Eel Marsh Exile ch.2

Author's Note: Another long one, tentacles! Enjoy the very first story of April, as we follow Tuva Lynxheart on the first steps of her sojourn!

[story/action] [fu/fu] [more tags below]

_______________________________

I squat in tall marshgrass, still and silent as stone, a javelin clutched in my fingers. My gaze remains locked firmly in place on a small, wild ewe, having trotted its way down from rocky hills to graze in the flatlands. It’s wary in this place, aware that it’s not in its element, and it is that wariness that gives me pause, encourages me to bide my time.

Five days have passed since my exile from Eel Marsh. Provisions have run low, and the wetlands have provided little. These are difficult lands to harvest food from without a stable environment, time, and laborers, and while I was able to gather a sackful of cranberries a few days ago, my gut wails at me for something that can sustain my journey. Something to keep my energy up, and my muscles from diminishing like a waning moon. I need meat.

The sheep eats her fill, then finally turns, moving slowly back toward the hills she’d come from, her able feet taking her easily along sharp, uneven rocks and silty earth, ground I know I will have much more difficulty traversing. These hills are dry and hollow, rain passing down along them to gather in the marsh, and it is certain that they will provide a challenging journey. As the ewe meanders skyward, though, it takes a detour, moving not further up into the hills, but down and sidelong, past a strange slope I had not noticed, and immediately out of sight.

I furrow my brow, keeping my javelin tight in hand but taking a few steps forward, waiting for the creature to emerge. It does not. I stand fully, my belly raging in protest that I may have allowed my prey to escape, and I begin to follow, jogging up the hill and searching for the loose, arid patch of earth that my walking meal seems to have vanished behind. After a few moments, I find something rather unexpected – a sandy chute leading down and forward, opening into what looks to be a cave. Animal tracks go in and out of it, causing me to believe that it’s safe to enter, and I creep down and in, staying as silent as I can so as not to spook the ewe.

As I shuffle down into the cave, struggling to keep steady footing, I find myself quickly worried of darkness – humans lack the extraordinary vision of some of Wreath’s other peoples, and navigation will be important so early on in my journey northward. I find my fears soothed, though, when the interior of the cave proves to be not dark, but only dim, the sun’s rays coming through the entryway behind me providing just enough light to see. Getting low to the ground (which here is more rough and rocky, unlike the dry silt above), I find the ewe’s tracks once again, following behind until I finally find it.

“There you are,” I barely whisper as I locate it, the woolly brown creature gnawing at a patch of curious, purplish moss a bit deeper into the cavern. With it is another sheep, likewise eating this curious purple stuff off of a boulder, and both seem placidly content. I steady myself, and once again, I ready my javelin. Poor light down here, but no wind. I can be accurate as long as I’m patient. I rear my arm back, waiting to throw, waiting for it to scrape another mouthful of moss from the stone and begin to chew.

I tense my body, then finally let my arm snap forward, launching the javelin forward and watching as it flies true. A clean hit drops the animal, and the other flees. Victory is mine.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The safety and security of the cave makes it an excellent place to clean and cook the ewe, smoking what I cannot eat now. Rather than making my way back onto the hills, though, I eventually choose to light a torch and continue forward, to see how far this cave will take me before darkness or lack of a path forward forces me to turn back. More than a few legends among the Eel Marsh speak of treasures deep below the earth, and I’ve found a pathway into it that seems simple to traverse – I’m able to keep my footing well down here, have no need to worry about severe weather, and the presence of prey animals would suggest that I’m the most dangerous creature down here.

My fortune is greater than expected, however, or at the very least stranger. While I’d been hoping for a quick jaunt underground, with another opening eventually leading me past the hills, it becomes clear that the cave is leading farther and farther downward – and, unexpectedly, becoming worked. Though still generally cavernous, the floors are distinctly flat and the ceilings impressively high, a sort of large ‘tunnel’ that leads me onwards. Some time after that, I find sconces at the far sides of the walls, and strange lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Both are lit, but not with fire, oil, or pitch, but a sort of pallid, twinkling glow, reflecting off the many facets of the crystalline containers and filling this spacious subterranean chamber with a dim white light.

