Neverwinter Heat

His manhood rose to attention slowly, forcing Iliara to work for his erection. Her agile tongue and teasing fingers were well up to the task, as she swirled her tongue around his, nibbled his lip, and drug fine fingernails over his hard chest and stomach. She gasped when she felt his member pressing up into her thin pants, his own trousers tenting under the insistent length.

Venos saw out of the corner of his eye Cyra propping herself up on her elbow, her strong arm holding herself up as one hand reached between her strong red thighs. Iliara insistently pulled his attention back to her, gripping his shaft firmly and tugging on it. The lithe elf pushed her pants down to her thighs, just enough to bare her smooth, petite mound. With grace he expected from her ilk, she stood, shucked her pants, and was back on his shaft in one fluid motion, teasing her folds with his engorged head.

"No foreplay?" he asked, surprised. But the elf only bit her lip and pushed herself down his length, groaning through the entire movement. Venos gasped, eyes rolling up as his mouth yawned open, sighing with satisfaction once her snug canal was squeezing his girth.

"She's not big on foreplay when she needs a quick fuck," Cyra said. "Prove your worth, though, and she may consider mounting your face."

Venos grinned, but Iliara remained lost in her own bliss, eyes shut and head lolling backward as her hips slid forward and back, stirring her loins with his cock. He couldn't resist the pleasure and found his cock twitching in pleasure, nearing climax unexpectedly soon. Iliara seemed to sense this, though, and glared down at him, her hand wrapping around his neck.

"Don't," she demanded, but he couldn't help himself. Only the sharp pain of her nails digging into his skin stemmed the flood of his seed into her womb. She rode him further, faster, grinding hard on his hips until her entire body shuddered in pleasure, her cunt seeping her nectar all over his shaft and sack. "Now," she hissed, and he was so close that he was able to cum on command, filling her as her pussy quivered and clenched his shaft.

They sat there in bliss, reveling in it, until Iliara dismounted, leaving Venos stunned and satisfied.

"What a wonderful lover," the elf said, forsaking him for her horned lover. They curled up together, though they never stopped staring hungrily at Venos.

"Glad to be of service," he quipped, smirking at the ladies before rolling over and finding his slumber.

*****

The air was sweet, the sun warm, and the grass was so green as to be surreal. And for good reason. Realms outside of the Prime Material Plane were often exaggerated in their beauty—or terror, as the case may be. Sune, for her part, cherished beauty in all its manifold facets. Therefore, her domain was the epitome of what she considered beautiful. All seasons spread across her realm, from the awe-inspiring snowscapes of deepwinter to the rebirthing of spring, the bright warmth of summer to the myriad colors that came with fall. The sun shone brightly, but not harshly, and at night time the moon was full, heralded by dancers of all races, twirling under the silver light.

Yes, Sune was most at home here, her little home in the multiverse, and it was from here that she watched her Chosen few on Toril plying their trades, furthering her cause. Even now, she watched her current favorite, Luriia Torviir, embracing her husband in a passionate rapture, joined at the hips as they often were. What beauty, she thought, seeing these two disparate races together in not just lovemaking, but true love. She smiled and waved the scene away, thinking to lie back on the soft grass beneath her naked body and bring herself to climax.

But she was not alone here, she knew, and while she wasn't opposed to a measure of exhibitionism, this wasn't the time.

Shadows crept around the edges of her vision, and Lady Firehair came to her feet, unabashed about her nudity as she turned about, seeking the source. Then, in a blink—quite literally—he was there, his pale face, black hair, and fine black clothing seeming to drink in the light around him, making him a void.

"Mask," she said to the shorter being. Where she was tall, willowy and graceful, with ruby hair flowing all around her arms, chest, and back, Mask was a short, slight being, with narrow features and fine, almost wiry hair. Not entirely handsome, but certainly not unattractive, she mused.

"Sune," he returned, dipping into a deep, exaggerated bow. "It's been some time since you invited me here."

"It's been some time since my fancy has drifted your way," she said flatly, smirking at him.

"So you fancy me now?"

"Not as such," she replied, flipping her hair and summoning a gauzy, pinkish gown that did nothing to hide her nudity. She pulled it tight around her willowy body, folding her arms over her chest.

"We are waiting for someone?" he asked, arching a fine brow at her. He seemed eager, but for what she wasn't certain.

"Me," came a powerful, rich female voice. Thunder boomed and a great flaming greatsword drove itself to the hilt into the ground nigh them. A woman of blonde hair and shining red armor stood next to it, her powerful body hidden under steel, but her beautiful, stately face bared to them. Her blue eyes, limned with orange fire, were intense as they examined the two.

"Lady Red," Sune said, dipping into a curtsey for the goddess.

"Her?" Mask asked, staring at her as one might an unsavory dish.

"And me," came another booming voice, and tall, might Tempus materialized from the flaming greatsword. "The Foehammer comes."

