Legends of Belariath

Ubique et Hic

The Barbarian and the Dark Elf

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 young Dark Elf. 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 red leaves of the trees and blinding her sensitive eyes momentarily. She sat up slowly, realizing that the blankets on top 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 Dark Elf, 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 Dark Elf? 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 Dark Elf 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 men do.

Interesting, she thought, watching him as he slowly stood up to face her.

The barbarian had studied the Dark Elf 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 men look at her, he realized.

But he wanted to do more than just look.

Slowly, he stood up, standing his full height above the Dark Elf. 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 in front 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 Dark Elf. 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 married 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 Dark Elf 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 red 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 breast into his mouth, the whole thing almost disappearing inside. His tongue ran roughly over the nipple, and the Dark Elf 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 Dark Elf 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 Dark Elf 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 on top 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 Dark Elf 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 Dark Elf’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 cum soon. And she would swallow 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 cum 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 cum 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 sucking his member done it so well. Even now, just recalling the sensations of having the Dark Elf 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 Dark Elf 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 young girl 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 breast 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 Dark Elf 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 Dark Elf, 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 Dark Elf 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 cum 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, Dark Elfning out her screams as his hand wrenched her head back hard.

Together, the barbarian atop the Dark Elf, 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 girl 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 Dark Elf’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 cum 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.

BACK