Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 06

"What..."

The tiefling's question trailed off as Iliara stood, showing off her fine leather leggings, trimmed with red and gold, and hastily unfastened her belt before untying her crotch. The scent of her arousal dominated the warm porridge in front of Cyra. "Up for it?"

Never one to turn down a warm snatch, Cyra nodded, rising from her seat and pushing the elf so that her leather-clad ass was against the table. She squatted down, and the knee-length morning gown she was wearing rode high up her thighs. Iliara could look down at the ruddy cleavage, a grin on her face as she appreciated the heavy orbs. "Cyra, your breasts look different...in shape, that is."

"They are," she said. She hooked her fingers over the waistband of the leather leggings and began to tug. "Ambrusia convinced me to release the enchantment holding them so firmly in place. In effect, they are more natural now, not quite as perky...though, if I do say so myself, they're still quite supple for a being of my age."

"Indeed," Iliara said. "They call to me regardless. Perhaps I'll repay you later by worshiping them?"

"You'd better," Cyra responded, sliding the tough leather down the elf's athletic legs. Her snatch was bare save for a golden strip of hair, short and soft, above her slit. Grinning, Cyra pressed one black-nailed finger against the hardened nub sticking out from her sex. She was wet and ripe, more than ready, and the tiefling knew that the elf wouldn't take long. Iliara gasped as she pressed firmly, pushing the bud in short circles before sliding that digit down the slit. Her cloyed nectar clung to the red finger, and Cyra couldn't help herself but to lick and taste that delicious honey.

Iliara's hands slid through Cyra's pale hair, her thumbs gliding affectionately across her petite brown horns. The tiefling pressed her face in, squeezing it between thighs that could hardly part wide enough for the leathers around her knees. But regardless, Cyra had her mouth against the elf's sex easily enough, and though it made it hard for her to breathe, she relished in the feeling of her soft skin against her face, thighs pressing tight against her cheeks and sex upon her face. Using her upper lip to press against the elf's impudent clitoris, her tongue lavished the length of her slit with long, sensual licks, then found its way to her sodden canal. She worked her dexterous tongue into the opening, rimming it for a good while, then sliding it in as far as it would go. She curled it inside the elf repeatedly, stroking her "Hanali's heart," as she'd heard elves call it.

Iliara grunted and groaned, her hands flexing at the back of Cyra's head. She knew it wouldn't take the tiefling long to bring her off, as skilled as Cyra was. And when her lips latched on her clit and sucked it tight into her mouth, accompanied by two invading fingers burrowing into her passage, curling against her Heart, she knew her end was nigh. She didn't bother holding back; her orgasm tore through her like fire from her breast. She grunted quickly, quietly, hands pushing the tiefling's face tight against her cunny as she rode her orgasm to completion. When she finished, Cyra pulled away slowly, glistening strands of saliva and nectar hanging between her face and Iliara's sex. The tiefling slowly stood, gathered her spoon, licking the porridge clean from it, then pressing it against Iliara's sex. When she withdrew it, it bore a glistening pool of the cloyed, sweet nectar. She poured it into her porridge, stirred briefly, and took a bite.

"Just what it needed," Cyra said as Iliara drew up her leggings and tied off her belt. "If I were more generous, I would consider it payment enough"

"But you aren't," Iliara said knowingly. "And that's what makes you so delightful Cyra."

"Well, that and everything else about me," Cyra said, an arrogant, superior look on her face.

"Of course!" Iliara said, knowing false bravado when she saw it. Even if Cyra wasn't exactly off base. "Enjoy your breakfast, my dear. I'll be in my quarters washing and resting for tonight."

"Goodnight, my nocturnal beauty," Cyra said, returning to her flavored porridge.

*****

"She could smell it?" Alluva asked.

Lidia nodded. "Elven senses, I suppose."

"You should be more careful, daughter. Not all of my patrons are as depraved as we are, you know," Alluva said. She'd meant that as a reprimand, but couldn't contain a smile. The elf her daughter had hired was dressing herself in a white gown with a plunging, gold lace neckline and a daring slit up one side, revealing all but her shapely hip.

"Are you certain your mistress won't mind you joining us?" Lidia asked the moon elf. The woman glanced at her, a slight smirk on her face as she pulled her wavy black hair from her face.

