The Apostate Ch. 03

The half-dragon stopped her cunnilingus long enough to watch the elf tuck her thumb between her fingers and press the slender digits into the tight anal ring. Her hand slowly disappeared, and Cyra's cunt was leaking profusely from the sight. Before Vath knew it, there was an entire elven hand stuffed up her asshole, and the elf was thrusting it in and out, the eager, greedy ass swallowing her wrist and an inch of her forearm in the process.

Vath was grunting, one hand holding Cyra by the horn, the other slamming a fist into the wall as she jammed her ass back against the elf's fucking hand.

When she came, it was in great torrents of spray that coated her thighs, Cyra's breasts, and Iliara's feet. Her body shuddered continuously, both hands grasping Cyra's horns as her forehead slammed into the wall.

Vath recovered several blinding moments later as the first true orgasm in years finally abated. She was panting, her mouth slack, but her eyes burned for more. Like the bloodlust that filled her during combat, this lust was setting her skin aflame. She kept rubbing at her muscular arms, spreading her thin sheen of sweat all over her flesh as if to put out the blaze in her blood, but it would not sate her.

"More," she growled, breathing hard. Cyra looked up and finally got a good look at the woman's front side. She stood, pushing the orc back as Iliara's hand slipped from her asshole. The woman was magnificent in her power. Her breasts were heavy and much larger than Cyra's. She was taller, too. Her ashy, green-tinted skin was gleaming, a hard shell of abdominal muscles creating rivulets of sweat that dripped down to her fat, plump mound. Cyra kept looking back to the half-orc's breasts.

They were so firm and supple, she reached out and gripped them firmly in each hand, pinching the rubbery, dark grey nubs capping them, then twisted hard, and the half-orc nearly fell to her knees in pain and pleasure. They seemed to be as one to the barbarian.

So Cyra slapped her breasts, one then the other, leaving a distinct handprint on her breasts.

Vath's back arched in pleasure.

"We've a regular pain-slut on our hands," Cyra said with a grin. She exhaled and licks of flame curled around her lips. She ran her black fingernails down Vath's abdomen, leaving bright red lines in their wake. Vath hissed again. Cyra's hand slapped her pouting, sopping vulva, and Vath cried out, her hand going to her cunt immediately to cover it.

No, Cyra realized, to rub it, furiously and violently. Her eyes were screwed shut and her breasts wobbled chaotically as she mindlessly frigged herself. She came again in convulsions that brought her to her knees. There was no torrent, but Cyra and Iliara found themselves grinning down at the half-orc anyway.

"That's enough for you," the elf said. She sat in front of the kneeling barbarian, grasped her by the short hair of her head, then laid back, burying Vath's face in her comparatively small, tight cunt. Iliara arched her back as Vath's broad tongue inexpertly hammered at her sensitive little lips. Hands buried in the half-orc's hair, she guided her as best she could. Whenever the half-orc flicked across her stiff little gem of a clit, she let out a particularly loud moan, and Vath caught on quickly. Soon that was all she was licking, and Iliara was well on her way to orgasm.

She expected, and was pleased when Cyra sat right on her face, her muscular ass cheeks covering most of her face as her hot, almost cinnamon-like vulva pressed onto her lips. Like a skilled duelist, she fenced the dragonspawn's hot box with precise cuts of her narrow, pointed tongue. She parted the lips and penetrated the red woman, licked all around her vulva, and finally drew intricate designs on her stiff clit with the tip of her tongue.

It was an intoxicating sensation for the elf, having Vath going down on a woman for the first time between her thighs, and having her lover's cunt burying her face all at once. Cyra bucked and moaned, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath, and her muscular, veined tail whipping back and forth. Iliara reached over her head and grabbed the woman's thick tail, groping it and twisting it, as if it were a cock she simply had to jerk off.

Cyra couldn't contain her pleasure. So worked up from tormenting their new friend and watching her lover fist the half-orc's ass, she came quickly, a subtle flow of her nectar mingling with Iliara's saliva within the elf's mouth. She purred and drank down the precious fluid as her own orgasm struck her.

Unlike her warrior companions, Iliara's orgasm was slow and subtle, like a wave slowly growing toward the beach until it crashed, breaking over and over upon itself, compounding the pleasure before slowly ebbing away with the tide.

