Mud and Magic Ch. 01-03

Rhys tensed up because she caressed the scars on the tough, tanned hide of his behind. Years of abuse, often with a rough belt, had left them there, and despite all of Ilva's healing arts, some of them had healed badly, leaving rough ridges and angry red streaks forever etched into him.

Their eyes met. All Rhys could see in hers was unbound sympathy, not pity. He closed his arms around her waist, his fingers caressing up her unblemished skin. How different her skin was to his. Smooth, soft, supple. Her lips found his ear and his neck, breathing hot little kisses on the skin.

"I admire your restraint," she whispered. "If it had been me, I'd have killed that bastard years ago."

"Let's not talk about him, please," Rhys groaned. He did not want to think about home, about all the pain Padec had caused him. It was almost enough to make his rod deflate. Rhys forced all thoughts about the farm from his mind, instead focusing his attention on the warm body in his embrace. He moved his hand, leaving goosebumps under his fingertips as his fingers caressed her flank, then up and inwards, over the flesh of her breasts, until his finger circled her nipple. Dara gasped.

"You're sure I'm yer first?" she muttered. "If so, you're a ruddy natural." Her hand closed around his cock, squeezing fondly.

"I only did what I like on myself," Rhys murmured, his hand on Dara's back sliding downwards, cupping one of her cheeks and kneading it.

Again they kissed, this time much less gently. Dara growled in the back of her throat. Rhys pulled back his head and raised an eyebrow.

Dara grinned and stroked him slowly. "Tell that to all the other blokes out there. Their idea of romance is a pint of ale and a quick fuck in the stables. For anything gentler, I had to ask Celeste. Until tonight." She moved, slowly pulling him towards the bed. "Oh, your face."

"I've never seen two women," Rhys said. "Only in the book..."

Dara slid onto the bed, beaming. "Stick around me long enough and you might. But tonight you're all mine."

He slithered into bed next to her. Dara snaked an arm past him, to caress his back and spine. "Still afraid?"

"I've stopped being afraid some hours ago," Rhys grumbled. Her body was next to his, their legs and hips touching. Dara was almost flat on her back, one foot pulled up against her butt while Rhys was on his side. The oil lamps panted pools of golden light onto her skin and hair, a glorious image rivaling even the icon of Mercy. His hand touched her hip then caressed upward, aiming for her breasts again.

"You're such a knight. Let me show you something," Dara suggested, her lips a lascivious smile. She pulled his face down until his lips touched her breast. "You can kiss anywhere, not just the mouth," Dara purred, tousling his hair. "And since your hand is no longer occupied caressing my titties..." She closed her fingers around his and moved them. Down, past her navel they went, past the barely noticeable stubble on her mound, until they brushed along her folds. She was hot and wet, Rhys noted without using his eyes. His mouth had found her nipple and he gently sucked. Dara cooed encouragingly, her free hand on his back. Rhys tried to stop flinching whenever her fingertips bumped off one of his ribs, a scar or the knobs of his spine. Dara writhed against him, her hot body a delicious, unfamiliar sensation against his sensitive rod.

"You think you can do without me?" Dara whispered, releasing Rhys' fingers. Two of which were nestled between her nether lips, the fingertips gently caressing a throbbing, hot nub.

Rhys stopped laving her breast with his tongue and looked at her quizzically. "You're going somewhere?"

"Me? No. My hand. Oh yes." She closed her fingers around him again. "Let me play with your lance, oh mighty knight Rhys." Dara stroked him. Her cheeks were flushed. Rhys kissed the valley between her breasts, making his way to the so far neglected one. Her hand on him was wonderful, so much gentler, yet knowing full well what she wanted. He had fantasized about her, how her body would feel, how her hands would caress him, but those dreams were only hazy guesswork, nowhere near the blissful real thing. He rolled his pelvis against her touch, fucking her fingers. His own were caressing, exploring the so far unknown space between her nether lips. He was doing something right, going by the small little gasps she made whenever he touched, probed. Rhys stopped kissing her breast.

"You said I could kiss everywhere?" he asked, the fires of discovery alight in his eyes.

