***ALL MATERIAL PRESENTED BY K. SKELLINGTON IS THEREFORE THE WORK OF K.
SKELLINGTON AND IS COPYRIGHTED AND PROTECTED BY THE Berne Union for the
Protection of Literary and Artistic Property (Berne Convention)
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The battles had been hard and long. The dark elf wizardess chided
herself for even being this far into the new lands. What brilliant ideas
she had had, thinking to come here and make money from those who needed
portals created to leave this land. All she was amassing was a collection
of bruises. She walked down the grassy knoll, shaking off the chill of the
snow and ice she was leaving behind. This lost valley was almost devoid of
the cold she was walking away from. She was grateful she had found her way
back to it so easily. At a set of half-tumbled ruins, a barbarian shaman
was getting his bedding ready for the night. That was when she walked into
the camp. All around him, various races of people were stretching and
yawning, rolling out their blankets and furs, preparing to use backpacks
and bodies as pillows through the oncoming night. Space was getting
scarce, and it was a natural gesture of kindness for him to stand up and
wave the obviously exhausted dark elf to a space near his own fire. She
accepted, and he found himself watching her face as she pulled out a meager
and ratty covering and curled up on the very ground itself. I can't just
leave her sleep like that, the shaman thought. He pulled out an extra fur
blanket of his own one of his wives had made for him, a combination of dire
wolf and snow rabbit hides all stitched together to look like a single,
albeit colorful, skin. "Here," he grunted, not sure if he had said the
word in the common tongue clearly enough. He moved to offer the blanket to
the dark elf. But leaning over her, he could see she had already fallen
hard into a deep sleep. He smiled, and then chose to lay down next to her.
Carefully, tenderly, he pulled her small body close. He could feel her
still trembling from the cold. Slowly, the barbarian managed to get her
onto his own padded bedding. Then he pulled all the blankets over them
both, and fell into a dreamless sleep of his own. Sleeping through the
night was hard for the Drow. She was used to being nocturnal, to
creeping through the shadows and traveling by the stars. But going for
days without any sleep at all was even harder. So the next morning, she
was not surprised to see that she did not open her eyes until the sun was
high in the sky, blaring down through the leaves of the trees and
blinding her sensitive eyes momentarily. She sat up slowly, realizing that
the blankets ontop of her were not her own. The barbarian she vaguely
remembered from last night was nowhere nearby that she could see. Next to
the fire, she saw a small wooden bowl, steaming as it sat on a log, as if
waiting for her. Inside, a small cake of hard bread, and some mushy gruel,
seemed to be cooling off. But again, the barbarian was not around. He had
taken his things, leaving hers, thankfully. And he had left the camp, it
seemed. The wizardess stood up, stretching as little as possible. Her
body ached. She picked up the bowl and began to carefully scoop the warm
contents into her mouth, using the bread like a wide spoon. Her blue eyes
peered around, and she knew that all at the camp were watching her. No one
really trusted a Drow, at least no one who knew better. Off in the
distance, a wee bit off and down a small valley, she saw the barbarian. He
was a shaman, from the look of his armor. He turned to face her, as if
feeling her eyes on his back, and his hand beckoned. How odd, she thought.
Was he asking her to follow him? She looked around. No one else was
looking at the barbarian. He must have meant her. Maybe he had found a
better campsite, or had need of a portal. Or maybe, like her, he preferred
to camp farther away from the gathered people at common camps like this
one. Whatever reason he had for beckoning her, she felt compelled to follow
him. She kicked sand and wet grass over the fire, snuffing it out. Then
she wiped the bowl clean with some leaves, packed it into her backpacks,
and rolled up the only blanket she had. She was intending to fight in the
area anyways. She may as well gain what strength she could, in a safe
camp. Hopefully, the barbarian would prove to be trustworthy. Anything had
to be better than sleeping alone with this wary lot around her. The shaman
looked back a second time, and smiled when he saw the dark elf was indeed
following him. Good, he thought. He could use the company. He knew of a
better and more secluded camp in this huge bowl-shaped valley, one that was
not so far from the over-populated ruins that he could not walk back any
time he wished to parlay or trade with others. But he preferred the quiet
that one could find in this land, if one really tried. And why not share
it with the Drow? Who better to watch his back than someone who would stay
up all night? She was far too well dressed to care to steal his things,
nor did she have the look of insanity in her eyes, he noted as she caught
up with him and quietly kept pace next to him. He was safer like this than
anywhere. He raised a hand and pointed to a grassy slope that descended
into a tree-less hollow. "There," he said, and the Drow followed his hand
with her eyes. She peered around, looking in all directions. The
barbarian was right. It was a good campsite. There was a small flat
plateau to put their fire on. And it was far enough from the snowy
mountainside that there would be no run-off to soak them while they slept.
