Night in Vosgraad

But here, now, in the Demon Realms, on broken isles thrown up by strange seas, surrounded by creatures counted among the mythic and phantasmal even by the jaded dark elves, Cwynneth realized that his elaborate titles and much-vaunted influence with the high and mighty of his own race now availed him nothing.

What, he wondered, standing alone and unarmed in darkness as perfect and all-encompassing has his own ebon skin, did these red-hided bastards care that he, Cwynneth Devora, had witnessed ritual slave-flayings with Prince Tyreth himself, or whispered endearments and obscenities in the graceful ears of Young Lord Faela M'Than as the two of them writhed on Cwynneth's bed in passion's embrace, or violated a chained and weeping Baroness Shav'rae Nythor in every way imaginable, urged on by her own mother, or cemented alliances with a dozen other houses and toasted them in the blood of mutual enemies? What difference did any of these make here and now, amid crimson-skinned creatures who knew little of outside affairs, and cared less, save where such affairs conflicted or coincided with their own?

Why indeed? Cwynneth was here on a mission, commanded by the First Scion of a ruling house, and here he would stay, either until death...

...Or, he thought, more hopefully, until he could persuade his hosts that this was one of those cases where his interests coincided with theirs.

A challenging task, he mused, but one to which he felt singularly well-suited. Just the same, Cwynneth felt fear, and struggled to master it.

He had almost succeeded when a light appeared in the gloom, and Cwynneth's heart lurched.

The light grew slowly, like the early morning, but this illumination was neither cheery nor comforting. A dim red light cast wan shadows all around Cwynneth, revealing the faintest hints of the room's shape and design.

Cwynneth stood in the center of a circular chamber, with dark stone columns evenly spaced about its perimeter. Between the columns all lay in darkness, and Cwynneth, even with the enhanced senses of his race, could not see beyond them.

The diffuse red glow seemed to come from the domed ceiling above Cwynneth's head, but he had little time to marvel at it before a deep voice echoed through the chamber, riveting his attention.

"Who are you, dark elf, who would come before me seeking audience?"

Cwynneth winced at the pejorative -- virtually all races referred to his people as "dark elves," but the objects of the term chose to consider it an insult, preferring instead their own name for themselves, the Zhalha'sarr'im.

Cwynneth swallowed his pride and spoke. "I am Cwynneth Devora, Second Scion of Dragon Cliffs, Defender of the Ninth Ring of Ma'ax, and Initiate of Trigon's Inner Chamber," he said, realizing with some distress that beside the booming utterance he had heard, his own voice sounded frail and uncertain. "I come before Lord Ilvraxx the Besieger with a proposition, one which may well be to our mutual benefit."

A throaty chuckle like the rumble of distant thunder clove the silence. Cwynneth abruptly realized that, in the shadows between two columns, a shape had begun to emerge.

Resting on a low dais was a massive throne carved of dark rock. Seated upon it, his features still vague in the shadows, was an individual who could only be the Cwynneth's host.

Lord Ilvraxx the Besieger was a demon. Not, Cwynneth hastily reminded himself, a "daemon" -- the distinction was far more than semantic. "Daemon" signified a creature of infernal origin, a hell-beast summoned from another plane to do evil upon this one. He had had intercourse (in several senses of the word) with such, and still found them disturbing.

"Demons" like Lord Ilvraxx, on the other hand, were a race of man-like, red-skinned creatures, possessing slitted yellow eyes, fangs, and, in males, horns. While they were not native to this plane of existence, they had originally been called "demons" upon their arrival, when the superstitious had thought them to be from hell, rather than a convenient parallel dimension. Though most now knew the difference, the name stuck, though the two creatures' names were spelled differently to avoid excessive confusion.

Lord Ilvraxx was a fine example of the species, certainly. He was heavily-muscled, barrel-chested, his face a stern and square cut, almost statuesque picture of power and arrogance barely restrained. Slitted yellow eyes glowered from beneath heavy black brows, and curving horns spiraled gracefully from his temples.

The Besieger dressed according to Demon fashion, which was to say, revealing vast quantities of flesh in as alluring manner as possible. Demon-flesh was highly resistant to ordinary weapons, and so the tradition of wearing armor had never taken hold -- they dressed for appearances alone. Ilvraxx was simply clad, in tight leather breeches and a black vest, open to reveal the corded muscles of his red-skinned, hairless chest.

"I would hazard to ask, little elf," Ilvraxx intoned, a suggestion of amusement creeping into his voice, "what could possibly be of mutual benefit to the Only People, and the light elves' bastard cousins?" He paused, looking thoughtful. "Then again, we two peoples, yours and mine, are much alike, are we not? We both revel in the senses, we both practice sorcery of the most eldritch and dangerous kind, we are both a race of exiles, driven from our homes and forced to scrape out lives in an alien world, driven to wickedness and evil of necessity." The great demon paused. "Yes. Perhaps we do have common cause. Please, tell me of your mission."

Cwynneth drew a deep breath, scarcely daring to respond. Apprehensively, he noted a pair of chains attached to the throne, one on either side, leading back into the shadows beyond. He thought he could just distinguish restless movement there, disturbing the dark like a roiling cloud of ink. With effort, he focused his attention on the scowling demon-lord.

"My lord," he began, "know you of the legend of Black Thaema's torc?"

"Of course," replied Ilvraxx, his eyes registering interest. "Who of our race has not? Thaema's torc was said to make its wearer invincible, impervious to harm, untouchable by weapons magical or mundane. Most importantly, it protected its wearer against the foul heartcutters -- the black blades which the humans once used in battle against my people. When Thaema fell to treachery, it is said that the torc was lost."

Cwynneth smiled, trying to keep his voice even. "Lost it may have been, my lord, but now my people have found your lost torc, and offer it to you as a token of our esteem."

Ilvraxx's eyes widened slightly -- Cwynneth took comfort in the fact that he had managed to surprise the brute, but remained wary all the same.

"And what, Ilvraxx asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm, "must I do to be considered worthy of the dark elves' esteem?"

Now, to the heart of the matter, Cwynneth thought. "A small task in exchange for such a valuable gift, great lord," he said. "Your skills are known to my people -- skills which involve the... removal... of undesirable elements."

"Speak plainly, scion of liars and traitors," Ilvraxx snarled, half-rising. The chains beside him moved slightly, as if the things they restrained moved in the shadows. "I am an assassin -- a killer of demons, of elves, of men. I am paid to slay those whom others want dead! Oh, your race and mine do differ in some ways -- yours uses a hundred sly and pretty words where mine uses a single ugly one. You want me to kill an enemy of your house, black one? Who is it? A rival? A sorcerer? A former lover? A troublesome warlord?"

Cwynneth shook his head. "None of those, Lord Ilvraxx. We desire the death of a single human, an individual of little significance, who nevertheless poses an obstacle and threat to our plans."

"And the payment for exterminating this insignificant individual is the torc?"

"Yes."

"If this man is so insignificant, why don't you employ your own assassins against him? I've been told that your people are particularly talented with poison and knives in the back, and all manner of killing the helpless and unsuspecting."

Cwynneth chose once more to ignore the insult.

"Our people must not be linked with the killing," he said. ""We cannot risk our plans being discovered. Far better to employ a talented third party known for his efficiency and discretion."

"Hm." Ilvraxx chuckled. "Spare me your shallow compliments, dark one. Your offer intrigues me. Tell me more of this insignificant' human."

Cwynneth heaved a mental sigh of relief. Though he knew there were negotiations to come, he also knew that eventually the deal would be done, and he could return home in triumph. Gods, it was almost over.

Lord Ilvraxx sat in silent contemplation for some long minutes after Cwynneth had departed. At length, he rattled the chains at his sides. The darkness beside him stirred, and two creatures emerged, the chains attached to dull metal collars around their necks.

Physically, the creatures resembled sleek, hairless, bright pink cats, with elongated, triangular heads, and sinuous, snakelike necks. Their ears were large, as were their vivid, gemstone-green eyes. They moved with the grace of the felines they resembled, prowling about Ilvraxx's feet and gazing up at him with interest.

"So, my pets," said the demon lord, "you heard the dark one. Are your skills equal to the task he has set us?"

The creature at Ilvraxx's left stretched, and its neck moved with serpentine ease as it turned to gaze at the demon.

"Oh, my master," it said, voice trilling like birdsong, "we are equal to whatever task you set us."

"Yes," said, the other, also gazing at Ilvraxx. "We love our master so. You see how we love you, do you not? Won't you set us free now, as you promised you would?"

"Set us free," agreed the first, its long tail lashing. "We will serve you out of love alone."

"You're near as duplicitous as that black-hearted bastard Cwynneth," Ilvraxx replied, albeit with a smile. "Were I to grant you your freedom, you'd be back in the human realms stalking victims, with never a by-your-leave or thank you to me."

"Oh, we would never be so unkind, master," whispered the second creatures, its lips bare inches from Ilvraxx's ear. "We love our master. We would never leave him in such a fashion."

"Then why, pray tell, must you both whine so about your freedom? You are mine, bought and paid for, sworn to do my bidding for as long as you wear my collars, which only I can remove."

"Were you to free us," hissed the second creature, taking position near the demon's other ear, "you would know our love and adoration to be genuine."

Ilvraxx remained impassive, staring straight ahead, his red-skinned visage framed by the beasts' twin, elongated predators' heads, which both gazed intently at him, poised and expectant.

At last, Ilvraxx turned abruptly, talon-fingered hand grasping the second beast's chain just below its collar, lambent yellow eyes locking with the creature's green ones.

"You love me, do you?" he growled, black tongue licking short white fangs. "Care to demonstrate this love to me?"

Ilvraxx's gaze swiveled to the creature's companion, whose chain he grabbed and pulled up short, as well.

"You, too, you useless waste of flesh," he said. "Show me that you love me."

Ilvraxx released the chains as the two creatures drew away from him like twin snakes. Their forms wavered, vibrated, and seemed to melt like wax, then grew solid once more.

Now, two different creatures crouched beside Lord Ilvraxx's throne. Both now possessed more familiar human forms, and both were naked. The metal collars still encircled their necks, though they had changed size to accommodate the captives' new forms.

The first creature had transformed into a lean, finely muscled human male with rich blonde ringlets, wide blue eyes, and a face like carved alabaster. Ilvraxx recognized the image of an imperial captain whom he'd met and lusted after in vain during his service in the court of the White Emperor. Ilvraxx's stony face broke into an ironic smile as he felt the man's eyes move up and down his chest and thighs with the adoration and longing he had always desired but never received from the imperial soldier. The man's large organ stirred to life as the blue eyes roamed up and down Ilvraxx's oversized form; the demon lord laughed inwardly -- the illusion was perfect.

When Ilvraxx tore his gaze from the human and looked over at the other creature's new shape, he felt a brief flicker of rage at the beast's presumption. It had reached into his mind and found there the image of the one female of his race who had so far managed to resist all his lusts and advances.

Crouching beside him, vibrant and glorious in her nakedness, red skin rich and lustrous, eyes narrowed to yellow slivers of desire, swollen black lips moist and pouting, breasts full and rounded mountains of crimson flesh, was Lady Narisha, daughter of Cammon the Flayer, Defender of the Demon Crown. With a shake of her head, and a toss of her shining, midnight black cascade of hair, she smiled impishly up at Ilvraxx, revealing her own short fangs and blinding white teeth.

Ilvraxx returned the smile sourly. "Take the form of two loves denied me, will you? I'd as soon kill you both as make love to you."

The Narisha-thing tittered -- a mannerism which Ilvraxx remembered from her real-life counterpart.

"Oh, master," she whispered, "mighty Lord Ilvraxx, whose every whim is as a decree of the gods to us, whose words echo like thunder in our minds, whose hands are both gentle and stern, whose great male organ is wielded like an emperor's scepter -- you should know by now that lost passions are the sweetest, unattainable love burns the brightest, unrequited lusts the most sweetly fulfilled. When we hunt, we search our prey's mind for that which it desires the most -- that lust which it has never slaked, and offer it to him. Sometimes, we take pleasure from our prey first, savoring its release of ecstasy before its frenzy of fear. It makes their meat so much more delectable."