"She will be fine," the elf said. "I will go see her at once to inform her of our extended contract. I'm certain the arrangement will be met with agreement."

"Very good," Alluva said, grinning at the elf. "My daughter does so enjoy your company."

"And I, hers. More so if she'd let me turn the tables and tame that impertinent bottom of hers!" The elf grinned wide, coming close to the peculiar daughter and kissing her cheek. "I'll see you shortly, milady."

"Don't make me wait too long," Lidia said, a smirk on her face. And then the elf was gone, leaving mother and daughter alone. "Does it ever bother you, mother? A normal mother-daughter relationship generally wouldn't consist of said mother enjoying her daughter's sexual conquests."

"We're hardly a typical mother and daughter, Lidia," Alluva said.

To emphasize the point, Lidia closed her eyes, then reopened them, except instead of human eyes, they were golden orbs with black slits: the eyes of a dragon. She shrugged, rolling her neck and whispering to herself. There was a crackling and snapping chorus as bones broke and flesh tore, and leathery silver wings sprouted from her back. Scales of a similar hue, tinged with blue and green, appeared on her arms and legs, down her flanks, and around her neck and the roots of her wings. The skin of her breasts, stomach, chest, face, feet and hands were left plain and unchanged. She was only half-dragon, after all.

"I suppose father was good for something," Lidia said, grinning. Her voice changed to gain a rasp and reptilian lisp, accompanying her human voice. Alluva walked around behind her daughter, running her fingers over her daughter's leathery wings. She watched a shiver run up Lidia's spine at the sensation.

"You should let your wings breathe more often my love," Alluva said. "They look cramped and dull."

"I agree," her daughter said, "but it isn't as if all of Everlund will enjoy seeing a half dragon prancing and gliding throughout the city."

Alluva sighed, sharing her daughter's sentiment. With a wave of her hand, she locked the front door of her shop, closed the drapes and raised iron bars in the windows. A second gesture conjured small flames around the walls, on metal sconces, that did not consume fuel but shed warmth and light . Smiling, Alluva, the powerful sorceress and wizard, wiggled her fingers and her common clothing vanished, replaced by a resplendent, shimmering scale robe, crafted from the hide of a purple dragon and lined with the finest black silk she could buy. Or, more appropriately, steal.

"Go and rest, my daughter. I can conjure a portal for you, to the wilds, where you can stretch and exercise your true form however you wish, if you like," Alluva said.

"I can find my own way," Lidia said. "I should return before the sun gets too low."

Alluva watched as Lidia resumed her human form, sighing a little at the uncomfortable sensation. They embraced, and Alluva kissed her daughter on the cheek, before the young half-dragon left out the rear entrance. Alluva breathed a deep sigh, manually untying the sash cinching her robe together. She wore nothing under her robe, and even cinched with her shimmering sash, much of her cleavage and stomach could be seen, and her proud stride often revealed her strong, supple thighs. Her skin, only lightly tanned, was rich and healthy.

Alluva removed herself from her showroom, wanting to be in the comfort of her private chambers. In the counting room, where not long ago her daughter had watched a gold elf fuck a moon elf while plunging a rubber cock shaped like a dragon's, Alluva stood in the exact center and pointed her palms at the floor. She spoke a secret word that no other mortal could possibly know and the floor shifted into a pseudo-liquid, allowing her to pass through slowly enough to not harm her when she dropped to the stone floor below, while not soiling her skin or clothing.

She fell lightly on her bare feet, the cool stone unable to put a chill in her as she strode three steps forward to an ornate wooden door. The sorceress put her bare hand against the door, now bedecked with gemmed and golden rings and bracelets, and she felt a prick at her palm. A tiny droplet of blood was absorbed by the door, and that was her key. Latches were opened from the inside and the door glided soundlessly in. Alluva walked in, breathing deeply the familiar, comforting scents of incense, fragrant oils, and cured leather. She had not lied about her familiarity with animal hides and leathers: part of her magical repertoire involved the manipulation of fabrics and materials, clothing and light armors. Her robe was a product of that, and there were a great many dead creatures to attest to her skill at slaying as well as crafting.

