Dark Elven Desires

Darrick yanked at the ropes binding his naked body but, stretched up on his toes, he had no leverage. The only thing he achieved for his effort was rope burns on his wrists. Muscles exhausted he slumped, letting himself hang from the ropes. Someone nearby laughed, a deep, sensuous sound that lingered in his ears. Darrick craned his neck trying to see the source of the laugh, but she must be somewhere behind him. Soft, unnaturally cool, hands caressed his naked back and buttocks and he tensed.

“Such a pretty thing.” It was a female voice that accompanied the caresses. Her fingers made his skin tingle. “You will be just perfect.”

“Perfect for what.” He croaked, his mouth dry. How long had he been a prisoner now?

“Why, for whatever I want, pretty pretty.” She walked slowly round in front of him and the sight of her made him tremble. A dark elf from the pale blue shade of her skin, she towered over him slender and ethereal. Long white hair flowed over her shoulders and the satin gown she wore concealed nothing of her form underneath it. Darrick knew he was staring but somehow could not look away, his body reacting to her presence…

“It’s so… boring around here!” Darrick complained for the hundredth time, throwing a stone into the small pond. “Blacksmith’s apprentice, is that the most I can hope from in life?”

“Did you really ask me to sneak off and risk Maid Thiphania’s wrath just to hear you complain?” Lizbeth sighed her pretty face marred by a frown.

“No, no!” Darrick apologized, turning his attention to the blonde-haired girl sitting beside him. “It’s just…”

Lizbeth placed a finger over his lips. “Perhaps I can think of something that isn’t boring to do.” She grinned, leaning into him, pressing her lips to his, her tongue slipping into his mouth. Darrick’s hands moved around her head as he returned her kiss with growing passion, his tongue dueling with hers. He pushed her down onto the ground, his body settling on top of…

Darrick moaned, his sweat covered body hanging limp against the ropes that bound him. The… thing… inside him pulsed and his cock throbbed with each movement. How long had it been now? He had no measure for time, here in the dark in a perpetual state of arousal. He could feel the thing growing inside him though, bigger, thicker, longer. What had the elf said, feeding?

Whatever the dark elf had planted in him was slowly feeding off his sexual energy siphoning just enough to stop him from cumming and oh god at this point he wanted to cum while using it to grow. The desire to cum overwhelmed him, he wanted it like there was nothing more important in the entire world. He should be grateful he supposed that she had not stayed to watch his humiliating as the thing pumped in his ass reducing him to a moaning, writhing animal.

A small part of him still fought, still wondered what her goal was. What purpose beyond sheer torment this magic served. But that part of his brain shrank with each thrust and pulse from the thing in his ass. His brain wandered, semi-delirious. Lizbeth, he had done this for Lizbeth, thank the gods that she could not see him now. He let out a low groan, so helpless and defeated. He just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to cum.

That familiar low, seductive laugh followed his groan like a distorted echo. There was an earthy richness to it that oozed sex and degradation. His tormentor was back.

“I think we’re ready now aren’t we pretty, pretty.” She said, her cool hands so gentle on his sweat-soaked back. It shouldn’t feel good, but it did. He shouldn’t crave her touch, but oh he did. “Beg for me human.”…

Lizbeth fled through the trees. Guilt gnawed at her, but she didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare think of Darrick. Her breath came in sharp gasps as her feet pounded on the uneven ground. She had to get back to the village, maybe Master Oweyn or the other men could do something. In truth, she wasn’t sure who or what was coming for them. She hadn’t stayed long enough to find out, but Darrick’s reaction told her that it would be nothing good.

The village wasn’t far from the spot where Darrick, and she, had been playing. She knew these woods well; they were a little way from the village. The games she played with the village lads required a bit of privacy. There was talk, of course, but it didn’t get back to the elders. Besides, it was all harmless fun. A little teasing, a little exploration, and afterward Darrick and the other boys were always so grateful.