"But not you, Great Lord," added the golden haired human, sliding a hand along Ilvraxx's thigh. "We would never threaten you. Harm to you would never enter our minds."

"If it did," Ilvraxx rumbled, "your collars would tighten until you were dead." He glowered. "Enough talk now, both of you! Show me this love, slaves. Show it now."

The Narisha-thing smiled and stretched luxuriantly, hair and skin gleaming, breasts jutting softly. "My, my, brother -- our master seems impatient."

"I wonder what he would do with the real Narisha, were she here," mused the human-thing, his questing hand brushing across Ilvraxx's groin, feeling hardness growing there.

Another spasm of annoyance shuddered through Ilvraxx, and he once more grabbed the human's chain and yanked, glaring into the wide-eyed face.

"If the real Narisha were here," he snarled, "I would bugger her to within an inch of her life --" this elicited a brief gasp of excitement from Narisha's double -- "and make her beg for every stroke. But she isn't here, and you are."

The human sighed as Ilvraxx once more released the chain. "So demanding... Well," he said, reaching down to loosen the demon-lord's breeches, "you are the master..."

"...And we do have our duty," said Narisha, her black nailed fingers reaching into the now-loose breeches, and pulling out what she found there. The demon-lord's erect, dark skinned phallus was a solid shaft of flesh, nearly half the length of her forearm, thick and knobbed like a mace.

"Lovely, as always," breathed Narisha. "It's yours for now, brother."

"Thanks so much," murmured the human, taking the thick shaft from her. Narisha sat back on her muscular haunches for the moment, watching through half-closed eyes, a faint smile fixed on swollen, blue-black lips.

The captain's strong hands eagerly encircled Ilvraxx's cock, tugging and stroking, and his tongue flicked out across the engorged glans. Ilvraxx sat rapt, but motionless, as the young man's lips and tongue moved up and down his prick, leaving gleaming trails on the hot flesh.

"You've lost none of your skill, brother," said Narisha. "Now take him in your mouth before I get impatient and take my turn."

The human's mouth slipped around the thick cockhead, straining slightly at its size, sealing tightly, then slowly sliding down its length. Now, Ilvraxx reacted, his breath coming faster, a low moan escaping his throat.

Narisha watched the human with amused approval reflected in her heart-shaped face, as her companion swallowed Ilvraxx's shaft with growing enthusiasm, faint echoes of pleasure escaping his throat even as the heavy prick moved down it.

"Do hurry, brother," she said. "I wish my turn soon."

"Patience," said the human, releasing Ilvraxx for the moment and stroking the slick cock with his fingers. "Our master likes his pleasures slow and drawn-out."

"Not too slow, treacherous pet," Intoned Ilvraxx. "Back to your duties."

With another sigh, the human-thing once more embraced Ilvraxx's cock with eager lips and swallowed hungrily.

"Mmmm..." breathed Ilvraxx, stretching. "Such obedient pets."

Narisha watched for more long moments as the delicate lips slid up and down Ilvraxx's shaft, pale blue eyes gazing upward adoringly, Ilvraxx's breath coming faster, until she began to lose patience.

"Here now, brother," she said, reaching for the knobbed rod as the blonde man's lips released it. "You'll have to share that eventually."

"No," said the human-creature, holding the organ protectively. "I want it all for myself. I want to make the master come for me."

Narisha scowled, pointedly wrapping a hand round Ilvraxx's cock (there was easily enough room for both hands, she noted), and gently prizing it from her companion's grasp. The male gave up the organ reluctantly, and watched as Narisha moved in front of the demon-lord, positioning herself between his thighs."

"No," she said, voice a hungry whisper. "He's going to come for ME, and I know just how to make him. Here, master." She placed the demon's stiff cock between the twin globes of her breasts and squeezed them together. "I know you like this." She began to move, sliding Ilvraxx's hardness between her breasts, pushing them further until they were distended ovals of red flesh, capped by swollen, pointed nipples and large, dark aureola.

Ilvraxx's breaths came even faster now, and hotter. Narisha's long tongue flicked out, tickling his cockhead, teasing its opening as she slid it faster and faster.

"Oh, you've gotten it all slick and wet for me, brother," Narisha hissed. "It feels so good that way."

A moment later, the second creature joined its sibling, like a carved statue of a crouching man, muscles tense, back knotted, buttocks tight. His tongue reached down to lap at the hard, black cock as it moved between the Narisha-thing's great, pillowy breasts, his tongue joining his sister's, licking at the glans and opening together.

"I'll make him come," he said. "Watch."

"No sense..." gasped Narisha, the passion of the demon-lord between her breasts apparently infecting her with the same feverish desire, "...quarreling over this, dearest brother..." She breathed heavily, feeling Ilvraxx's thighs and abdomen tense suddenly with oncoming orgasm. "Should we not share... such a rich bounty?"

"Ahhhhhh..." cried Ilvraxx, gripping the arms of his throne, and straining upward. "Yes... Now..."

A geyser of hot semen gushed from the flesh-trapped cock, spewing out in great gobbets, running across Narisha's breasts, dripping from swollen nipples, and splashing with passionate intensity on to the human-creature's smiling face. Narisha released the twitching, leaping organ, catching the pumping come in her hands, sucking her finger s and smearing the sticky fluid across her breasts, where the human-thing swiftly licked it up.

Ilvraxx sat back, breathing heavily, as the pair cleaned each other with fingers and tongues, and then, with another melting waver, transformed once more into the shape of two pink, hairless, long-necked predatory cats.

"Ahhhh, you serve me so well, my pets," Ilvraxx said, voice still quivering with exertion.

"We live to serve," said the first cat-thing.

"And we serve for love alone," said the other.

Ilvraxx laughed. "The quality of your lies is improving my pets. But mark my words, and mark them well."

The beasts turned their great heads to look at him, both sitting motionless and in complete silence.

"Fulfill my obligation to the dark elf," Ilvraxx told them. "Kill the man he has named and I will grant you your freedom, though you must swear to serve me for no fewer than fifty days out of each year."

The cat-things drew back, heads tossing as if in disbelief of what they had heard.

"You will free us?" asked the first.

"Save for yearly term of service?" asked the other.

Ilvraxx nodded. "Do you accept?"

"We do," the two said in unison. "We will fulfill your mission, and from that day swear to wear your collars and serve you faithfully for no fewer than fifty days each year."

"We further swear," said the first, "never to take action nor accept commands which may harm either you, Lord Ilvraxx, or those of your blood, save by your own personal instruction." The second creature nodded in assent.

"Very well," Ilvraxx replied, heavy brows knitting, eyes glowering into the shadows. "I swear my bond to you that I will keep my word, and set you free, upon the death of your victim."

The three took a deep, simultaneous breath, and said, slowly and in unison,

"Wulf the Freelance."

For all their supposed scientific "enlightenment," the Litharnans are a grim crowd, ruled by an autocrat elected by the other corrupt nobles, but called simply "Prince" since the Litharnans don't want to seem pretentious. The Prince shares power with his various nobles and influential merchants, and together they do their level best to run the place into the ground.

Not an easy task, overall. The Litharnans are a tough and resourceful race, naturally talented at making money, and at hiding it from the Prince's tax collectors. They generally go about their business, toasting the Prince's health when it suits them, ignoring him or condemning him as a fool the remainder of the time.

And, oh, yes, sorcery is officially banned. The least it will get you is a year in the dungeons; the worst is death of the most painful kind, at the hands of the Orlanist Inspectors, who see the hand of the Dark One in everything they don't understand. Of course, the Orlanists, elite of the worshipers of Kybor, the One True God, practice magic themselves, but when they do it, spells are called miracles, and sorcery is called prayer. A very narrow distinction, I say.

In any event, the Litharnans practice magic, as well, but usually well away from the prying eyes of the Inspectors and their hounds, or at least after gold has been liberally applied to the right palms.

I myself, being only marginally talented in the region of sorcery, try to avoid spellcraft altogether when I'm in Litharna. With my luck, the first time I tried to use a cantrip to heat water for my tea, a fully equipped team of Orlanist Witch-Hunters backed up by a suicide squad of Kyborist Knights of Truth Triumphant, along with a regiment of pikemen for good measure, would come barreling through the door and drag me off to the Chambers of Verisimilitude for a few hours of recreation with hot pokers and needles. With this frightening vision in mind, I generally swore off magic while visiting that lovely land, and had so far managed to avoid trouble.

My name, for those who don't know, is Wulf, and I describe myself as a freelance contractor. This means that I do anything I can in order to secure food and lodging, and given the somewhat segregated nature of our economy, this usually means stealing from people who have more than they need. Mind you, I do this only because I have to. If the wealth were a little better distributed, I'd probably settle down with a couple of reasonably attractive women (I never seem to be able to limit myself to just one...) and raise a litter of little hellions.

Now, while that may or may not actually happen in the future (and current circumstances suggest that it might, but I'll deal with that part of the story later), my misadventures in Litharna are the main focus of this evening's entertainment, so I'll stop rambling and get back to the tale at hand.

Two years previously, I had had either the good or the bad luck to be the sole survivor of an ill-conceived and -fated invasion of the Veldt Lands, home of ferocious warriors who don't like foreigners. As our army was being butchered around me, I had been saved from death at spearpoint by a tough-assed sonuvabitch dwarf named Sigurd. He himself had snuffed it a few moments later, but not before calling on me to tell his family how he had died.

Despite my somewhat dishonest line of work, I am the sort who takes oaths very seriously, and over the following months, I'd been making inquiries into exactly who Sigurd's family was. Finally, I'd gotten word that he was a wandering scion of the Hillcleaver clan, which just happened to have one of its great houses in Vosgraad, capital city of Litharna. As I hadn't been to Litharna in a while, and the Scrutators of my hometown, Stoneburg, had begun to consider me a suspect in a series of daring jewel thefts (which, for once, I actually had nothing to do with), I decided that a brief Litharnan holiday would do me some good.

Unfortunately, for me there is no such thing as a holiday, and within a few days of my arrival I had managed to get caught en flagrante with the well-endowed wife of a castration-minded local farmer, take a wrong turn to an isolated mining town, almost get myself gutted by zombies, was raped and almost drained of blood by a pair of snotty vampiresses, reluctantly accompanied a beautiful sorceress named Livia in her quest to destroy their master, a vampire-lord named Thazar, and finally engage in a mindless fuck-fest with the aforementioned Livia under a thundering (and, by the way, damned cold) waterfall. All in all, I was about ready to retire, and I hadn't even made it to Vosgraad yet.

But Wulf is Wulf, and as the gods throw various evil schemes and razor-sharp beartraps into his path, he laughs lightly, skips around them, and falls into the next stake-lined pit of fate. After bidding farewell to the beauteous Livia (and looking forward to renewing acquaintances when I returned to Stoneburg), I resumed my wayward path, and, this time taking no chances, booked passage on an expensive, magically-driven sternwheeler, directly to Vosgraad.

To my surprise, the voyage was uneventful, enlivened by neither pirates, foul weather, nor sea monsters, and within two days, the sooty grey skyline of Vosgraad became visible to my wondering eyes.

Now, this was just the sight I needed at that point, for since her departure, I had been plagued by visions of the fair Livia. In my dreams she swayed gracefully, either clothed in flowing, diaphanous robes, or entirely naked, her pale, firm body like the work of a demented sculptor, her blue eyes soft yet intense, her face serene, framed by white-blonde hair, decorated with a light spatter of freckles, which served only to enhance the innocent perfection of her ethereal visage.