Ahead of her, across from the doorway, a large, overstuffed satin couch beckoned to her. Alluva resisted, though, and instead went to a large desk where a thick tome and an everlasting inkwell waited for her. She sat, whispering the words that would unlock the tome. Without them, it would never open. Automatically, it turned to the most recent page. A message was waiting for her, and she grinned.

"Such a wonderful device," she said. The tome was a messenger book, and she had given a page to each of her lovers over the past hundred years which would allow them to write directly into her tome. She thanked the deities of magic for that gift. The woman had no use for necromancy and lichdom did not appeal to her. She enjoyed physical pleasure far too much for such things. Instead, she had simply used magic to prolong her life, keeping her from aging quite as quickly. She aged now only slightly more quickly than an elf, and expected to live almost as long as one. She'd given up her adventurous lifestyle years ago, after the birth of her daughter, and though the close brushes with death had been exciting and invigorating, she had found other things to excite herself with.

"Ah, Master Flurolet," she said, examining the ornate script. A wealthy merchant, this one was, and she read his message with a grin on her face. There were many compliments, meticulously worded and very vivid. He described his affections for her and her "supreme beauty." Finally, he came to his point: he wanted to meet with her again, but in some very out of the way location. She settled back into her chair, wondering about her affair with Master Flurolet. His wife would likely slay herself if she found out he was consorting with another woman.

She read the last phrase: Meet me, my beautiful Lady, a tenday hence, in my villa on the Sea of Fallen Stars. I trust you can use your remarkable talents to divine the exact location. It is my heart's greatest longing to lay beside you again and again, my beloved. Please, I will await your arrival with great anticipation. Devotedly, Flurolet.

Smirking, Alluva closed the tome. Indeed, a vial of his seed that she kept locked away with every other memorable lay she'd had since her adventuring days would allow her to divine his exact location whenever she wished.

"Not this time, my dear," she said. "You've grown old and fat. I have other interests."

She thought to respond to him, knowing that her message would vanish, as every sent or received message did, once he read it. Alluva pushed the tome away, putting him from her mind completely, and rose. She walked around her private chamber, examining the many vials of components on a very tall and wide set of shelves, running her finely manicured fingers, the nails painted a metallic violet color that matched her robe. Then she came to a small desk next to her plush couch. A smile on her face, she pulled open the drawer. Within, a block of wood had been carved with precise cutouts, then covered in black satin. Within those depressions, some of her favorite "wands" rested. She ran her fingers over them, six in all.

The first was crystalline and clear as ice. It was long and about as wide as two of her fingers, and it had ridges running the length of it, all the way to the flanged base. Secondly, a black wand gave a tremor at her touch, part of its magic. It was thicker than the last, but just as long, and was perfectly smooth. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment longer before moving to the third wand. This one was the longest, made of glass with a thick ball on one end, and a ring on the opposite end. It curved severely, an arc half-way between perpendicular and perfectly straight, and was relatively thin between it's two ends. Her sex veritably pulsed at the thought of it penetrating her.

Alluva stifled her urge to pluck it from it's resting place and go to work immediately. Her fingernails tapped against it, then moved to the fourth and fifth wand. They were similar to each other in that they were the color of darkly tanned flesh, as well as being thick, animated clay that she had enchanted to remain soft and pliant, yet hold its form and never crumble. They would always serve her purposes, but she had enchanted them with a limited charge: each one could ejaculate a warm, sticky liquid that emulated human semen. Moreover, they had unique shapes: the first one, the color of sun-tanned skin, had the look of a human cock, with it's mushroom shaped head and thick veins running the length. The second one, though, was much more deviant: It was a very dark brown, much like a Turmish man's skin, but the end was blunted with a broad opening in the middle. She'd never debased herself so much as to mate with a horse, but her curiosity had led her to create this wand so that she might feel a different type of penetration.

The sixth and final wand was the most unique. Instead of being one long shape mimicking, if not wholly representing, a penis, it was a series of solid crystal bulbs, perfectly round, one progressively larger than the previous, and attached by firm, slightly flexible leather strips. The first was the size of a marble, the kind she'd seen children playing with in the streets. In fact, that very scene had led to her idea of creating this particularly devious device. The bulbs were progressively larger until the eighth and last bulb. This one was just a hair larger than a halfling's fist. Each bulb was connected by flexible leather, and sticking out the end of the largest bulb was a strip of leather ending in a loop that she could fit her finger through. After nearly losing her first version of this particular toy in her rectum, she decided to add that little feature.