It begins to dawn on me that this is no mere cave, nor even an intentionally built tunnel… this place is of shokari design. I’ve stumbled into a whole new world, a place I’ve seen nor barely even fathomed. Storyweavers and other mol’am – err, entertainers – have cried out tall tales of the shokari, of course, the gray-skinned giant-folk that lived below Wreath’s sun-kissed top side, away from the stern gaze of Those. I have oft wondered if these horned folk are as great in size and strength as the storyweavers say, if indeed they are larger than the most powerful warrior of the southern tribes. It seems that soon, I may have an answer to my question, for my journey has brought me into the realm of these shadow-dwelling hulks.

Though the lack of sunlight means I cannot tell when night falls, I feel my body growing weary. There’s no wood down here for a campfire, but nor have there been any signs of predators, so it may be… somewhat… safe to rest. Unfortunately, I have little other choice, as it’s far too late to turn back. When I can walk no longer without exhaustion claiming me, I lay out my bedroll, and eat a bit more of the half-cooked mutton I’ve brought along, draining my water supply near to its end. I must soon either reach civilization or an exit from this cave, as I feel I’ve come much too far to turn back. A frightening thought, that I should die, alone and hungry beneath the earth, barely a week into my exile. How obvious it would be that Pylla was, and had always been, the right choice for Eel Marsh’s leader.

With thoughts of such humiliating failure heavy on my mind, I strip off my armor, lay out my bedroll, and lay down on the flat stone, all alone in this enormous, partially-worked cave that seems to have no end. What will await me when I awaken? More of this same empty nothingness? Some unknown threat?

Will I awaken at all?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It is a noise that rouses me. Not the snarl of an attacking animal – though it is not dissimilar – but that of something, or someone, eating. A sort of satisfied growl. I blink, and react, rolling away from the sound and into a crouch, a breechcloth covering my nethers and the iron cuff around my wrist, but the rest of my muscled body woefully exposed. In the middle of the motion I grasp the hand of my war-cudgel, always beside me as I sleep, and try to shake the mist from my eyes to get a clearer look at whatever has stumbled upon me.

I think it to be a creature at first, some sort of monster like a koj’kus, or the tale of the Grazzoth, from the west. A hulking figure, covered in fur with patches of sickly flesh, great ram’s horns curling back before jutting forward. Large shoulders and long, powerful arms, though with hands not unlike a human’s, and… no.

The ‘creature’ stands up from what I now realize was a crouch, turning to face me, still gnawing at a mouthful of stolen mutton. This is no monster, no, no koj’kus. It is a woman. The fur is not part of her, but worn by her, white fur attached to pale brown leather, though the skin beneath has a warm grayish tone. A mane of tangled black braids spills down her back and around the base of her horns, woven into which are a panoply of beads and other little totems colored in red, gold, and green. She is indeed tall, tremendously so, perhaps a few inches taller than Pylla (discounting the horns, of course), and well-built, though a little leaner than me.

“You steal my food.” I narrow my eyes at her, knuckles whitening around the handle of my iron-banded bludgeon.

She looks at me for a moment, still chewing, lemon-yellow eyes looking thoughtful, as if she’s trying to decipher what I’m saying. Realization seems to dawn on her, and she swallows, speaking in a thick, strange accent. “Shokari land. My food.”

I glower back, though I can’t say she’d be treated much differently had she been the one trespassing on Eel Marsh land. That being said, I am not merely a vagabond, but a warrior – neither this slight, nor any other, can be tolerated should I wish my honor to remain intact. “I allow you to leave unhurt, if you take no more of what is mine.”

The horned woman chuckles down at me. Scars on her lip, ear, and cheek, along with many chips and cuts across her horns, tell me she is no stranger to battle, and indeed, she is armed – a massive crossbow, more an arbalest, is strapped to her back, along with a huge, long-hafted sword with a sickle-like blade. The sword’s scabbard and handle look well-worn at a glance, and while she is barely armored, I am close to naked. I should be cautious. “Barbarian runt. Not threat here. Take as I like.” With that, she reaches into a pouch – my pouch – and withdraws another hunk of smoked meat, stuffing it into her mouth. My meat.

