Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 02

"High Lord Beresant," Lura said, bowing her head before the master of Everlund. "You summoned me?"

"Indeed, Lady Lura," the man responded. Lura had always viewed the man fondly. He was a seasoned man, formerly a skilled fighter by all accounts, and held himself like the military leader he had been. Standing straight as a board, his stiff navy jacket and crisp white shirt, bedecked with golden jewelry, matched his no-nonsense demeanor. He had a broad chest and narrow waist, and though not quite as large, he reminded her of Hammer, the handsome, massive barbarian she had known for a short time. In fact, had the High Lord been as tall and massive as the barbarian, she would have guessed the two from the same barbaric stock.

But the High Lord carried himself too differently for that. His shoulders back, hands clasped behind his back, hair neatly trimmed and a thick, graying goatee on his face demanded respect and declared him too civilized to be a barbarian. She was slightly comforted by that fact. Barbarians were unpredictable because they were noble, honorable people. They would do just what needed to be done to be noble, and that wasn't always what a conniving drow expected. Sure, they were easy to read, but their actions could be just as varied as the ideals of honor and nobility among the world. But a diplomat, a politician, that was something Lura knew. She had grown up among drow, the most notorious schemers above and below Faerun. Anything this man could think up was child's play among her people.

She paid more attention to what he was saying and less on his physical appearance. It was just so hard for her these days to get past appearances. She had never been a wholly visual person, but with her libido severely malnourished, the smallest things were triggering her basest instincts. She noticed, not for the first time, the tightly packed bundle at the crotch of the High Lord's meticulously tailored pants, and couldn't help but imagine what would sprout out if she knelt down, reached in, grasped...

"Lady Lura, are you listening to me?" he demanded when he noticed her glazed eyes.

"Absolutely, High Lord, forgive me. The tribulations of the Spellplague seem to take a toll on us all," she said, affecting an exhausted tone even while her focus was crystal clear. It disarmed his ire and even seemed to relax him a little.

"Of course, forgive me," he said. "I'm sure you understand; my nerves are simply on edge and, well—"

"You need to find some way to ease the stress," Lura said, purring a bit more than she had anticipated. He looked at her curiously as she quickly reigned in control of her body. Shrugging, he made his way over to an oak desk, whereupon sat crystal carafes and short, wide glasses. A brownish liquid was inside, she presumed some potent liquor.

"Seems we are both in such need," he said. "Care for a drink?"

"Thank you, High Lord, but I must decline," Lura said demurely.

"Not much for the hard stuff, eh?" he asked. She was delighted in the less formal, more social tone his voice took. She imagined he spoke in such a manner in his youth, serving in the military. She smiled at him and shook her head, causing her long, luxuriant white hair to toss about. The red strand that marked her as Sune's Chosen fell coyly by her cheek.

"I simply never found a taste for human liquor. Perhaps it is my drow tongue," she said. This time, she affected the perfect amount of purr to that last statement to give the High Lord pause, as if to question, "is she really coming on to me?"

"That is too bad," he said after clearing his throat. He sat on a large, overstuffed chair, and extended his empty hand to the adjacent seat. He sat his glass on a dark wooden stand between the two chairs. "You and your people have done an admirable job with the refugees," he said, crossing his ankle over his knee. Lura felt her gaze drawn to the bulge at his crotch, but resisted. She sat, crossing her legs in a ladylike manner, her Red Robe never betraying the bare mound that was unclad beneath. She wore it in a formal manner: The skirt long enough to be decent, yet not so much to be prudish, while her neckline plunged, but not so deep as to be whorish. A golden sash, not part of the robe, was tied around her waist, and she wore golden jewelry on her ears and neck, as well as wrists and fingers.

"Thank you," she responded, dipping her head respectfully. She watched as he rolled his head from side to side, as it to stretch out tired muscles. That was her opening. A brief moment of doubt entered her mind: would she really seduce the High Lord of Everlund in his own meeting chamber? There was a resounding affirmation in her loins at the prospect. Could there ever be any doubt? She was no whore, but the last time she had a good lay was...well, it seemed a drow lifetime! And this man was clearly well seasoned, and more than likely knew his way around a pussy.

"But I need those refugees to move on," he said, promptly plucking her from her ruminations. She grit her teeth, but gave no outward appearance that she was distracted. "We simply cannot..."