Breathing out a ragged breath and feeling a tingle between her thighs, she removed the curved glass rod and the crystal beads. Alluva laid down on the soft couch, propping one leg up on the cushion and leaving the other to hang off the side, resting on the ground. Closing her eyes, she moved the glass rod down, letting it glide between her breasts and over her stomach, moving ever closer to her...

A chime sounded from her doorway. Someone was standing at the entrance of her store. She cursed, wanting very much to ignore whoever was there, but knowing nobody would be there at this early morning hour unless it was vitally important. She kissed her toys and stood, promising them she would return as quickly as sorcerously possible.

*****

Two bald armsmen intercepted the prostitute when she returned to the brothel from Lidia's residence.

"You're late," one said, wearing a thick salt-and-pepper goatee. The elf glared at him. "Mistress is waiting for you." He stepped out of the way, and she let herself in.

The inside of the otherwise plain-looking building was opulent beyond measure. She knew why. Barely clad in elegant, flimsy gowns, women meandered to and fro in the main foyer, across soft, gold-traced red carpet. Some leaned against pristinely sanded and shined wooden walls or opulent oaken desks. There were no patrons about right now, the elf noted. Probably fucking their whores in a rented, private room. She saw a young woman, likely barely into adulthood, that looked frightened as an older woman led her around, pointing and explaining. The elf wondered what had brought the young woman to the brothel's employ, then dismissed it as her mistress appeared at the top of the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer.

"Come," she said in an imperial voice, then turned around and pushed open the double doors behind her. The elf climbed the stairs with haste, and she heard a man enter the brothel and whistle at her ass as it danced beneath the white gown. She wanted to seize a longsword and run him through.

Stifling her anger, she plastered a smile on her face and entered the double doors. Her mistress, a tall blonde with larger than natural breasts and a magically augmented hourglass figure, sat behind an opulent desk littered with parchments and inkwells. Standing to the side was a man she'd never seen before, but instinctively knew him as the benefactor for Mistress Bliss's brothel. He was also the one that kept the authorities from coming down on their prostitution ring. Funny, she thought, that he was probably twenty years younger than the seasoned Mistress.

Not that she could tell the woman's age by looking at her. Alchemy and gifts from the Lord Armanov kept her looking no older than her mid-thirties. The elf suppressed a scowl. She loathed the unnatural things women went through to augment their bodies...as if the gods hadn't done it right the first time.

"Why are you so late returning to us?" Mistress Bliss asked.

"My client needed more time," the elf said. She tossed an overfull purse onto the woman's desk, and coins spilled out, sliding across the wood onto her lap. "She paid for it. And for another date with me. Tonight."

Bliss looked to the side, at Lord Armanov as he studied the elf. "Their names?" he asked. His voice was like silk to her ears.

"Alluva Dunnan and Lidia Lovedrake," the elf said.

"Send a message with her," Armanov said to Bliss, "and inform them that she'll be extra for tonight. Explain that she is in high demand and will cost more because of that."

"Of course, Lord Armanov," Bliss said. She ran a hand over her tube-like wrapping that did little to conceal her massive bust. She looked at the pale elf. "Service our benefactor," she said.

"Apologies, Mistress, Lord Armanov, but I must prepare myself for tonight if I--"

"It's quite alright," Armanov said. "Business before pleasure. Perhaps next time." He smiled warmly at her, but she felt nothing but glacial cold.

Bliss looked flushed, embarrassed. "Of course," she said, "you are dismissed."

She turned on her heal, but heard a rustling of clothes. She pulled the door open and looked over her shoulder just as Samon removed his thick manhood and thrust it into Bliss's waiting mouth. Silently, the elf hoped Samon would thoroughly abuse her.

*****

Lidia made her way out of Everlund, smiling fondly at the guards, who simply grinned nervously at her passing. She was the type of woman, the way she was dressed, that would be barracks talk for a week. Wearing only a slinky black gown, slit high up both shapely thighs. A halter wrapped around her neck, the only thing holding it up, and it had an open back all the way down, so far that if she leaned back just right, anybody standing near her backside would see her cleft bottom. Smirking to herself, she strode with confidence out the gate, gazing upon the forest not far away.