Legends of Belariath

Ubique et Hic

Bitter Sweet, Bitter Meat: Part 1

She was shorter by merely a fraction than the other Dark Elf that was wandering around her in ever tightening circles. And the other was better equipped just now. She herself wore only her hardened leather coverings, while the one circling her was in almost full battle regalia, given her preference for magick casting.

Nonetheless, she kept her ground, eyes facing forward as she had long learned to do while under questioning.

“And what is it you seek, my little warrior?” the circling girl spoke softly.

Though her voice could easily have sent shivers up the warrior’s spine, she did her best not to move a muscle and give no credence to what the closing proximity of the other was doing to her senses.

As the mage circled her, moving now behind her back and stopping there, hesitating while waiting for an answer, the warrior could smell her scent – incense, and a wild natural musk. The kind one expected from a passionate fighter such as this one must be.

She looked not down, not up, but only straight ahead. She ignored the soft wafting of that heavenly natural perfume up through her nostrils, forcing them not to flare and give away her true intent.

“I only want what I know you have given freely to others less worthy as myself,” she answered calmly.

She tried to project her previous confidence, trying to recapture the slyness she had felt when the mage had first entered the weapons shop.

But looking upon her godly form, seeing in this one Dark Elf all she had ever known of the Underdark and its temples and priestesses; the tight and busty black corset fitting over the curved hips and bottom, gracing the slender waist until it rose up to the full, round breasts, effectively mashing them together, pushing them up and out of the material.

It made her ache for her homelands and the darkness of the caverns. She missed the starless sky above, and the glow of magick all about her. How she missed it, looking to see where the mage’s deep colored nipples almost showed over the edge of the corset’s bodice. As her eyes took in the expanse of blue skinned thigh showing above the tall battle boots, the warrior could think of nothing but the unique worship she had been entitled to as a great fighter in her House, in the days of old.

“What is it, girl? Can you not ask? Can you not say?”

The mage moved her face closer to the warrior’s neck, her ungloved fingers gently pulling her white hair away from her tingling and anticipating neck-flesh.

“Why don’t you just take what you want?”

The whisper was deadly, dangerous. And there was no way the warrior could mistake the intention of the mage.

It was a test, all of it a test.

She put her fists at her sides, making sure her movements were slow, steady, un-provoking. She kept her pale blue eyes forward towards the weapons shop door, focusing as best she could.

“It is against my culture, my beliefs, and the Will of my Goddess, to bring harm or to allow harm to come to any female of my race. It is not something I could do, nor force upon someone else.

“I must be given permission.”

She tried not to gulp, tried not to sound weak. But she failed, her throat was suddenly so dry.

Behind her, the mage made not a sound, moved not a hair.

“You are quite serious, aren’t you,” she said at last.

The warrior nodded, immobile.

Now she heard the mage swallow loudly behind her.

“Out of all my time here, none have treated me with the deference you give me so easily, without even knowing me. None here of our breed remember the traditions or observe the beliefs. I am…caught off-guard.”

The warrior had expected as much. But she did not move to comfort her better, the mage. She did not turn to smile welcomingly into those blood red eyes, to lay a hand on that bare shoulder beneath the dark cloak.

She remained steadfast.

Silence enveloped the weapons shop’s common room for several long moments. Though she wanted to turn around, she did not allow herself that pleasure. She stayed still, reverently respecting the mage’s need for time.

At last, the mage moved close again. She put a hand on each of the warrior Dark Elf’s arms, and slowly turned her around. With steady gaze, the mage looked directly into the warrior’s face.

“What is it you seek?”

“I seek permission.” ”For what?” ”To enjoy what it is I desire most, if only for a span of time shorter than a day. Less even.”

Another moment of silence passed, but their eyes spoke so much more than any words in any language could have said. The mage raised a hand, fingers outspread, and nodded to the warrior.

“You have this much time…”

It was all she would need.

Ruthless suddenly, the strong Dark Elf picked up the mage, placing her bottom on the countertop and standing back slightly to look at her.

The magick caster looked as beautiful as a decoration, sitting on the counter, her bottom lip almost trembling, her purest white hair cascading down around her shoulders and sides.

No, she thought, letting her libido rise in temperature and strength as she eyed what she had momentarily been granted.

Not a decoration, but an idol. An idol placed on the holiest of altars.

She leaned forward, her hands on the other girl’s shoulders, her mouth against the dark and pointed ear.

“Please,” she pleaded softly.

“Let me worship and pray.”

The mage nodded as if in a trance, and did nothing to object when the warrior moved her hands to those bare, ebon-skinned thighs.