"Ugh," Mask said, rolling his eyes so severely Sune was certain they might fall out of his head.

"Welcome," Sune said to the imposing warrior-god. He bowed his head slightly at her. There was a palpable sexual tension between the two, and it was cosmically-known that he had courted her on many occasions, only to be spurned by the fickle goddess of love and beauty.

"Why have you summoned us?" the Red Knight asked.

"We all seem to have an interest in a certain group of people," Sune said, waving her hand over the pool of water she had been using to watch Luriia. It began shifting from person to person. Myrynda Torviir, Luriia Torviir, Hammer Thunderborn, Venos Larque, each one engaged in their own activities, and each one important to one deity or the other. And each of them running toward each other.

"Forgive me," Mask said, glaring at Tempus. "But what interest do you have in these matters? None of these for are in any way tied to you, Tempus."

"That one," the towering warrior-god said, pointing at the pool and, by force of will, shifting the image to the sleeping half-drow baby. "That one bears the divinity of my beloved Red Knight and Sune, combined. He will be powerful in heart and spirit, and will be raised with blades in hand. That one will hear my call from his earliest moments."

Mask seemed vexed by this, but stayed silent.

"Do we have an accord?" the Red Knight asked, seeming flustered and irritated.

"Aye," Tempus said.

"Aye," Mask sighed.

"Aye," Sune purred.

"Good. To the matter at hand, then," the Red Knight demanded, and Sune nodded, grinning.

Lady Firehair waved her hand over the pool, and the water began to take a more mercurial substance, growing up out of the pool and taking form. The man that arose from the pool was known to all four, but Sune and Mask both were particularly angry at the image. Wearing black robes, with eyes as wide and shifty as they were empty, was an image of Cyric, the Mad God, murderer of Mystra.

More importantly, Sune herself had been seeing his followers cropping up over the face of Toril. Nothing to cause her to worry, but she had a loathing hatred for Cyric and would not abide him to gain in power. Nor would Mask, who had lost a significant amount of his divine power to the Mad God.

Tempus was obvious: the God of War never shied from a fight.

As for the Red Knight, having the Mistress of Strategy was always a boon to any campaign, but in this scenario, where she had two servants in the mix, one of which she had admitted to being in love with in her own way, there was no way Sune could have gone forward without her.

The servants of the Mad God would fall in and around Neverwinter, and his cult would not be allowed to rise up. They, and their servants, would see to it. The only trick was to push them in the right direction, should they decide the wrong path.

"The Church of Cyric is widely reviled, as always. They operate under a guise in this region of Toril. I trust my Luriia to do the right thing and rally our servants," Sune said. Tempus and the Red Knight each nodded, but Mask didn't seem convinced.

"If I've learned anything, it's that these mortals are hardly reliable," he sneered. "But we each have our ways. Let us see where the dice fall."

"Well enough," Tempus boomed. He burst into flames and disappeared from Sune's realm. Mask, sneering as usual, gave Sune a sly grin and melded into shadows that hitherto did not exist.

"Stay a while?" Sune asked the Red Knight. The woman arched a brow at the flame-haired beauty, then her stony visage melted into a smirk. Her red armor disappeared in a flash, revealing naught but a thin shift over her soft, round breasts and short pants to protect her soft loins and firm bottom from the rough leather and metal of her legplates.

"With pleasure," the Lady of Strategy said, moving forward and embracing the Lady Firehair. They kissed passionately, tongues fencing with each other as crimson hair and blonde hair tangled together. Sune was not as well-endowed as the Red Knight, but her force of personality overwhelmed the more physically powerful goddess. Sune was an order of magnitude more powerful than the Red Knight, and that certainly transferred into their lovemaking, something they'd been indulging in for decades at this point.

"Oh, Red," Sune said, biting the goddess's lip as she squeezed her firm bottom. "I've missed this."

"It's only been a few cosmic days," Red said, giggling as she pressed herself needfully against Lady Firehair. She split Sune's thighs with her own muscular thigh, jamming it up against the soft red hairs of the goddess's loins.

"A few cosmic days too long," Sune said, bearing the Red Knight to the ground. They rolled around on the soft grass, kissing, grinding their loins against their thighs, biting and suckling. All of Sune's domain echoed with the gentle moans and hoarse gasps of their pleasure. Sune deftly twisted about, planting her hips atop Red's face and mashing her loins into the deity's face, forcing the Red Knight to eat her cunt, all while she buried her own face into Red's sweet, tight mound, devouring the Lady of Strategy. Their grunting and moaning was muffled by pussy, but no less musical to the denizens of Sune's domain.

Their pleasure flowed freely from their loins, staining each other's lips and chins and cheeks.

And their was no end in sight. Their divine stamina made their lovemaking last as short as an hour, or as long as a Faerunian decade.

And so they lost themselves in each other, lost themselves in their rapturous bliss, the endless orgasms, and the divine sensations of goddess skin upon goddess skin.