Stormking
by Anthony Pryor
Copyright 2012 Anthony Pryor
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Table of Contents
Preface: More Wulf, More Elves, More Sex
The Wulf saga was in full swing by the time I decided to start on Stormking. So much so, in fact, that I seriously considered writing it as a straight fantasy novel, chronicling Wulf’s involvement in a great inter-elven conflict along with his tiger-woman companion. Well, that didn’t happen; I realized that I’d have to bowdlerize the whole thing if it had a chance at publication. Explicit sex isn’t unheard-of in epic fantasy (see the works of Chris Bunch, among others) but I thought it would make Stormking a tough sell. Besides, I wanted to write more sex.
This story became the longest I’d written up to that point, and set the stage for the sprawling Dark Vengeance trilogy which was intended to end the Wulf series, or at least close the arc that had started way back in Heart of the Lion. I don’t remember the exact dates that I wrote it; I suspect it was around ‘95 or ‘96 (the “dead elf storage” joke definitely puts it after Pulp Fiction was released). Chronologically it’s set between Night in Vosgraad and The Demon Crown, since the delectable Narisha hasn’t yet shown up, and Wulf is still dealing with his unrequited passions for the lovely Livia.
Stormking proved pretty popular, at least with my regular readers, and it became apparent that the tales were getting attention from an international audience. I had readers in the US, Canada, Germany, Russia, Sweden and I even made good friends via e-mail with a young man from the Sultanate of Brunei, who produced many illustrations for me and proved a fascinating correspondent.
Shu Li the Kaitian proved to be an enduringly popular character with both me and the readers, leading to an even more prominent role in Dark Vengeance. Each of Wulf’s various girlfriends reflects a different aspect of his character, and Li is definitely the embodiment of loyalty, love and emotional (if not sexual) fidelity. I can’t say that I have a favorite woman in the series, but Li is definitely near the top.
And oh, yeah, there’s lots of Sapphic stuff, including what I consider to be a fairly emotional and very tragic affair between Princess Theanna and Lady Lothaera.
I note another fetishistic element to this as well, that of mind control. Recent scientific research into the world of Japanese hentai manga shows that the idea of hypnotizing, drugging, bespelling or otherwise dominating women to transform them into willing sex slaves is surprisingly common in the pages of these books, but despite my own use of the trope I have to admit that I actually find it fairly distasteful. Or rather the notion of permanent sexual enslavement bothers me — in the short term it’s a good excuse to get characters involved in fairly interesting antics, while at the same time giving them a chance to eventually break free and declare their independence, as both dominated female characters in this book do to good effect.
So I guess despite my desire to avoid non-consensual activities in the Wulf stories it’s slipped through (certainly Wulf’s gotten badly used himself), but hopefully it’s done with a modicum of taste and an understanding of the nature of fantasy. In the end, humans (and elves, dwarves, Kaitians, tandu, wolfen and all the other races in both fiction and reality) are creatures of freedom and the notion of permanent involuntary servitude, especially of a sexual nature, is one that I wholeheartedly reject.
Peace. Come on by my website at www.anthonypryor.com and leave a comment. I look forward to hearing from you.
Anthony Pryor
Winter, 2012
I
People in the know will tell you never to trust an elf. Whatever he or she tells you is invariably only part of the truth, and their true motivation is probably a complex web of secrets, half-truths, hidden agendas, wheels within wheels within wheels, and so on.
I was justifiably skeptical, then, when a slender, haughty elf male, clad in blue and green, and wrapped in a somber grey cloak, secured with a priceless brooch in the form of a gold dragon’s head, approached me with a business proposition.
Our conversation took place in one of the darker and more private corners of a rustic (read “filthy and disease-ridden”) inn which I frequented called the Red Shark. I’d taken the precaution of slipping the innkeeper a couple of extra crowns to keep the curious away, and so we were relatively assured of privacy. As assured as one can be in a hole like the Red Shark, at any rate.
“You are the one called ‘Wulf’?” the elf asked in a distant, vaguely arrogant tone, looking with disdain at the glass of 40-year-old Port Angel Mist which the serving wench had set before him. His gaze suggested that he would rather drink his own urine.
“For want of a better name, yes,” I said, taking a deep tug at my mugful of Snorri’s Ol’ Black Barrel. Not the best dwarven ale, I reflected, but it had its charms. As far as my supercilious elf friend was concerned, however, I might as well have been drinking my own urine. “What can I do for you?”
“Or, as you humans seem to prefer, what can I do for you?” he replied with a wan smile. “Your past services to the elven nation are known to me. You may call me Lord Aelfryn. Yes, that will do quite nicely.”
I nodded. If by “services to the elven nation” he meant “saving the whole godsforsaken realm from invasion by orcs, dark elves and daemons at the risk of his own skin,” then he was seriously understating the case.
I decided it would be pointless to show any offense. “Aelfryn,” I said, extending my hand.