All three women lay there in a heap until Cyra lifted her hips from Iliara's face. She lifted her elven lover and beckoned Vath to the bedroom, where she kept her promise. They stuffed Iliara between their strong, powerful bodies, and the elf had never known such warmth and comfort to sleep amidst. It was like floating amid soft, warm pillows of muscle and skin.

When she awoke, her legs were spread wider than they'd ever been spread before, and Cyra was giving Vath a tutorial on cunnilingus.

*****

Cyra's vision was blurry, but even still she could tell she was staring at someone more powerful than she'd ever known. Centuries old, too, though he didn't look it. His eyes were golden, his hair a deep, ruby red that swam around his shoulders that were packed with dense muscle so as not to be enormously bulky.

When her vision began to clear, she realized it was because the man had removed a silky wrap from her face. She felt her lips curl up into a smile as the man grinned down at her. She tried to reach out and touch his face, to feel the undoubtedly silky smooth skin wrapped around high, sharp cheek bones. But her hand, nor her arm, would move. She was restrained, both arms tied to wooden posts, and, she realized, both legs as well.

But Cyra couldn't help but feel a measure of excitement at the sensation. The man, after all, was not unattractive. Rather, he was quite handsome, with a sharp jaw, pointed, elf-like ears, and smooth facial features that indicated a proper, wealthy upbringing. She seemed to know, somehow, that he was wealthier than a dozen Waterdhavian lords.

"Be still, my sweet Chandrice," the man said in a voice so deep that she could feel it vibrating straight down to her loins. She moaned, but something in the back of her mind was screaming. Who in the Abyss was Chandrice? My name is Cyra...

"Ah, my pet, you've waited so long for this," the man said, removing a sleeveless robe and grinning darkly.

His cock was huge. Larger than it should have been. And it was lined with fleshy ridges, pointed at the tip rather than rounded. Sorcery whirled around it.

"My very own broodmother. I wonder what you will hatch for me," he said, positioning himself atop the woman. She looked down at her breasts, heavy and lactating, and her belly, which was rounded slightly, though from overindulgence or pregnancy, she did not know.

He penetrated her, and she howled, pain and pleasure slicing into her loins, followed solely by pain as he breached her cervix.

She felt magic and cum pouring into her womb.

Tears flowed down her cheeks, her eagerness turned to despair.

Cyra awoke panting, terrified.

Vath had never known such physical bliss. Even the satisfying sensation of her axe cleaving open a skull and blood and bits spraying on her naked body had not felt this good. After awakening in the middle of the night with Cyra to orally "rape" Iliara's sleeping body, the elf had awoken full of fire and desire. They'd fucked repeatedly, hands and mouths and some strange fleshy contraption the other two had taken turns wearing to fuck her into submission all played in her memories of the midnight romp.

Now the sun was coming up again and her body was tingly from all the orgasms she'd had. She couldn't begin to fathom what the next tendays or even months would hold for her if she stuck with these two. Indeed, she didn't want to fathom it. She wanted the surprise, and she couldn't wait for more.

She separated herself from her lovers and dressed herself, meaning to find a place where she could bathe. She wanted to be delicious for her lovers the next time they tasted her. She was familiar enough with Neverwinter to know the more underground establishments that would welcome a half-orc and serve her without prejudice.

Mask's Fancy was precisely what she was looking for. The door was non-descript, its only signage a painted black mask over the door knocker, and was located in a back alley in Protector's Enclave. She knocked three times and waited. There was a clicking sound, then the door was opened and she was greeted by a leather-clad man wearing a black mask. It was early in the morning, but the tavern seemed to be in full swing.

Dancing, laughing, drinking and all manner of revelry were filling the walls of the secret tavern with sound. Vath hid her smirk as she entered, feeling eyes on her every step of the way. Mask's Fancy was a haven for servants of the Masked Lord, God of Thieves, and more than a dozen pickpockets saw her lack of wealth and lost interest immediately.

It was the other stares she felt more keenly. Courtesans of all type were milling about, offering their services. They were not bashful, for in Mask's Fancy, such things were encouraged. Anything to make a copper, as they say. Indeed, Vath was not immune to their advances. A slender man with short, stylish hair, leather pants and no shirt pressed himself against the half-orc. He was slightly effeminate, his nipples pierced with little gold rings.