I step forward sharply, attacking with my cudgel, forcing a backpedal that I anticipate and follow through on, lunging forward with the opposite leg and kicking off for a headbutt. Our skulls collide, but this turns out to have been a mistake on my part – even without being struck by the horns themselves, the shokari’s head is tough as iron! She seems unfazed by the blow, while I can still feel a ringing in my ears, staggering back to balance for all the time she needs to draw that deadly blade. A closer look at it confirms it as a rhomphaia, its inner edge sharpened to a razor… any part of me that that thing hits, it’s going to remove.

“So small, human – weak,” the shokari lets out another gruff chuckle, widening her stance and gripping her weapon tightly in both hands, while I do the same with my cudgel. She begins to walk in a slow, cautious circle, and I do the same in the opposing direction, as we size each other up – it’s come to blows, now, and we’ll both need to strategize if we want to survive.

If I had access to all of my weapons, I could trap her blade with my trident, then move in with a javelin or my golok to take some lethal strikes at her middle. With only my club, though, my options are limited. My instinct is to close to a grapple, to make her weapon useless, but between her great size and those horns, victory isn’t certain. Attempting to disarm her is tempting, my not something my bludgeon is well-suited to, and the environment provides no opportunities or obstacles beyond the few items laying around my makeshift camp. My best option, it seems, is the most obvious – parry, then punish. Trust my reflexes.

My initial attack having failed, I wait, muscles tense, eyes on my opponent. While I know not her level of skill, it’s clear that she’s strategizing, as I am, deciding her best option… and noticing my pause. “Afraid now, runt?” she leers at me, adjusting her stance so that she holds her blade like a short-hafted spear, its dire blade held above her head, ready to come slashing down.

“Not afraid,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Smart.”

She has no more appetite for banter, it seems, as she lashes forward with the rhomphaia, bringing it down in a diagonal slash – difficult to evade due to its angle, challenging to block due to the might behind it. I opt for neither, ducking in and lifting my cudgel to meet it, catching the blade against one of its knobby bands of iron. Rather than trying to absorb the blow’s power, though, I aim to redirect it, turning mid-step and thrusting the cudgel backwards, forcing the shokari to overextend herself. The maneuver, though I was uncertain whether I had the strength to see it through, works as intended – the other woman loses her footing and stumbles forward as I use my momentum against her.

I don’t waste a second before pouncing, slamming the bludgeon against the side of her hip and causing her to collapse fully against the stone floor. She lets out a roar of pain, and I hear steel hit rock as she drops her blade to the ground – something I immediately pursue by kicking the weapon out of her reach, standing over her prone form with my war-cudgel raised. “You’ve lost!” I shout down at her, the force and volume of my voice causing her to flinch as she recoils, rolling over onto her back. “Submit to me!” Foolish of me. I should crush her skull, here and now, rather than give her opportunity to betray me. Too much sparring with Pylla, not enough live combat. Still, now that I’ve offered surrender, I have no choice but to honor it.

“I submit!” the shokari says, holding her hands up, then wincing in pain from the blow to her ribs. “I did not know your kind made such warriors.”

“Then you have not been very far south.” I scowl down at her, slowly lowering my club and reaching down to take her hand, helping her up. “I am a stranger so far below the sight of Those. Your guidance would be very helpful, should you choose to be a boon to my passage, rather than a foe.”

“Erm… slow down,” she says hesitantly, “your words are clumsy on my tongue. I do not speak it very good.”

I grunt. “Many would say those of Eel Marsh never became our tongue’s master, either…” I pause, then chuckle, “but for in the bedchamber, at least.”

A crooked smile cracks dark gray lips, though I sense her grasp of the joke is limited. She pauses, thinking for a moment, muttering to herself in a language I cannot even begin to comprehend, then offers, “You are in Unsculpted Lands, now. North lies Khxendrol, but shokari build little this far away. Scouts and heght, no settlers.”

“What is… heckt?” I furrow my brow, keeping my eye on her sword, still uncertain if she plans to reach for it.

“Heght. Carve stone, clear ways. Do all this,” she gestures around at the crudely-worked rock around us, tunnels heightened and smoothed but no true structures built here. I begin to understand.