My lack of an honorific seemed to annoy ear-boy, but he said nothing, gingerly accepted my handshake and, with effort, resisted the desire to wipe his hand off on his cloak.
“You are what the humans call a ‘freelance’?” Aelfryn asked.
“If you mean I do odd jobs of a marginally legal nature for a fee, then the answer is, once more, yes. I take it you have such a job to offer me, or have you just come here to soak up the local color?”
The joke was so lost on Aelfryn that I considered sending out search parties.
“No,” he replied, his face still expressionless save for a vague look of discomfort and contempt for the human throng milling around him. “I do bring an offer of employment.”
I took another sip. “I’m listening.”
“We wish —” Aelfryn began, but I cut him off.
“Who,” I asked, “is ‘we’?”
He paused. “Myself. And those whom I represent. For the moment, they prefer to remain anonymous.”
I nodded. This was rapidly beginning to sound like a cheap Litharnan espionage thriller.
“In any event,” the elf continued, still eyeing his drink and debating whether to taste it or not, “we wish you to travel to the city of Ta’vallen in the human realm of Murvane, where you will pick up a certain item. You will then transport this item to a location which will be communicated to you. I am authorized to offer you an advance of one thousand gold crowns upon acceptance of our contract. You will receive another thousand when you accept the item, and another five thousand upon final delivery.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a considerable sum.”
“Your past actions suggest that you are a trustworthy and relatively honest freelance,” the elf replied. “And several friends have vouched for you. If you carry out this task for us, the cost will be well worth it.”
Hm. “Relatively honest,” eh? And I didn’t know I had any friends in Stoneburg... Then again, there was always the sorceress Livia; perhaps she was at the point in our love/hate cycle in which she actually cared about me again. I didn’t pursue the point.
“Can I bring any others along on this job?” I asked.
Aelfryn shook his head emphatically. “It is essential that this entire job be done as discreetly as possible.”
“So,” I said, realizing that I was asking too many questions, but wanting to needle the elf nonetheless, “why don’t your people do it yourselves?”
Aelfryn looked very reluctant to reply. “Let us say,” he said, slowly and carefully, “that we do not wish to draw an undue amount of attention to our actions. Any elves traveling to Murvane will be noticed and watched, while a lone human trader will attract no notice.”
I nodded again. “As long as no one notices you talking to me.”
Aelfryn’s scimitar-thin lips curved into a smile. “Elves are more common in this...” he paused, pursing his lips as if searching for a polite word, “...city than elsewhere. I doubt that I’ve attracted more than passing notice, and we have the means of dealing with unwanted attention in any event. Do you accept the job?”
Oh, yeah, I remembered all the various warnings about elves, and how tricky they could be. I knew that for everything flower-boy had told me there were a dozen unspoken facts and a hundred secrets. If I took the job I was bound to end up in the middle of the greatest shitstorm since Saint Orlan caught his sister in bed with Tyzrakk the Dark.
But the fact is I’m only human (as my pointy-eared companion would be quick to point out), and I needed the money. I’d come home that afternoon to find a sturdy lock slapped on the door of my rooms at the Goblin’s Eye, and I was presently spending the last dregs of my purse on dwarven ale and a glass of exotic wine which the elf seemed to find as vile as troll vomit. If I turned elf-boy down, my purse would be as empty as an orc’s head, and Wulf the Freelance would be Wulf the Homeless.
So, being the mercenary, self-involved, amoral slob that I am, I looked Aelfryn straight in the eye and said:
“Nope. Sounds too dangerous.”
Well, as you can guess, this led to a round of bargaining, and I ended up accepting both the job and twelve hundred gold crowns, with the promise of another seven thousand between then and the end of the job — easily enough to keep locks off my doors for the next year or more.
At the end of this tedious, but unavoidable, process, Aelfryn rose, his expensive glass of wine still unconsumed, and once more daintily and gingerly accepted my handshake. I was to leave, we agreed, on the next day’s morning tide.
In retrospect, becoming Wulf the Homeless might have been proved far less hazardous.
II
I call myself Wulf, since I like the name. I can honestly state that I don’t remember what name I was born with, since I never knew my father and my mother died young. I grew up on the teeming streets of Godshome, and managed to make myself thoroughly unpopular in the process. I was called a lot of things back then, and most of them don’t bear repeating, but the one that stuck, first bellowed at me by an enraged shop-keeper, was “That little Wolfshead,” which ended up shortened to Wulf. I’ve also been called Karis, Flotsam, Chuma, Thonglaw, and a wide variety of other monikers, which I keep or shed depending upon circumstances, but in the end I always return to my familiar and safe identity as simply Wulf the Freelance.
In the same manner, I always end up making port in my semi-permanent home — the great free city of Stoneburg, one of the most vile and lawless places in all the Isles. A haven for thieves, ne’er-do-wells, assassins, sorcerers, fugitives, deserters, and other fun-at-parties types, Stoneburg is, in short, the perfect home for me, being the vile and lawless type myself.