The chickens scattered, clucking wildly as Lizbeth barreled into the village. If that wasn’t enough to raise attention, her screams were. Master Oweyn came out of his smithy, hammer still in hand, to find out what the commotion was, and soon the other elders were gathering.

It was already too late, though. Even as she summoned the breath to explain, she heard the sounds of steel-shod boots approaching the village. A look passed between the elders. For just a moment they froze, then the whole village sprang into action…

There  was nothing for dinner that night. The orcs had taken everything of value and destroyed what they didn’t want. The smoldering ruins of several huts at least kept Lizbeth warm, but everyone she knew was dead and her home was destroyed.

She stayed in the village that night in part because she didn’t know what else to do and also because she still held the faint hope that someone else had escaped. By morning it was clear that they had not and she forced herself to plan.

There was no future for her or anyone in Briar Glen, it was gone. Wealdstone was the nearest town, but Lizbeth had never been there. It was several days even by horse, which she did not have. She would need to prepare then, forage for provisions. She was no hunter, but she knew the lands around Briar Glen and could find roots and berries. At least she wouldn’t starve on her journey.

Her clothes and possessions were destroyed so all she had was what she wore. What she would do when she reached Wealdstone, but she was young and pretty, so the boys said, so there was always whoring if nothing else…

A wolf’s howl draws Lizbeth to the door, and what she sees in the moonlight stirs something dangerous inside her. She cannot look away, even as desire and fear begin to blur into one

Lizbeth’s Wolfish Awakening

by Mia Sumner

A wolf’s howl woke Lizbeth with a start. She sat up, sleep banished, and instantly alert, before remembering where she was and relaxing a little. Any animals would be outside the hut and had no way of getting at her. The wolf howled again and she shivered. The animal must be close, maybe just in the woods outside.

Glancing around, she realized she was alone. The hut had only one room, which meant Osric and Illona must be outside. Alarmed, she got up and peered out of the small window, hoping to see them. The moons were full and bright, the clearing standing out against the dark woods surrounding it. There was… something… out there but from this awkward angle, Lizbeth couldn’t tell what, the wolf maybe? Where were Illona and Osric? She heard another noise, this time it wasn’t a wolf, more like a woman’s cry…

When a dwarf’s lust meets a madam’s cunning, gold isn’t the only thing changing hands in the brothel tonight.

***

“Norud Smeltrock, open this door immediately!”

Norud ignored the knocking and the voice, thrusting his cock back into the willing cunt beneath him. The woman gave a soft groan, worn out by his relentless fucking. He paid no attention as the door to the room opened and someone stepped inside.

“Get off the girl Norud, can’t you see you’ve worn her out?” The woman’s voice was sharp, reprimanding him. Norad rolled over to look at the intruder and the girl moaned incoherently.

“Ye promise satisfaction.” He snarled. “Does it look like I’m satisfied?” He gestured to his still hard prick.

The woman, an older lady though well maintained, glanced down at the thick hard shaft of his cock apparently unphased by what she saw. Clearly little surprised her in her role as the madam of the establishment…

She rewards a desperate noble wife with dangerous intimacy. But every touch is calculated and the secrets she uncovers may ignite something far worse.

Part 7: The Lady’s Sweet Intelligence

Lady Ysalde leaned back on the gilt-edged, stuffed, red sofa, smiling softly, her eyes focused on the young wife of Alderman Crey. Sunlight streamed through the window behind her, lighting her long, dark hair. She didn’t move until the young, blonde, woman finished blurting out her news and paused, clearly waiting for praise. The young ones were so easy, always so eager to please. So desperate really for anyone to appreciate them that they’d happily share any information they learned.

Ysalde patted the sofa cushion next to her, indicating that the woman might sit with her, hear in the receiving room. “You’re such a dear one.” She leaned over and kissed the woman’s cheek, enjoying the immediate flushed reaction. “This information will be so helpful and your part in bringing it to me will not be forgotten. We don’t have long, but would you mind ever so much?”