I nod, and after a moment, hold a hand (the one not holding my war-cudgel) to my bare chest. “I am Tuva Lynxheart, exile of the Eel Marsh tribe.”

The shokari hesitates, then mimics the gesture. “I am Miske Ux-Renta.”

I reach out to tightly clasp her hand, nod firmly, then release. “Where do I go from here, Miske? Too little food to go back.”

“A day’s walk brings you to Khxendrol. I can bring you to outside the gate.” There’s something hidden in her words. As if it were a young, tender elk, I hunt it.

“Only the gate? Do you not journey there, as well?”

A flicker of uncertainty in those pale yellow eyes, but much of her tough exterior crumbled when I so swiftly conquered her in combat. After only a moment, the shokari relents. “You, exile. I am exile too. For my crimes, I cannot return to my homeland.”

I frown, reaching down to pick up the woman’s rhomphaia, handing it to her. “What was your crime, Miske?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have the words.” She looks annoyed, quickly moves to a new topic. “Take your things, we shall go. I lead you as far as I can.”

While I’d prefer to know more of her misdeeds, thoughts of my flaccid waterskin remind me to make haste toward a settlement. This ‘Khxendrol’ will have to do, though I know not whether it is a town, a mere trading post, or the jewel of the underworld. I shall soon, I suppose, find out. I nod and gather my things, donning my armor and gathering my weapons, at which Miske gawks in surprise and jealousy – envious that I carry more instruments of death than she. I eat some of the mutton the shokari had pilfered from, and we make our way forward.

Rul smiles upon us, it would seem, for there is only little more of this meandering pathway before we hit something substantial. The lights become brighter as we enter a narrower, more finely-worked tunnel that spirals ahead and down, ushering us into the guts of Wreath, a colder and darker place, so far away from my home. The stairs themselves are tall, for me, long steps straining my stride, though I avoid hopping or jogging down them, thanking my blessings when the trail settles for gentle slops or flatter planes of chiseled rock.

After what feel like a few hours, the tunnel comes to an abrupt end, and I find myself, finally, in shokari civilization. Not a city, yet – I don’t think – but something I would think of on the surface as a countryside. The stone ceiling is so high above us as to dress itself as the very sky above, bedazzled with more of those little crystal lights so their glow may cast down on the world below. Unworked earth and rock, roots, and strange fungi and flora grow in the most open spaces, with paved highways leading from the tunnel deeper into the shokari lands, stony roads branching off of it like veins off the stem of a leaf, heading in every which directon – toward farmhouses, small communities, even what appear to be taverns. Population of these giant-folk is sparse so close to the tunnel we’ve come from, but there is life here, people leading carts from their own smaller thorpes to neighboring farms or trading posts, or deeper along the highway, presumably toward Khxendrol.

“This place is very strange to me,” I say softly, more to myself than to Miske, considering how curiously similar this place is to the surface, yet how utterly, unapproachably alien. Near us, a wagon is being led from a smaller road toward the main highway, pulled by an enormous beetle the color of old hay, sporting rows of red, crown-like markings along its sides. A beast of burden here, the way Eel Marsh might use a mule – better suited to the subterranean landscape, I assume.

“As yours will be, to me.” Miske’s thickly-accented voice carries a twinge of melancholy, melancholy for which I feel immediate empathy; barely a week has passed, and I already find myself horribly homesick for my tribe.

“We have time yet before we reach this city of yours, if that glittering thing in the distance is it. Enough time for you to tell me what wicked thing you did.” I pause, running my tongue over my teeth, and decide to share my own story, hoping to lubricate her own. “I am second daughter to my tribe’s past leader, a leader… my mother… now fallen to illness of blood, and passed to the realm of Sast. Tradition of Eel Marsh says the leader’s two eldest children fight in Gna’jol, a battle to submission, fought with staves.” I let out a breath through my nostrils, recalling the story as if it had happened mere hours before. “My sister Pylla and I were the eldest. We fought – a long, hard fight – and she was the victor. She became the tribe’s leader. I… got this.” I hold up the arm on which the iron cuff is secured, the symbol and saga of my exile.