The High Lord let a profound yawn and Lura seized her chance. She stood abruptly. "High Lord, relax," she said, walking around behind his chair. "I will handle the refugees, and I have friends that are able to deal with internal security and peacekeeping operations. You need to rest your weary mind from this business."

Lura slid her hands down to his shoulders, kneading and rubbing gently, attempting to lull him into a relaxed state. "Empty your mind," she whispered. "Relax; I am very skilled at this. I will ease your tension." Luckily for her, the back of the chair came up to shoulder level on the High Lord. Her fingers worked their way to the back of his neck, and she heard him sigh in relief as her hands dissolved all semblance of stress from his muscles. Smiling devilishly, she willed her Red Robe to change. The skirt shortened considerably, drawing up to mid-thigh. Her neckline all but vanished as her breasts almost spilled out of the scant fabric. She knew the coup de grace would be her chest, and knew exactly how to employ it.

Her hands descended down to his chest, rubbing outward to the shoulders, and in the process she leaned forward, her generous breasts rubbing lightly at the back of his head. Her skin felt like it was on fire at the touch of his short, bristly hair against her tender breast-flesh. But then her plan collapsed. The High Lord seized her hands and slowly stood, turning to face her. If drow could blush, she was certain that her face was a deep shade of purple.

"Lady Lura, I appreciate what you are trying to do here," he began, "indeed, the entire church of Sune should be publicly praised for the relief it has given this city. But you simply cannot help me."

"I...I apologize, High Lord," she said, feeling very self-conscious. Her Red Robe shifted, covering her breasts more than she would normally allow, and the skirt descending all the way to the floor. It became formless and she wrapped her arms around her body defensively.

"Lura, please," High Lord Beresant said, coming forward quickly to put his hands on her shoulders, "I assure you, it has nothing to do with your charms. They would work perfectly on most other men, I am sure."

Then things started clicking in the drow's head. How could she not see it before? Even at the touch of her hands, there was no change in his pants. His eyes never once betrayed him by gazing longingly at her. He had never shown any outward signs of affection. "I see," she said. High Lord Beresant was gay. "Well, I apologize for being presumptuous," she said, almost laughing at herself.

"A mistake any could make," he said, smiling warmly at her and offering her a seat again.

"No, no," she said adamantly, "not me. I've lived my whole life reading people. I've picked out the gay, the lesbian, the straight, and the curious, out of crowds of complete opposites. I used to pick out priestesses in my home city who secretly loved their male counterparts and would treat them as loved ones in private. Such a thing was forbidden, you know."

"The stress, then," the High Lord offered.

"No, it's not that," Lura said, letting out a profound sigh. "I haven't had any semblance of cock in so long that my pussy doesn't know left from right, up from down, gay from straight, hand from tongue...I could go on," she said. "I need to get fucked, and not by myself!"

"Don't I know," the High Lord said. "I don't remember the last time I was taken by anybody. I've almost forgotten the taste of cum!"

"And that's the worst part!" Lura declared, throwing her hands in the air with exasperation. Both laughed heartily. "And I never would have pegged you as the woman in the relationship, High Lord."

"Please, call me Andrei," he said. "But only in private, obviously. And yes, I love being ravished. Not that I'm opposed to taking one of the handsome men in my disposal, but nothing like feeling like a powerful man is behind you, filling...well, you know."

"I do," Lura said, smiling coyly. "Would that I had my own cock, our problems would be solved."

"Let me know if you grow one!" he said, laughing again. She was quite pleased that he was still a very manly man, and not flamboyant, or shy. In fact, had they not been talking about cock, she would have never known he was gay by his demeanor. She decided that if, indeed, she had a cock, or was a man, she would totally have jumped him. "Ah, Lura. I feel suddenly that we will have many fond talks together," he said. "But for now, I must return to business. Truly you have brightened my demeanor and the day will pass more quickly for your efforts."

"My pleasure," she said, standing and bowing.

"Next time, perhaps I can arrange something for you," he said. "For us both, if we're lucky."

"Should Sune favor us," Lura said, winking over her shoulder as she let herself out. She was certainly in a better mood now, but her inflamed libido simply would not take a break. Everything she saw, from swords to halberds to pillars, reminded her of cock and how none of her tight holes had clenched one in so long. She made haste to her apartment at the Dreaming Dragon, hoping to catch Mikhail there.

