Sex and the Spellplague Ch. 03

"Who is he?" Ambrusia asked. Lura didn't answer immediately, instead reflecting on the woman's unusual accent and savoring it like an aged glass of drow mushroom wine. Ambrusia was behind her, spooning her, with her strong, yet decidedly feminine hand resting on Lura's obsidian hip. Her Red Robe was nowhere to be seen.

"An old friend," the drow responded at length. "A year or so ago he parted ways with me and Cyra, as well as a few other close friends. I haven't heard from any of them since then, except, now, Hammer."

"He was always a warrior, then?" Ambrusia asked.

"More than that," Lura replied, a fond smile gracing her refined features. "He was a friend, a shoulder to cry on—assuming I ever had the need for it, a councilor and a companion. I laid with him scant few times when he was exploring the life Sune offered him."

"I see," Ambrusia said. "Was he always honorable?"

"The most honorable man I have ever known," Lura said. She shifted herself back against Ambrusia more tightly, and briefly imagined it was the massive barbarian. She couldn't, of course, because of the voluptuous, muscular curves that were absolutely womanly, but imagined what a single night with the barbarian would be like again. She realized that he might be too good for her. Too noble, too honorable. He would expect her to be faithful if anything grew out of their friendship, and she knew that, despite his generous assets, she'd never be able to simply because of her curiosity. A sigh escaped her lips. She loved Mikhail, certainly, but something about having so much muscle to climb on made her blood quicken. Thus she turned to face Ambrusia.

The drow ran her fingertips over the woman's muscular shoulders and arms, admiring the marble-like tautness of her flesh. "You are excited by strength?" Ambrusia asked, noticing her focus.

"The size and feel is pleasing, whether it is on a woman or a man," Lura admitted. "A certain part of me adores such things, perhaps because it is a symbol of security and protection. Perhaps because muscles are just plain sexy."

"But your mate, Mikhail," Ambrusia said, her tone conveying her confusion, "is much smaller than me or Hammer. And by your admission is less honorable than Hammer or myself. Not to mention he has little skill in combat. Why do you wish to retain him as a mate?"

"There are other qualities that I desire in a man," Lura said. "Things here are not based around the protection a man can offer, or his base appearance. Those things help, of course: if he were not attractive, I would not enjoy making love to him or feeling his body against mine in any way. I would simply not be physically attracted to him even if I was emotionally attracted. Half of the relationship would be gone. He is handsome to me, and the muscle he does have pleases me greatly. He is also quite well endowed."

This made the stoic dragonborn giggle a little. "I believe that trait is universally viewed as a positive feature," she said, and Lura joined her giggle.

"You have eyes for the barbarian," Lura said, staring into the dragonborn's glinting golden eyes.

"He is...quite a man," she said, smiling shyly. "He seems to embody the things my people expect from great leaders."

"I could say something to him if you want," Lura offered, but Ambrusia seemed offended.

"That is not how my kind courts," she said in a flat tone.

"Then how? Enlighten a curious drow," Lura purred, pressing her head against the larger woman's chest and closing her eyes.

"We see what we want, we reach out, and we take it," she said. "That is how the women handle it, at least. Men are similar, but have been known to brawl with each other over women. It is quite arousing to watch."

"I don't think you'll have that pleasure with Hammer. I've never seen anybody challenge him and last more than a few seconds," Lura said.

"That is acceptable," she replied, smirking to herself. "He can fight me."

*****

Hammer had been near death many times in his life, but had never truly passed the threshold. Until a few hours ago. And it had been Lura's magic, or at least Sune working through the drow, that had brought him back. He realized he owed his life to the drow and her goddess, and didn't find that displeasing. The barbarian sat in the Dreaming Dragon, mulling these things over in his head, when Mikhail approached him.

"It is good to have you back, my large friend," he said, putting his hand on Hammer's massive shoulder. Standing next to the seated barbarian, he was only a head or so taller than the giant of a man.

"It is good to have returned," he replied, his deep voice resonating in the tavern's common room. "I did not expect to see you out of Lura's bed this night."

"I was not sharing it with her," Mikhail said matter-of-factly.

"No? Something split you two?"

"Nothing like that," Mikhail said reassuringly, even if he was beginning to wonder if they were drifting apart. "A minor scuffle: she found me in bed with another woman, and became enraged, probably because of the stress of the Spellplague and the fact that she and I haven't been intimate with each other in quite a while now."