She could hear the rattle of far distant bones, clattering as ominous
forces made them walk and pace, so she knew they were probably a bit too
close to the magickal ruins that lay at one end of the giant bowl of the
lost valley. But surely, if the barbarian could not hear them, they were
probably just far enough away to avoid attention. The wizardess watched
the barbarian as he moved logs and rocks around, creating a safe fire pit.
He arranged his backpacks with hers to build a small, low wall, presumably
to lean against once they decided to rest. Likely, he would want her doing
the night watch. She should probably try to bed down now, catch up on some
sleep, if the blasted sun would stop shining. The barbarian was staring at
her, at her clothes, most likely wondering what type of person she was.
Looking on her, he wouldn't be able to guess very easily that she was
actually a wizard. Wizards wore robes, great gatherings of magickal fabric
that would sway and slosh like the wind or like waves each time they moved.
She did not wear a robe. Instead, she wore a tunic that was tight across
her bosom, laced up in the back. It left her belly exposed to any kind of
attack. But few things ever got that close. The material of the tunic
held more magick than a single thread of any robe any other wizard of her
order. Her leggings, too, likely confused and no doubt excited the
barbarian. She noted that he licked his lips as his eyes went low over her
thighs. The leggings were made of the rib bones of fairies, sewn together
with mermaid hair, and were held up to her banded thong only by the
thinnest of garters. Smirking, she snapped one, bringing the barbarian out
of his reverie. His eyes darted to hers, and she saw that he was not
blushing, like most do. Interesting, she thought, watching him as he
slowly stood up to face her. The barbarian had studied the Drow girl, very
well. She didn't have the muscles of a true warrior. No, she was some
sort of caster, maybe an enchantress, using her form itself to tantalize
the toughest of prey. What creature could not be confused on seeing so
much smooth, slender flesh exposed to any blade or tooth that could get
close? To be that blade, or tooth, the shaman found himself thinking.
Then she snapped one of the garters he had been eyeing, and he looked into
her eyes. There he found actual delight. She liked having look at
her, he realized. But he wanted to do more than just look. Slowly, he
stood up, standing his full height above the Drow. She was a good two or
three feet smaller than him. He liked that. All his wives could stare him
straight in the eyes. This small, feminine being was so delicate, fragile,
made like a fairy. But full of shadows, he secretly hoped. Full of
darkness. Standing infront of her, knowing the sun on his armor was almost
blinding to her, he smiled as she kept her eyes locked to his. He took a
step forward, then stood there, close to her, his large hands resting on
his hips. He let her get an idea of his size and power, for a minute.
Then he began to undress. Carefully, keeping his pale eyes locked into
hers, the barbarian began to undress himself for the Drow. He unclasped
each side of his chest plate, trying hard not to smile as the defiant dark
elf began to follow suit. He wanted to break the gaze, to watch her
fingers as they reached behind her back, and undid the tight laces. From
the corners of his vision, he could see her as her tunic slipped off and
her chest was exposed to the sun and the sky, and to him. But he had to
continue undressing himself. So that she would continue to do the same.
He pulled off his greaves and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as his
member came free and stood erect beneath his kilt. He had not been home
for so long, had not had a woman since his last visit there. His wives
knew he dallied wherever he wished. They were more like slaves, purchased
fair and square. But in his northern homelands, it was better to be owned
than to be abandoned and alone. Each of his women had been previously, he liked that. They saw him as savior and hero, that way. The
one who cared for them, and fed and clothed them. And all they had to do
was satisfy his great appetite. He had not gone home to the north in so
long. His cock was throbbing, hard and stiff against the smooth woven
material of his traditional garment. Finally, the Drow was the one that
broke his gaze. She looked down, and her eyes went wide for such a brief
moment. But he had seen. And the barbarian grinned wickedly. The
wizardess looked down, almost against her will. The huge cock that poked
into the kilt couldn't be as big as it seemed. With careful hands, she
lifted the material of the barbarian's garment, and looked at the
throbbing rod. It was indeed as big as she feared. But she feared
nothing. She had had barbarians before, perhaps not as big as this one.