*****

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

It could likely be heard from the Dragon's common room, but Mikhail didn't care. All he cared about was the tight, hot snatch slamming down on his rock hard prick. Greta, who had been working in the Dreaming Dragon as a serving girl during the days, and tending the temple of Sune underground when she wasn't sleeping or working, enthusiastically ground her plump sex on Mikhail's prick. She reached behind him, grabbing his balls in her hand as his hands ran over her generous curves. Greta was certainly no elf; such svelte beauty would likely never be attributed to the human.

And Mikhail loved it. Not that Lura's curves were in any way inferior, of course. Mikhail just enjoyed a change of pace. Greta had an ass that he could set two mugs of ale on, and tits that were heavier now than when she had come to Lura's care. Greta had put on a small amount of weight from healthy eating, and he would not deny the sensual benefits. Her areolas were broad, almost a whole thumb across, with nipples that stuck out quite far. He grabbed her ass, squeezing the generous flesh. He certainly would never call her fat, but she had thickness in all the areas that mattered. When he fucked her from behind or smacked her ass, it danced mesmerizingly for his eyes. She had more meat than Lura probably had ever eaten.

Greta began to bounce joyously on his dick, making loud squelching noises when she slammed down. With his hands grasping and squeezing her plump ass, she grabbed her own breasts, squeezing them and letting her head roll back. "I'm going to cum," he said in a strained voice. Grinning eagerly, Greta climbed off his waist and knelt between his parted thighs. She took his cock in her hand and stroked it quickly, watching the glistening head. He grunted and groaned and thick ropes of cum shot out. Some landed on her face and extended tongue, some landed on his stomach and groin. When the torrent ended, she was quick to lap it all up and swallow. Grinning, she swallowed Mikhail's cock, making him groan even as he chuckled at her enthusiasm.

"Greta, as always, you are much appreciated. Your service to the Dragon is impeccable," Mikhail said. "Did you find your own climax?"

"Several times over, don't you worry, stud," she said with a wink. There was a crash at the entrance to the apartment. Mikhail and Greta both scrambled to find clothing, but it was too late. Lura, her visage twisted in rage, stormed into the bedroom. Her Red Robe was parted down the middle, but it clung to her breasts. An eerie breeze whipped through the room, sending her hair out behind her as she snarled.

"Leave, Greta," Lura growled. "I would have words with my lover."

Whimpering, Greta quickly left, clothes bundled in her arms and apologies flowing from her lips as freely as wine flowed downstairs. "Lura, my love, what is the matter?" Mikhail asked, backing away quickly with a confused look on his face. As far as he knew, they had never been wholly exclusive.

"The matter?" Lura roared. She thrust out her hand, channeling divine power in the form of a wave of force that slammed Mikhail into the wall behind him. "The matter is that I haven't been fucked in fucking months!" she roared. "I haven't had a single cock in any of my holes, I haven't had an orgasm inflicted by anybody but myself or that piece of garbage in my night stand, and here you are, merrily fucking the hired help as if the entire world hasn't fallen apart around us!

"I have come home to hopefully get MY lover to make love to me, to seduce and woo me, sweep me off my feet, and he is balls deep in fucking Greta!" She reached out for a vase and slammed it onto the floor.

"Lura, my beloved, please be calm," Mikhail said, coming forward with his hands out. "This has always been our relationship, and you've never once said anything about deprivation. Had I known..."

"To the Hells with you, Mikhail!" she said, storming out. It was dusk, and it was time for her to find Ambrusia and help the refugees again. But that was the farthest thing from her mind.

*****

"Lady Lura," Ambrusia said tentatively when she saw Lura storming toward her.

"Come with me," Lura growled. Ambrusia had no time to question the drow, she simply followed. She had dressed as ordered, though it went against her sensibilities. A plain white gown, thinly strapped over her strong shoulders and barely containing her bountiful breasts, hugged her body. Her hips were wide and powerful, and with every step her assets were made deliciously visible. Even her thighs, strong and powerful, were clearly defined even under the shroud of the opaque white gown. But Lura had told her it would mark her as a devotee and aide to the refugees, so she had complied. But the drow was clearly enraged at something and Ambrusia knew not what it was.

But the half-dragonborn, even being so new to this world, knew that Lura was in no position to help anybody. "Lura," she called out. The drow ignored her. Scowling at what she knew she had to do, Ambrusia dashed toward the drow, her powerful, long legs carrying her easily to the much shorter elf. Her strong hand seized the drow's shoulder and whipped her about.