There was no refuge in the waking world, either, for this image of her continued to float in the clouds above me, or arise from the shining sea below, just as she had erupted from the icy mountain water, an unclothed vision, a tantalizing neried, determined to entangle me in her embrace and drag me down, not to my death, but to the wet and inescapable pleasures of her mouth, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, her...

PHAEDRA'S TITS, will you stop it!!!!

I couldn't get away from it. No matter how many angles I observed my situation from, I kept returning to the same ineluctable conclusion. I'd done it again.

I hadn't fallen in love, so much as stepped in it.

And it was with that delightful thought in mind that I stepped off the gangplank and onto the teeming waterfront of Vosgraad, determined to immerse myself in debauchery so deeply that the thought of Livia and her translucent blue eyes, pale skin, freckles, smooth, wondrously sensitive breasts, soft and silky thighs, and all those other features I was trying not to think about, would not dare intrude.

Gods, was I naive...

Life is pretty much one big disappointment, except at those moments when you discover that the purse you thought was full of copper bits when you stole it is actually crammed with gold half-dragons, or when the woman you thought wanted nothing to do with you suddenly pops stark naked out of a lake in front of you and clamps you in an end-of-the-world liplock. These moments invariably never last, however, and within a few days or weeks you're invariably broke once more or, as in my case, sitting dejected at the edge of a delectable and surprisingly intelligent barmaid's bed wondering if your limp little friend is ever going to rise to the occasion again.

"Don't worry about it," said Shendra, wrapping soft arms around my shoulders and kissing my cheek. "It happens to lots of men."

"Gods," I grunted, "you don't have to say that, you know."

"It's what you're supposed to say, isn't it?" she asked, lying back and folding her arms over her small but flawlessly-formed breasts. "That and, it's okay, we can just cuddle'."

I suppressed a shudder. "Look," I said, "you're disappointed. Hell, so am I. You can go ahead and be annoyed."

She smiled at that. She had a brilliant smile, which perfectly complemented her petite features and short brown hair. The rest of her was a bit on the skinny side, but my past experience was that her lack of stature was deceptive, for once she hit the sheets she had all the drive and persistence of a orcish halfback. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't going to be getting any samples this time.

Then again...

I lay back down, rolled over, and faced her, head propped up on my elbow.

"You know," I said, "I've always been of the firm opinion that you can satisfy a woman even without the usual accouterments."

Her smile changed from one of amused sympathy to an expression somewhat more adventurous.

"You really think so?" she asked, rhetorically. "You're a man, though... you should be obsessed with the belief that only an erection can truly fulfill a woman."

"That's not how my lesbian friends feel," I said. "Well, not usually, anyway," I added, remembering Countess Xylara and her strap-on accessories.

"Ahhhhh," she said, taking a deep breath, breasts rising and falling. "You've been taking pointers."

"Well," I replied, moving my lips close to hers, "I'm also of the firm opinion that you should never stop learning." With that, I planted my mouth on Shendra's and felt her tension suddenly release as her tongue plunged hotly into me.

I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her respond in kind, and we lay, bound tightly in each other's embrace for a time, our lips locked together, lips and tongues entwined. I felt her move luxuriantly against me as I ran my hands up and down her firmly muscled back.

"You're warm," I commented, feeling heat radiate from her, growing until I felt as if I held a bonfire in my arms.

"I get that way," she whispered. "When a man kisses me like that. Now guess where I'm warmest."

"I don't need too much direction," I replied, slipping a hand down one thigh and toward the moist softness of her sex. When my fingers grazed her cunt lips and the wiry hair surrounding it, she gasped and stiffened.

"Mmm, that's the place," she whispered. "Now touch it."

"Happy to oblige." Slowly, with one hand, I spread apart the fleshy outer lips and felt wet, succulent flesh beneath it. She was quite wet by this time, and I spent several long moments spreading her moisture, slickening my fingers, feeling her writhe and hearing her soft moans and sighs, before finally sliding my middle finger inside her.

"Y--esss," she sighed, dark eyes gazing intently into mine. "There it is. Good boy."

I smiled. It's nice to be appreciated.

I immersed myself in the sensation, feeling her warmth and moisture envelop my probing fingers, feeling the intricate, welcoming architecture of her cunt, the slick and varied recesses of her uttermost depths.

Her eyelids flickered now and she now uttered gentle, inarticulate sounds which nonetheless spoke volumes.

With one thumb, I massaged the growing prominence of her clitoris while slipping fingers in and out of her.

"Faster!" she hissed, suddenly rediscovering language. "Put another finger in!"

I slipped in a third finger, feeling her tighten around me. I rolled atop her, crushing my mouth against hers, feeling her body's heat kindle to the intensity of a roaring furnace.

"Faster!" she demanded. "Harder..."

Well, I pride myself on my consideration for other people's feelings, even if they can occasionally be demanding, and I struggled to drive my hand deeper and faster into the steadily-tightening depths of her cunt.

"Nnnnnnn..." a guttural sound forced itself through a clenched throat and bared teeth. I felt her tense, then a wave of contractions gripped my fingers, with such intensity that I feared I'd break something.

"Wuuuulllfffff..." My name became a long, drawn out noise of ecstasy, and a lazy smile drifted across Shendra's face as she fell backwards in a boneless pile of sated flesh.

I moved atop her, holding myself up on my arms, and she flashed me a smug glance.

"See?" she said. "Even if the Wulf's teeth are out of order, he can still use his fangs."

"You," I said, "are a lovely and intelligent woman."

"The feeling," she replied, "is mutual."

Stepping out onto the muddy streets of Vosgraad, dodging a hurtling cart pushed by a determined-looking dwarf, I felt some satisfaction at making Shendra happy, but mixed in and overshadowing it was the eternal male fear -- was this permanent? Would I ever rise again, or was I doomed for the rest of my days to be known as "Mister Flopsey"?

The fact is -- and I can hear you women out there laughing already -- being a man is a damnably tough row to hoe. They SAY it doesn't matter. They SAY size isn't important. They SAY it happens to everyone. They SAY they're content with simply cuddling, but the bottom line is that women like it just as much as we do, and if you can't get it up your social life is basically screwed.

I knew, intellectually anyway, that I would eventually get over this, but in the back of my mind was the annoying little thought that perhaps I was finished as a "normal" lover...

And, even deeper, I realized, with sinking heart and depressed spirit, that there was only one -- no, wait, two -- women for whom I could possibly sustain an erection, and even if they were here I'd probably get overexcited and blow it anyway.

The first was, of course, my favorite little water nymph, the sorceress Livia. She'd driven me mad for days, leaving me lost in the wilderness of "Wulf, you're such a good FRIEND" (you know it guys -- I'm sure most of you have been lost there yourselves on occasion), until one day she'd dragged me under a waterfall and banged me until my prick was blue, both figuratively and literally.

The second, the warrior-woman Ushandra, was pretty much lost to me, thousands of leagues distant, striding gloriously semi-naked, beside her muscular steppe-cat, spear clutched in one long-fingered hand, hair gleaming with knots and beads and bangles, breasts large, dark and perfectly formed as ripe chup-fruits, thighs like pillars, belly like stone...

Gods, I was depressed.

After failing at a session of self-abuse in my room at the Blue Lion (Phaedra curse it -- I couldn't even get MYSELF up), I gave up and set my mind to the mission which had brought me here in the first place.

That night, as I sat picking at dinner in the common room, I thought back to the day, now over two years ago, when the Sholanti warriors broke the back of Lord Heatham's Imperial army, and sent us fleeing through the rocks, spears at our backs, and doom in our faces. I ran, bearing Sigurd's bulky body with me, until I tripped and we both went sprawling, expecting only death.

And death is what I'd have gotten, had the plucky little bastard not held off the enemy long enough for me to escape. His voice still echoed in my mind.

"Run, you bloody gods-cursed human! I've no chance here. Get the hell out! Tell my clan how I died!"

And that, I reflected as I climbed the stairs and headed toward my room, was exactly what I intended to do.

I stood, motionless, before the clan throne, upon which sat Thjorkill, great patriarch of the Hillcleaver clan. He was a wizened creature, hair and beard snow white, eyes rheumy and dim. His throne was of intricately carved stone, decorated with complex knotwork and protective runes, and behind him hung the great clan banner -- crossed axes above a single mountain peak.

Younger, but equally dour-faced dwarves flanked the throne, standing stiffly at attention, axes clutched in their fists, watching me through ornate goggle-helms, and listening as I recounted Sigurd's heroics, and the debt which I owed him.

"And so," I said, my voice echoing deeply in the high-vaulted hall, "when I learned that Sigurd's clan had a great house here, I took ship and journeyed to tell you of his fate, of his bravery, and of our friendship."

I didn't tell them about the barmaid, her jealous husband, the hot vampire women, or Livia the lake-lurker, but I figured that wasn't the sort of thing a bunch of dwarves would want to hear.

Thjorkill ruminated on my words, scratching his chin and looking wise.

"Your words bring great sorrow," he said at last, "since they tell of the death of a kinsman. Yet, also, Wulf the Wanderer, they bring joy, for now we know that Sigurd died with honor, and even now drinks to our health in paradise, where he sits at the right hand of Mighty Thallaz, the place of all true dwarven warriors."

He fixed his fading gaze upon me. "You tell us of his bravery, that you were his friend, and he your's. This is a valuable gift, for the friendship of the dwarves is hard-won, and once earned, never lost. As Sigurd was your friend, Brother Wulf, now my people are friend to you. In our lands will you always be welcome, and at our hearths and tables will always be a place for you."

I bowed graciously, inwardly pleased with myself. Then, of course, the old coot had to go and wreck everything.

"And as our friend," he continued, "you are also upholder and defender of our clan's honor. As Sigurd's friend, it falls upon you to act as guide and protector to his kinsmen." He turned, slowly, and gestured. "Guardsmen! Bring forth Sigurd's kinsman."

I gaped, not knowing what to say or do, as two tight-lipped, grim-faced guards shuffled forward, dragging the recumbent, filthy form of what might once have been a dwarf between them.

"Behold Udo!" thundered Thjorkill. "Sigurd's second cousin by marriage, once removed!"

The two guards gingerly set Udo on his feet. He swayed first one way, then the other, and finally stabilized between them, staring blearily at the world.

Now, I've never claimed that dwarves were a handsome race. No doubt to each other they're damnably sexy, but to me, they resemble stocky, bearded transients who have been left in the wash too long and have shrunk to a height just large enough to be obnoxious. Add a steel helmet, a mug of ale in one hand, an axe in the other, and a heart filled with lust for bloodshed and well-endowed human women, and you've got your picture-perfect dwarf. Udo seemed to be all these things and so much, much, more.

"Blaaaaaaak..." he belched. "Wha' th' fuck's goin' on...? Where the hell am I?"

"This, noble Udo, is Wulf, a human hero who knew your cousin Sigurd," said Thjorkill, patiently.

"Never ad no cousin Sigurd," Udo complained. "My cuz's name is Ruvin..."

"Shut up!" snapped Thjorkill, his ancient face registering impatience, an unusual quality in a dwarf. He addressed me. "Udo has been chosen to journey to the human city of Stoneburg, there to learn your customs and report on what he finds."

I thought, taking another long look at the disheveled, ale-reeking pile of dirty skin and tangled beard before me, that the only customs he was likely to encounter were those practiced on a bar room floor, but I held my peace.

"As Sigurd's companion," the dwarf-lord went on, "we charge you with accompanying Udo back to Stoneburg, and there seeing to his lodging and safety. And as dwarf-friend and chosen of the Hillcleaver clan, we know that you will discharge this duty with honor and good faith."

At this, the old bastard cast a pointed glance at the expressionless, axe-bearing guard-dwarves surrounding him, leaving absolutely no doubt to his true meaning.

"Don' wanna go ta Stoneburg," Udo grumbled. "Wanna get my axe an' die. I wanna go kill stuff, an' die. Don' wanna live. Not no more. Not since Helga went an' left me..." At this he fell on his knees and began to cry.