Well, not that vile and lawless... I generally confine my larceny to those who can afford the loss, keep the city watch and law enforcement officials well paid-off, and prefer craven retreat to open combat. My current line of work springs primarily from the fact that I’m not really good at anything, but am mediocre in a wide range of skills. I have some magical training, gleaned from my disastrous year at the Imperial Magic Academy; I have some small ability in the surreptitious entry of buildings, am familiar with most major lock types, can sail a ship with a small degree of competence, ride a horse or other beast of burden, fight gamely with rapier and dagger, make love sufficient to distract all but the most jaded females (and I’ve known my share of them, as well), and so on and so on. As noted, I’m far from expert in any of these skills, but together they’ve served to keep me alive and relatively healthy.
“Healthy” does not, however, mean “wealthy,” and at the time that flower-boy approached me with his intriguing, and doubtlessly two-faced offer, I was at a definite low-point, with one foot in the poor house and the other squarely on a bar of wet soap. Despite my innate distrust of elves, and especially of noble elves who spurn my offers of expensive wine while looking at me as if I was a malformed troll infant, I grabbed Aelfryn’s gold with both hands. When you’re drowning, you’ll grasp at any straw offered.
For the next couple of hours, I was a happy boy, though. I had a platter of Innkeeper Trus’ best roast boar with potatoes delivered to my table, enjoyed another few jacks of ale, drank the little tree-hugger’s rejected wine for him — no sense in letting it go to waste — and flirted outrageously with the barmaid, Katrin, a busty wench with a head of rich, black curls, and a manner which suggested she enjoyed the company of gentlemen with large purses (and other large things, as well, I imagined). Since I planned on shipping out soon, I contented myself with her promise that she’d be waiting when I got back, and would be only too willing to keep me company, so long as the money held out.
I was careful not to draw too much attention to myself, since Aelfryn had suggested certain individuals might object if they knew the true nature of my employment. I didn’t make a huge show of my newfound prosperity, and bid the assembled company farewell around midnight.
Both moons were slivers tonight, shedding virtually no light upon the narrow, cobbled streets of the Thieves’ Quarter — something of a misnomer, for it takes up considerably more than a quarter of the city. The wise traveler usually goes armed at the best of times, and tonight was certainly not the best of times. Out of habit, I walked with both rapier and dagger drawn, all senses alert despite the alcohol which swam in my stomach and brain.
Aelfryn’s veiled suggestions of conspiracy and unknown enemies had me completely spooked, and I jumped at shadows on the way home. Fortunately, my fears proved unjustified, and I arrived back at the Goblin’s Eye without incident.
Though it was late, I had no qualms about rousting Treeva, my landlady, and paying off my back rent.
“So what happened?” she grumbled, shuffling out of her room, tying a robe around herself. She was a big woman, powerfully built and still strong, despite her age — rumor had it that she’d been drummed out of the Imperial army after strangling her sergeant. “You beat up a priest and steal his collection box?”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” I retorted. “You ever consider taking that act on the road?”
“Hm. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Treeva selected a key from a large, jingling ring of them, and opened the padlock sealing my room. “There you are, home sweet home.”
“I trust everything’s where I left it?” I asked, slipping past her and into my room.
“Hell, yeah, what little there is of it. I always wait a week before I sell anything.”
“You’re all heart,” I said, and unceremoniously slammed the door in her face.
The night went pleasantly after that — working out my frustrations on the landlady without getting clobbered was cause for great satisfaction, and I intended to get a good night’s sleep, intent on rising at first bell and heading for the docks and a passage out of Stoneburg.
My plans were interrupted some hours later, when I was awakened by repeated pounding on my door. I struggled to clear my head, and the pounding continued, urgent and ominous. I staggered out of bed, clad only in breeches, took the precaution of grabbing my rapier, pulled back the bolts, and opened the door.
At that point, I came to the sudden realization that my plan had gone seriously awry. Elf-boy himself, the distinguished Lord Aelfryn, stood at my threshold, staring at me with wide, glassy eyes, and looking pale, even for an elf. I wondered what was wrong, but before I could say anything, he answered my question by tottering slowly over on his face, revealing a bloody, torn cloak, and a dagger hilt sprouting from his back.
I heard loud shouts of protest from my neighbors, and swiftly dragged the elf’s limp body into my room, slamming the door behind me.
I pulled the dagger free and tried to stanch the flow of blood from Aelfryn’s wounds, mumbling what healing spells I remembered from my Academy days.
It wasn’t enough. The unfortunate flower-eater had taken far too much punishment, and his elven soul was resistant to my own feeble human magic. His eyes fluttered open, still harboring a faint flicker of vitality, and he seized my neck in a death-grip, dragging my head down.
“The Hunters...” he whispered, voice ragged. “Beware of the Hunters... You must go... to Ta’vallen... They will kill you if you stay... My friends will... help you.. You must... flee... Long live... the Lady...”