The warrior parted those thighs slowly, looking down upon them as if they were a portal, doors to a darkness she had not visited in some time. It was a sin to not come to worship, to pray, to sacrifice. Her fingers went easily upwards, to the crotch of the one piece leather and mail corset, and she began to undo the latches there.

As her fingers moved deftly over the armor, the mage gasped. At last, the treasure was exposed, and the warrior took her turn at breathing in sharply.

Beneath her fingers now, there lay a white furred mons and sweetly swollen lips. The mage’s privacy was exposed for anyone who entered to see.

But neither Dark Elf cared.

The warrior could not resist the temptation. And she knew she did not need to, anymore. Time was against her, and her intentions must be made clear. Here, in this makeshift temple, she would worship as she always had, since being made a woman so long ago.

She got down on her knees, crouching between those legs that dangled off that dirty counter, ignoring the slight grit beneath her knee caps as she eyed disbelieving that impossibly precious privacy.

Without further ado, she began to pry it open. She moved her fingers carefully, seductively. This was not so much a portal any longer as it was a flower. And it had to be stroked, teased, seduced into opening.

As her fingers petted and caressed the large swollen labia, the scent of the heavens wafted forward over her face. The two lips began to slip beneath her fingertips, and she knew they were slick with lust and wet with desire.

The warrior dared to move her face forward. As she did, the mage put her hands into the warrior’s unbound hair, obviously wanting to pull her closer, and quickly – but refusing to ruin the beautiful moment that was now evolving.

The other Dark Elf produced her tongue, a worshipper’s tool, and fully parted those lips with the wetted tip. She slowly let it intrude into the crevice, seeking and finding the warmth she knew would be there. Upwards her tongue slipped, slow and careful, until the budding hardness of the clitoris was beneath her slithering probing mouth.

She suckled, slightly, ever so slightly.

And the mage trembled, gently trembled.

Closer the warrior brought her face, pushing it into the wondrously luscious puss, feeling her chin becoming wet with the juices to be had there. Then her hand began its lengthy and detailed process of cleansing. Upwards to the top of the clit hood it ran, then downwards. Over the inner labia, now almost stiff in their excitement, past the darkness and shadows of the slitted entryway, downwards almost to the final exit of all things. Then, it traveled up again, repeating the prayers of so many, faithful and unfaithful alike.

For ever so long, she continued her petitioning, flicking occasionally over that clitoris, nipping boldly at the slender tinier lips.

And sometimes, she would dip into that entryway, thrust into the sweet center.

A sound behind her let her know that someone had entered the shop. By his sounds, it was someone who worked here, a man larger than herself with a steady tread. He walked past the two Dark Elf at the counter without a word and disappeared into the back of the shop and out of their memories.

Again she thrust into the center, but this time, she pushed onwards. This, of all things, was the final test of the true parishioner, the most dedicated pilgrim. As the mage’s hands entangled in her hair tightly, as she began to writhe and moan on the counter’s surface, the warrior continued, pursuing her passion down that short hallway.

Deeper she pushed, refuting the desire to join a finger to her tongue’s progress. This process was almost holy in design, surely holy in intent. And there could be no deviation.

This was the true purpose of the praying and petitioning. This, here, was the ultimate sacrifice.

As her tongue danced and twisted within the tight canal, the mage’s hands pulled and pushed at the warrior’s head. She rocked against the face in her lap, and then began to cum.

And that was the ultimate offering – the sacrifice of one’s own pleasure in order to bestow such upon another, especially one deserving and worthy.

The warrior drank. She did not cease drinking until there was not a drop left to lap up with her tongue or to tease with her fingertips. At last, she pulled away.

With a careful hand, she redid the latches on the crotch of the armor. Then, she took the mage by one hand, helping her to stand up steady and strong. She held that hand thus, aloft, waiting for the caster to cease her trembling.

More like holding it until her own body stopped reeling, and her own mind became focused.

Finally, they were both calm and poised, Dark Elf once more and no longer goddess and worshipping peon.

The warrior stared for a brief moment into the mage’s eyes, looking from one red and lust filled orb to the other. Then she pulled her gaze away, smiling forcibly.

“Take back the permission you have granted me, before I go too far.”

“Consider it revoked…for now.”

With that, the mage smiled secretly, lifted the hood of her cloak back up over her head, and left the weapons shop.

The warrior watched her go, moving to the shop’s window to peer after her. Then she turned.

The man stood there, wiping his hands on a rag, grinning. He moved over to the counter the mage had been resting on, dipping his fingers into a wet sheen on the counter’s surface.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be sure to clean up…”

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