Sundered Isles 01: Drog and Cember

His great, flat tongue lapped at me, circling first one breast and then the other. I arched my back up in attempt to offer as much of myself as I possibly could to him. Then he pulled me in close and sucked nearly one entire breast into his broad mouth, letting his tongue run roughly over my nipple. I let a small squeak of pleasure escape.

His tongue rimmed my primed nipple, teasing it to a point beyond the typically expected boundaries of swelling. I wanted to hit him for winding me up so tightly and not providing an immediate release. My groin was aching for his touch.

He growled angrily and released me, "Enough," his voice came out deep and rough. I panicked that he would stop then and leave me at this heightened state. I feared it might drive me mad. Instead, he clutched me to his chest, and began to slosh purposefully through the water.

I whimpered, feeling small and desperate in his arms. I ran my hand up and down the groove between his pectorals and first kissed, then nipped at his neck. He grunted with each fresh torture I bestowed upon him. His teeth were bared as he walked, his lower fangs seemingly more prominent. Being in his arms hardly seemed to be enough, I wanted to cover him, stretch myself over him so that every possible inch of surface area between us was in direct contact.

He had made his camp close to the river, so that the oxen could drink freely as they needed. As a result, we were there in what was, probably, only a minute or two, but it felt like an age. I knew from past observations that he usually slept under a wagon on wet nights, not bothering to set up a tent or a lean-to. Sure enough he carried me over to where his blankets still lay under on of the high-wheeled, empty goods carts.

He snatched the blanket impatiently off the ground with one hand and tossed it over a tussock of nearby grass, unconcerned that it was wet and uneven. Then he was lowering me gently onto it, kissing my lips, my chin, my neck.

"I want you so much, Cember," he growled out between kisses.

"Yes," I moaned eagerly., "I need you, Drog."

I felt cool with the unwarmed blanket at my back, but I was immediately covered by Drog's huge body, with its radiating heat of desire. I had my eyes closed and head tilted up to the sky as he buried his face in my neck, kissing it while he breathed me in deeply.

His palms covered my breasts, allowing his rough skin to rub gently against my sensitive nipples. Then he was running his hands down my flanks. He could have probably encircled any part of me, between my shoulders and my hips, in those broad hands of his. They rippled over my rib-cage and curved into my narrow waist. While his thumbs slid over my flat belly, his fingers ran over my hips, kneading the more supple flesh there. He repeated this again and again, paying special attention each time to my inflamed nipples.

His began to lower his head too, kissing down my collar bone, and then over my breasts. He suckled me with cruel attention, gradually letting his tongue extend further and sweep more broadly over my skin.

When he began to descend again he let his tongue trace wetly down, over my navel and the concave plain of my belly. Still he sank lower. In moments he was between my legs. He placed a delicate, open mouth kiss where my legs met. I felt his warmth, then heard the sounds as he sucked at the thin, wet material that was all that separated us. Uncontrollably I thrust my hips up, and tried to crush his face deeper into me with my hands, crying out an willing him on.

He must have taken pity on me because his dexterous hands were suddenly working my belt clasp, unfastening it with an ease that was well beyond me in my frenzied state. I felt a physical relief as the tension around my hips release. His hands slipped under me and hooked the hem of my trousers. He raised my backside and legs off the blanket and, in one smooth motion, slipped my trousers and undergarments over my legs, letting me fall back naked onto the blanket.

My bare bottom had no sooner hit the blanket than Drog was on me. His lips and tongue worked their way up my inner thighs. I was panting by the time I felt his first hot breath between my legs.

I writhed on the blanket. It was covered in his scent. I drew in deep lungfuls as I tried to raise my hips up to him, desperate to have relief from this state he had wound me up to.

Firm, strong hands gripped them, however, and forced them back down to the blanket. I whined at him pathetically. He moved his hands to spread my thighs. I had always feared being naked before a man, worried as I was about my own inadequacies, but Drog seemed so fascinated by me, so sweetly attentive that being so rawly exposed to him only heightened my excitement.