"As you can see," Thjorkill said, "noble Udo is overcome with emotion at the loss of his beloved. He was a fine warrior, and won great glory for us in battle, but since his intended left him for a traveling musician from the Headbanger clan, he has not been himself. We felt that some time away, in the worlds of you humans, would do him good."

The only thing that would do the little drunkard good was a cold bath and a good healthy smack in the face, but once more I kept my thoughts to myself.

"Lord Thjorkill," I said, glancing nervously at the axe-dwarves, gauging the distance to the exit and realizing that I'd never make it ten paces before I found a foot or so of dwarven steel resting comfortably in my midsection, "I would be honored to be the Noble Udo's escort back to Stoneburg."

What the hell else could I have said?

Later, I reflected that there really wasn't a lot of advantage to this dwarf-friend thing. They hadn't given me any means of proving my status -- no secret handshakes or decoder rings -- and as for tangible benefits, all I had to show for my trouble was one drunken dwarf adolescent with a death wish. Gods, this trip was getting less pleasant by the minute.
 
 

She thought of Wulf and smiled. Despite his affectations, he was a kind man, in a world where such were at a premium. His reaction to his bout of impotence had pleased her no end. Where another man might have given up and gone to sleep, stamped out in a huff or, worse still, blamed her for his "failure," he had instead seen to her pleasure, bringing her to one of the most satisfying orgasms she'd had in ages. Gods...

Some woman, Shendra mused, seeing her tenement rising ahead of her, should make an honest man of Wulf. Or perhaps a dishonest one.

Whoever or whatever, Shendra knew it wouldn't be her. She had her own lusts and hopes, and though Wulf was a good and caring man, he was not foremost in her affections.

That role belonged exclusively to --

"Shendra?"

She looked up instantly at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Jacku?" she asked, barely daring to hope, then felt her heart soar, fatigue and exhaustion dropping away, as a tall, muscular form appeared from the shadows.

"Jacku!" she cried, certain this time, joyfully flinging herself into his arms. "I thought you wouldn't be home for months!"

"Change of plans, darling," he said, as she rained soft kisses upon his face, feeling his muscles taut beneath her caresses. "The flotilla managed to sell most of its goods in Murvane, so we came back early -- gods, but it's good to see you!"

Passion and desire seemed to rekindle in the body which Shendra had thought weary to the point of collapse. Enwrapped in her beloved's voluminous black cloak, snuggled close against his broad chest, she gazed up at him, eyes narrow and wicked.

"Come on, then -- let's celebrate your early return."

He smiled. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"I think," she whispered, fingers working at the lacings of his shirt, "you know that already."

Jacku was not necessarily what could be called a handsome man. His face was square, craggy, big-lipped, with eyes a trifle to wide and brows a trifle too heavy. Still, Shendra found him lovely, despite his close-cropped blonde hair, which made him look like an artillery sergeant, and his sometimes over-insistent manner.

It was his heart and mind that she loved, although the body which accompanied his jagged countenance was big, firm and muscular, tanned and hard from long weeks on board ship, and leisure time spent wrestling in taverns. He wasn't the smartest of men, Shendra thought, or the handsomest, but he was the man she loved, and desired, and...

Well, actions spoke louder than words, she thought, cradling his stiff cock in her hands and delicately teasing its thick head with a pointed tongue, feeling a level of adoration bordering on idolatry steal over her. Here she was, high priestess of Great Jacku, bowing in homage to his lovely scepter, showering her lord with endless affection and wet, insistent strokes of her tongue.

"Have you gotten bigger since last time?" she asked, half-serious. "I wouldn't have thought it possible.

Jacku chuckled. "Only for you, my love."

She moved up between his naked thighs and deliberately rubbed the underside of Jacku's cock with one erect nipple. She wasn't big enough to take him between her breasts as she'd seen some women do, but he'd never seemed to mind. The soft pressure of her little nub of a nipple, sliding up and down his hot cockflesh seemed to excite him more than the caresses of a dozen skilled courtesans.

And that, she thought, fancying that Jacku's cock, huge even under normal conditions, actually grew even more beneath her gentle nipple's touch, was one of the reasons she loved him so.

As satisfied moans issued from Jacku's throat, Shendra increased the intensity of her touches, switching from breast to breast, fingering the soft underside of the thick organ, and occasionally renewing its lubrication with a wet stroke of her tongue. At last, she felt a rush of intense desire and excitement sweep through her, deepening her breaths, spurring on her already swift heartbeats, and she encircled his shaft with her lips and swallowed it, feeling the familiar sensation of her beloved's organ against the wet flesh of her lips and tongue.

"You HAVE gotten bigger," she said, releasing him and rubbing the now wet skin with intent and deliberate finger-strokes. "I used to be able to get all of you into my mouth at once."

"The fresh sea air," explained Jacku. "Good for the health -- that and the thought of putting it inside you."

Shendra moved atop him, resting her chin on his chest. "There are one or two things you can put in me first, lover. Start with that tongue I've missed so much."

"Happy to oblige," Jacku replied, his face taking on a near-predatory expression. It wasn't an expression Shendra had seen before, she thought as he rolled her, urgently, onto her back, thrusting her thighs apart, and she wasn't sure whether it was one she much liked, either.

Misgivings were washed away an instant later, as the wet, yielding insistence of Jacku's tongue split her moist vulva, pushing lips apart, laying bare her hooded pearl, now throbbing with anticipation. Jacku's lips and teeth worked on her clit first, sucking and biting gently, then harder and harder, in much the same manner as Jacku tormented her nipples when she asked. She felt moisture flow, then virtually gush from her, mixing with her lover's sweet spittle, leaving his hungry face wet and shining.

His tonguings grew faster, harder, more intense, licking the entire expanse of her pussy, biting at her lips, fingers and tongue occasionally teasing her asshole, until finally he slid one, then two, thick fingers into her sopping cunt, stroking the inner walls, bringing forth even more steaming wetness. And still he bit and licked and tormented her swelling clit, sending shimmering shudders of feeling through her body. It tingled up her thighs, danced in her belly, thundered past heart and lungs, tugged at her tumescent nipples as she pinched and rubbed them with swift, desperate fingers...

Gods... But she wanted this man... Gods...

"Put your finger..." she gasped, feeling her back begin to bend, her hips to rise, her voice shade into a cry of deepest longing. "Put your finger... up my ass... Put it in my ass, please..."

Jacku obliged, moistening the digits of his hand with her copious juices, then stroking the puckered opening, and slowly slipping a finger inside.

Shendra submitted to Jacku's touches for long moments, feeling teeth and tongue assaulting her clit, thick but nimble fingers lodged in both her cunt and asshole, sweat beading her forehead, her own fingers pinching and raking the swollen rosebuds of her nipples, licking her lips, crying out in rising passion.

"Oh!" she wailed, when she could stand it no longer and she hovered at the bring of ecstasy. "Oh, fuck me now! Put your cock in me..."

Jacku unleashed a growl quite unlike anything Shendra had heard before, then vaulted atop her, the head of his now fully-engorged cock poised at her moist portal of flesh. Was it bigger still, she wondered, feverishly, or was it just her burning fantasy that her lover's cock stood before her as thick and powerful as a battering ram, and that in the bare, heated instant before he plunged into her, as she teetered above the moist, hot abyss of orgasm, it seemed the biggest, thickest, most exciting and alluring thing she had ever seen, and that as it thrust into her like a plow breaking soil, she felt stretched to her limits, tightness beyond tightness, then as suddenly split apart into a hundred -- no, a thousand -- pieces, each crying out like impassioned banshees, heedless of the sound, not caring who heard, who saw, who knew -- knowing only love and passion and desire and endless, endless shuddering contraction and release, and her own desire to hold him here, to drink him in, to squeeze every succulent, white-hot droplet of orgasmic energy from the huge -- no, beyond huge -- vast, intractable, indefatigable, beautiful, beautiful cock which continued to plunge in and out of her, endlessly hard, endlessly wet, shining with the sheen of her overflowing cunt, joining her, possessing her body and soul even as it surrendered to her and became her soul possession, and sent her plunging into a sweet cloud of release, that wet and hot momentary world where every sense was alive, every nerve jangled, every extremity cried out for release, and the spark jumped from balls-cock-cunt-clit-belly-nipples-throat-mouth-tongue-head-and...

"I'm..." she said, straining her words through a clenched, parched throat, "darling, I'm..."

Then it all came together, a tiny spark centering on her clit exploding to solar brilliance, rushing like molten metal through her veins, carrying her up and up, away from mind and body and soul to the realm of pure sensation, where thought and desire and action were one, where every motion was pleasure, all other things forgotten...

"...Coming! Oh, oh, darling... Jacku... make... me... co-o-me...!"

But still he kept on, cock moving in a haze of wondrous tension and release and renewed tension, cleaving her again and again, sending her into the abyss yet once more, spiraling down, then rocketing skyward through yet another throbbing explosion of pleasure...

Then, it was his turn. He thrust deep one last time, groaning, and baring his teeth, eyes wild. His body bunched and heaved, muscles tensing like cords, and his cock released a white-hot flood of semen deep into the heaving recesses of her cunt.

"Ohhhhhhh, darling..." she gasped, feeling herself clench and tighten in unison with Jacku's orgasm. Finally, interrupted by occasional quivers and shudders as the last of the sensation drained from her, she faded and drifted into the soft embrace of post-coital languor.

Jacku smiled down at her -- was she still hallucinating, she thought, or was his face longer, more pointed...

...Catlike?

"My love," he breathed. "I've missed you."

"And I you," SHendra replied, groggily. "I love you."

"One last thing before we drift off, dearest?" he said.

"Anything, darling. Anything."

"Someone told me they saw you with a man called Wulf."

Shendra's eyes widened briefly.

"He's a friend, Jacku. I brought him up here last night. You don't mind, do you? We'd always agreed that while you were away --"

"No, no, dear." Jacku waved a hand. "I'm not jealous. I just owe him some money -- did he say where he was staying?"

Shendra relaxed visibly. "He said he was at the Blue Lion."

"Good," Jacku said. "Just what I need."

Then, Shendra realized that his face really HAD changed, and that he no longer resembled the man she loved; in fact he no longer resembled anything even remotely human.

A moment later, Shendra found her voice again, and all she could do was scream.

...Shall we say, minimal?

We made it back to the Blue Lion without major incident, and I secured some closet space for my companion (it was the last room in the house, and the rent was exorbitant, but I wasn't about to sleep in the same room with the drunken twerp). It wasn't until dinner, however, that his most endearing features showed themselves. Though he had few practical talents, Udo showed a real knack for eating lots of food and drinking lots of ale, both paid for by yours truly.

" Ey, Wulf!" he bellowed, voice rising above the ruckus in the crowded dining room of the Blue Lion. "Watch this!" He seized a pitcher of ale from a passing barmaid, slopping a good portion all over the poor woman, and chugalugged the remainder immediately, leaving his beard disgusting and sopping with foam.

"Ahhhhh! Goooood!" he grunted, wiping his beard with a filthy hand, even as the barmaid complained loudly and a bouncer, who looked as if at least one of his immediate ancestors had been a hill giant, barreled through the crowd toward him.

I rose quickly, apologizing and pressing a silver griffon into the waitress' palm, and frantically dissuading the bouncer from committing any mayhem upon my runty companion.

"He's young, he's stupid," I babbled. "I'll keep him under control, okay?"

Some moments of this and the bouncer's dim-witted brain pretty much forgot what had brought him here in the first place, and he waded back through the crowd to his roost near the bar.

I sighed. "Gods damn it, Udo," I barked, whirling on the little bastard, only to find that the little bastard wasn't there anymore.

"Gods damn it," I repeated to myself, scanning the room for any sign of Udo's passage -- beery footprints, perhaps, or spoor.

A moment later, Udo effectively announced himself with a loud scuffle and commotion near a corner table.