But she knew she could handle whatever would come. That was one of the
gifts of being a creature created from magick. All things fit as they
should. She let the kilt drop, and looked back into the barbarian's pale
eyes. He was hungry for her, and she was now completely naked. She backed
up until the slant of the slope behind her became sharp. Then she lay down
against it, parting her thighs slightly. The barbarian took the hint, and
moved forward. He lay against her a moment, shuddering as if in relief at
getting a greatly desired wish. Then he began to kiss at her neck, her
pointed ears, then down to her pert breasts. His mouth was so hot, and his
lips so hungry and eager. He took one into his mouth, the whole
thing almost disappearing inside. His tongue ran roughly over the nipple,
and the Drow put her hands against his cheeks as it hardened into a
painfully sensitive nub beneath his ministrations. She too shuddered now,
moaning as his face went lower still, hot and wet over her flat belly.
Then he was cupping her bottom, lifting her as his mouth engulfed all of
her soaked privacy. His tongue flicked out and over her labia, then dove
inside her. And surprisingly, she came instantly, her thighs shaking
around his head. The barbarian waited there, drinking in the nectar of the
Drow until her legs stopped shaking so hard around his head and shoulders.
Then he lifted himself, until he was laying next to her, watching her
scrunched up face. She was so beautiful, lost in pleasure like she was.
He watched her longer, stroking himself. Then he closed his eyes,
imagining the most wonderfully wicked things. Suddenly, he felt her hands
creeping down his stomach. He opened his eyes to see that the Drow was
moving down his body, her eyes lit with blue fires as she grinned at him.
She said something in an unknown language, but he was sure it had something
to do with returning a favor. He adjusted himself better, so he could
watch her. She wanted him to, he could tell that. She was very vain. And
the idea of watching her down his cock made the thing jump up to meet her.
She opened her small mouth as wide as she could. She looked at him,
straight in the eyes, as she began to lower her wet lips to the taut skin
of the mushroom-shaped head. Lower she went, lower, lower. Then she was
almost ontop of it. He anticipated the feel of her engulfing him in hot
wet warmth. Then she stopped. Out snaked her thin, dark tongue, flicking
over the skin. She was teasing him. The thin tongue dipped into the long
slit on the top of his big cock, pulling at the oozing precum there, and
drawing it back into her mouth. Spider web-like strings of the stuff shone
in the sun as she watched him, her eyes bright and staring into his
intently. The barbarian growled, his hands clutching tufts of grass at his
sides. And the Drow must have sensed his frustration. She moved her hands
over his, lifting them, placing them in her snowy white hair. He had to be
careful, he knew. Many a woman had choked on his cock when he had let
desire take over and had thrust himself deep into their begging mouths.
But this one, she seemed to know what she was up against. He could feel
her relaxing. He had to have her. Reflexively, his fingers curled and
uncurled in her hair, gripping great locks of it. Then he could resist no
more. With both hands, he moved her head lower and down, over his cock,
pushing himself deep inside her mouth, then her throat. The barbarian did
not stop until he felt the spongy feel of his cock butting against the
deepest part of her mouth. He moaned, shifting his hips slightly, rubbing
his cock against that material, that wet flesh, before withdrawing. She
had not choked. Her eyes were closed, as if in meditative relaxation. And
he thrust again into her, faster this time. He couldn't stop. The shaman
gripped the Drow's hair, beginning to ram himself against her mouth, her
throat. He was beyond control now, and she didn't object. The dark elf
relaxed her throat muscles. The barbarian was huge, compared to what she
had had before. She had never tried this with any of the bigger races.
But the feel of him in control of her motions, it was so thrilling. She
calmed herself, keeping her gag reflex from taking over. She could feel
him almost curving in her throat, almost twisting and going down. Then he
began to get even bigger, and she could feel the pressure building in his
shaft. She moved a hand down between his legs, squeezing at his full,
round balls in their soft sack. He would soon. And she would it all. Suddenly, he erupted in the back of her throat. The wizardess
opened her eyes, looking into the barbarian's as she felt him pour down
her. His fingers, so tight in her hair, pulled her hard down over him. His
eyes were so fierce. She would hate to see him in battle, he would be so
intimidating. His almost burned going down to her stomach, it was so
hot, searing her throat as it washed over her. Down it went, filling her
belly like a full stein of warmed brandy. She drank and drank, even when
his grip released, and his hands dropped weakly to his sides. With her
tongue and her cheeks, she stroked him, delighting in feeling him throb and
jump in her mouth as he slowly became flaccid, the last of the drained
from his member. She wiped at her mouth, and moved to lie next to the
barbarian. But he surprised her, and pulled her across his chest. His
eyes were still intense. He still hungered. The barbarian considered
letting himself rest. But never had anyone his member done it so
well. Even now, just recalling the sensations of having the Drow stroke
him after he had cum, he could feel his semen rising from inside his sack.