Lura went on the offensive immediately, lashing out with her hands at the dragonborn. Blinded by her rage at Mikhail, she did not stop to think that this militaristic woman would easily overpower her. And Ambrusia did with embarrassing ease. Lura ended up with her face pressed painfully against Everlund's stone wall and both arms held painfully behind her. Ambrusia had the presence of mind to pull Lura, a woman of status and high regard, into a darkened corner, away from prying eyes.

"If we are to help people tonight, then you must be of clearer mind, Lady Lura," Ambrusia said. "I may be the foreigner here, but I know when something is amiss, and I know when someone is in the right state to help others. You are not. So either take hold of your senses or I will carry you from this place."

"We will not be helping anybody tonight," Lura snarled. "I had no intention of doing anything of the sort."

"Then where were we heading?" Ambrusia asked, confused.

"Into the refugee camp." Ambrusia released Lura and the drow turned to face her. "I was going to round up several able-bodied men to fuck me senseless."

Ambrusia looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "What has happened?"

Lura sighed, then tears began to well in her eyes. She lunged at the dragonborn, arms wrapping around her strong, long neck and her face buried against the strong chest. She began weeping. Ambrusia looked down at the drow's head, confused. The dragonborn had never seen any of her kin cry, but took a step for the logical. She wrapped her arms around Lura, guessing that returning the gesture would help. And it did, much to the dragonborn's relief. Lura composed herself and backed away, again to Ambrusia's relief.

"Mikhail, my lover, was with another woman," Lura said.

"Dishonorable dog!" she shouted, eyes going wide with thoughts of revenge. "I will bring him to justice immediately."

"Wait," Lura said before Ambrusia could turn away. "It's ok. He and I are not bonded and neither of us has ever pledged monogamy with one another. We are both free to lay with who we please, so long as we always return to each other."

"That is unheard of among my people," Ambrusia said. "We do not mate with those we do not intend to pledge ourselves to."

"Must be nice. I have insatiable appetite for sex, though, as well as Mikhail, and we know we cannot always be there for each other's cravings. I haven't had a cock in so long I am beginning to forget the feeling," Lura said, slowly sliding down the stone wall to sit in the soft grass. Ambrusia stood before her, staring down at her in disbelief. "What?" the drow asked.

"It is strange for me to see such a revered, powerful woman reduced to a weeping mass of useless flesh," Ambrusia said with what sounded like contempt.

"Excuse me?" Lura asked, standing very quickly. Fire had returned to her eyes.

"I said, you are acting as a hatchling does when it is too long from the teat," Ambrusia said, coming dangerously close to the drow.

Lura snarled, "Who do you think you're talking to?"

"I thought I was talking to Lura, Chosen of Sune, and a mighty goddess. I thought I was talking to someone powerful enough to simply take what she wants. Perhaps you need a lesson in such things." Ambrusia seized the drow by the back of her neck in a powerful hand, and with the other clasped the drow's fine-featured face, pressing her thick lips against Lura's. The drow thought to struggle, but warmth spread over her body immediately and she realized Ambrusia's meaning. Lura threw her arms around the dragonborn's neck, feeling soft scales on the back of her neck, and jumped up, her legs wrapping around the wide, strong hips.

Ambrusia put her hands firmly on Lura's perfectly rounded ass, squeezing as the soft scales on her forearm rubbed exposed obsidian thighs. Lura's red robe draped down between her thighs, the only barrier covering her suddenly very wet loins. Ambrusia broke the savage kiss, sniffing deeply before her smoldering golden eyes locked with Lura's crimson orbs. "I can smell your cunt," she said. "Your scent is strong, powerful. In my culture, such an attribute invariably marks a very powerful woman. They are directly correlated. I will dine on your pussy and you will mark me as your charge."

Lura only nodded dumbly. She expected the dragonborn to drop her to the ground and kneel before her. But what she expected and what happened were quite different. The drow grabbed Ambrusia's muscular arms, feeling solid muscle and soft, sparse scales rippling as the dragonborn lifted her higher. Lura's legs draped over the dragonborn's strong shoulders, and she quickly pulled the drape of her Red Robe from between her legs. Ambrusia took a moment to admire the plump mound, taking in long wafts of the delicious odor before slipping her tongue into the perfect mound.