Miske nods, though takes some time to think on what I’ve said, parsing it through our language barrier. Finally, as we walk, she sighs, and speaks. “I am – was – rallchofn. Those who stare into darkness. Like, erm… rangers.” I can tell she’s frustrated by her inability to express herself, but I find it a more attractive look than the gruff and selfish woman I’d first met. It makes her more… human, to me, I suppose. “My crime is of fear. Those I fight with, I leave, and they die. I am marked coward.” She extends her arm, much as I had to show off the cuff, opening her hand with the palm facing upward for me to see. Into it, a grisly burn has been scarred, in an image vaguely resembling that of a closed eye.

Rather than shame, decry, or even offer sympathy with the shokari, I reach over to take her hand, clasping it in my own, that which wears the shackle. We are bound by our exile, even if the only crime I committed was one of inadequacy. I am glad I did not strike her down when the chance was mine.

We grow closer and closer to the city, of which I can only clearly see an enormous iron gate, perhaps a hundred feet in height – monstrously tall, like everything else in this sky-rooved place, heavily inscribed and vividly lit. “Khxendrol,” the horned woman says, noticing my green-eyed gaze. “Should rest before then. Find an inn. Stay the night.”

I grunt in acknowledgement, though I have precious little coin. It’s not of great use to the tribe, so we carry almost none. It will be wise to spend a night among these people before I make my way through such a large settlement. “Right.”

The small structures and businesses that had littered the miles of wide cavern before grow denser now, clustering around the city’s gates. One of such buildings, its roof green-tiled and its walls made up of small, tightly-packed bricks, is what we’re looking for – an inn, its name written in a script utterly unknown to me. “What does it say?” I grunt at Miske.

“Malle ek sturngo:fh, ekn. Warmth of Round Bosom.” I give her a long look. She shrugs. “Something like that.”

We head inside, finding that, despite the many differences between our peoples and ways of life, taverns are always the same. Three minstrels play odd instruments in the corner – one an enormous, curled white horn that was blown into, one a long, slender stringed instrument, and one that is essentially an ordinary drum – while two male shokari lock horns in a prolonged contest of strength. A warm, crackling hearth burns at the far wall, and a large, hog-like meat-beast rotates slowly on a spit on the opposite side, its skin slowly turning a deep brown over the heat from the coals. The sound of songs and smell of strong drink fill the air, and for a moment, I wonder if these giantfolk are truly so different from the barbarians of Eel Marsh.

Miske moves ahead of me, speaking to a big, broken-horned man behind the bar, speaking to him in the language they share. A few moments later, Miske returns, holding two enormous, black glass cups without handles, setting one in front of me. “Drink!” she all but commands, and who am I to argue? I’ve never shied from stiff fire-drink in the past, I won’t make this the moment I start. “Koly!”

At the last word, several other shokari turn to look at me, now seeming to truly notice the foreigner in their midst. For an instant, I wonder if Miske has betrayed me somehow, told them I’ve kidnapped, extorted, or abused her – but a moment later, several throaty cries begin to fill the tavern in somewhat synchronized chant: “Ko-ly! Ko-ly! Ko-ly!” I need no knowledge of the shokari tongue to take their meaning.

They’re chanting for me to drink.

I move to take the cup in one hand, but find it too large – not too heavy, but simply too large for my fingers to wrap around. There’s a susurrus of chuckles when I’m forced to bring a second hand to the cup, but the chant to drink stays strong as I bring it to my lips, swallowing down gulp after gulp of a completely clear, sour liquid, the wicked burn of fearsome drink quickly rushing down to my belly and blossoming out from there. Chug after chug of it goes down, until the cup is drained, and I pound it down onto the blackwood tabletop. “Raaargh!” I shout triumphantly, and the chant quickly changes to a cheer.

A second drink goes down the same, and this time Miske joins me, her longer fingers letting her hold the cup in one hand – though I note she’s not able to knock the drink back as quickly as I can! These horned rangers lack lung capacity, I say!