Then he died, leaving me to wonder at his last words, at the same time coming to the sick conclusion that I had landed neck-deep in a river of shit, and the river was rising.
Who the hell had killed him? “The Hunters” he’d said. I was familiar with every major criminal organization in Stoneburg and its environs, and none were called “The Hunters.”
The dagger did me no good — it was of common, even cheap, manufacture, but it punched holes in elf flesh with great efficiency. In a city like Stoneburg, such weapons were plentiful, and impossible to identify.
I was overwhelmed by innumerable questions and virtually no answers, but the one fact of which I was certain was that these “Hunters,” having killed Aelfryn, would have no qualms about treating me in exactly the same fashion. Phaedra’s Flaming Tits, how the hell did I know they hadn’t followed the elf here? Gods, they could be breaking down my door any second...
Calm, Wulf. Calm. So far, no one had come through the door after Aelfryn, and it was a distinct possibility that he’d managed to elude his killers long enough to get to my tenement. Then again, if they knew who I was, they could find out where I lived easily enough, and...
And what? Kill me? Put the dagger in my hand and imply that Aelfryn and I had killed each other in a vicious lovers’ quarrel? Dump us both in the harbor where we’d either be eaten by the butcher-fish, or float to the surface, pale, bloated and unidentifiable, weeks later.
Gods... What should I do? Vacate the premises as quickly as possible was the first course of action which my terrified brain suggested, but nagging, rational thought slowed me down somewhat.
I couldn’t simply flee, leaving a ventilated elf corpse behind, lying in a bloody pool in the middle of my room. Dame Treeva was sure to find it, and would sic the scrutators on me faster than a Xeshite viper. Even if I managed to ship out in the morning, I’d never be able to come back, and there were sure to be bounty hunters...
No. Aelfryn had to go. An extended absence on my part would arouse no suspicion, but I had to get rid of the corpse first. A trace of avarice brushed against my heart when I saw that Aelfryn still wore his priceless elven brooch — proof, I realized absently, that his killers weren’t motivated by robbery — then forcibly restrained myself from taking it. No sense, I thought, in weighing myself down with evidence that screamed “HANG ME!”
As quickly and quietly as possible, I cleaned up the elf’s blood, then lay the corpse in my bed. I stole out, locking the door behind me, and crept along the corridor, jumping out of my skin at each creak of the floorboards.
Gods only know if I managed to get out without awakening anyone — in any event, I was able to get out of the Eye and dash down the cobbled streets, finding my way instinctively in the near-total darkness.
Several blocks from the Eye I stopped, ducking into a doorway, breathing heavily, heart pounding, a million possible dooms whirling in my brain, each more frightening than the last. I’d never been a brave man (I always preferred to think of myself as “sensible”) and the current situation was testing my feeble stock of courage to the limits.
I knew where I was going — only one person in this cesspool of a city was likely to have the skill and inclination to help me, albeit reluctantly. My fears were for what might follow behind, and what might lurk in the deep, lightless shadows.
I took a deep breath, tried to steady myself, and set out, sticking close to walls, hoping to remain if not invisible, at least inconspicuous.
The main problem was that my destination lay clear on the other side of the city, where comfortable homes and the modest mansions of the newly-or at least moderately-rich sat gracefully. The way out of the Thieves’ Quarter lay through a maze of twisting, narrow streets, dirty and ill-lit, with lots of hiding places for assassins, cutthroats, and other even less encouraging creatures. I’d lived in Stoneburg long enough to know my way around relatively well, and I knew all the likely ambush sites, as well, so no one would take me completely by surprise.
No one using normal tactics, that is. My brief, unspectacular career as a student of sorcery left me with a few marginally usable skills, among them a nose for magic, and an instinctive knack for knowing when it is being used nearby.
That, I think, is what saved me. It happened as I made my way down a rutted stretch more alley than street, known to the locals as Dagger Lane (due, I suspect, to the fact that so many people get stabbed there). It was dark, claustrophobic, crowded with offal, but it was also the quickest route to my destination. I’d hoped to traverse it quickly and put it behind me, but as usual, my best plans were frustrated.
About halfway down the lane, I startled a pair of amorous cats, who darted off in opposite directions, sending trash flying, and nearly killing me of sudden heart failure. It was fortunate — I was on guard when the tingling swept over me.
That’s the only way I can describe it — a sharp, sudden tingle that chilled my flesh and made my scalp crawl. It was a familiar sensation from my days at the Academy, and it riveted my attention, for I knew there was magic nearby.
The faint sparkle in the air ahead of me was the only other sign, and I’d have missed it had I not been alerted. I scrambled back, pulling my sword free, just in time to avoid what I can only describe as a great door opening in the air in front of me, disgorging a nightmarish figure.