"I'll service a great warrior like you for ten silver," he said whimsically. "Or you can have at me for fifty. I'm nice and tight..."

"Away with you," she growled, shoving the coinlad gently. He twirled out of her reach and moved on to the next suitor, a sailor who was keen for the boy. She scoffed and moved toward a side door, where an overweight halfling sat on a high stool behind a lectern. "I need the bathing rooms."

"And I need longer legs and a smaller gut," the halfling said merrily. He held out his hand. "Twenty silver for an hour, fifty for the magma room, and a gold if you want attendants."

The half-orc arched her brow. "Attendants?"

"Aye, lass. Some people don't like to wash themselves, or just like the touch of another," the halfling said. "We've a half dozen working the baths this morning. Two women, three men, and one that's...something else."

"I get to pick?" the half-orc asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Naturally," the halfling beamed. He waggled the fingers of his outstretched hand.

Vath reached into her blouse, between her large breasts, where a small coinpurse rested. She always kept it stocked with a single gold coin, ten silvers, and ten small coppers, just in case. With a little fingering, she pulled out a gold coin from Luskan.

"Ah, a Luskar, are you?" he asked when he examined the coin.

"Isn't this a don't ask, don't tell kind of establishment?" she asked, arching a brow.

"Indeed!" the halfling said. "It's also a place where information is dealt for profit, and stories are told for entertainment. I've a feeling that whatever your story is, there are few interested in it for more than entertainment."

"You're a keen one," the half-orc said. "I took it off someone who had no need of it anymore."

The halfling laughed, hopping down from his stool and leading the half-orc down the stairs past the door and into the baths. "Your ilk don't come down here often. Usually it's half-elves, humans, those interested in the softer pleasures of life. Orcs and dwarves scarcely care to bathe."

"I'm only halfway orc," Vath reminded the halfling.

"Yes, yes, and I'm only halfway human," he said, grinning at his perceived cleverness. They passed two bathing pools, curtained off from the main walkway. In the first one, Vath heard the wet sounds of flesh smacking flesh repeatedly, and the muffled grunts of someone in the throes of passion. The next, she only heard quiet laughter and splashing water.

At the end of the walkway, beyond six bathing pools, each curtained off with dense white sheets, were the four remaining attendants, each clad in the bare necessities. The two men, both with short blonde hair and lean bodies, wore small loincloths that covered their manhoods and nothing else. The one remaining woman was a red-haired vixen with long, shapely legs, tight little shorts, modest breasts, and ruby red lips. The fourth attendant was something of an aberration. She appeared feminine but had no breasts to speak of, but where there should have been a bulge between her thighs in the tight little shorts she wore was no bulge indicating a phallus. It was completely androgynous, completely hairless.

"My dear, I give you our attendants. Nike and Nar, brothers, are superbly capable masseuses. Either or both would suit a well-muscled lady like yourself. The woman, Varla, hails from the east. Silverymoon or somesuch. She's been here for six months and has never had a dissatisfied customer. The last is peculiar. Name is Tyche. A changeling. Refuses to go by any sort of pronoun, so remember the name."

"Interesting," Vath said. "What do you do, Tyche?"

Tyche smiled, and its body began to morph and twist. Breasts blossomed where once there were none, growing almost as large as Vath's. Shoulders widened slightly, and muscle seemed to grow into thin arms and legs. "She" grew no hair at all, but Vath watched in amazement when the changeling's short-pants began to bulge with what could only be a cock.

"Cheater," Varla said, smirking. "Tyche gets all the adventurous ones, leaving the twins and me to our own devices."

"You've never minded our devices," Nike said, smirking.

"True enough," Varla said with a coy smirk.

"Sorry to disappoint," Vath said, "but I will have you, Varla."

"No disappointment at all," the red-haired woman said with wide eyes. She sauntered over to the half-orc, her breasts bouncing merrily. She took Vath's hand. "What's your name, love?"

"Vath."

"Short and strong, I like that," she said, leading her to one of the pools. The halfling wandered back to the upper floor to await more clients.

"Have you done anything like this before?" Varla asked.

"No," Vath said.

"Ah, well, nothing to it dear. Just take your clothes off and slide into the water. If you wish the temperature change, just say so. Bubbles, just ask. A little mineral therapy, no problem. I can turn around if you wish privacy."

