To Save a World Ch. 04

"Yes, I am fine." She flashed him a rare, bold grin. The young woman enjoyed this heady feeling; the knowledge that she was free to act her nature, that she would not be abused and taken advantage of. The trust and friendship that she found in his eyes was to her an aphrodisiac, enflaming her ready body to dangerous levels.

She felt her heart quicken, her breathing deepen, her core clench in anticipation. Lydia felt her juices run down her thighs.

"I... You think -- they will be gone long?"

"Maybe, just -- Well, well." Aaron mused, his voice suddenly husky, suddenly strained, breathing in deep. He can smell me, she realized, he knows how wet I am for him! "Someone is getting... Rather excited."

Lydia made a peculiar breathy sound, a cross between a moan and a whimper. She couldn't help it. She was so hopelessly aroused. The young woman pressed her torso to his, eager hands snaking around his back, feeling his skin underneath his coarse clothes. Her lips sought out his warmth, and so she sat straighter to nuzzle his neck, licking and sucking in slow, sensual patterns. Her body was immediately coaxing him, begging him for something that they both wanted.

She felt it happen. His desire quickly saturated the air as she felt his cock harden completely in his crotch. Her body soaked his emotions like a sponge, her magical feeding adding to her already tempestuous arousal. Hard cock poked her stomach and she groaned, rubbing her whole body into it, hearing him moan in response to her pressure.

"Mouth. Hurry." He breathed. She was momentarily thrown off balance by him standing up, but she was immediately delighted as his trousers dropped in a flash and out whipped his throbbing member.

The feeling of his scorching meat was intoxicating, the potent, masculine scent of his crotch seemingly bypassing her nose and spearing straight into her flooding box. Lydia nuzzled into his root lovingly, crooning with satisfaction as she used her left hand to press his meat into her cheek, rubbing it into her skin as if utterly relishing the texture.

"Very excited." Aaron moaned, not believing his eyes. This wonderful, horny woman was worshipping his cock.

Lydia began to kiss and lick the root of his turgid flesh, making him suck his breath. Tiny, teasing flicks of warmth and softness rained down on his base, ever so slowly moving outwards to the sensitive helmet of his rod. He somehow found his hands gripping her short hair, wished for one desperate, irrational second that her hair was longer so that he would be able to grip it and he could properly fuck her mouth.

He groaned again. Hot breath bathed his ultra-sensitive cockhead. The visual stimulus of Lydia's half-lidded, wanton eyes so focused on his throbbing cock, inches away from her thin, innocent-seeming lips drove him wild. The young man gripped her head and forced his hard meat into her mouth.

She opened willingly, her delicate lips stretched wide, obscenely wrapped around his cock. He forced his rod into her mouth, the breath in his lungs escaping him in a drawn-out groan of satisfaction. Teeth scraped against his shaft. He didn't mind much. Most of his cock felt supreme, sheathed as it was in the tight, wet heaven of her mouth.

Aaron looked down to find her helpless eyes focused on him. She had begun to gag, but showed no sign of wanting to remove the half of his cock from getting lodged in her throat. He cursed in his mind, moved her mouth from his cock, the sensation of her tight orifice sliding over him sending electricity down his balls. She began to cough once he got her off his meat, but he only gave her enough time to cough once or twice, and then his cock was sliding back in her mouth again.

Lydia never resisted. She looked pleadingly up at him from her kneeling position, her hands passively molded to the curve of his firm ass, almost assisting him in thrusting, choking her with his formidable meat. Her eyes begged him, helpless from her own arousal -- a roaring, buzzing, hungry beast inside her core that begged to take and devour. Her body soaked up the peaking magic in the air greedily, feeding on his essence even as he fed her with his dick.

"You must be frustrated." Aaron husked, "Don't be shy. Go on and help yourself."

Lydia looked at him, her confusion apparent in her lust-glazed eyes, her mouth full of cock. "Your hand." He explained, his lips in a half-smile, "I want you to touch yourself while I fuck your mouth."

Oh! You can do that! Understanding flashed in her mind. She would have smiled had her mouth not been so preoccupied.