Outwardly it resembled a tall warrior, clad in black armor, but where its face should have been, staring out of an open helm, was a green misty swirl, glowing with inner light, further illuminated by two glowing red eyespots. It held a massive two-handed sword that shimmered with red luminescence as it drew back for a decapitating blow.
At this point, I was pretty sure that my new friend hadn’t shown up for tea and scones, so I spun and, without further pleasantries, dashed back toward the end of the lane. Ahead of me, a second cloud of shimmering air appeared, disgorging another armored monstrosity. This time, just behind the monster’s spiked and armored shoulder, I caught a glimpse of yet a third figure — female this time — tall, elven, features as fine and beautiful as a carved alabaster statue (yeah, yeah, I know — facing horrific sorcerous death, and Wulf is still ogling females...). A nimbus of blue magical energy crowned and surrounded her, then the door slammed and I was left alone, facing two soulless, murderous automata. Nice way to spend an evening, huh?
My only advantage seemed to lie in the fact that the armored things were slow. I was able to anticipate the second monster’s blow and duck before it took my head, and instead clashed against the deteriorated stone wall beside us, striking red and blue sparks.
Then the second lumbered in, sword whirling. I ducked again, and took a swipe at it with my dagger, feeling the thick black iron clang beneath my blow, but otherwise remain completely undamaged. Crap.
I ducked again — damn, but I was getting difficult; the alley was too narrow to dodge either one, and eventually I would tire, mistime my movements, and be gutted or dismembered.
Another blow... This one caught me in the shoulder as I fell back, scoring flesh, burning like hot coals. I cried out, and barely managed to avoid a blow from the other automaton; this one caught me across the ribs, tearing more flesh, sending hot blood cascading down my side. Another sliced one leg.
I had no chance of avoiding them forever, my weapons were useless, and there was no way I could flee. Not good, I thought with the part of my brain which remained rational even in the most desperate straits, not good at all.
I rolled across the rough cobblestones and through mud and other things I dared not identify, and twin swords struck down at the pavement, barely missing me. I scrambled to my feet and tried to run blindly, blundering into one of the automata, saw it cock its arms back, watched the horrible blade descend...
Then I flung myself to the ground, desperate to avoid the falling blade...
And, to my endless astonishment, saw the first monster’s sword cleave the helm of the second, which had shambled up behind me, driven only by its own murderous intent. The whirling green lambency that had formed its head dissipated instantly, the red eyes dying like extinguished candles, and with a brief shriek of a soul in torment, it fell into a disparate pile of armor, its enchanted two-hander clanging to the ground as well.
The first automaton’s sword was lodged in the second’s now-empty helm, and it moved to disengage it. Only a moment’s chance remained me...
I rolled, dropping my own weapons and seizing the fallen greatsword, lifting it with strength fired by terror and self-preservation, and stabbed it into the first monster’s evil, swirling green face.
It shrieked and shivered; its eyes died, it shrieked, and it, too, collapsed into disconnected metal.
I didn’t waste any time waiting to see if more of the clanking horrors would show up; I decamped as quickly as my wounds allowed, desperately hoping to reach my destination before I passed out from combined exhaustion, loss of blood and sheer terror.
III
I doubt that the gates of paradise, resplendent in gold and silver, with attendant naked female nymphs holding brimming mugs of beer and coffee, would have looked any more welcome to me than the soaring, graceful lines of my friend’s manse. It was far from the most luxurious home in the city, and lay on the less affluent side of the wealthy quarter, but by all the gods, it was beautiful.
Feeling my wounded shoulder throb, and clumsily dragging one leg, I staggered to the front door, hoping that my password was still valid (she’d certainly locked me out enough in the past). I wasn’t above awakening the entire household by pounding on it until someone showed up, but I have always preferred the quiet entrance.
I mumbled a series of tangled magical syllables, both hands on the door (and probably leaving bloodstains at that), hoping that I got them all right. Wonder of wonders, the lock and latch sparkled briefly, and the door silently opened inward. I half-walked, half-fell, through the open portal, and breathed a sigh of relief as it closed safely behind me. The safeguards on the door went far beyond a simple magical voice-lock; anyone without my specific aura who tried to repeat my password, or those who would force their way in, were in for a series of unpleasant surprises of the most direct and final variety.
The hall was dimly lit with low-set mageglobes, casting an eerie blue radiance. I dropped my cloak in the entry hall, and continued my somewhat shambling way through the main living room, past several small sitting rooms and libraries, and a curving flight of stairs upward.
I was intercepted before I got to the stairs by a pair of tiny, winged sprites. They were blue-green, one male, the other female, the last being the type I’d take a fancy to, had she been the correct dimensions. Having had experience with such beings, I wasn’t misled by their size — sprites commanded powerful magic, and had they taken a dislike to me, I’d probably be spending the rest of eternity as a knitted tea-cozy.
Fortunately, they knew me.
“Wulf! Wulf!” they squeaked, sounding like diminutive panicked shepherds. “You were not expected! The mistress does not know! We must announce!”