Crowding past barmaids, drinkers, diners, and hangers-on, I made my way to the spot before the bouncer's somnolent conscious mind could grasp the situation, and there beheld a fearful tableau.

Udo was standing on the table amid spilled beer and scattered utensils, frantically trying to paw, embrace, kiss, and otherwise molest a woman of what I noted even in mid-crisis, was singularly serene beauty. That she managed to avoid every grope, grab and fumble served only to increase my admiration for her.

On the other hand, when one sits around gawking, one often ends up gutted, impaled, or otherwise grief-stricken, so after my momentary reverie, I sprang forcefully into action. I grabbed a chair and, hoping that Udo's skull was as resistant to damage as that of other dwarves, brought it down squarely on his greasy pate.

The chair splintered, but Udo still stood, impassive as a statue, turned slowly, and from his vantage atop the table (from which he was nearly as tall as me) stared with a hurt expression.

"Wha'cha do at for?" he mumbled, thickly. "Jus' tryin' ta be fr... fr... friend..." A green cast flickered over his features. "I..." he began, "I feel... sick..."

At that point, being no fool, I dodged out of the way, avoiding the sudden regurgitation of most of Udo's supper, his barrel of ale, and the plummeting form of his body, which fell to the floor amid his own sick, inert and blissfully unconscious.

I sighed, miserably, as a couple of bar-gobbos propped Udo's now even more disgusting form up in a corner and dumped sawdust into his leavings, then looked up, trying to formulate some kind of apology to the little creep's victim.

To my surprise, she was standing beside the table, looking on with amusement and, gods and daemons, sympathy. Now, as I frantically tried to unstick my vocal cords and speak, I could take a more leisurely glance at her.

Dark red hair fell in thick ringlets, framing a strong face, with distinctly angular lines, razor-straight cheeks and jawline, and a delicately-pointed chin. Green eyes so light as to be nearly translucent reflected torchlight as she met my gaze.

A Lastlander, I thought, or I'm a fool. The barbarian inhabitants of that particularly remote cluster of isles were infrequent visitors to this side of the world, but I'd met one or two before. Generally a handsome race, though every single man-jack of them seemed determined to either drink himself to death or find oblivion at the end of a chaos-knight's lance. I'd never met a Lastland woman before, and right now I realized that I'd no idea what I'd been missing.

I couldn't keep my gaze from wandering southward, given the brief nature of her garments, and the striking nature of what they concealed.

Ever see those ridiculous Litharnan novels, with semi-naked barbarian babes standing up to legions of armored hell-spawn, clad only in brief studded leather, then banging the hero to within an inch of his life? Ridiculous, impractical, unrealistic, and so on, right?

Well, here, I was forced to admit, was proof that it wasn't all bullshit.

As I said, Lastlanders are mostly suicidal idiots who get most of their enjoyment out of stealing each other's cows, then singing songs about how brave they were. And, as the benefits of modern civilization have yet to penetrate either their thick heads or their teeming forests, the Lastlanders consider excessive armor to be cowardly, and generally plunge into battle naked, or at least sem-naked, much like my beloved Ushandra and her Sholanti warriors. And, since women fight almost as much as men in the Lastlands, here was proof that the myth of the semi-naked warrior babe had at least some foundation in reality.

She wore a cloak, but this was open to reveal the remarkable delights beneath. Her shoulders were protected with large, studded leather pauldrons, her breasts strained against black leather scale, adorned with chains and a couple of dragon- and daemon-head medallions, and she wore elaborately-tooled and -studded leather gauntlets which covered both arms almost to her elbows. Her midriff was bare, but looked solid as a Xeshite dreadnaught, and a brief leather thong and loincloth concealed her lower extremities. All the leather was remarkably crafted and decorated in relief, with abstract designs, knotwork, skulls, beasts, and various other decorations, but it looked quite serviceable. At her left side was strapped a thorny-pommeled broadsword, and at her right a dagger -- more evidence that this woman knew what she was doing.

It was her decoration which truly took my eye, however. Occupying most of her right thigh was a large tattoo of a purple orchid, surrounded by decorative flourishes and abstracts, and on each shoulder was a stylized black dragon. Her left thigh, I noticed, was for the most part bare of decoration, though her calf and hip, concealed by armor, bore a partially-visible complex of knotwork and abstract designs. There were others, small and intricate flowers, stylized beasts, and patterns -- though I would have loved a closer look, I felt it advisable to keep my distance for the moment.

"A fine good evening, wouldn't you say?" she asked, as I still struggled to come up with something appropriate to say. "A friend of yours, is he?"

I nodded. "I suppose you could call him that. Actually, his family can't stand to have him around anymore, and dumped him on me under the pretense of asking me to teach him of honor and bravery."

She cast a glance over at Udo, who slumbered happily nearby. "Not much of a start, is it?"

"Well," I said, "we'd only just met." I extended a hand. "My deepest apologies, lady...?"

"Rhiann," she said, smiling with a sweetness and sincerity which had me almost instantly disarmed. "And no apology necessary, lord...?"

"Wulf," I said. "No lord.' Never liked nobles much, myself. Just Wulf."

"Then by all means, call me Rhiann," she said. "Please, sit."

I obliged, and we sat for some time, talking, while I kept an eye on Udo. Not, I thought, that he was going anywhere, but I didn't especially want anyone walking off with him, or mistaking him for the day's trash.

Rhiann, it turned out, was indeed from the Lastlands, and was in Litharna on what she described as "personal business," which I have found to be a secret code for "None of your business, you twit." I gathered, however, that it was because of some kind of trouble at home, and she was reluctant to discuss it.

"Look," I said, "I realize that you're trying to keep a low profile here, and that you're loathe to discuss your problems with someone you've just met, but given my friend's bad behavior," I jerked a thumb at the still-snoozing Udo, "I feel as if I owe you something. If you need any help..."

She smiled again, and once more lit up the room. "Non needed, Wulf. I've a few other things to attend to, but right now, I'm most in need of a place to stay -- if you could help me there, I'd most greatly appreciate it." She spoke with an alluring lilt in her voice, in a tone which spoke of distant seas and green fields which went on and on, but I forcibly restrained myself from my usual response to such things.

I considered her request. "Well," I said, "rooms are apparently at a premium. My friend Shendra said that there was some space at her tenement, and if you talk to her, she could probably help you arrange to get lodging by the night." I told her where Shendra lived.

Rhiann nodded gratefully. "You're a great help, Wulf, although," she added with a twinkle in her eye, "I'm half disappointed that you haven't offered to let me share your room for a night or so."

Oh, gods... The choicest woman in the place practically flinging me down on the bed, and I was in the midst of a sexual crisis... Shendra had been discouraging enough; I wasn't about to compound my own sense of failure.

"Ah, Rhiann," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, "normally, I'd love to, but it's been a long day and..."

By the gods, she DID look disappointed. "Ah, well," she sighed. "Perhaps another time, then?"

Gods...

"You can count on it, Rhiann," I said. "I'm really sorry..."

"Och, no worries, love." She rose, sweeping her cloak around her. I noticed that it bore a lovely checkered pattern. "It's been fun. Tell your little friend there's no hard feelings."

My dear, there's nothing hard anywhere within an Imperial league, I thought glumly, watching her sway from the dining room, followed by more than a few lustful glances from male patrons (and, I noted, a couple of female ones).

I contented myself for the next several minutes by pounding my head into the table, then with a disgusted snarl, I slung Udo over my shoulder (heavy little bugger, that) and headed upstairs. I didn't bother to undress him, but tossed him on the pallet in his closet, and staggered to my own room, to ruminate on the unfairness of existence, and try to talk some sense to my genitalia. As usual, the little guys just wouldn't listen, and I fell into a restless sleep.

A knock on the door some hours later brought me bolt upright, since I was only lightly dozing, and I staggered to the door, pulling on my breeches, ready to flay Udo alive if he was waking me up to ask for a glass of water. Or, in his case, a mug of ale, but either way, the little deviant was dead meat...

I fumbled with the latch and pulled the door open...

...And nearly jumped out of my skin.

Two cloaked figures stood in the hallway, deep in shadow, illuminated only by the tiny tapers kept burning in the corridor. I was ready to dash back, grab my wolfsbane and silver dagger, when one of them spoke, in a voice which caught me by surprise.

"Wulf, darling," the words wafted like perfume on a fresh breeze, "sorry to wake you, but we just got into town. Care to invite us in?"

With that, the pair lowered their hoods, and I found myself seriously considering crawling around on the floor in search of my dropped jaw.

Yes, I'd been right about the voice. Livia's deceptively innocent visage stared at me with wide blue eyes, her features just as I'd remembered them, hair just blonde enough, nose tilted at exactly the right angle, freckles perfect and even across her milk-pale skin.

"Livia...?" I forced out. "Is it..."

"My dearest Nukali," said another voice, equally familiar, "aren't you going to greet your long-lost lover?"

By the gods, I realized, mind whirling, gazing and trying to comprehend what had happened, it was the statuesque, carved mahogany person of my darling Ushandra, gazing at me with amused brown eyes, her face a harmonious picture of serenity, high-boned, heavy lipped and -lidded, framed by a pair of her great white hoop earrings. Her hair was bound up into her usual intricate knots, braided with stones, charms and gems, which glittered in the candle light.

"Gods..." I gasped, stepping back. "Please... Please... How the hell did you... Please come in... Gods..." I blathered, not knowing what to say or how to say it, but feeling a sudden rush of joy and tenderness at the presence of these two women, both of whom made my heart beat faster and -- believe it or not -- actually triggered spontaneously lustful thoughts deep in my slumbering libido.

I hastened to light my twin oil lamps and several candles to shed a relatively warm yellow light throughout the room, and positioned myself on the bed as Livia and Ushandra occupied the room's only two chairs.

"It's so good to see you again," Livia said, eyes bright, lovely pink lips curved upward.

"Y-yes..." I tried to calm my racing pulse, with little success. "What the hell happened? How the hell did you find me? And find each other? I never told you about Ushandra..."

"Slow down, nukali," Ushandra cautioned. "It's best not to exert yourself."

"We met during a stopover in Murvane," Livia said. "Purely chance, mind you. We happened to be at the same inn, and got to talking..."

"And Livia was kind enough to tell me of her recent adventures."

"Rather open with strangers, aren't we, love?" I asked.

"Ahhhh." Livia exchanged glances with Ushandra. "We hit it off quite well. I felt comfortable enough to tell her everything."

I chose not to ask exactly how well they'd hit it off, and let Livia continue.

"I told her about our confrontation with Lord Thazar, and our little experience under the waterfall, then Ushandra told me about her own lost love, and eventually we realized that we were actually discussing the same man."

"Imagine," said Ushandra, "finding another of your lovers purely by chance while I was searching for you. How many more of them are there, hm?"

"Searching for me?" I asked, rapidly changing the subject.

She nodded. "I've been released from my obligation to our king. I'm no longer in the maiden guard, and am free to go as I choose. I chose to try to find you."

Oh, Phaedra and Rexxara, I thought. "Me? What? Why?"

"Don't you understand, Wulf?" Livia demanded. "She loves you still, and wants to be with you."

I gazed at Ushandra, heart melting. "Oh, darling..."

"And," said Livia, "I realized that I've been a fool, too. When we made love in Kenth, I felt something I hadn't felt in years, and it frightened me. I ran from you, and I'm sorry. Wulf," her gaze wavered, and she looked down at the floor in embarrassment, "I think I love you, too."

Double blow... Gods, gods, gods (why the hell do I keep calling on them? They never help me...) The two women I loved most in the world now back in my room proclaiming their own undying love for me.

Two...?

I felt my vision blur, and my gaze wandered in perplexity between the two women, one white, the other ebon, both gazing back at me with eyes full of sympathy, adoration and -- Yes! There it was! -- lust.

"Both of you?" I asked. "You both came here and...?" Damn, but I can be a total idiot sometimes. "Isn't there a... problem? I mean, both of you...?"