The woman glanced nervously at the door but Ysalde encouraged her down onto her knees with her hand. “We will not be disturbed, my servants know that I enjoy some quiet time in the early afternoon.” she soothed, moving her legs apart so the woman had easy access.

It only took a little encouragement, this woman had been raised to be a people pleaser. First her family and then her husband, now Ysalde. She knelt easily enough, hesitating only briefly before leaning in, hands nervous and uncertain on Ysalde’s thighs. Ysalde tensed in anticipation as she felt the woman’s hot breath on her sensitive skin. Out of sight, her hand gripped the arm of the sofa as she kept her breathing steady. The woman’s tongue was clumsy but eager, finally finding a rhythm as she licked Ysalde’s pussy, face buried between her thighs. Ysalde shifted a little as the blonde’s tongue circled her clit. The woman’s small sounds, her increasing urgency and desire to succeed, all added to the heat building inside Ysalde’s core.

As the woman worked eagerly Ysalde idly considered the information that she had supplied. The nobles must have been suppressing news that caravans were going missing around Wealdstone, worried no doubt that they would look weak. It needed further investigation… later. The woman’s mouth had found a better angle and Ysalde’s grip tightened on the sofa arm…

Darrick wakes aching, haunted by the shamaness who made his body obey. Now something inside him stirs, and escape may already be too late.

The Shamaness’s Ward

The rough rock floor disturbed Darrick’s slumber. The fullness of his stomach reminded him of the creature now inside him. His body, still worn from the abuses it had suffered, coaxed him back towards sleep again, but sleep was no escape. His body twitched as his mind replayed scenes from his torture. A distant sound, drow guards dragging some unfortunate captive to his fate perhaps, stirred an older memory.

The fight had been short and unheroic. Ten orcs vs one human with a knife, there was only ever one way it could end. Frantic stabbing and slashing on Darrick’s part kept the orcs at bay for brief minutes while they surrounded him. He had, at least, made some of them bleed as they slowly tightened their circle.

They didn’t use their weapons though, jeering and cursing as they pulled at him, the sharp nails of their hands scratching him. A hard blow to his stomach pushing all the air from his lungs. Another to the side of his head, making the world spin and his ears ring.

He sank to his knees, lip bruised, a cut above his eye dripping blood that stung. They didn’t let up, more clubbing blows. The world went soft around the edges. He tried to raise his hands to protect himself but they wouldn’t move. A drooling, fanged ugly face leered at him. Then… darkness.

Pain. His wrists burning. Cold, hard ground. His body aching, refusing to let him rest further. The ropes around his wrist too tight, cutting off his circulation. The cold air against his naked chest only partly compensated for by the heat from a crackling fire…

He pressed her into the dirt to hide from orcs. She felt something else pressing against her. Neither of them spoke of it. Not yet.

Part 10 What the Wolf Wants

The journey was quiet. Not silent or peaceful, more a pressure that Lizbeth felt growing with each step she took. Osric’s silent presence only added to the weight of her discomfort. He barely spoke, beyond the occasional grunt, and never looked directly at her. The stiffness of his posture an accusation that she was an unwelcome burden. Lizbeth spent much of her day staring at his back, at his silvered hair as she followed him day after day.

He moved with a confident smoothness. Head up and alert, always aware of his surroundings, his feet never making a sound. Her mind flashed back to the night before and his animalistic coupling with Illona. She was glad she was walking behind him then, that he couldn’t see the flush on her cheeks or the way she bit her lower lip. Illona knew what she’d seen, did Osric too?

Her head was full of sights and thoughts, her world reshaped since the orc invasion and her now innocent seeming dalliance with Darrick. The thought of him and what must have happened to him felt like a fresh wound in her chest. It was, oddly, easier to think of the look on Maid Thiphania’s face as she eagerly succumbed to the Orcs, or of Illona’s moans of pleasure as she was mounted. As confusing as the feelings were that those thoughts stirred in her, they didn’t hurt, in truth, she could admit they still excited her even if they shouldn’t, and at least they were a distraction…