Hammer nodded. "She has very fond feelings for you. Some might call it love, Mikhail. I would advise against taking that for granted." His jaw clenched as recent memories surfaced and were subsequently quashed.

"Aye, but you know Lura: our relationship has always been open," Mikhail said.

"No relationship is ever truly open, Mikhail," Hammer said, standing suddenly. He began to pace back and forth, eyes fixed on nothing and mind cast into the recent past. "Eventually she will come to a point where she no longer wishes to share you because she will find that her heart is meant only for one other. She will expect and hope for the same."

Mikhail chuckled. "Speaking from experience, big guy?" Hammer turned a solemn look to Mikhail that sobered him.

"Shannara and I grew close, closer than I had anticipated. You know of my affection for the Red Knight, but a goddess is simply beyond my means until I pass from this life. I accepted that and turned wholly to the woman who travelled with me to my kin." Hammer stopped pacing and sat on a chair, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his thick thighs. "I allowed my heart to love her, Mikhail. She returned the gesture in act if not in truth. She and I were bonded by the ancient ways of my people. It is a bond that ought never be broken or betrayed. It was.

"I returned to my village one day after a long hunt, bearing a great bounty to share with my wife and my clan. She was not in my tent, though. I searched around, hoping for the best but knowing deep within that I would find the worst. She was in another man's tent...

*****

"Fill me," Shannara breathed desperately. The man before her was almost twice her size, yet even he was smaller than Hammer, in all areas. But she didn't seem to care. He grabbed his engorged cock and held it vertical, the tip pressing against her damp slit. His other hand was on her hip and pressed her down. His cock filled and split her and she grunted loudly, hands digging into his broad, hairy chest. She began to ride him quickly and hungrily, moaning like a whore as his cock stirred her insides.

Her breasts were not large, certainly not as much as the barbarian women living in the village, but her body oozed sex and this barbarian was willing to chance dishonoring Hammer to give her pleasure she almost constantly craved. And he was succeeding mightily.

Still, Shannara thought, he was not Hammer and did not make her feel the way he did. Why her lover always insisted on going on these long hunts was beyond her. His sense of honor and loyalty went beyond her understanding, and she could not grasp that, in serving his clan, he was serving her. Sure, she felt guilty as this barbarian's cock plundered her most intimate depths, but she was able to push that aside and simply enjoy the physical pleasure she was receiving.

Then the tent flap was torn open. Hammer's body was silhouetted against the setting sun, but she could see his rage flowing from his body despite his shadowed features. He entered the tent even as she dismounted and her unfortunate lover tried to cover his erection. Hammer grabbed her shoulder and tossed her away from the nameless barbarian. He reached down and grabbed him by the neck with both hands and hauled him from the ground, out of the tent. Barbarians young and old, male and female gathered around the central bonfire as Hammer tossed the naked barbarian like a ragdoll to the ground.

"Stand you honorless dog!" he roared. The barbarian began to rise, but as soon as he gained his feet, Hammer was upon him, raining furious blows on his skull until he was beaten down to the ground. "STAND!" he roared again, walking away and prowling like a furious lion.

"Hammer," the barbarian said weakly through swollen lips and shattered cheeks. "Please, have mercy."

"You deserve none," Hammer responded in a growl. The barbarian was on his feet again, and Hammer took three long strides and wrapped both hands around his skull. "You dishonor me. You dishonor my family. You are without honor and no longer deserve life." Shannara screamed at him from the tent, a fur wrapped around her naked body. He began to squeeze the man's skull, eliciting a horrifying scream of terror and pain.

He relented though, just short of crushing the man's skull with his bare hands. "No. You will not die like this." He walked to his tent and retrieved an old sword. "You are still a barbarian. You will die like one."

"Hammer," the barbarian said. "I see my folly now. I was foolish in taking your wife. I am without honor and deserve death. I accept my fate and will see you in the afterlife. Please, my brother, find forgiveness for me before then."

"I will try," Hammer said. His heart wrenched when he placed the blade at his brother's throat. He pulled the sword back and swung down with abandon at his brother's neck. But the blade stopped just short of the skin. Two tears fell down his cheek and he dropped the sword.

"It is our way," the village elder called, but Hammer shook his head.