Now Livia laughed. "No, Wulf. We're not that kind, either of us. After we both came to the realization of how we felt about you, we... well, that is..."

"We decided to share," completed Ushandra. Always the woman for cutting to the heart of the matter, my Ushandra.

"And besides," said Livia, rising up like a pale ghost, "as I said, the two of us did hit it off quite well."

Now it was Ushandra's turn to stand up. "In short, on the trip to Vosgraad, we managed to ravish each other in pretty much every way possible."

Hm, said my logical brain, I'd never had Ushandra pegged as that type. Then again, we all have unplumbed depths, and...

My brief reverie was interrupted when, as one (and as if they'd rehearsed this moment beforehand, the vicious little minxes), the two women shed their cloaks and stood before me in all their glory.

I gulped. Livia was dressed all in white, what little there was of it. Her breasts were bound up in a white halter, a silken belt clasped her midriff, and a small skirt of pleated silk covered her to about the tops of her thighs. A cris-cross of white leather sheathed her legs, and she wore a pair of white sandals on her tiny feet.

Ushandra was her usual self, unashamedly naked save for a black breechcloth and belt. Her feet were bare, and she wore a sizeable selection of necklaces, most composed of dark blue or purple ceramic or glass beads, hanging down over her substantial, but still firm, breasts.

Livia approached Ushandra, and twined white arms round her shapely neck. She wore long white gloves, as well, I noticed.

"Now, Wulf," she said, "since we've missed you so, we decided that we'd have to give you a sample of what we've been doing in your absence before we invite you to join in. Tomorrow we discuss the future, but tonight..."

"Tonight is for love, nukali," Ushandra said to me, then fixed Livia with a piercing stared, and repeated, softly, "Nukali."

Phaedra save me, if this wasn't going to break my dry spell, I thought, still somewhat lost in thoughts of love and wonderment, nothing would.

Then Ushandra caught Livia up in a strong embrace and their lips met, mouths wide, tongues darting. I tried to keep my breathing even as I watched Ushandra's hands, with their long, strong fingers, stroke up and down Livia's back, reaching up to her neck to loosen the halter which restrained her breasts, all while maintaining a passionate pressure on the blonde woman's eager mouth.

"You're a selfish man, Wulf," breathed Livia, lips grazing Ushandra's, "keeping this woman to yourself. Such passion, you should share it..."

"Only with those I love," Ushandra replied, then looked at me. "And I love you. I love her, too, Wulf. I've learned how strong another woman's love can be, now."

I swallowed hard, again. As my heart continued to pound, I felt something I'd wondered whether I'd ever feel again. Phaedra be praised, I was getting hard again.

Now Ushandra pulled Livia's halter away, exposing those small but exquisitely-formed breasts, pale, and shading to delicate pink in such a way that it was impossible to see where her aureola actually began or ended, and rubbed strong fingers across them.

Livia sighed, leaning backwards, giving herself up to Ushandra's caresses. Ushandra, for her part, held Livia tightly against her by the small of the back with one hand, while stroking and squeezing Livia's breasts with the other. Then, she moved down, lips encircling first one soft pink nipple, then the other.

"Mmmmm, Wulf..." sighed Livia. "I'd not have believed she'd never been with a woman before me, the way she makes love..." Her voice cracked slightly as Ushandra's lips continued to embrace her hardening nipples. "I'd always dreamed of a woman... oh, darling... who could make me feel this way... Ohhh.. Who I could give myself to... uhhh... totally."

Her words blurred into incoherency as Ushandra bared gleaming white teeth and bit down hard on one of Livia's turgid, pink nubs.

"Mmmmm," Ushandra breathed. "She tastes so sweet."

"It gets better," gasped Livia. "Please... let me..." With that she slid through the circle of Ushandra's arms, dropping to her knees, slender white fingers reaching to enfold Ushandra's taut, ebony breasts.

"May I suck them? Please?" She asked, eyes wide and imploring, all submission and docility. "Please, Ushandra?"

"Not yet," breathed the dark woman, stroking Livia's white-blonde hair. "Touch them gently. Stroke my nipples with your fingertips."

Even as I realized that my dry spell was ending, and my cock swelled to uncomfortable prominence, I forced myself to remain still, watching the lustful drama being played out before me, apparently for my benefit.

Livia obliged Ushandra's request, and her fingers danced lightly across the other woman's firm, rounded breasts, stroking gently, finally focusing with slightly greater pressure on the twin, dark aureaola. Ushandra's nipples responded to the attention alarmingly, swelling and distending hugely. They must have presented Livia with an irresistible lure, for after only a few more moments of manipulation, she gazed hungrily at the twin mounds, fitted her lips around one and sucked eagerly.

"Ohhhh..." moaned Ushandra as Livia continued to finger and stroke the unsuckled breast, then suddenly seized the swollen nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching hard.

"Liviaaaaaa..." she groaned.

By this time I had already begun to unlace my trousers, more out of a sense of self-preservation than anything else, since the size and intensity of my erection threatened to split my seams. I began to rise to my feet.

Ushandra fixed me with a cold stare and gestured imperiously.

"Sit, you," she said. "You just watch until we say otherwise."

Biting my tongue, I sat down as submissively as I could manage and watched the scene continue to unfold.

Ushandra unfastened her long breechcloth and let it fall, standing against Livia's white, flawless body totally naked -- or as naked as she ever was with her collection of beads and bangles. She stepped back and resumed her seat, moving long-fingered hands down her thighs and spreading them apart, revealing the thick swatch of pubic hair and black, moist cunt-lips which I had once so enthusiastically kissed and adored. Slowly, without urgency, she spread them apart, revealing her sweet, sopping depths, black fading to dark, luscious pink.

"Now, Livia," she said, and I heard a faint quaver of passion and anticipation in her voice. "Drink now. Drink of me." Livia moved forward and kneeled between the ebon columns of Ushandra's thighs, making soft, pleasurable sounds, apparently oblivious to me, caught up in the worship of the dark woman's sex. She slipped her face into the dark recesses, and I briefly saw her pink tongue emerge to graze the gleaming black lips. Then, she was completely absorbed in Ushandra, and the black woman's thighs closed around the silver-blonde head.

"Ohhhh, Wulf," said Ushandra, stroking a breast with one braceleted hand, and guiding Livia's gently bobbing head with the other. "Oh, Wulf, the way she licks my cunt... ahhh... she's sucking my clit now, flicking her tongue across it... Now she's... biting... me... Oh, she eats cunt so well, this woman... Ohhh..."

I growled inwardly, wishing I was still a lion-man -- no one ever seemed to care when chuma burst into things, but poor Wulf remained stuck with sitting still like a good boy, while the two most prominent objects of his lust licked each other like Litharnan ices...

Now, Livia had slipped two fingers into Ushandra, who opened her thighs enough for me to see. Livia's pointed pink tongue jabbed and darted around Ushandra's swelling clit, while her fingers flew in and out with the persistence of a Litharnan landsknecht fighting his last battle.

By this time I found myself wondering why I'd ever had a problem, since my prick was stiff and upright as a mainmast, and I was beginning to wonder whether I'd ever get to use it.

Ushandra was no help, leaning back, her breasts -- seeming, if possible, even bigger than I'd remembered -- bobbing and climbing almost of their own accord toward the ceiling, nipples stiff and erect, aureola hard and grainy. She wasn't talking anymore, but was crying incoherently at each thrust of Livia's two -- no, wait -- three, now -- nimble fingers, and each merciless slap of her tongue. Then, a moment later, her entire smooth, gleaming black body went rigid, and streteched tight as a wire. The strangled cries of orgasm wrenched themselves from between clenched white teeth.

"Ohhhhh... nukali..."

Livia didn't cease her endeavors between Ushandra's cunt lips, and even as one wave receded, another built and crashed down, and Ushandra went rigid once more, arms tight at her sides, beads and bangles clacking, belly straining, breasts quivering, impassioned howls dragging themselves from her constricted throat.

The blonde woman gripped tight, like a rider on a wild, bucking horse, refusing to let up as another torrential orgasm, then another and another, wracked Ushandra's exquisite body.

This went on, I estimated, for at least three full minutes, until the rolling waves finally subsided, and Ushandra relaxed her tight muscles with a sigh, sweat gleaming across her forehead. I was somewhat surprised when she didn't collapse into a huge, mahogany-colored puddle on the floor, but instead fixed me with the intense, lustful stare that had haunted my dreams ever since leaving the Veldt Lands.

I swallowed hard as Livia, too, turned, a hungry expression on her moist, gleaming face. I found myself wondering whether she'd changed since I'd last seen her -- her glowing innocence, even decorated as it was by Ushandra's copious secretions -- was now a positive bonfire, in stark contrast to the rage of wickedness in her pale blue eyes -- a wickedness that would have put even the evil Lady Thae'Lynn to shame.

"Onto the bed," hissed Ushandra.

Ushandra's orgasm didn't seem to have taken anything out of her. On the contrary; she seemed energized and ready for more.

Somewhat energized myself at the thought of a return to full function, I wasted no time in shedding my clothes to join my two angels of lust -- one black, one white -- on the narrow, overstrained bed.

I wasn't certain who to kiss first, so compromised by kissing both, our tongues and mouths uniting indiscriminately, embracing first one, then the other without preference.

I had soon progressed down their respective torsos, licking and sucking first at Ushandra's large -- now, now they were nothing short of enormous... strange -- breasts, then at Livia's smaller, more sensitive mounds, while above, the two women exchanged sloppy, wet tongue-kisses and moaned softly.

I figured that I was on the right track, and grazed down Ushandra's flat, muscular belly, and Livia's tight, concave one, finally arriving at a place many might consider just short of paradise -- between the two moist, musky-smelling cunts, left to decide, once more, which first to embrace in ardor and desire.

As Ushandra had so recently been treated to an intensive cunt-licking, I chose Livia, noting with some surprise that she was now entirely devoid of pubic hair, apparently shaved with enormous delicacy and skill, and her cunt was pink, shiny and naked to my attentions.

I slid my hands behind Livia to cup her soft buttocks, and lightly ran my tongue along the sweet pink fissure atop her mons. She cried out and I felt her clutch Ushandra more tightly.

Against the insistent pressure of my mouth, she spread her legs apart, giving me access to her hot and wet inner depths.

Oh, how I explored those depths, dear reader. Now given, submissively rendered, access to every beloved inch of my favorite lustful sorceress, I was determined to investigate and familiarize myself with every crack and crevice. I licked and gently nibbled at the hairless outer lips, ran my tongue between them, gently and lovingly opened her inner labia, like the gateway to a legendary treasure, lingered in the clefts between them, sucked and drank the flowing sweetness they bore, slid my tongue into the dark moistness beyond, felt her flow increase with the tenor of her moans, and drank her like sweet honey wine.

I softly stroked with my fingers, feeling her cunt-lips swell and grow hotter still as I sucked juices from them and let my saliva lubricate them further. I played with the tight opening of her asshole, and she cried out even more as I penetrated it with one finger, then let my tongue roam higher to her tight, pink clitoris, now a growing bud, begging for my attention. I dragged a stiffened tongue across it, feeling her move against my mouth, clutching Ushandra tighter, clamping me against her mons with urgent intensity.

I bit her clit lightly, sliding two fingers into her even as I continued to stroke her asshole. This set her off into a new round of convulsions -- whether this was an orgasm or its shuddering preliminary, I couldn't say.

Above me I heard Livia whispering fiercely to Ushandra. Most of her words were incoherent, punctuated by grating moans, but the essential, "I want to be fucked now," was all too audible.