I waved a hand. “Sorry, small ones,” I said, continuing toward the stairs. “I’m wounded and I need help. I haven’t time to waste.”
“But the mistress...” protested the female (Lily, I think her name was). “She must be...”
I growled irritably, and pushed past them, heading up the stairs. I honestly didn’t think they’d zap me simply for awakening the mistress, and tried to ignore them as they squeaked and chittered in protest behind me.
They didn’t pursue or cast anything other than indignant language at me, a fact for which I was grateful. I reached the top of the stairs, and moved as purposefully as my wounds would allow, toward the end of the hall, and the doors to the master bedroom.
Now when Livia has a master bedroom, it’s a master bedroom, meaning that the single unifying, central feature is the bed. I’d seen it so rarely each glimpse was new to me, so my astonishment was genuine — Livia’s bed looked large enough to play squatball on, and it dwarfed the various furnishings beside it. Nearby, Livia’s closet stood open, revealing miscellaneous cloaks, gowns and lacy nothings. Of the mistress herself, there was no sign.
What happened next is probably evidence of why I’ve survived so long. I heard voices in the corridor, at least one of them male, and my first thought was that the scrutators were here, checking out my known friends and associates. My natural caution — some might call it cowardice — took hold, and I dived for the closet, pulling it shut behind me. The door was louvered, enabling me to look into the room without being seen, and I watched with pounding heart and rapid breaths as three individuals entered.
To my relief, it was not the scrutators. It was Livia and two companions. I was about to step out and announce myself when I realized that such an act would probably go unappreciated. Livia and her friends, one male and one female, did not seem interested in intercourse. Well, not the social kind anyway.
A few words about Livia are probably in order at this point, since you probably know where this story is going. Livia is a sorceress of no small accomplishment, though her actual job is closer in description to mine — foul deeds for a fee. Her advantage was that she actually managed to save most of what she made, and her skills enabled her to charge far more than I ever could. I’d always had the utmost respect for her.
Of course, the fact that she is drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t hurt matters, either. Slender, curvaceous in all the right places, with porcelain skin, pale blue eyes, a small but expressive face, turned up nose, and just the right spatter of freckles to convey youthful enthusiasm and innocence, she looked for all the world like a fresh-faced young Orlanist initiate, ready to forsake the pleasures of the world and give her life up to the service of Kybor and his saints.
Unfortunately, appearances are usually deceiving. And in Livia’s case they were downright deceitful. The woman was a smoldering cauldron of acquisitiveness, curiosity, and lustful energy, and was probably the most sexually voracious creature I’d encountered up to that time (and, if you’ve read any of my other memoirs, you will know that that is saying a lot). The most unfortunate aspect of her character was that she seemed interested only in sex for purely recreational purposes, and, after a brief but stimulating session of boffing beneath a waterfall in Kenth, she had deftly turned aside every further proposition I made her, and we remained purely platonic friends.
Not that I wanted it that way, mind you. Much to my endless chagrin, I was deeply in love with the woman, and would have crawled a hundred leagues over broken glass and then swim through lemon juice just for a chance to masturbate on her shadow.
Well, maybe not quite that extreme, but I think you know what I mean. And now, here I was, trapped in her closet, watching her tonsil joust with first her female friend, then the male as the three of them stood there in a mutual embrace, sighing and giggling softly.
That’s it, I thought. This is a bad dream. I will wake up any minute now, and find myself in bed with a couple of Xeshite courtesans and the slaves will be serving me breakfast.
As the seconds stretched into minutes and I remained stubbornly where I was, I finally had to admit that I was fully awake. Perhaps, I thought, I’m not asleep. Maybe I’m dead, and this is hell. Watching the woman I love but can’t touch making it with two other beautiful people. Misery and loneliness swirled up inside me, but the thought of actually getting to see Livia naked again kept me watching. Gods, I’m a sick man...
The second woman was of Livia’s height and build, with long, red hair and a fair, angular face, decorated much like Livia’s, with a tasteful constellation of freckles. As I watched, she and Livia led the man to the bed and helped him sit down.
Hm, I thought, watching as Livia made to loosen his shirt, revealing powerfully muscled, sculpted chest and abdomen, he must be one of those new flesh golems I’ve been hearing about — the one with all the functional parts and no brain whatsoever. His face, earnest and chiseled but somewhat vacant, seemed to confirm the golem theory, even though he took on a look of intense interest when Livia and the second woman stepped back and began undressing each other at the foot of the bed.
They were close enough that I could hear them.
“So what do you think, Livia?” the redhead whispered, unlacing Livia’s white bodice. “Didn’t I tell you he was beautiful?”
Livia smiled at that and gazed over at the man on the bed. “Oh, he is, indeed, Retha.”
Retha pulled Livia’s bodice down, revealing her white, perfectly formed breasts. She ran a single, long-nailed finger across one nipple, grinning as Livia stiffened, gasping. “Remember what you were going to do with him?”