"It is not my way," Hammer said loudly, putting his hand on his brother's head, stroking his hair with remorse. "Forgive me, my brother."

"You have been dishonored and refused to take revenge," the elder said. "Thus the dishonor stains your body like the blood of the innocent. You are hereby banished from this clan and all Uthgardt. Do not return, on the pain of death. Your brother will be spared the dishonor, as your stay of execution has made his actions acceptable. Begone."

Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he looked down at his brother's bloody face. "Tend to her better than I did, Dariven," he said. "The gods know I was not meant to be here. I was born for other things. I will find my honor elsewhere."

Dariven stood, tears on his bloodied cheeks, and embraced Hammer. "I will find you one day, brother. Let there be nothing between us in your parting. I will tend her, but she will be outcast here for her actions. You know this." Hammer nodded. "May your enemies tremble before you, brother."

"And yours, brother," Hammer said, turning to leave. Shannara ran to him and latched on from behind.

"I am sorry, Hammer, so sorry," she said.

"I know," Hammer replied. "I hope you find happiness somewhere, Shannara. It will not be with me. I return to Lura."

She began weeping as he detached himself from her.

*****

"You will not realize how important she is until she is gone," Hammer said to Mikhail, who sat listening thoughtfully as he told the story. "Go to her in the morning and make amends. The rest is up to her."

"I will," Mikhail said. "Thank you, Hammer. Lura had always spoken of you as a wise person, and I see she was not mistaken. You are a valued member of our merry band; it would be a shame to see you go again."

Hammer smiled. "I do not intend to leave."

*****

The sunrise found Cyra curled happily against Samon. The fighter-turned-noble was awake, admiring the tiefling's sleeping visage while his fingers idly traced lines up and down her exposed flank. Her skin looked pale in the early morning light, but Samon had vivid memories of the red flesh sliding against him the night before. Her plump lips seemed to purse out and curl up into a smile when his fingertips slid over the side of her breast. Cyra's tail shifted underneath the sheets, drawing his attention. He watched the appendage as it seemed to have a mind of its own, shifting to and fro.

Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to her round, firm bottom, and where his eyes went his fingers followed. Abandoning the idle tracings, he placed his hand fully on the swell of her hip. She shifted again, then turned so that her back was to him. When her ass settled fully against his hips, he knew he'd have her again before breakfast.

"Cyra?" he whispered. No response. He grinned devilishly and reached under the covers to this broad shaft, already half-mast as morning wood began to take hold. He spurred it on with slow, lengthy strokes, using the cleft of the tiefling's ass and her tail, attached at the top of that cleft for added sensation. Samon grabbed the soft appendage and rested it over his waist even as it started to curl around his wrist. Instead, it curled up under his leg, between them, and curled around his balls. He'd never experienced that before, and wondered if his lover was awake and had more control over her tail than she'd admitted. But he was far from complaining now.

Samon pressed his hardened shaft against the cleft of the tiefling's ass and pressed firmly to slip it between her thighs and against her sex. He couldn't suppress a smile when he felt her slit was already moist. Cyra seemed as if she was always wet for him, a fact that pleased him greatly. He slid his shaft across her slit, lathering it in her juices and spreading them around his shaft with his hand. She stirred a little, whimpering pleasantly but seemingly still asleep. Samon pulled his dick away from her slit and pressed his head against her puckered asshole. Being asleep, Cyra was likely as relaxed as ever, and her asshole yielded for him readily. It stretched around his thick head and, while he was not longer than average, swallowed his entire length ever so slowly. She didn't so much as shift, but her tail constricted around his sack, squeezing his nuts to the point that he had to stop and let out a distinct groan of pleasure. This might not take as long as he had planned.

"Fuck, Samon," Cyra said suddenly, her voice loud. He grinned and she turned to glare at him. "I missed the entry, you fucking prick. Wake me up if you're going to stick your dick in my ass!"

"Shut up, bitch," he said, taking advantage before she could react. He rolled her onto her stomach and pressed her body hard into the bed. Straddling her hips, even as her tail squeezed his balls, he began to piston in and out of her asshole. She turned her head to him.

"Fuck, oh fuck," she grunted loudly. "Oh fuck, Samon, that's it. Fuck my ass. Use my asshole, you bastard. Plunder my dirty fucking ass. Get off in me. Use my fucking body you son of a bitch."