Smiling, Ushandra silently released Livia, who, with surprisingly little resistance, rolled me over onto my back and moved astride me, grabbing my still rock-hard cock in both hands, and rubbing it feverishly against her moist labia. The vision of her, an alabaster-skinned vision of purity and near-angelic virtue, flawless face contorted in an expression midway between desperate desire and soul-deep satisfaction, her shoulders tense, her breasts swollen and flushed, her thighs clenched, rubbing my hot, erect organ against her pussy was a juxtaposition of images and emotions which nearly overwhelmed me.

When, at length, she relented, plunging my shaft in side her, I felt a rush of passion sweep thorugh me, and I clasped her sweat-slick ass and pulled her down, then released and pulled again, with greater ferocity and emotion each time.

Livia uttered guttural cries with my strokes, and by the tenth or twelfth I realized I was moaning too, providing a basso counterpoint to the sorceress' impassioned, soprano wails.

Then I felt a second sort of warmth, and behind Livia's bobbing form I saw Ushandra, hands around her belly, and felt her tongue sliding along my cock as it slipped in and out of that sweet, hairless cunt. I pulled Livia down so that she lay atop me, legs splayed, cunt exposed to Ushandra's tongue from behind, and watched as the black head moved in unison with my thrusts.

Livia and I both growled and cried out wordlessly, and Ushandra's tongue licked at my cock, further slickening the hot tunnel into which it slid. Even as the hint of oncoming orgasm sparked deep in my loins, Livia once more fell into a deep abyss of cries and bucking contractions. This time, they were merciless, with both me and Ushandra holding er down as I squeezed my cock deep into the clenching, contracting cunt, and Ushandra licked and played with her. Another orgasm followed, ending with her limp against me, my cock still hard and inside her, bathed in her flowing juices.

What followed remains somewhat blurry, but the final disposition was Livia, lying languidly on her back while Ushandra, atop her in 69 position, licked and sucked her cunt with eager tongue while presenting her buttocks and glistening cunt to me, lips open and inviting.

"There, love," Livia said in a lazy voice. "She's ready for you now."

Gods, this is going to be it, I thought, grasping my cock and thrusting between Ushandra's muscular, rounded buttocks and columnar thighs. No sense delaying any further...

Overwhelmed by my desire for both women, I thrust into Ushandra without pause, and was rewarded by a single, impassioned wail, one which had echoed in my memory for years.

Moist tightness closed around me, and below I felt Livia's tongue darting and licking, first at Ushandra's cunt, then at my shaft and balls as I slid, slowly at first, but with increasing speed and vigor, into her lover.

"Ohhhhh, nukali, you fuck so well," Ushandra moaned. "I love how you... ohhh... fuck me..."

"And I love to fuck you, darling," I replied, speeding my strokes even more.

I hadn't a lot of resistance left at this point, and as I gripped Ushandra's lovely, soft ass, pulling myself into her again and again, I felt her tense with orgasm, then a moment later, pulled out -- despite our last meeting, I remembered Ushandra's restriction s-- and unleashed a powerful, wrenching orgasm, shooting a stream of semen across Ushandra's ass, then another across Livia's sweet, smiling mouth.

I collapsed backward, then heard a snap as the bed, tortured beyond its limits, finally broke, spilling us all onto the floor.

I breathed deeply for long moments, moaning and shuddering, then looked up, words of affection and thanks on my lips...

Into a face from my nightmares...

The two women were women no longer, but instead a pair of shiny, hairless feline monstrosities with long, sinuous necks, and grinning, triangular heads. As I stared in horror and disbelief, one of them lashed out with a wicked, claw-studded paw...

I tried to roll away, and the creature struck me only a glancing blow. Just the same, it opened a bloody gash in my side and the pain told me that I'd broken a rib, maybe two. Further, the wound stung and burned, making me wonder if the beast's claws carried some kind of poison.

I didn't have long to ruminate on that particular possibility before the monster sprang again, claws outreached, jaws slavering. My weapons, casually tossed down beside the door, were out of reach for the moment, so all I had left were my bare hands. Again, I managed to partially duck, earning a slash along my naked shoulder. This time, however, I was determined to prove that I had claws as well, and slammed the ball of my hand into the cat-thing's chin, feeling an encouragingly solid smack as I did so. By the gods, they were flesh and blood; I might still have a chance.

Not much of a chance, mind you...

"Why do you fight us so, nukali?" whined one of the creatures in a mocking parody of Ushandra's melodious voice. "We just want you to love us."

I resisted the urge to spit. They'd drawn back now, both of them, as I stood, naked and panting in the corner, blood streaming from my wounded flank and shoulder. The burning sensation spread, and I knew with desperate certainty that I'd been poisoned.

The twin cat-beasts regarded me from their vantage point, squarely between me, the door, and my weapons. Compounding my lack of good sense in abandoning my weapons, I'd had the singular presence of mind to rent an inside room with no windows. And so far, I noted, my tussles hadn't roused my neighbors, assuming I had any.

The first creature, which had stood aside while the Livia-thing had come at me, stretched and hissed, then gazed at me sweetly.

"Poor Wulf," it said. "Angry at us for impersonating his lost loves, is he?"

"Fuck you," I replied. It was about all I could come up with.

"I believe he is, brother," said the one I'd fought. "Watch out for his right, though. It packs a serious wallop."

"Not half what I'd like to do to you," I growled. "Why the hell are you doing this to me?"

"Orders, orders," purred the first. "Note the collars. Our master wants you dead, and we must obey."

For the first time I noted that the creatures did, indeed still bear black collars. I thought I recognized them.

"Collars of Obedience," I said. "You know, I could arrange to have those removed."

"At the price of your life, I suppose?" replied the second creature. "No, no, dear Wulf. We serve our master out of love more than fear, and if he wants you dead, then dead you shall be. Not before we took our pleasure from you, of course."

"Who's this master?" I asked. "I've a lot of enemies."

"Oh, no one you'd know," said the first creature. "It's best that some things remain secret."

I drew a breath, desperate to buy time. "What are you?" I demanded. "Daemons?"

"No, not really," said the second.

"What we are," said the first, "is what you most desire. Or," it added, the outlines of both creatures wavering and melting, "what you most fear."

And to my horror, I saw that the pair had transformed into the semblances of the snake daemoness from the Alabaster Temple, a four-armed monstrosity with a voluptuous woman's torso and a reptile's hindquarters, and my favorite little metal collector, Thae'lynn the dark elf. She was as naked and gleaming with studs, rings and bars as I remembered her, and she looked equally ready to fuck, then try to kill me as she had the last time we'd met.

"Now," said the snake-daemoness, "enough talk. We would drink your blood as we drank in your passion, little man. Prepare yourself."

They moved forward in tandem, the first monster's snaky body undulating across the floor, four claw-tipped hands reaching for me. The Thae'lynn-thing stalked toward me, gliding with the grace of a dancer and the beauty of a black panther on the prowl.

No weapons, blood loss, poison burning through my veins, urging me to collapse and sleep the sleep of the dead...

Overall, not a terribly encouraging position, I thought.

It was at that moment that my door chose to cave inward, exploding into splinters, and revealing the recently-reviled but now-gods blessed form of Udo the dwarf, great-axe whirling, followed closely by none other than the beauteous Rhiann, resplendent in her fanciful tattoos and brief but alluring armor, sword in one gauntleted hand, dagger in the other.

"Yaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" screamed Udo, axe descending upon the snake-woman. With a hiss and a growl, she slithered with almost blinding speed, transforming back into a hairless, serpent-necked cat monstrosity, and raking the dwarf with her claws.

The Thae'lynn thing abruptly melted back to her native form, but stood uncertain, confronted now on both sides. Then Rhiann was upon her, sword slashing, chopping into the shiny pink shoulder, and she sprang into action, claws out, fangs dripping. Rhiann defended ably, but the creature forced her back.

I leaped toward the door, and scooped up my rapier, then stood painfully, wounds still wracking me.

"Much obliged, both of you!" I cried. "It was getting a little dicey there!"

"No talk!" barked Rhiann, parrying a claw-slash off her basket hilt. "Help me!"

I hastened to oblige, and now the cat-thing fell back, assailed by both of us together. I was not up to snuff, as the thing's toxins had slowed me, but it was enough to turn the tide. A quick glance over my shoulder showed that Udo had his opponent backed against the wall, and as I watched, a mighty blow of his axe split the beast nearly in two.

"AIEEEEE! KILL! AIEEEEEEE!" he exulted, gore-splattered and wild-eyed. Gods only know why half the building hadn't come running, or fled in fear. Then again, they were probably used to this kind of thing.

Rhiann's and my opponent watched with a look of panic, then looked up at us. Its form wavered, and then I saw Livia once more, pale and naked, crouching on the floor, beseeching me with wide eyes and outstretched arms.

"Wulf... Please..."

"Fuck me," I snarled, and drove the point of my sword into its chin, just above the hateful black collar. It shrieked, gouting blood, and fell, writhing. (And yes, perhaps "Fuck you" might have been a better rejoinder, but I wasn't feeling very well.)

Now, the fight over, my body suddenly realized just how much of the cat-things' poison pulsed through it, and I felt a wave of light-headedness sweep over me.

"I need," I said, weakly, "to sit down..."

An hour and several cups of strong herbal tea later, I felt somewhat better, save for a pounding headache, chills, and an overwhelming desire to sleep, which I continued to resist. Of course, my broken ribs hurt, too, but that was largely incidental.

"I went to your friend's tenement, just like you suggested," said Rhiann, the lilt in her voice as alluring and charming as ever. "When I got there, they'd just found her, or what was left of her, in her room."

I stared at her in horror. "What?"

"She's dead, Wulf," Rhiann said, sadly. "Someone -- I'll wager it was those two -- had killed her very messily. I was on my way back to tell you when I ran into this one," she indicated Udo, who now slept, noisily, in one corner, cradling his still-bloody axe, "and we both went upstairs to your room. We heard you mouthing off to those two, and in we came."

"For which," I replied, taking in a scalding mouthful of tea, and drawing my blanket more closely around my shoulders, "I remain eternally grateful."

"What in the name of all the gods were they?" she asked. The two bodies had begun to disintegrate almost immediately, breaking down into slimy black corruption. Only the collars remained.

"No idea," I said. "I've heard of shapechanging assassin beasts before, but nothing I believed. And someone sent them after me. Damn them, they killed Shendra just to get to me." I felt tears start. "She was my friend, Rhiann."

She nodded. "I know. You told me. And I take it that that lot gained entry by impersonating other friends of yours."

"In a sense," I said. "Long lost ex-girlfriends."

Rhiann looked cynical. "And for that you turned me down?"

"I didn't know," I said. "Forgive my somewhat dim-witted repartee, but I'm still sick, probably poisoned, and dealing with the death of a close friend. And, since you've just done me the favor of saving me from a particularly loathsome death at the hands of a couple of smart-ass shapechangers, I will humiliate myself by telling you the reason that I didn't take you up on your offer is because I am currently in the midst of an embarrassing bout of impotence, largely brought on by the blonde-haired little minx which that last beast impersonated."

She smiled thinly. "So do you think that killing the creature taking her image might help you to banish her from your memories?"

"Interesting theory," I said. "We'll have to put it to the test when I'm feeling better."

She kept me up all night, taking and pouring me full of tea, and by morning I felt exhausted, but considerably healthier. We paid off the innkeeper to dispose of the bodies and, being the suspicious types that we were, took the collars to the local Temple of Kybor and, in exchange for a small donation, received the high priest's assurances that he would cleanse and destroy them. He also mumbled some incantations over my wounds and healed my broken ribs for no extra charge. More, I thought ironically, of that Litharnan non-magic. For all that, I felt much better.

"I don't know whether I trust him," I said as we walked away, wind whipping at Rhiann's plaid cloak, granting occasional tantalizing glimpses at the pale body within. "He might sell the damned things and pocket the profits."

"What's the harm?" Rhiann asked. "They're out of our hands, now."

"Good," I said. "Now, by the gods, I'm hungry. How about some breakfast?"

She nodded. "I'm ravenous."

In more ways than one, I suspected...