He couldn't get enough of her. He wanted more, as much as he could get.
He watched her to see if she would push him away, but she did not. And he
dragged her body over his, laying her along his length. With a hand on
each shoulder, he held her face close to hers. Then he kissed her. Her
mouth was so small, and her lips were thin and dark. But her tongue snaked
its way into his mouth, and played at him. He could taste himself there,
salty and hot, but she made it seem like a treat. They kissed, for a long
time, her body pressed against his. He moved his hands down to her bottom,
easily cupping it with just one palm. He could feel her privacy, her puss,
hot against his belly. And he pushed her down, slowly. The tip of his
already hard cock poked against her puss, pushing at her hard clitoris.
She gasped in his mouth. He had to fill her, he had to give her all of
him. The barbarian pushed her chest up and moved her until the Drow was
sitting on his lower stomach. With each hand on her hip, he lifted her.
He didn't look in her eyes, not now. Instead, he watched as the tip of his
cock pushed in between her lips, spreading them with its size. Then he
thrust his own hips upward, at the same time forcing the down
over him. His cock filled her, completely. And she cried out, a low, deep
noise of pain. It didn't last long. Soon, he was moving inside her, in
and out and in and out. Pleasure took over, and the wizardess felt her
insides begin to boil. The barbarian was so deep inside her, pushing
against the entry to her very private womb. She could feel the hot precum
on his cock's head, far inside her. It made her stomach boil with desire.
She moved her fingers over his stomach, letting her head drop back, moving
her hips as his hands commanded. And once she took over the undulating
motions, his hands began to climb up her sides, her ribs, until he cupped
one in each palm. His hands were so big, his fingers so thick, as
he squeezed her mounds, kneading them forcefully. The wizardess looked
down at the barbarian's face. Again, he had that scrunched up, fiery gaze,
his eyes intent on where his cock was plunging in and out of her. His lips
were snarling. He looked like such an animal. The look alone was enough
to cause her to begin to writhe and quake. Her very walls clutched at the
thick cock, pulsing as she began to come. She moaned, and he thrust into
her deeper, making satisfied noises. He liked pleasing her. He didn't
even wait for his wanton lover to finish her orgasm before he was moving
her around, manipulating her with his huge hands. He wanted to have her in
all ways. He twisted the Drow over his cock until her back was to him,
without her puss ever letting go of the throbbing shaft. Now she was
leaning forward, her hands on his knees. He moved his own fingers to her
hips, pushing himself into her. Like this, he could see his shining,
coated cock moving into the Drow, disappearing into her shadowy center.
The sight of it was driving him wild. But he wanted to slow down. He
wanted to enjoy this. The shaman moved his fingers over the girl's lower
back, slowing his pace. How light his own tanned hands seemed to be over
her midnight-blue skin. And he moved them lower, caressing her spine,
denting the flesh of her buttocks. Then his fingers daringly slipped into
the dark crevice, pulling it apart. There was her puckered flower, her
tightened hole. He grunted, pushing into her, as wild ideas filled him.
Then, they controlled him. And before he knew he was doing it, he was
pushing her forward more, forcing her onto her knees. She didn't know
right away what the lust-mad barbarian intended. She merely obeyed his
strength. He was stronger, and so far, everything he had desired had only
delighted her. So, obedient and engulfed in lusting fires of her own, the
Drow crouched forward on her knees, slowly wriggling her behind, knowing
his pale eyes were drinking in the sight of her naked flesh so subservient
infront of him. Then the head of his cock was playing at her folds, and
she shivered, closing her eyes and laying her cheek against the cool grass
and ground. He felt so good, even if he was so big that he was probably
bruising her in the most private of places. The way she was feeling now,
the wizardess was sure she could deny her barbarian lover nothing. He
moved behind her, she could feel the fronts of his thighs pressing against
her bottom. His hands gripped her ass, lifting her upwards. His fingers
were pulling her cheeks apart. He wanted to look at her. The idea made
her lick her dry lips, and begin to pant. As the barbarian's cock moved in
and out of her puss, slowly driving her mad, his fingers began to intrude
there as well. Soon, they were soaked with her nectar, coated with her
cum. And he moved them...upwards, upwards...from her privacy...to her ass.