Vath laughed, stripping her shirt and pants off, kicking her boots to the side. She bared her muscular, warrior's body, taking pride in the scars and the tattoos that laced her body. Varla eyed her with open appreciation, smiling a crooked smile. "Lovely," she purred like a cat.

"Bubbles, please," Vath said. "I want to experience...the softer pleasantries, as I once heard them called."

"Then you must try the minerals, too. They'll make your skin tingle. Everywhere," Varla said with a smirk.

"Aye, then," Vath said, grinning. She slipped into the water as Varla poured a lavender-colored oil into the water, and sprinkled a handful of dust into the pool after that. It took some time, but the bubbles puffed up out of the water, agitated by the minerals that were starting to tingle against her flesh. She felt...absolutely blissful.

"Tell me about yourself," Varla said, sliding her thin, tight shorts down her long, long legs. Her pussy had been trimmed into a neat black triangle.

Vath reclined in the water, the stone under her warm and pleasant against her cheeks. "I left my village when I reached maturity—around fourteen years old. I spent the next five years living in solitude, killing when I needed to, stealing when necessary, and staying away from trouble. Until I met two warriors who took me in as a kindred spirit. As of yesterday, actually."

"Five years alone," Varla said, slipping into the water next to Vath. "I can't imagine. Lean forward a bit, dear."

Vath did as she was bid and Varla slipped in behind her, fingers rubbing the warm mineral water into Vath's thick neck and shoulders. "So tense. Sleeping on the ground and fighting all the time, I guess. I'm going to take care of you."

They heard the halfling again as he walked past, and two sets of heavy boots with him. The men seemed to be laughing about something, and the curtains couldn't keep out their coarse, crass manner as they hurled insults at Nike and Nar. "Boy lovers. Give us the shapeless one again, half-man."

They couldn't hear the halfling's response, but Vath got the sense that these two were troublemakers.

"Don't mind them," Varla said quietly. "They're obnoxious but generally harmless."

"Generally," Vath said. "Not so harmless that you can speak normally around them."

Vath put her hands on Varla's slender thighs, squeezing them gently. "I've developed a sense for danger. If I leave this bath, you stay right here. Understand?"

"Please, doll, just stay here. Whatever happens out there will be fine. Tyche can take care of Tyche's self."

There was a wet slap and an otherworldly cry. Vath tensed, her muscles coiled like a hunting cat's. Varla squeezed down on Vath's shoulders. "Please, stay here. Don't interfere. Tyche will be fine, this happens—"

"All the time?" Vath asked. She stood in the pool, bubbly water dripping down her naked form. "Stay here, Varla. And don't make a sound."

She turned away from the woman, her eyes wide with alarm, and strode out of the pool as laughter resonated throughout the bath chamber. Nike and Nar were watching with horror and alarm. The other two bathers were hustling to leave. The two men hadn't bothered to close their curtains.

Tyche was sprawled out, legs spread to reveal a genderless sex, her eyes milky white and wide with fear. The men saw Vath as soon as she started stepping into their bathing area. Their cocks were limp but their intent clear. Vath saw the truth, saw the impending rape, and her battle rage overwhelmed her. She roared in fury and leaped into the bath, her forehead colliding with one of the men's skull and sending him senseless into the water. The other tried to punch at her, but she moved faster than he, grabbing his hand and wrenching it all the way around. His shoulder popped right out of socket and he screamed a very high pitched wail.

Her hand pummeled his face, beating him into a bloody, swollen pulp before throwing him out of the bath to slide across the stone floor and into a wall, unconscious. She pulled his crony from the pool and did likewise, throwing him overhead. With tremendous power, she leapt from the waist deep water and onto the stone floor, managing not to slip as she stalked the two limp bodies.

Slapping them awake, she held them against the wall by their collars. The sods hadn't even disrobed before trying to rape the changeling. "If I ever see you in this place again," she said in a voice so utterly calm, so filled with rage, that the blood drained from their faces, "if I ever see you near Tyche or any of the bathing attendants, if I ever even hear you mention this aloud, or get wind of you coming near this tavern again...I will end your lives in a most painful and brutal fashion. Leave."

They stumbled and crawled out.

Tyche walked over to her with downcast eyes. "I owe you my life," the changeling said, its voice strangely double-toned and ethereal. "You may call on Tyche at any time. I will serve you."