"I said shut up, you fucking half-breed slut," he growled. He seized her by her hair and pressed her face into the pillow. Her hands grabbed the sheets and began tearing them as she thrashed. His dick savaged her anus, plowing into it over and over again until he felt his release building. He didn't wait, he didn't even announce his orgasm, he simply plunged himself to the hilt and dumped his thick, hot seed into her rectum and released her head.

Gasping for breath, Cyra turned and looked over her shoulder, eyes smoldering and lips wickedly grinning. "Good morning handsome," she purred. He leaned onto her, her hips cushioning him as he slid his hands along her arms until their fingers intertwined. He kissed her cheek, then her neck, then her lips.

"Good morning, beautiful," he breathed, enjoying the feeling of her warm body under him. "Perhaps you'd enjoy my tongue now?"

"No," she said. "I will take my pleasure from you unexpectedly, just as you have to me this morning."

"I look forward to the prospect," he said.

*****

The tavern was barren, not even Benefast was awake yet, but the smell of cooking food still permeated the air. Hammer opened the door to exit the tavern and breathe in the morning air. He stepped outside, smoothing the large tunic that was tight around his shoulders and chest, and looked up at the sky. There were several clouds, but none blocking the warm morning sun. He closed his eyes, relishing the sensation before the busy day he knew was coming. Then he heard a squeal and fast footsteps. He opened his eyes to see Cyra sprinting at him, her ample assets firmly secured in a leather corset, black and laced up the sides, and her legs clad in form-fitting leggings. Her boots, shin high and thick soled, were loud on the stone road.

He smiled at the tiefling and barely shifted when she slammed into him, throwing her arms around him. A woman of great passion, Cyra grabbed him by the face and pressed her lips against his. But she wasn't satisfied with that. Her tongue broke through the barrier of his lips and delved deep into his mouth. He returned the kiss with pleasure, remembering fondly the times he had spent with Cyra. The tiefling pulled away, smiling broadly as a man stepped up beside her.

"Hammer, it is wonderful to see you again. What brought you back?" she asked.

"It is a long story," he said, "but rest assured I won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

"Good. Has Lura seen you?" Cyra asked.

"Indeed. Were it not for her, you'd be looking at a corpse right now," he said. "It was her hand that healed a grievous wound that got the better of me on arrival and brought me back to life."

"Wonderful," Cyra said. She turned to Samon and took his hand. "This is my lover, Samon. Samon, this is Hammer, the barbarian that was with us when we came to Everlund."

"I have heard much about you," Samon said, extending his hand. Hammer took it and smiled. He appraised Samon, feeling very much like the Hammer of the Dancing Rose, who looked over all of the girls' suitors. The barbarian had seen them all as his women, not necessarily in a carnal manner, but more like siblings, and he wouldn't let them be hurt. What he saw in Samon reassured him, though. He seemed a noble man.

"I look forward to hearing about you, then," Hammer said.

"Is Lura awake yet?" Cyra asked. Hammer shrugged and opened the door for the tiefling and her human lover. He followed them in and saw that Lura had indeed risen and was sitting over a warm bowl of porridge, Ambrusia next to her, Mikhail across from her, and Greta beside Mikhail.

Cyra's footsteps were loud and called attention to their approach. Lura stood slowly, a warm smile on her face as she stepped out to greet the tiefling. They embraced and kissed. And kept kissing. Cyra, who hadn't seen much of Lura away from the refugee camps, wasn't willing to let the drow go, and their kiss became a heated tongue-dance. Realizing that all eyes were on them, they grinned and let each other go. "I've missed you," Cyra said quietly, biting her lip.

"Likewise, sister," Lura said affectionately. "We'll make up lost time soon, I'm certain."

"How are you doing, Ambrusia?" Cyra asked when she finally diverted her attention from the stunning drow.

"I am well," the dragonborn said. She smiled at the tiefling, but her gaze was pulled back to Hammer. He locked eyes with her and saw her intent clearly inside those golden orbs. Something stirred inside him, but he suppressed it. Instead, he offered her a warm smile, and turned his attention to Lura, who he realized had been watching him out of the corner of her eye. Something else stirred in him, and he feared that it might physically manifest if he did not occupy his mind. Yes, he had been a long time away from the Sunites, and he was beginning to appreciate their passionate nature.