Both of her hands immediately shot to her crotch, not even bothering to get inside her loose trousers. Her fingers of both her hands was a chaotic blur in her core. She suddenly keened, stiffening, a gush of fluid running down her slick channel, the stain blooming from her crotch. She kept just enough of her sanity not to bite down with her mouth. Lydia had been so aroused that a mere touch from her fingers set her off.

She panted, sagging. Her jaw was starting to hurt, drool was dripping messily down her chin, the invader in her mouth not moving at all. "Good girl, good girl." Aaron praised, patting her hair. "Again. This time, put one hand inside your pants and the other on your breast."

Lydia moaned, her arousal roaring back to life, not having been fully extinguished at all. She hastened to comply with his directions, and found herself trapped in three-pronged pressure.

Her right hand was buried firmly in between her legs, her fingers immediately coated with her womanly flood, whipped to a froth as they churned a beat that sent violent, ripping waves of pleasure through her body. Her left hand clutched a modest breast, the sharp bolts of sensation the perfect accomplice to the cresting surge from her loins. Finally, in her mouth was the utterly exhilarating dominance of her man, his hard cock demanding her service, its velvety texture occupying all of the feeling in her mouth, the pressure from his hands on her head reminding her that she was in the hands of someone worthy.

She didn't shout this time, only uttered a low whimper as her body shook rigidly and tightened. It slammed into her like a torrential flood. The pleasure crested and burst in enormous waves of pure sensation, her mind momentarily drowned out by white noise. And that sweet, glorious cock in her mouth was still there in her explosion-moments, strongly reminding her not to bite down, that the pleasure of her man was in her hands -- or mouth -- now, and that made her so powerful. She moaned around it -- a long, crude exhalation of air.

Lydia came back to the world panting like she had just ran a marathon. Her mind was clouded with lust and pleasure. Frowning, she realized that there was no more cock in her mouth. Aaron had set her free, and his meat was now twitching in front of her face, glazed with layers of her saliva and his syrupy precum. A thick, shiny string of drool still connected her mouth to the head of his cock, though. She stared at it, mindlessly wanted to gobble it back up, suckle it until it exploded, and then suckle on it some more.

Her body felt tired, though. She felt like she should go lie down.

She heard a rustling behind her. "Oh!" She exclaimed, as Aaron's strong hands suddenly forced her to bend over. Now she was lying on the forest floor, on her hands and knees, her ass presented to her taker. She felt a leg nudge hers aside, opening her up wider.

Something thick and hard nudged into her entrance. Her head snapped up, a long moan drawn from her lips. Turns out she can't go and lie down yet. A strong, tattooed hand wrapped around her midriff from behind, crossing her body to decisively grip her left tit. That moment, when the heat of his rock-hard meat first spread her wanting depths, when the rest of him surges oh so slowly inside her gripping cunt, parting the folds of her slick flesh to claim their prize deep inside her. That moment, it was slowly becoming her favorite. She hadn't realized that she's been moaning out loud. Very loudly.

Aaron bottomed out, ground his rod deeper into her as if not accepting the fact that he didn't have any more to thrust into. His balls squelched lewdly on her clit. The whole position was such a treat for the eyes; from his vantage point he could see her slender neck, bent down to the ground, connecting to a pale, fragile back, where he could just see glimpses of his right hand as it reached below and across to grip a lovely handful of tit, her fat, aroused nipple like a diamond poking into his palm. The subtle swell of her hips gave way to the magnificent, peachy, innocently rounded curves of her ass. Not much flesh to show for there, but it still looked amazing. Especially with his cock buried balls deep inside her leaking pussy. He withdrew, just a bit -- just to see his aching cock shiny with their juices jutting from out of her gash.

Aaron slammed back in, not willing to miss out on her juicy pussy even just for a bit. He liked that. She liked that. He did it again. And again.

He was slamming into her with a strong, steady rhythm, mindless with desire. He wasn't even thinking of when their companions might return. All he felt was the paradise of her. How she was so wet that friction seemed to be a figure of speech, and yet the way the ridges of her insides stroked his cock with molten fire and clung to him as if they never wanted to let go.

He fucked her.

Lydia was coming apart now, and somewhere deep inside her mind she wondered if sex was supposed to be this intense all the time. She was pretty sure she wouldn't survive that -- or perhaps she will. Happily. But now she was on an edge, and then she was tripping down hard -- shoved to the endless void of pleasure by the steady rhythm of his cock spearing her insides, of his balls slamming into her clit, of the sensation and the wet, indecent slapping sound of his powerful hips as they slammed into her ass.

