The Inn Ch. 03

Her eyes opened. "And now, I think, you taste for a turn."

I glanced down at the tip of my penis, already leaking out another transparent drop. "You mean, taste my own ...?"

She laughed, and the hand that wasn't still wrapped around my cock threw back the covers to reveal her lower half. "No, taste of me."

The red that rimmed her waist and belly swooped down almost like a bikini, accentuating the lower swell of her stomach by shading her crotch in scarlet. At her hips and the borders between her thighs and groin, the red faded again through another dappled margin, leaving her legs faint and pink, with a trail of scattered dark spots down each inner thigh. The strange beauty of her coloration absorbed my attention so fully that it took me a second to notice the other strangeness below her waist.

Where I expected to see mons and labia and clit, the centerpiece of Kizaah's mound was a finger-thick curlicue that started where a clitoris would have been and looped a time and a half around her gash, fading from her bikini-bottom red with each circuit until the end of it dove into the encircled slit, both of them pink and glistening.

"You have not had reproduction with a welf woman before, I see." Her voice melded delight and enthusiasm. "You I think will like this."

For emphasis, her curlicue pulsed and constricted, narrowing its inner diameter from a spacious two-inches to a snug-looking couple of centimeters.

"Come," she said, easing her tailbone down flat against the mattress. "Lick my curl."

I know I never wrote anything like this!

Magnetized by the weirdness of her genitals, I crawled onto the bed on my elbows, legs trailing behind. As I drew closer -- head between her knees, then her thighs -- her scent washed over me, almost like the smell of a fresh-baked peach pie. The coil of flesh wiggled and tightened and loosened, as if in anticipation of my ever-nearer mouth. She filled my vision now, the smooth pale curve of her belly, the bare dark skin of her mound. And that strange new thing, not quite a tentacle, not quite a tail, but clearly prehensile and under her control and quivering with want as it framed the dank slash of her vagina.

I opened my mouth and stretched out my tongue. Nearer ... nearer ... almost there ...

As soon as my taste-buds made contact, I remembered what I'd written about welfs: it was a single throwaway line in one of the later books where someone eating dessert says it's "as sweet as a welfish strumpet's cunt."

Maybe I needed help for an obsession with prostitutes, but that line was no lie. Kizaah's soft, curling tendril of flesh tasted for all the world like some sort of mango-strawberry-flavored cream cheese, spread on a melt-in-your-mouth sweet roll.

I looked up at her. She had her lips slightly parted, the tip of her tongue just barely in contact with her upper incisors. She knew what I was thinking, but I told her anyway:

"Good god, you're delicious."

The welf-woman laughed.

"We will both like for you to take a longer taste."

With my lower peripheral vision, I caught a movement that took my eyes from her face. The pink tip of her curl had emerged from her slit and now beckoned me just as she might have used a bent index finger to do. I leaned in with pursed lips and captured it, sucked a half-inch or inch into my mouth. The taste was heaven, and the tremor it sent through her made it even better.

Unlike an ordinary clit, though, this tendril didn't passively await my attentions -- she extended it, probed it deeper into my mouth, dueled my tongue with it just as if we'd been making out. I used the ring of my lips to massage the supple diameter trapped between them, while licking and rolling my tongue against her eager finger of flesh. A slick sweetness pulsed out of its surface with increasing frequency as I kept at it. Her breath quickened and caught. She fed still more of her genital curl into my mouth and lassoed my tongue, which I proceeded to fuck in and out of her slick sex-tentacle's grip, faster and faster to the sound of her panting.

"Uuahh!" she cried, bucking her crotch up against my lips. Inside my mouth, her tendril writhed and thrashed, then literally recoiled, whipping itself back in withdrawal to wind so tight against her mound that it completely obscured the vaginal opening beneath it. "Ah! Ah! Ahhhh ..."

Her whole form shook and arched. When her hips dropped back to the mattress, I turned my head and kissed the smooth pink flesh of her thigh several times, moving up the red stippling there to close in on her crotch once more. One of her hands came down to cover her snaky twat, though, while the other curved around the back of my head and coaxed me up and forward along her body toward her face.

I paused at the marvelous crimson swells of her breasts to kiss and then suckle one erect nipple. Her hands caressed both sides of my face as I licked and nibbled, then tugged at me again until I'd crawled into place fully atop her, eyes level with hers. In them, I now saw not just glittering dark pupils, but actual silvery motes, drifting across grey-black irises dilated by passion.

"You must have natural talent in curl pleasurance," she said, gliding her hands along my back. "This is really your mouth's first trip to a welf-maiden's mound?"

I nodded. "But I hope it's not the last."

She laughed yet again. "Oh no, Simon, not the last for tonight, even. But my curl is in desire for something thicker to hold onto than a tongue. And I am eager that you plumb me. Are you ready?"

My cock stiffened even harder against the sheets. "Very ready -- but ... do we need purity oil?"

"I drank a thimble as your bathing was made. Come. Reproduction with me now."

A tickle at my pubic hair made me shift a little without thinking, and then a lick of wet flesh against the base of my erection made me understand -- it was her coil reaching out for me, looping about my cock-root, tugging. I lifted my hips a little as she pulled me down for a kiss, long and lingering, and I felt her fleshy tendril encircle and guide me.

Holy shit.

My hands were around her on her shoulders. Hers caressed my back. And yet I was being angled and positioned, down between our legs, lined up and then brushed against a sopping, soft slit and urged forward by her dexterous genitalia clutching at me. I thrust my tongue deep into her mouth and simultaneously eased my hips down to enter her, feeling glorious satiny wetness envelop me inch by inch.

"Mmmmmm," she hummed, her star-flecked eyes closing in rapture as I settled against her. I didn't shut my own eyes just yet -- I found the subtle play of muscles in her brow fascinating and completely responsive to the first gentle stroke that I made, sliding back and then forward inside her. "Mm-hmmmm."

