did you make this, too? To replace the other?" he asked, teasing, and she flushed deeper. Why gift it to him, though? His thumb brushed over the simple design, one he had often played with as a child himself. An oil lantern, meant to be turned into a toddler's toy --

"Not a replacement," she murmured, softly, "just an announcement."

His thumb stilled on the wooden lantern, and his eyes rose to meet those of his wife's, finally understanding. The mouse's wooden fur felt warm beneath his touch as he thought of all the times he had caught Daphne cradling the mouse. She smiled, placing her hand gently over his, warm and soft.

"You are sure?" he asked, softly, scared to hope.

Daphne hesitated, then nodded. "I am sure. But, it is early, and there is a chance --"

He shook his head, silencing her. They would worry about that when, if it ever came to be an issue.

"We may need a bigger cottage soon, my love." Daphne smiled up at him, and while her neck was bare and pale, the ring upon her finger spoke far louder than the simple golden collar ever had. "Are you up for the task?"

Dion chuckled, "With you, my dear Daphne? I can do anything."