Another drink is shared between us, and I begin to feel its effects take hold, as, I think, is Miske. I notice a reddening of her cheeks, her posture relaxing… and I notice, now that I’ve grown accustomed to her strange flesh and horns, how attractive she is, if odd. Her jaw is a bit narrow, her nose a bit wide and convex at the peak of its bridge, brows dark and sharp, and I’ve never seen a woman so tall, though I out-muscle her by some amount. I find my gaze lingering on bits of her exposed, grayish skin, her long, toned legs, the muscles of her belly, the peak of cleavage behind her leather vest and baldric. She is strange, yes… but lovely. I want her.

“You’ve shown me how your people drink, Miske,” I direct a lustful growl in her direction, leaving no mistake as to my meaning or intent. “Let us take a room here, and I shall show you how mine fuck.”

She looks… not startled, but uncertain. In moments, I watch her grow warm to the thought. It is likely this shall be the last night we meet, so why not make the most of it? She flashes a grin at me, standing and taking my hand, heading upstairs to the rooms, for which it seems she’s already paid for a key. “You are bold. Strong. Not gone to bed with a human before… it will be good.” She inserts the key – a curious rod with many sides, lacking an outward-facing flange – and leads me into the room. Heavy purple rugs cover a blackwood floor, the bed a massive oblong structure on short metal stilts, draped with white furs and long scraps of deep green cloth. A washroom and stone basin lay to the side, and altogether, the place is large but modest… much to my liking. Predictably, it is windowless. The accommodations, though, are not what weighs most imposingly upon my drink-scorched mind.

My thoughts are on the shokari’s body, as the scraps of leather and fur covering her fall to the floor and she climbs atop the bed. Long and lean, limber, powerful, she sports a taut, squeezable backside and high, pert breasts, nipples and navel pierced with delicate bronze-colored bars, a long expanse of kissable belly between the undersides of her breasts and the sleek V of her waist. As I undress myself, though, I notice something about her that I find… jarring, if not strictly unwelcome. “You bear endowment for two.” I state flatly, brow growing tense with confusion.

“Mrh? Oh – mmh. Yes, human girls have only one, ah?” Miske lays back on the bed, spreading her legs, and showing off that which my eyes have fixed upon – between her thighs is a long, thick member, half-hardened, looking to be near my size but boasting perhaps another inch in length. Beneath it is its twin, a stiffening length just like it in every way, and nestled only below that is a smooth, full pouch containing the shokari’s breed-berries. What god she pleased to have the blessing of two cocks I cannot say, though I find myself taken aback.

“All those I have seen,” I confess, then shake my head. “It matters not. I am sword, and you are sheath.” I pull close to her, smashing my lips against the shokari’s in a long, fierce kiss, my tongue quickly invading hers and my own fleshy mast reaching its full height between my thighs. Her hands reach down to rub along my back, down to my backside, gripping it firmly as she returns the embrace, both of us crashing down onto the bed, the huge cushion of thick cloth and springs wheezing under our combined weight.

“Mmhmm, mmrm–” Miske grunts, breaking the kiss, though I can feel both her womanhoods growing hard and thick, pressing into my own. “What do you mean?”

“You submitted to me in battle,” I explain sternly. “Refusing to submit to me in the bedchamber would mean to vacate your honor.” She looks up at me, uncertain, and it does occur to me that her people do not follow the traditions of my own… but she offers a slow nod of that horned head.

Before we get to anything too intense, though, I find myself still rather… perplexed… by Miske’s pair of members, and can now feel their heat against my own. I lean in to kiss her again, firmly and possessively, pushing my cock up against, then between, both of hers, pinning her to the bed and beginning to slowly roll my hips forward and back. I think back briefly of grinding my cock against Pylla’s, the way she’d felt against me – this is certainly different from that, less a simple duel of flesh. The sensation of having my own shaft trapped between two others is exotic and enticing, and I find my hand descending between us to gently squeeze both of her hard girldicks around mine.

“Mmmnn…” she coos quietly, biting at her lower lip as I dip my head down to kiss along her breasts, taking one of her pierced nipples between my lips and firmly suckling at it, tilting the little bronze bar to and fro with my tongue. My hand cinches us together a bit more fully, holding both of her thick, stiffened rods in place while I grind and prod against them, slipping between the two, then back, sliding my glistening tip back and forth along both of her shimmering purplish caps. I may not have experienced something like this before, but I shall not deny how enticing I find it, the rush of delight I feel as I rub and grind between her pulsating cocks, spreading the thin, sticky juices of our arousal across all three present shafts.