Her slid the back of one hand over my soft inner thigh. I stared through hooded eyelids at his sweet, focused expression. He curled one finger and, ever so gently, allowed the knuckle to drag through my spread cleft. I hadn't realized how liquid I had become until I felt his finger move through me.

"Yes," I said again, softly, as he rubbed over the concentrated and swollen bundle of nerves at the top of his stroke. Rapid little muscle contractions rippled through me. I was already right on the edge. Up and down he stroked, evenly spreading my slickness, and driving me mad with anticipation.

His knuckle straightened and then he traced my folds with the tip of one thick finger. It teased me apart, exposing my sensitive skin to the cool air. He found the little button at my nexus and tweaked it between his fingers. I breathed out his name. He massaged the little bump, rolling it between his fingers until I wanted to scream.

Something thick and hot covered my entrance, I gasped in surprise before I realised it was Drog's tongue. While he pinched my clitoris he was busy circling me with his snaking tongue. I felt the muscles deep inside me quiver.

Drog had told me something of his life before the caravan. It was difficult to accept he could have turned out to be the gentle, attentive man he was, given his background. Of his early childhood he had little to say, other than that his father, his human half, was kind but a notorious drunkard.

It is not unknown for Ogre females to more or less rape men during their raids. How they do this exactly is uncertain, but even given what little knowledge I have of men, I would not be surprised to find out that they were not at least complicit in some small way. Most men do not survive the ordeal, and no offspring come of it. Whether this is due to a lack of compatibility, or because the ogres do not let them live beyond birth is unknown.

Somehow Drog's father survived the raid, after an encounter with a ogre female from a raiding party that had nearly wiped out his small farming town. Stranger yet, and here Drog likes to speculate his mother must be almost uniquely kind-hearted in the ogre community, months later a half-breed ogre babe was dropped off one night at his father's farm.

She had, according to Drog's father, even specified what he should be named, before fleeing into the cold night. Drog was the name of a legendary ogre warlord, much revered to her kind.

Drog's father, to his credit, had actually taken in his bastard child, spawned of inter-species rape, and begun the job of raising him. Nine years Drog lived secretly on that farm learning, when he his father was sober enough to teach him, how to care for animals, read and write. Once the last two were achieved he undertook most of the learning himself. Fortunately his father had been a great lover of books.

Things might have carried on like that for Drog for a long time, if his father had not let it slip out during one black-out drunken night, that he had a half-ogre son living secretly in his barn. It took the town several days to come to its decision, but when they did it was emphatic.

Drog's father was offered an ultimatum: leave town or give up his son. Drog was still bitter his father had chosen the latter. Even then the man had tried to do right by him, in his way, traveling a few hundred miles to the city of Aspekt, where he they had a gladiator training school known for taking in orphans and, occasionally, turning them into champions. They were also not too particular about who they took in, as long as they could hold a sword.

In this period Drog was trained to fight and kill, and was good at it. He might have easily been a champion of the ring, had he not caught the attention of a darker element of that society.

The rich, being rich, were always on the lookout for fresh diversions, and sex slaves were the vogue in Aspekt. Drog was targeted for his physique and unique appearance. One of his handlers in the school, even while Drog was quite young, began to sneak him out to perform. Initially he was an entertainment with other slaves, fornicating publicly for the entertainment of the rich.

Then, once he was noticed, he became a favorite plaything for the spoiled wives and daughters of the city. It hurt me deeply to contemplate them taking gentle Drog and passing him around as a distraction from their boring lives, having him whipped when he showed reluctance to perform.

In a short time the gladiator school realized it was more lucrative to have Drog serving as a sex slave than as a warrior, and he was sold into bondage.

He underwent a different sort of training then and, in a short time, became something of a favorite in Aspekt. He was a novelty. The only known sort of his kind. It helped that he was both handsome in appearance and grotesque in his existence. The rich women of Aspekt fought over him like cats.

I could not draw him out on this time, but I knew that he suffered greatly. Certainly there was pleasure, but it left him feeling empty afterwards. There was also a great suffering. Apparently many of his patrons could only feel pleasure through the suffering of others. Drog still bore the physical scars of those acts all over his body. Given how resilient he was to both pain and injury I shudder to think what must have been inflicted upon him to leave such marks.