"I love the way you think, my knight," she breathed. Dara gave his lance one last tug before pushing him onto his back. She raised herself on hands and knees and made a complicated turn, crawling atop him, her shaved mound now right below his chin. He could feel her hot breath on his crotch, a heartbeat before she closed her lips around him. Rhys tossed his head back, groaning. His whole body tensed up, urging him to shoot his cream deep into her mouth. He didn't want the heavenly sensations to stop that soon though. He took a deep breath, imagining the ugliest thing he could -- mucking out the stables. The incredible need for release lessened somewhat and he grinned, thankful for the stay of execution. Especially since he was closer to Dara's nethers than ever before.

Rhys pulled her cushion closer to prop up his head and began to explore her privates with his mouth and nose. She did smell musky but far from unpleasant, especially when the occasional whiff of herbal soap mixed in with her aroma. He put out his tongue and took a tentative lick, aiming right for the hot nub he had felt with his fingertips before. Dara's reaction was a long, drawn out moan around his rod, accompanied by a wild fluttering sensation. He looked along his body and could see her head slowly bob, his lance disappearing between her lips, each time causing waves of heat to course through his whole body. Encouraged, he licked again, slow, exploratory strokes, first along the lips, then into the folds proper. Each incursion was met with new moans and sighs and her sex pressing against his face, especially when he sucked on her nub. Rhys planted both hands on her behind to keep her from smothering him, eagerly lapping at her and circling that nub. Suddenly, Dara let his lance spring free, moaning like never before and pressed herself against his face hard, her hand coming around to keep his head in place as she writhed and thrashed against him.

Before Rhys could ask if he had done something wrong, she lowered her head again, engulfing him almost to the root, her hand caressing and rolling his balls in their fleshy prison. Now it was Rhys who ground himself against her, trying to fuck her hot, sucking mouth. She made encouraging noises, hot slurps and gurgles, and before he knew it he erupted. Shocked at the sudden release, he tried to withdraw from Dara's mouth but she would have nothing of it, lovingly sucking and slurping until she finally was sated.

She crawled around on the bed until her head was right side up again and she melted against him, grinning from ear to ear. She gulped once then kissed him full on the lips. It was a shock of salt and musk.

Rhys recoiled, more in surprise than disgust. "What the-"

Dara grinned, her hand already crawling back down his body, where her questing fingertips found him still hard as a pipe. "It never hurts for a man to taste his seed once in a while," she said, a little out of breath. "If you get used to the taste, you might find surprising opportunities."

"If you say so," he mumbled. A memory stirred. "While on the subject of taste. Not to be rude but you tasted like pussy earlier."

"Like I said... I helped Celeste shave. And one important part is making sure we don't miss any hair. The tongue is an amazing tool in this regard." She grinned fiendishly. Her hand closed around Rhys' cock and squeezed again. "You like the idea, hm? Me and Celeste, naked, on this bed, licking each other." Her hand caressed along the shaft, teasing him.

"Should I feel bad, after-"

"Heavens no!" Dara smiled benevolently. "You'd have to be dead not to drool at the idea of two willing women yearning for such a stout prick." She straddled his lap. "But since I can't get her over without yelling like a banshee, you'll have to make do with this soppy hole here." The panting redhead rubbed his tip against her puffy lips. They were soft and hot and wet. She rolled her hips, teasing him with the slightest hint of his tip grazing her velvety tunnel.

"I want to fuck you, Rhys. Do you want me to?" Dara asked, her voice a lusty rasp.

"Hell yes," he growled, his hands on her ass. He pulled her closer. She reached between them, angled up his cock and lowered herself. With nary a trace of resistance, she impaled herself on him before lowering herself onto his chest, her breasts soft mounds against his ribs.

"You know, we should have done that much, much earlier," she panted. "I never knew how good you would feel inside me. Holding me." Dara kissed him. He pulled her closer, his tongue darting into her mouth. She moaned around it, her hips slowly rising and falling.

Rhys suddenly found it hard to breathe. Dara didn't choke him but the realization that he might not see her again for a very long time after this night took his breath away. His resolve began to crumble. Now he had found someone who was willing to accept him as he was, with all his baggage, all the damage, and he would spit in her face and leave her? How could he even do this to her, pretending he cared for her, maybe loved her even when he would be gone shortly? Hot, stinging tears trickled down his cheeks and the rosy haze he had reveled in evaporated in an instant. He felt himself going limp.

Dara stopped moving and looked at him, terrified.

"Hey, Rhys... Speak to me. Are you all right?" She held him in a loose embrace, a look of surprise, of alarm on her expressive features.