She came down from her high -- only, what came down? He was still thrusting into her continually, probably never having noticed her orgasm at all. Her left hand was supporting his left as it shamelessly kneaded her breast, her left hand somehow thrust behind her looking for support, which she found in the form of spreading her own ass cheeks open for easier fucking access. His right hand was suddenly pulling on her shoulders.

Sweat was pouring down them in waves, her whole body afire with pleasure so that she couldn't tell where they both began and ended -- well, except for the parts that were continually slamming into each other. She came again, not even cresting this time -- more like her whole body was suddenly just thrown right down the cliff without ever having to climb it. The force of it arched her back, giving Aaron behind her glorious leverage to intensify his thrusts. A gush of her juices spread down their thighs.

Aaron grunted, his thrusts beginning to be erratic. Lydia compensated by fucking back more forcefully into his cock. Finally he started to twitch. He slammed again, and again -- and then a dam burst inside Aaron and he sprayed her insides with his cream.

"Yes, yes -- oh my man. My Aaron. Give it to me. Give it all." And he did.

* * *

"So, what do you think of our young man's delightful story?" Trasnu asked conversationally, dancing through the natural obstacles of the forest as if they never existed. The uncanny ability to navigate the living maze of any forest was a natural talent of any Forest People, of course, but the Old Hunter took it to the next level. He subtly twisted, turned and weaved every time he took a step, doing the minimum disturbance to the tangle of vegetation around them. Even his footsteps were carefully charted paths, lessening the chances of both noise and danger, yet he moved just as fast as if he was walking amidst the plains.

In comparison to him, Serche was like a lumbering, clumsy giant. Try as she might, she could not evaluate the ideal path through the forest as the old man could and still move as fast, so she merely prayed to the spirits and imitated him, wincing every time she stepped on a dry twig and broke a fragile branch.

So distracted, she didn't immediately notice the hunter's question. "Pardon?"

"I said, do you believe a word of what that strange young man was saying?" Trasnu repeated, his keen eyes trained on the woman.

"Yes, I do."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, and don't you act surprised, you old fart. I know you believe him too."

"An innocent old man can't hide secrets from you, can he?"

Serche snorted rudely and didn't deign to acknowledge his teasing. "I know how it sounds. Everything he said about his old world was utterly far-fetched and fantastical. It held no rhyme nor reason, nor does he explain the concepts he mentions very well. Yet he spoke confidently as if speaking of known facts that he was simply taking for granted until then."

"As if he genuinely believed them, and merely pulled them out from his memories then and there." Trasnu nodded.

"Yes, exactly." Serche nodded. "Aside from that, I have more concrete evidence. His spirit -- it shows signs of being tampered with. Have you seen the wards on his body? I cannot even grasp the full extent -- I doubt anyone can -- but from the few I've seen and understood, the whole warding is the most complex I have ever encountered. Even from the texts. Those were done by someone very good at it"

"That would explain some things, like his mastery of our language. It astonished me, the first time I heard him speak." The hunter contemplated. "Do you think he knows of the Sway of the Trees, as well?"

"I have little idea, although I doubt it. It seems the magic activated after he touched me, back in the caravan, but he shows no signs of interpreting our gestures for now. Perhaps it is limited to spoken language."

"Tar, he said. The Seer of the White Palace."

"Yes. I doubt he recognizes the significance, but it was the Seer all the same." Serche took a deep breath. "Which also means that the Seer, one of the Human Talents, the single human figure that is well-known and even widely respected among the other Races -- is dead. And that he died for him. To bring him into this world."

Trasnu was silent for a while. "He may yet live."

"Impossible. Summoning from another world! Such magic -- I cannot even begin to imagine what it must have taken. Unless he found a way to defy the laws of the world, the process would most surely take his life."

"The man is important."

"Yes. By the spirits, yes. We've stumbled upon a truly massive thing, Old Hunter. I'm afraid it is all beyond me." Serche ended in a whisper, a hint of hidden fear creeping into her voice.

But at her worried glance, the Old Hunter merely grinned at her. It was a maddeningly carefree grin. "You mean to say, that we've stumbled upon a truly interesting thing, my Guide."