I tried not to consider it, as I lay there, spread before him, but it kept creeping into my mind while he worked his expert touch and unerring tongue.

How many woman had felt this before me? Would I too, like them, fade from his memory?

He was so sure and precise he could only have gained this confidence between the thighs of hundreds of women.

How could I, who have never even know the touch of a man, even begin to satisfy Drog? He had been exposed to sophisticated women and probably every sexual act imaginable. What chance did a clumsy, virgin country girl, ever have of pleasing him?

Yet, as he kissed and cajoled my excited flesh with exquisite attention, it felt like more than just simple lust.

I tingled all over when he paused his sloppy kissing to look up at me and say, "You taste sweeter than anything I have ever known, Cember."

"Really?," The timid part of me that these thoughts had woken asked.

He gave me a stern look, seeming to have read my mind again and said, "I have never felt for anyone the way I do for you, you have to know that. Never doubt yourself." While he spoke he lovingly drew ticklish circles on my spread thighs. The fire within me began to rekindle.

Sensing this he opened his mouth and placed a long, deep kiss into my crease. His tongue brushed aside my swollen lips and sought out my aching clitoris. Carefully he worked around it, his near misses so precise he must have know exactly what he was doing.

When his tongue did find me it was electrifying, yet he simply placed the tip under the swollen nub and teased it like he might if he was trying to lick a dew drop off the tip of a knife blade. A deep shudder went through me. I could come just from this slightest of touches, yet I wanted more.

Once again I gripped his head by his long, thick hair and drove myself into him. He was pressed so deep into me I could feel his lips pull into a smile. Then he began to lash me with his tongue. I gasped.

As I began to feel muscles in my body cording together in mounting anticipation he began to build a rhythm with his tongue and lips. They seemed to glide over me with my incredible slickness. I could now see my peak clearly before me, and I was speeding towards it.

He tongue began to move in broad strokes. Each lap was a sharp bend in my climb, unbalancing me, bringing me close to the edge of a steep fall. Yet he knew me so well he kept me, just barely, on the track. We were flying up now, the pull to let go and careen off the edge was almost too much to bear, yet higher and higher we went.

I could feel his broad jaw slamming into me, its clenching muscles massaging my tensing thighs. We were just passing the last few steps before the peak as his tongue rolled over me like a tide. Then we were past it, and over the other side. I had just time to enjoy a gentle little descent before the path abruptly ended and I went over the edge and into free-fall.

I could not guess at how long I fell for, I seemed to lose all track of time. As I tumbled and spun uncontrollably my disorientation was complete. I had no idea which direction was up or down until it was not me falling, I was adrift in space and the very world was rising up to slam into me with all its force and speed.

Drog clutched my thighs to hold his face pressed tight into me as I bucked and writhed uncontrollably. The muscles in my body clenched to the point of pain, then released, before clenching even tighter. They did this over and over, seemingly without end in sight. Drog cruelly teased my wrenching orgasm out far longer than it should have lasted by slowly circling the flat of his tongue on my vibrating clitoris.

When I did finally reach Earth again, instead of a hard jolt, the ground enfolded and embraced me. But it was not the Earth, it was Drog, my mountain of a man, now laying atop me, resting his weight on his elbows, but still allowing his body to press down on me, stilling the last of my dying spasms. He let gentle kisses land on me, covering my face and neck and slowly bringing me back from what had to have been a dream.

"That was the most incredible thing I ever..." but I let the sentence hang there, unable to do the moment justice in words. But, Drog understood. When his lips met mine next I could feel the smile there, even as I tasted myself on him.

"What about you?" I asked, suddenly feeling the shyness return. Did I have anything to offer Drog that could even approach what he had just given me?

"You have already given me more pleasure than I could have asked for in this life."

For that I gave his chest a slap, "Don't give me that soppy ox manure, Drog," I admonished him, "I want to please you. Help me to please you."

He hesitated. "There are ways," be began, "But, I do not want to hurt you."

I slapped him again, harder this time, "You cannot hurt me, Drogben Mender," the use of his full name again made him smile and he kissed me lightly.