"I- I don't think I can do this," Rhys stammered. His flaccid rod slithered from her and he scrabbled backwards, out of her embrace.

She looked at him, puzzled, then understanding dawned. "Hey... it happens to every lad, especially if it's their first time."

"That's not what I mean!" Rhys moaned. "I'll probably never see you again, Dara. I can't stay here and... and..."

Dara shook her head, a sad little smile playing around her lips. She pulled Rhys against her breasts. "Why don't you begin again, hm? Why are you leaving? Where to? I promise, I won't tell any one. Not even Celeste."

"I would love to tell you," Rhys began, gently slipping from her embrace. He hated himself but he knew the less people knew about the witch blood, the better. "I really, really do. But it's better if you don't know."

Dara lanced a stern finger at him. "If I ever find out you joined Carver's ranks, I will personally bite off your testicles and spit them into the fire then fuck your ass with the biggest, glowing poker I can find. I am not joking, Rhys."

A weak chuckle managed to get past the tears. "I promise. I am not going to join Carver. Quite the opposite in fact."

"There is no opposite to..." Dara began then she closed her mouth. She took a few deep breaths, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm not sure I understand."

"I can't sit around here and watch Carver slowly bleed the village dry. Since everyone else is too damn afraid, I will go. And I will find something to kick this blighter's ass with."

Dara giggled weakly. "Spoken like a true knight. And you are mistaken. I know at least one other person who thinks like you do."

"Who?"

"Celeste. She helps in every way she can. Promise me you will see her before you leave."

Despite himself, Rhys chuckled. "You're the second woman today who told me I should see our beautiful cleric."

"Whoever said that was very wise. When will you be leaving?"

"If it were for Gran, I would be long gone already," he admitted.

"Believe me, you made the right choice," Dara said, pulling him against her body. "Here's the deal. You stay for the night. If the fancy catches us, we try again and if not, hey, at least I can offer you the trader's breakfast with all the bells and whistles. Don't want my knight to limp out of here on an empty stomach."

* * * *

Dara stirred in his arms and smoothed her butt against his rod. He was deathly tired, but sleep would not come. Too many unfamiliar sensations. The warm body in his arms, her soft breathing and little sighs, such a marked contrast to the unbridled snoring his brothers put up each and every night. Then there was the bed itself, the clean linen over the straw mattress, such a far cry from the smelly pallet he had. Rhys snuggled closer to her. How easy it all was all of a sudden. Two days ago he blushed like a little girl at the sight of Celeste's chastely clothed bosom, now he gently caressed Dara's bare breast, her nipple a soft poke in his palm while his lance rested in the cleft of her butt.

"Can't sleep?" Dara whispered.

"Not really. Sorry if I woke you."

Her cheeks squeezed his rod. "Don't be. Being caressed awake is nice."

"Much better than a shoe to the head, yeah." Rhys kissed her neck. "Having you in my arms isn't half-bad either."

"That's obvious in how you try to poke me with your lance, laddie."

Rhys froze. She chuckled, raised a leg and reached below and behind her. "Try here," Dara suggested, resting his tip between her lips. He pushed, sliding his length against her. "My, still so much energy. It must be heaven being a young stud."

He snorted then nibbled on her ear like she had done earlier. "Stud, right. I'm more like a starving foal." He inhaled sharply as her fingers joined his rod. She stroked and fondled him, pressing his throbbing flesh against her damp lips in time to the roll of her butt.

"Stop being so hard on yourself," Dara ordered. She angled his tip and let go, just as he pushed. They sighed in unison as he slid into her. "All you need is some decent food and a long time away from that horrible father of yours," she added, the last few words a mournful choke.

Rhys froze.

"Don't stop," Dara whispered, pressing her face into the cushion so he wouldn't see her tears. "Please, don't stop." She moved his hand until it rested on the curve of her butt. The other was still curled under her armpit, his fingers on her breast. "I'm fine, honest."

"If you say so," he replied, raining gentle kisses onto her cheek, ear and hair. He moved again, pushing his length into her. It felt so right, as if he'd done that all his life. Dara gasped and moaned, especially when he picked up speed. She curled her arm up and pressed his face into the soft of her neck as he ploughed deep into her. Gone seemed the awkward lad of just elbows and knees. His panting became uncoordinated, frantic and she knew he'd soon be done. Dara slid one hand down her body and moved her leg, adding her knowing fingers to the blistering stabs of his cock. She even had stopped crying, her breath taken away by his fervor. That was no helpless rabbit thrashing against her, this was a hungry, starving wolf pounding her for all he was worth. She felt an odd rush of satisfaction, knowing that it was her who had given him this important first ride. He bucked against her, gasping helplessly and then there was the hot rush of his seed pouring into her. Dara's fingers dove between her folds, caressing her love button and pushing her over the edge as well.