I shift over to suck at Miske’s other breast, straddling her fully, using my hand to firmly thump my cock back and forth against her slightly longer ones, bullying them back and forth, pushing and squishing them against each other. As my arousal grows, though, so does my desire to take things to the next step, to bend this horned giant over and bury my dick in her… and as I pull up to kiss her again, I think I know exactly what I want to do. “Mmh, lay back,” I command, sitting up fully, waiting for the big woman to follow my words.

“Something… new, you want?” the shokari murmurs, having even greater difficulty stringing words together in the heat of the moment.

I only growl in response, getting up onto my knees as she lays back, moving so that I straddle her head, rather than her hips, facing toward the rest of her body. I tilt back and press the tip of my hard, twitching member against her lips, relishing the sound of her gasp as I push into her mouth, stuffing myself into the warm, wet cavern and quickly prodding my tip against the entrance to her throat. I hear her tense and try not to gag, her entire lean figure going tense for a moment – but she finally manages to relax, and I feel my dick glide down her gullet, pushing in so deeply that I rest my smooth sack over her eyes.

My motive is not singular, though. While I certainly enjoy the feeling of pushing down the shokari’s deep, hot throat – letting out a moan of delight as I feel her tongue clumsily maneuver and explore me – I also want a closer look at what the shokari has going on between her thighs. I lean down and forward, like riding a strong, fast horse into a gallop, my breasts squishing into Miske’s belly as I wrap one hand around each of the horned woman’s cocks. I hear her moan around me, and slowly stroke my hands up and down the two of them, swirling my tongue around the end of one.

As far as I’m able to tell, they are truly twins, equal in length, heft, and virility, though the lowermost of them has something of a more potent musk to it, likely from remaining nestled between its counterpart and the shokari’s balls. I spend a moment just stroking the two of them, admiring them, squeezing them together to stroke with a single hand. What strange things! I find myself so invested that I can barely be distracted by the sensation of Miske messily swallowing my own sword, but only a stone could truly ignore the pangs of pleasure her mouth sends racing through me. I find myself planting my knees more firmly at the sides of her head, drawing my hips back, letting my cock nearly escape her mouth before thrusting it back down her throat, creating a gradual rhythm of long, slow pumps that drive me all the way to the deepest reaches of her gullet, enjoying the wet, soft avenue of the shokari’s lips and tongue each time.

Miske’s hands reach up to firmly grip my hips and ass, taking tight hold and helping to guide and predict my thrusts, while I persist in uncovering the secrets of her pair of members. An experiment comes to my mind, and I pursue it, releasing my grip entirely on the topmost of her shafts while slipping the other into my mouth, taking it as deeply as I’m comfortably able while still stroking its base, my movements eager and decisive. For a moment, I’m reminded of that final night with Pylla, pleasuring one another with our mouths, but I keep my mind and eyes upon the subject of my study – Miske’s untouched cock remains entirely erect without being touched, bobbing and flexing in place as it shares in the delights received by its fellow. Since the shokari’s getting no other touch, not to her breasts or backside, but her lowermost girldick alone, it seems that servicing a single member is plenty to keep both… ‘active.’ Something I shall have to keep in mind in any future encounters with these gray-fleshed folk.

Not her breasts or backside… something I have errantly neglected. As much as I relish in ravaging the woman’s throat, I have a sweeter, tighter goal in mind, and it is time Miske is treated like a fertile bog-mare – broken in and ridden hard.

I draw my hips back, finally letting my cock slip completely free of the shokari’s mouth as I sit up, giving her a moment to gulp down a few fresh lungfuls of air. “Not bad,” I growl, sitting beside her, the tip of my dick pushing idly up against her nipple, “you are a healthy and… exciting… sort of creature, you horned folk. But I lay claim to more than your mouth alone.”

“You would… fill me.” Miske offers more a confirmation then query, nodding as she says it, though her next action is unexpected – rather than getting on her knees, or even laying onto her side, she leans in to kiss me, pressing me back against the bed and crawling atop me, perching her taut, pliable backside onto the tip of my throbbing rod. “I am happy to be filled.”