As she crouched there, on her hands and knees, the barbarian moved a thick,
wet finger into her bottom, pushing against the puckered skin. She sighed
at the new feeling. It was so tight, and so wet, so foreign. But when he
twisted it, in time with his cock, it felt so good. He twisted it more,
and she moved herself back against it, against his finger, pushing him
deeper into her. Then he stopped. And a second finger joined the first,
opening her incredibly wider. The feeling thrilled as much as it hurt.
Finding this lover had been a true delight, indeed. Then he stopped. And
then, the hot head of his cock was pushing at her ass hole, wet, bathed in
her puss juices, insistently pushing into her. It almost tore, and she
almost screamed. But he was slow, careful, and he waited until her ass
opened for him. With his fingers, he dallied in her puss, bringing the
warm lubricant up to her ass, as much as each inch of him needed. Soon, he
was inside her ass. Completely. Fully engulfed. Painful or not, he was
going to have her. He could hear her whimpering, but it was as if it were
from far away. The feel of her dark skin, tight around his shaft, so
incredibly tight, controlled and ruled him now. He forced himself inside
her, burying himself to the hilt. Then he withdrew, roughly, dragging his
head out of her swollen hole. And mercilessly, he thrust into her more.
One of his hands moved up her back, then swirled in her white hair, tugging
on it. He grimaced in ecstasy. He wanted to inside her, fill her up
again with his seed. So he began to pump himself inside her, pulling her
back against him by the reins of her hair. It took only a few more thrusts
before he was spurting deep inside her, so deep he couldn't feel any
resistance against the pulsating head of his swollen cock. He came, deep,
hard, roaring his pleasure, drowning out her screams as his hand wrenched
her head back hard. Together, the barbarian atop the Drow, they collapsed,
panting, onto the grass. Both ached too much to move. So, joined, they
slept. The moon had risen when next she awoke, feeling hands on her. Was
he hungry for her again? She was beyond surprise, by now. Sometimes, the
lusting passions of two certain people became so much, they could only eat
and drink of each other. It could last for hours, days, even years. But
it always ended, at some point. As she watched the shaman's hands, she
realized he was applying a healing salve to her body. With great
tenderness, he pushed a rough balm against her ass, her puss, and
everywhere else it ached. She sighed, stretching beneath his fingers,
watching him through slitted eyes as he watched her. She moved catlike,
her hands above her head, her legs curled, as she stretched. There was a
slight twinge in her womb. She knew it wasn't an after effect of the
incredible sex she had just shared with the stranger. Her fertile time was
coming. In the next day or so, she would have a ripe egg in her womb.
Well, as ripe an egg as a wizardess could produce. People who handled
magick as often as she did dared not have children without care. Most
times, the infant died before birth, and that could be very hard on a
caster's body, as they were naturally weak and lacked the strength to fight
greater illnesses. Sometimes, the infant lived. And usually, it grew to
wish it had not. She wanted none of that. Besides, her own mistress of
old had had a child by a barbarian once. The had been so confused
about her heritage. Another thing that was definitely worth avoiding. At
last, the shaman returned to administering his salve on the Drow's bruised
body. Carefully, he moved a finger inside her, feeling at her vaginal
walls. Yes, he had bruised her there, and there as well. He watched as
she moved slightly against his finger, as if enjoying his probing touches.
He continued watching her in the moonlight, licking his lips as he watched
her begin to fondle her own breasts. His member jumped beneath the kilt he
had only just put back on, and he knew he was going to have her again,
regardless of her aches and pains, or his own. This time, he promised
himself, he would be tender. He wanted to make her with the gentlest
of touches, the sweetest of kisses. As his fingers moved against her,
inside her, he suddenly felt a spongy object at the top of her inner walls.
The entrance to her womb, swollen and absorbent. But not from the massive
ramming his cock had done. She was becoming fertile, would be hours from
now. By then, he would not be able to partake in her body. Sighing, he
realized she would likely know her own flux and flow. She would probably
not be there when he awoke in the morning. Carefully, very gently, he
removed his fingers, kissing his way up her belly, dropping his lips
against her hot skin like rain. Finally, he met her mouth. And with a
care he had never once demonstrated with any of his wives, he parted her
legs with his own, filled her slowly with his cock, and kissed her, as
deeply, as lovingly, as he could. She put her arms around the barbarian's
neck, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist, accepting his slow and
tender rhythm, and returning his loving effort for effort. The moon rose,
and set, and when the barbarian woke the next morn, he was alone.
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