"Let me try and, if I am doing it wrong, you can stop me." Then I grabbed him by the cheek and stared sincerely into his eyes, "You will stop me, right?"

His only answer was a chuckle. Taking a deep breath, I lightly let my fingers slide over his broad shoulders, down to his chest and over the tight bumps of his abdominals. Eagerly I found the belt holding up his trousers and, of course, fumbled with it awkwardly.

He took pity on me and, taking his weight on one elbow, lowered a hand to brush aside the simple clasp that had so vexed me. Impediments removed, I proceeded to open the front of his britches, feeling renewed excitement rising in me.

He spilled out, and slipped out of my grasp, making me suck in a surprised breath as his length tapped my thigh. Quickly I gathered it in my hands, feeling its implacable rigidity.

"Oh," I let slip.

"What?" He asked with humor in his eyes.

"It's just, I expected, well..." I stumbled over my words.

He laughed then, "You expected me to be a monster?"

"No," I felt my face flush hot as I snatched for the words.

"It's okay," His laughter was genuine, "It's what everyone expects."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean... It's not that you are small. I was just expecting... ," I finished lamely. To be fair to Drog he was very generously proportioned, but just not to the monstrous proportions of the rest of him. He would have probably been quite large for an average man.

"Don't be sorry. It is the most human part of me." He grin was irrepressible in the face of my confused expression.

"Ogres," he continued, "have very tiny penises, or so I have heard. That is why they are so angry all the time. It's also probably why their females are so eager to take their pleasure from humans. This part of me I have only my dad to thank for."

I couldn't help but smile too, enjoying the pleasing weight of him in my hands. His smile faded into concern when he saw the beginnings of tears in my eyes.

"What is it?" He asked.

My chest shook with laughter as I replied, "I am just so relieved. I mean, I am pretty small even by human standards and you, well, you are," I did not finish the sentence, "I was so scared that I would never be able to feel you inside me without being split in half."

He kissed softly at the corners of my eyes, drawing away the tears, "I meant it when I said I would die before I hurt you, Cember. You will feel discomfort your first time, but I will make sure you feel pleasure too."

"I know you will, big guy. You already have." While we were having this intimate conversation I had begun to slide my hands up and down his shaft. I could hear the change in his breathing, and I felt flushed with excitement to be responsible for it.

"If you are nervous we can just carry on like this, Cember. I am already close just from being near to you."

"Don't you dare start this, Drog. I want you inside me. I need you inside me. I want you to be my first."

He drew me in again for another kiss. While he lingered there I dipped my thumb into the cleft beneath the head of his manhood, and let the knuckle of one finger massage the sensitive ridge of his hood. He groaned deep into my mouth.

"Now, Drog." I spoke through his kisses.

"Are you sure?" He breathed out.

"I have never been more ready for anything."

Using my hands I tried to guide him down. "Will you help me?" I asked. "I don't really know what I am doing here."

"You are doing just fine." As he spoke he placed a guiding hand on mine and moved his hips up higher, his kisses coming down to me from a steeper angle. He hissed again when his broad tip pressed into my drenched folds. I cooed as I felt a stirring in my reawakened clitoris.

Between us we slid him down until he was at my entrance. I bit down on my tongue in anticipation. Was it going to hurt?

"Are you certain?" he asked again.

"Don't ask me again."

"Good, because I am not sure I could hold back now. I've never wanted anything as much as I want to feel you around me." he sighed, "This will not feel good at first, stop me if it hurts."

"Okay," I said, apprehension building. He suddenly felt a lot bigger, pressing at the tight ring of my entrance.

He pushed against me. I squirmed in discomfort.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just keep going, I'm fine."

He pushed again, and I could feel him bending against me. I winced and he hesitated, and seemed about to pull back, but I grabbed his hips and drew myself onto him. I gasped with the sharp red burst of pain.

"Cember! Are you okay?" I clutched him tight, feeling the sting slowly ebb away into a dull ache.

"Fine," I whispered, "I'm fine, just give me a moment." I breathed in deeply, feeling the incredible fullness of having him inside me.