As we sat together over platters of bread, meat and eggs, Rhiann looked up at me, surprisingly shyly, given the firm set of her jaw and the riveting green gleam of her eyes.

"Wulf," she said, "do you really like me?"

I stopped up short at that, considering that half the male population of the Lastlands probably liked Rhiann, largely because the other half hadn't yet met her.

"Rhiann," I replied, "you're stunningly beautiful, you swing a sword like a Landsknecht, and you saved my life, besides being funny and intelligent. What's not to like?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "It's just that men always seem so shy and retiring around me."

I looked over at her sword, so recently used to dismember the shapechanging beast. "Perhaps they're intimidated. Beautiful women are hard to talk to. Harder still when they're good fighters. Most men don't like to be bettered by women in combat. Or in anything else, for that matter. Me, I've never minded. I know my limitations, and if you're a better sword-fighter than me, so be it. By the way, I suspect that you are, but I hope we never have to find out."

"No worry there, pet." She smiled and patted her sword. "This steel's for my enemies alone, human or otherwise. You're no enemy, Wulf."

"Glad to hear it."

"Now," she said, "you need to get some rest, now that we know you'll wake up afterwards. I've got plans for this evening."

I raised my eyebrows quizzically. "Anything you can talk about?"

She smiled mysteriously. "After last night I have a personal obligation to take care of, and perhaps we can test out your theories."

"Really." Curiosity tapped feebly at me, but I was so bloody tired that it made little impression. "Well, I guess I'll learn more tonight."

The smile didn't waver. "I'll wake you when I'm ready."

I slept like the dead, and true to her word, Rhiann summoned me near midnight with a cryptic and strangely fascinating look in her deep green eyes.

I can't say the place we went was terribly impressive. Vosgraad is a huge city, with a vast slum region, which proved to be our destination. Tumbledown tenements crouched cheek-by-jowl beside crumbling ruins, burned-out shells and filthy hovels. Transients, beggars, and whores of the most pathetic sort crouched in doorways and cast silent glances, suspicious or hopeful, at us as we passed. We had to draw our weapons twice to ward off particularly bold pickpockets before finally arriving at a small shop on the ground floor of a tottering apartment building.

A weathered, virtually unreadable sign read "Tattoos," and when Rhiann strode up to the door and knocked imperiously, a thin crack of yellow light appeared as it opened a fraction.

After a brief, whispered conversation, Rhiann beckoned me, and I joined her inside the shop. It was crowded but clean, lit by several short tapers. Walls were covered in color images of tattoos -- I recognized one of Rhiann's. Shelves were lined with inkpots and, less settlingly, sharp, gleaming steel needles of several sizes.

Behind us, the proprietress closed, locked, barred and chained the door as I gazed at her with considerably more than mild interest. She wore an indigo gown, which hugged her figure in some interesting places -- strong hips and thighs, gently-curved breasts, and a cascade of vivid black hair bound up with thongs into a single thick rope that hung down her back. She was veiled in the style of the desert lands, with a single, opaque blue cloth, decorated with silver threads, above which I noted two deep brown, almond-shaped eyes and skin the color of fresh nutmeg. She saw me and bowed gracefully.

"The Lady Ismin," said Rhiann. "Finest tattoo artist in all the Broken Lands. Ismin, Wulf the Freelance."

"At your service," I replied.

Ismin's eyes narrowed, and I suspected that she was smiling, though her veil was all-concealing.

Rhiann shed her cloak and hung it up, moving with unhurried grace to a nearby contoured chair. She presented one naked thigh to Ismin.

"This one," she said, casting me a quick, burning glance. "A wolf, I think."

I'd swear that Ismin suppressed a giggle beneath her veil, but couldn't be sure as she began selecting inkpots and wicked-looking needles from her shelves.

"Come, Wulf," Rhiann said, beckoning, green eyes smoldering with an emotion I couldn't readily identify. "Stand beside me."

I joined her, hand resting on one of her studded shoulder pieces. She looked up at me, candlelight glinting in her dark red tresses.

"I'm under geas," she said. "I've sworn to take a new tattoo each time I kill a foe."

I swallowed, glancing at the dozen or so other tattoos which decorated her exposed parts, wondering what she had that I couldn't see.

"How many more do you have?" I asked.

"You'll find out," she promised. "For now... Well, Wulf, I like to have someone with me when Ismin does her work. It can be quite painful."

"I imagine," I said, as the veiled woman returned and set a stool beside us, with easy access to Rhiann's exposed thigh.

Just as I was wondering how Ismin could work in this light, she snapped her fingers, and a tiny mageglobe, perhaps the size of my thumb, darted from behind the counter and hung suspended beside Ismin. As I watched, its glow steadily increased until it shed light like a small sun, focused on the pale flesh of Rhiann's leg.

Ismin then reached beneath the chair and withdrew what looked like a pair of weathered old belts, and looped them around Rhiann's thigh, one near the top, the second just above her knee.

I watched dubiously. "What's with the leather gear?" I asked. "You don't look the type."

Rhiann gave me an annoyed look. "I'm not. It's just so that I don't move my leg while she's tattooing me."

As we spoke, Ismin skillfully sketched out a detailed wolf's head on the white skin with a stick of charcoal.

"Are you planning on moving around a lot?" I asked, suddenly curious.

"Only as much as necessary," Rhiann replied, a strange grin on her face.

The veiled woman completed drawing a somewhat stylized, snarling wolf's head, then selected a needle and without further ceremony dipped it into a jar of deep blue ink.

Under my hand I felt Rhiann tense in anticipation. An instant later, with methodical precision, Ismin slid the sharp, gleaming instrument into Rhiann's flesh.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," Rhiann breathed, then looked up at me, eyes wide, but wild with excitement. "That first shock is always the worst."

I felt the blood leave my face as Ismin went about her work. With rapid, precise strokes, she slipped the needle in and out, following the line of her initial sketch, pausing periodically to wipe it clean, dip it back into the ink, or dab with a cloth at the bright beads of blood left behind by her ministrations.

Rhiann bit her lip as Ismin continued, and whispered, "Gods, this hurts, Wulf."

She was breathing hard, and from my vantage point, I could see a faint sheen of perspiration forming in the deep cleft between her halter-bound breasts. To my surprise and relief, I felt a familiar stirring between my legs. Damn... maybe Livia was out of my head for the moment...

When Rhiann looked up at me, however, the light in her eyes made me wonder how much of her agitation was from the pain and how much was from...

...Shall we say, other sources?

Then, she reached up and started to unlace my breeches, and I realized exactly why Ismin had had to strap her leg down. I realized that I was once more growing to full tumescence, and began to concentrate on possibilities other than life-long impotence.

"Don't worry," she hissed. "Ismin's highly professional. She doesn't care what we do so long as I don't move my leg."

I didn't really have a response to that, other than to note that Ismin wasn't entirely disinterested, for as Rhiann reached long, insistent fingers into my breeches and pulled forth my cock, uncoiling now like an annoyed snake, the veiled woman darted a quick glance over us, and that damnable expression of amusement flickered once more in her dark eyes.

"The pain," Rhiann whispered, stroking my cock to near-instant stiffness. "It's so intense, so deep... Gods, Wulf, I need to do something to relieve it."

"Is this how you usually relieve the pain?" I asked, concentrating on each syllable even as soft pleasure from her fingers radiated through me.

"It is when there's a man around," she replied, voice taut. "Now keep quiet and enjoy this, you bloody fool..."

As Ismin's needle darted in and out of Rhiann's tender thigh-flesh, leaving its trail of gleaming blood, Rhiann gasped again, then ran her pink tongue up the underside of my cock, and then as quickly slipped it into her mouth, moaning softly. Her red lips held me tightly, and she slid down the length of my stiff organ with deliberate, agonizing slowness.

I unleashed a deep moan of my own when Rhiann's tongue flicked at my cock's opening, then slid around it as she continued to swallow, deeper and deeper. At last, the whole length of my prick filled her sopping mouth and upper throat, and her hot green eyes fixed me with a look that was at once commanding and pleading. I'd seen such a look before. Perhaps it appealed to both sides of my nature. On one side, the animalistic need to dominate, and on the other the need to be subordinate to and protected by a loved one, or by an authority figure...

Anyway, whatever it was, it got me even harder.

I slipped my hands behind Rhiann's red-tressed head and began to thrust for all I was worth, plunging my slick organ back into the depths of her mouth. Fortunately for Rhiann, the chair was securely attached to the floor, and her leg was firmly strapped in, so Ismin never missed a jab.

The pain seemed to keep Rhiann on edge, and she attacked my prick with renewed energy, sucking and biting lightly, then leaving off to stroke me with her fingers.

I inclined my head at the still-absorbed Ismin. "I'm going to come a long time before that's finished," I whispered. "Hope you don't mind."

The green eyes met mine again. "Just wait until she finishes the outline," Rhiann hissed back, before taking a long, hard slurp on my shaft. "I'm not having it all done in one sitting."

Gods, would she want me to be there for the next one, I wondered? The sight of Ismin stabbing her needle into Rhiann's leg, however skillfully, was more than a little disturbing.

I swallowed hard and concentrated on Rhiann's lovely mouth and tongue, as she once more enveloped me in hot, sweet, moistness.

"Gods..." I felt my breath come faster now, my heart pounding harder with each one of Rhiann's prodigious gulps.

"That's it," she whispered, then swallowed me to the hilt, and slid me out again. "Give it to me."

"Yes," I gasped. "Yes, I'm going to."

"Now," she commanded, stroking, and staring up at me. "Come for me now."

With a rush like a tidal wave, the unbearable tension finally released, and my cock contracted violently, unleashing its pent-up cargo into Rhiann's mouth. She sucked intently, a look of rapt, devoted concentration on her face, swallowing my load with ease, then at least releasing me, my slick cock collapsing like a stove-in goblin war-barge.

Wiping her lips, Rhiann looked down. Ismin was busy wiping her tools clean, and covering ink pots.

"I think we're finished," she said with a sly grin. "For the moment, anyway. Glad we were able to "

As we left, the neighborhood seemed a little less menacing. Rhiann's fresh tattoo was securely bandaged, but she winced slightly with each step.

"Think you're up for another round when we get back?" she asked. "This thing hurts like bloody hell and I need to keep my mind off it."

"You have the strangest way of dealing with pain," I commented.

"I don't hear you complaining," she shot back.

"Don't worry. I'm not."

Lord Ilvraxx the Besieger sat in darkness. Far off, somewhere in his fortress, someone cried out in mortal fear and agony. Perhaps his guards were amusing themselves with a slave. Normally, the demon-lord would have been aroused by such sounds, and gone to investigate. Tonight, however...

Tonight, Lord Ilvraxx mourned. His slaves, his beloved pets, his companions, and skilled minions had been slain. Slain by Wulf the Freelance and his allies. Anger, sorrow and regret, unfamiliar emotions all, swirled through the demon's stony heart. Desire for vengeance burned deep inside him.

But Ilvraxx was a pragmatic being. He had sent the shapechangers to kill the freelance, and all the pathetic human had done was defend himself. The life of an assassin was a risky one, and anger at a victim simply striking back to save his own life was foolish.

Just the same, Ilvraxx's sorrow was unbounded, and there was still the dark elves' contract for Wulf's destruction. Though many, even Ilvraxx himself, might have considered the demon-lord to be a ruthless and wicked creature, he was still a being of honor, whose word was his bond. He had contracted to kill Wulf, and kill Wulf he would. But now, it was more than a job, undertaken in exchange for payment (the Black Torc! Ilvraxx reminded himself... such power he would have with the Black Torc in his possession...). Now, it was also a personal crusade, a quest for vengeance. It was a quest which was certain to take both time and effort.

Ilvraxx was, however, a patient and cautious demon, and he knew that, though time would pass, and the entire incident might one day be forgotten by those involved, he would someday fulfill his contract, and avenge the death of his companions.

Someday...