"There you go again. I can't believe I'm the one telling this to you, but your sense of adventure will get you killed. Look where it got me."

"Aha!" seized the old beast man, "But right now you're smack in the middle of a turning point in history! Who wouldn't want that? Besides, I'm different to you. I've got brains, experience, and the best fur coat in all of the Clan!"

"Wha-" Serche groaned, "There were so many things wrong with that I don't even know where to begin."

Trasnu laughed heartily at her expense. It didn't even seem like the old man was concerned about noise and scaring the prey, after all, with all the racket he was making. Perhaps the way he moved was merely deeply ingrained habit.

"There's another thing." Serche mentioned quietly after a minute of silence. "I have mentioned his spirit, and how it showed signs of being tampered with. Another thing I noticed was that his spirit was- different. There was no other way to describe it. The same but... different. New. Foreign."

Trasnu stared at her in surprise. "Is something like that even possible? I don't know much about spirit-craft, but I do know that all spirits are fundamentally the same, by definition."

"Yes, that's right. I don't know either. It's not that he was different -- different." The young woman struggled. "To illustrate -- trees have seeds, right? And there are different seeds, right? He was like a seed from a different tree, but not a seed from a different plant, like say, a creeping dragonvine."

Trasnu actually paused and turned to her for a minute. "So you're saying that his spirit is different like how a tree of different kind is different, but not a different plant altogether."

"Why, yes." Serche flustered, her tail wagging sheepishly near the ground. "You have a way with words."

The old beastman snorted, and continued to walk. "My lady, I'm afraid not. You just have a way of confusing your own words. That is to say, you think too much."

Serche thought about that for a bit. She decided that it didn't really make any sense, but at the same time she wanted to let Trasnu have this one, so she didn't further comment.

The pair trudged for a few more minutes before the expert hunter signaled her to stop with a raised hand. "This should be far enough. From here on, I'm going to move to catch prey, so please understand. Meanwhile, there are a lot of things you can forage, if you would kindly do so."

Serche nodded, not taking offense. It irked her, but she was way too unskilled to follow in the footsteps of the hunter, and doing so would only endanger the success of the hunt -- and thus, their meal. Besides, she was an expert forager, she could still make herself useful.

The hunter nodded once, and then subtly danced his way deeper into the forest much more slowly than before. When he was gone, Serche could barely sense any evidence of his passing.

She shrugged, and surveyed the area around her. To the untrained eye, everywhere would just be leaves, leaves and more leaves. But she was no untrained eye. Not counting her natural attributes for remembering and classifying plants, ever since birth she had been especially educated in the arts of making use of the nature around her, bringing out their full potential for the benefit of the Clan. Leiyis, her teacher, was a prodigy in the natural arts. And she, her student, had no choice but to reluctantly follow in her footsteps.

Serche saw the world around her brimming with possibilities, ripe for the taking. And so she got right to it.

Before everything else, Serche thought to make some baskets. Tools are, after all, what differentiated the sentient Races from mere animals. Even the dumbest of Races used tools -- or so Leiyis said. So she gathered a lot of long coils of vines that she found lying everywhere making sure they were about as thick as her finger, and were harmless and sturdy enough for at least one use. The young woman expertly stripped them of their leaves, and rolled them a bit to remove some of the stiffness. In all this she didn't even have to take five steps from where she stood.

Thus prepared, she sat down in the forest floor with her loot, and began to fashion them. Her fingers weaved confidently, laying down a simple crisscross pattern with the vines, until they were wide enough to shape upwards. A little more of this and she was able to make a small basket with the base as wide as her palm, and as deep as her elbow. She finished it off by attaching a simple handle and tying all the strands together.

'Not bad,' she thought. 'Not as tight as I would have wanted, but it's good enough. I only need them for one use, anyway.'

Serche finished three baskets within the hour, her creations varied in sizes to fit their different needs. Truth be told, she probably didn't need to make different kinds, but she was unexpectedly drawn into the process and ended up enjoying herself more than she should have. She also probably didn't need to imbue just a little bit of magic into the vines, keeping them alive and therefore sturdier. But she thought that she didn't need them breaking apart in the middle of travelling -- and besides, the live flowers were a very cute touch.