Her heels came up behind my thighs and her hips rolled and that red-and-pink tendril clasped my shaft deliriously with each movement of my dick in and out. It slithered and circled as I pumped, a gripping coil of damp, slippery arousal.

Jesus, I hope this doesn't ruin me for women with normal clits.

Kizaah began to jerk and twitch beneath me, grunting to the spasms of her body. A high-pitched sound came out of her throat. She clutched me to her, arms and legs squeezing. And then her curl wormed its way forward along my shaft, still wrapped entirely around. With each outward stroke, it snaked its way closer to my tip, so that each inward thrust tugged it deeper into her pussy.

"AaaaaAAAH!" she cried. Powering as hard into her as I could, I felt that little tentacle throb and unwind, until it no longer held me but thrashed along the underside of my hard-on while I fucked and fucked deep in and against it. Kizaa went crazy. "Eeh! Eyhh -- UUHHH!"

And suddenly her whole cunt strobed around me, convulsing, paroxysmal. My balls couldn't take it any longer, and erupted.

"Fuck, Kizaah!"

"Yes, Simon! Swell me with your flow!"

Her curl slid around me again, milking and squeezing as I spurted my load deep into her hungry gash.

"Ah! Yes! Clog me! Spew!"

"UH! Uh -- FUCK!" The powerful muscular tugs of her cunt-coil wrung an unbelievable amount of cum out of me. The orgasm kept going and going until Kizaah hit another peak of her own and planked tree-limb stiff beneath me.

"Gnnnhhh --" she groaned, vagina and sex-tendril once again throbbing mindlessly, furiously around me. A few more trickles escaped me before the orgasm let her go and she relaxed, gulping for breath. I felt that curl slither out and flop limply along one side of my root.

For a minute or more, she just held me to her, gasps slowing and evening out. Then she put her hands in my hair and opened her eyes to look at me rapturously.

"Simon," she breathed, her face sublime with contentment. "I hope you are not expecting to have sleep tonight. I am drunk on your studding and must have more."

"Well," I said, my own breathing not entirely smoothed out yet, "I will do my best to make it worth your half-shilling."

* * *

In the morning, I woke to find Kizaah almost dressed -- this time in a silky green, wide-sleeved jumpsuit with silver cuffs and collar. Her hair fell in long, sheer waves of black past her shoulders, the ziggurat having come apart during one of our several bouts of strenuous fucking the night before.

"You look like a very merry Christmas," I said, sitting up and trying to shake the sleep from my head.

"Chrismas. This word also I do not know."

"Don't worry about it. Are you in too much of a hurry for me to make sure you've gotten your money's worth?"

She laughed, making the waves of her hair dance as she finished buttoning up the front of her suit. "My curl is sated. It requires much to do that, but you accomplished to suffice last night. Also, yes, I am of hurrying. My coach must gallop to Nanwael by lunch or I miss my colossus-hawk gondola to Ssss'ssla."

"Ssss'ssla?" My brain took several hops higher into wakefulness. "In the Swamps of Dor? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Yes, for your kind. But welfs are of good terms with Septra's Children. I go to visit my good friend Eesia, who is upper priestess in the Second Temple of Scale. However, she becomes cross and spits venom at tardiness. So I like to arrive at time of her expecting and avoid the itch-and-twitch visions of viper-folk sputum."

Ssss'ssla! It was on the road to Ssss'ssla that Juliette and her crew had to ambush Necromanata's emissary to the Sutherdun orcs. "Only fools brave the Swamps of Dor without express permission of the viper-folk," Ymbrod had said when Juliette proposed the mission, to which she'd replied, "It's fine to call Halvard a fool, but I take offense for Mikila, Pelfreyda and myself." But the five of them had snuck and fought their way through the swamps anyway, and prevented a hellish pact between orcs and undead.

What if ... what if Septra's Children themselves had reason to take down Necromanata's envoy?

My mind revved up to dangerous speed. In book six, Pelfreyda would steal the Heart of Asp ruby from the Thankortan vaults. In book eight, Juliette would use it to broker a peace between the Phaeland Empire and Ssss'ssla, where the viper-folk revered it as a holy relic. Right now, though, the gem just sat in that vault -- and the Knights of Thankorta had no attachment for it other than its worth as treasure. What the Knights did have an attachment for -- in fact, would literally kill for -- was an Artefact of Power like Vark's Sword. And with any luck, Kleburn Mandermorte would soon fetch that from Cymbelville.

Do I really want the Knights of Thankorta to get their hands on Vark's Sword? The question answered itself with images of orcish berserkers and animated corpses ripping the Nestled Goose to pieces and shitting down the severed throats of everyone in town -- and everyone across the Empire.

"Kizaah," I asked, hoping it would seem like a casual request, "if I were to write a letter and give it to you, do you think your friend could deliver it to the First Temple?"

"Ha! No, the priestess of the First Temple is Eesia's sister, and when they meet, the ground sizzles with their most caustic drool. But an underling could be dispatched with a lack of worry."

"You wouldn't mind, then?"

She pulled her hair back to tie it in a tail. The motion lifted her marvelous breasts within the fine green cloth of her outfit. Then she came forward and kissed me.

"Of course not," she said, the sparkles in her eyes bright and lively. "But ... next time, you must discount our bed-ventures!"

I agreed with another kiss -- which raised my naked cock high enough to bump into her hip.

"Oh," she said with a sigh, looking down at it. "Perhaps I spurn breakfast and make time for once again your poking treasure."

Despite a keen desire to get to work on that letter, I decided professionalism obliged me to oblige her, and putting my lips against hers, I slowly unbuttoned the front of her jumpsuit.