I furrow my brow in confusion for a moment, though my hands naturally move to her hips, holding firmly to them as she lowers herself farther, wincing as the crown of my hot, slippery girlcock is gradually forced into the tight passage of her ass, inch after inch slowly vanishing inside of her. She lets out a moan of excitement, biting her lip, both of her cocks staying completely stiff and at attention as she takes me into her.

Her actions are somewhat… startling. I’ve lain with many maidens in Eel Marsh, some warriors that needed to first be defeated before being taken, others who were allured by my strength and station as the chieftain’s daughter. Those encounters, though, all bore common positioning – I was always the aggressor, lifting, pinning, or mounting my prize and claiming their tight holes ‘til satisfaction exhausted me. Miske, though, is mounting me, but not in a way I’ve ever considered. I’m still the one entering her, and she the one being entered, but to say the shokari is submitting to me feels ill-fit.

For a moment, my instinct is to push her off of me, to roll her over and claim her properly, but… as she sinks her weight down onto me, swallowing more and more of my aching cock up her tight ass, I can do nothing but shudder and croon with pleasure. “Nnghh… I didn’t think you would…” I groan, clenching my teeth as she finally drops down all the way, her butt landing fully in my lap, with every last bit of my fleshy girl-thing buried inside of her snug hole.

“Mrh? Not done fuck?” she looks quizzical, and I quickly arrive at the thought that even if I could articulate my thoughts, she couldn’t understand them. I simply shake my head, keeping my hands on her hips – I consider for a moment to stroke her while she rides me, but after she takes her first big lift and downward drop onto me, I discover a wondrous reason not to. When she slams back down into my lap, devouring my cock with her ass, both of her dicks lift and fall with the effort, the topmost slapping down onto the bottommost when her backside collides with my pelvis once more. Another lift and drop, and another, and I find myself strangely enthralled by the way they leap and bob, collide with one another, dripping with clear, sticky seed, never losing a bit of hardness. I feel my fascination rapidly derange into arousal, and that arousal mount with the hot, visceral pleasure of the horned woman’s slick asshole squeezing around my shuddering cock.

I must admit, I’m liking this; the shokari in my lap, while I lay back. It gives me so much to watch and enjoy, the jiggle of Miske’s breasts, the way her cocks wobble and bounce, the expression of twisted pleasure screwing her darkly attractive face into all manner of winces, gasps, and glowers. The way her black braids spill out around her muscular shoulders as she lifts up her arms to cool off, panting as she lifts and drops, faster and faster and faster, until all I can do is clench my teeth and hold on.

My hands clutch deeper onto her hips, fingers beginning to redden the skin around them, and I press upwards, creating whatever little additional friction there can be between us at the speed Miske’s riding me. I can’t hold on much longer – I can feel her hole gripping, squeezing, milking me, offering such a more powerful grip than the tanner’s daughter or that one teenager with the shaved nape who used to sharpen Pylla’s throwing axes. This is how it feels to fuck a warrior, and it is a very enticing, very… enlightening… experience.

“Haah… nngh… fuck…” I growl, panting, my skin reddening as I reach my tipping point.

“Good for you?” Miske leers down at me, offering an unexpectedly smug grin, though I can see – can feel – her heating up as well, and I know she doesn’t have long left. In a few more moments I give in, unleashing a climactic roar as I unload my seed into her, pump after pump of it, so much that it begins to overflow and dribble down my sack… and a moment later, I’m treated to a sticky rain of the shokari’s own spunk, launched from both heavy shafts and lacing across my throat, breasts, and belly, coating me in her hot, gooey cum without even being touched.

I topple back, exhausted and sweaty, my fingertips twitching as Miske slowly slides off of me and to my side, clinging lightly around my shoulders as we cool off. It is a shame that our paths bring us different ways, that I am led to Khxendrol, and she away from it. After a good fight and a great lay, I think I will miss this horned ranger, this exile with two members.

Sleep finds me. There is much to do tomorrow.

_______________________________

[fu/fu] [doublecock] [frotting] [69] [anal] [muscle]