“Oh, yes,” Livia replied, a first trace of hushed excitement in her voice. “I remember.”
Retha pulled Livia’s bodice down, and slid her white arms from the sleeves, leaving her torso completely naked, breasts rising and falling, pink nipples growing stiff and hard.
“Mmmm,” Livia said to the man on the bed, as Retha stroked her pale fleshy mounds. “Look at these, Arlis. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Mm-hm,” Arlis replied, staring with what looked to me like only mild interest.
“Wouldn’t you like to suck on them?” Livia persisted.
“Mm-hm,” Arlis replied.
Retha apparently didn’t mind illustrating, and dropped to her knees, embracing Livia’s breasts with red lips and pink tongue, sucking and licking, then abruptly biting with sharp white teeth. Livia gasped again, and stroked one breast while Retha suckled at the other. Soon, both nipples were slick and gleaming with Retha’s spittle, and Livia’s face was contorted into a mask of pleasure, eyes closed, lips moist.
Gods damn it all, I thought. There’s a dead elf in my apartment, the scrutators are probably looking for me right now, and I’m stuck in Livia’s closet watching her get laid. And, bloody hells, this closet was extremely stuffy...
...Or was that just me?
Retha had managed to strip Livia completely naked by this time. An angel, come to earth on a beam of light, could not have earned the adoration I felt for Livia. Part of me wanted to rush out and throw myself at her feet, beg for her favor, and worship her, from piercing blue eyes to perfectly-proportioned, pink-domed breasts, taut belly and the frosting of pale golden, near-invisible, hair between her subtly muscular thighs. Torn between watching and flinging myself out a window, I stayed there, realizing how much I wanted this woman, and how bloody fucking unlikely it was that I’d ever get her.
I wasn’t the only one admiring her this way, for although Retha remained dressed, she was obviously caught up in the heat of growing passion. She lifted one of Livia’s legs and draped it over her shoulder, then turned her attention to the exposed pink flesh beneath that pale downy pubic hair. She touched the protruding lips with teasing fingers, squeezing first one, then the other, then slowly spreading them apart. I gritted my teeth as the temperature in the closet seemed to climb another five degrees or so, and I swore I saw the lovely, delicate cunt flesh grow shiny with moisture and swell beneath Retha’s touch.
“Oh, yes,” Livia gasped. “She’s touching me, Arlis.”
Retha’s own breaths sounded ragged and shaky as she slipped a finger between the pink lips, and rubbed her thumb against the swollen prominence of Livia’s clitoris, eliciting deeper, more heartfelt moans.
I wanted to scream. Despite my fear, and the throbbing pain of my wounds, I could not look away, and between my own thighs, my cock stiffened uncomfortably. Gods only know, I’d lost enough blood this night, but still my prick demanded attention. With my luck, I’d die when my remaining blood rushed from my brain to my crotch.
Retha was licking now, her tongue stiff, lapping between Livia’s protruding pussy lips. I saw moisture dripping from them like honey and watched as Retha swallowed it eagerly, then turned to Livia’s clit, fitting her lips around it and sucking. Livia laced her fingers behind Retha’s head and pulled her close. I fancied I could see Retha slide two, then three fingers deep inside Livia, but I couldn’t be sure, given my viewing angle, and my reluctance to step out of the closet to change it.
“Oh, Retha,” Livia sighed. “She’s eating me, Arlis. She’s sucking my clit.”
“Uhh-huh,” Arlis said. Well, I thought, I wonder when he’s going to add another syllable to his vocabulary.
“She’s putting her fingers in me,” Livia announced. “I’m going to be so wet for you and your cock.”
Great. The words I’d always dreamed of hearing from Livia, uttered to a brainless sex-muffin I’d never met. This was going from bad to worse, and showed no sign of improving any time soon.
Arlis had shed his breeches by now, and lay on the bed, stroking a massive erection, seemingly the size of a Litharnan two-handed sword. Yup, I thought. Gotta be a golem. No human is hung like that... Well I was, once, but that was in another body, and it wasn’t even really human, but...
Never mind...
Livia leaned back, thrusting against Retha’s mouth. Her muscles were taut, her breasts and nipples swollen and trembling.
“Yes, Arlis. She’s so... good... She has four fingers in me... now... I want you so much. I want your cock. She’s going to make me come, then I’m going to let you fuck me... I told her she could... watch you...” The tension in her voice was nearly tangible. Dammit, that woman would come if a butterfly landed on her...
Lust and despair fought each other inside me. Excitement at seeing Livia naked and exposed, and hearing her beg for release contended with a sense of anger and jealousy that she chose others to share such pleasure with. I pointedly ignored my pathetic, insistent erection, and continued to watch.
“Mm, Retha,” Livia gasped. “You’re making me... I’m... I’m coming... Yes...” She went rigid, clamping Retha’s face against her cunt, her entire body flushing. “Again... Yes...” It was as if a seismic wave passed through her tender white body. “I’m coming...”