Outside, the first cockerel began to screech. Rhys groaned, his delicious rod still deep within her.

"Oh say it ain't so," Dara laughed. "You'd like another go?"

He nearly crushed her chest with a fierce hug. His rod in her caused delicious friction. A part of her loathed to let it end right now. She knew full well how he would feel, drawn towards her, his earnest intentions wavering in the heat of her pussy. Fighting down the lump in her throat, Dara reached between them and pulled him free. A thick trickle of their combined juices followed, soiling the sheets.

"As much as I'd love to," she purred, rolling in his embrace and giving his lance a squelching tug, "the sheets are spoiled and Daffyd would chew my ear off if I didn't be in the taproom, starting the fire and all that. Besides, I owe you that breakfast." She planted a kiss, much hungrier than she herself would have expected, onto his lips. Grinning mischievously, she lapped down his chest, his stomach, until she could wrap her lips around his hardness. She slurped and licked, reveling in their combined taste.

"What are you doing?" Rhys moaned, gently fucking her mouth.

Dara licked up his shaft and swirled her tongue around his tip. "Leaving ye something to remember me by," she purred then resumed her licking. "And I want to make sure ye're calm and collected when ye see Celeste. We can't have her distracted by yer prick, laddie." She added her second hand, playing with his balls and teasing the cleft of his butt with her thumb. His ass jerked off the bed, driving his lance deep into her mouth and she purred around him, sucking until he shot another mouthful of cream. He slumped onto the covers, finally deflating. She breathed a kiss onto his stomach. "Well then. Up and at 'em, Rhys. There's water in the pitcher over there. Since you're my guest, you can have the first go. And be thorough. Don't want you to arrive at Celeste's stinking like my pussy now, do we?" She slid from the bed and padded, gloriously naked, to the large wardrobe. There was a groan and the shuffling of feet then the sound of water being poured into a wash bowl.

"You even have soap," Rhys muttered.

"Well, in my line of work I can't afford to reek of piss and ass," Dara said airily, opening the wardrobe. Inside were not only her handful of dresses, sheets and towels but a collection of pants, shirts and shoes several lovers had lost in the inn over the years. She had kept them, in part as morbid souvenirs, in part maybe hoping one of them would return and claim their belongings. So far, none had. She looked over her shoulder at Rhys, who stood in a small puddle of water, cleaning himself diligently. Tall and lanky. She dug around in the assorted pants and found a pair, made of suede, which once belonged to an elven minstrel. He had about the same waist as Rhys and she grinned, thinking back fondly to the day he had fucked her in the attic in positions she had never thought possible. His shirt was too moth-eaten to be any use though so she chucked it aside, to be burned later. A white ruffled shirt came next. It had belonged to a riverboater's daughter. She had been tall and blonde and strong and only wore men's clothes. It would probably be a bit too wide at the shoulders just yet but if he ate properly, Rhys would nicely fill it out one day. The minstrel's boots were in good shape, a bit worn but still leaps and bounds better than the horrible pieces of wood Rhys clomped around in. Plus, the boot dagger was still there, the slender elven blade sharp as a razor after all these years. She plucked a simple, water-proof cloak from a shelf and wrapped the other clothes in it.

"I'm done," he said. Dara grabbed a towel and tossed it his way then she brought her gifts and laid them out on the chair next to the wash table. Rhys' eyes went wide. "For me?"

"Of course. Unless you'd rather strut around the world in your ghost of an outfit."

"But... I can't-"

Dara put her hands on her hips and impaled him with her gaze. "Rhys. Do you really want to insult me by offering payment?"

He paled. "I-... I'm sorry..."

"I know you mean well. I also know you're as rich as Carver is a moronic piece of trash. These are gifts freely given, for a man I like very much. You owe me nothing."

"No? After-"

She growled threateningly. "If you want to play knight so badly, how about this? When you come back, do so at the head of a small army. Bring enough might to crush Carver and all his blasted cronies."