I looked away, rolling my eyes. Phaedra’s cunt, this woman was too much. Maybe I should have gone someplace else for help. Drull the Big Headed Warrior Priest, for example, or maybe Podwick the Peasant/Tinker/Knave, or his cousin Walph the Lame Who Isn’t Really Lame But Gets a Lot of Sympathy Anyway...
When I finally got around to looking back, Livia was on the bed, cradling Arlis’ massive cock in one hand, licking its head with slow, insistent strokes, while Retha undressed nearby. Yeah, another hunch confirmed... Retha was slender, muscular, with small but exquisitely-formed breasts and nipples the color of polished coral. Her hips were wide, flaring abruptly below a flat, white belly and narrow waist. Her freckles continued down her shoulders and arms, growing sparser down her back. She had twin dimples just above her buttocks, I noted in distress. Retha herself seemed preoccupied, watching Livia lavish attention on Arlis’ prick with wide-eyed, wet-lipped fascination.
I struggled to keep my mind from placing me in Arlis’ position as she ran an eager pink tongue up and down the massive organ’s underside, flicking it along its head, prizing open its tip. Of course, if it was me instead of Arlis, Livia wouldn’t have to lick such a wide area, the smart-ass portion of my brain told me. I mentally beat it into submission and continued to watch.
Livia began to suck at Arlis — a damnably impressive feat considering the sheer size of his organ. She opened her mouth wide, and fitted her lips around the head, stretching them in the process. Arlis responded well, closing his eyes and moaning, stroking at Livia’s short blonde hair.
“Can you get that all?” Retha asked. “I can barely fit him into my mouth.”
In lieu of response, Livia began to swallow the thick organ, sliding distended lips along its tight, purple-veined surface.
“I guess she can,” Retha said, then sat astride Arlis’ shoulders, presenting her cunt to him. “Your turn to do some work, lover,” she said, then lowered herself down onto his mouth. I couldn’t see him lick her, but by the intense motions of her round white ass cheeks, I suspected he was doing his job well.
This went on for some time, Livia consuming Arlis like a sword-swallower in a White Empire carnival act, and Retha sitting on his face, allowing his tongue to work her over. Eventually, almost all of Arlis’ knob-headed polearm was in Livia’s mouth, and she began to slide him in and out, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. That she didn’t choke on it amazed me, but then again she’d obviously had a lot of practice.
Not on me, mind you. Then again, maybe back when I’d been a lion-man...
QUIT IT!!!
I sighed, then stopped, fearing they’d hear me. No chance of that, I realized, as Retha’s moans grew into loud, echoing howls of desire. Her humping, quivering buttocks moved faster and faster, and I saw Arlis fingering her cunt as he licked her. Not that I could see all that well, since Livia was in the way, but my mind was able to fill in the blanks quite well, thank you very much.
My own cock, inadequate though it was next to golem-boy’s, threatened to burst the seams of my breeches. Gods help me, I didn’t want to give in to the most obvious impulse at this point, never having considered myself a voyeur, but if I didn’t do something I was going to scream. As Retha slid majestically into full-throated orgasm, I hastily undid my lacings and let my imprisoned friend free. What I would do with it next was still in question, but at least I wasn’t in pain anymore. Well, not as much, anyway.
As if on cue, Livia released Arlis’ organ, a tiny string of saliva still adhering to its tight, purple head, and Retha turned, sliding down Arlis’ chest, standing up on her knees, and fitting the massive thing between her sopping cunt-lips. I noted grimly that her pubis was bald as an egg, giving me a nearly unlimited view of her innermost secrets, now the object of Arlis’ impassioned thrusting.
Then Livia got in the way again, licking at Retha’s clitoris, moist and swollen above her spread cunt lips, and at Arlis’ engorged shaft as it thrust in and out. Retha rewarded Livia with a series of choking cries which might at other times be considered screams of agony. But one look at Retha’s face, thrown back, hair whirling, eyes half-closed, tongue licking at her full red lips, dispelled any notion that she was not thoroughly enjoying herself.
Arlis did his part, pounding his gleaming shaft into Retha, stretching her hairless pink cunt lips to their limit, filling the red-haired woman’s cunt with what seemed by her reaction to be an almost unbearable load.
“Nnnnnnnnnn.” Retha howled through clenched teeth. “Coming... commmmmmminnnnggg...” Her entire body convulsed, and I fancied I could see her climax pass through her like an earth tremor. Her small breasts bobbed, her legs tensed, her hair tossed wildly, her fists clenched. “Again... now...” Another wave passed through her, helped along by Livia’s probing tongue.
I hoped that perhaps all the pressure would finish off Mister Polearm, but I wasn’t to be so lucky. He apparently had an endless capacity, and didn’t seem even close to climaxing. I rolled my eyes and once more wished I was dead when Livia reclined on the bed beside him, head in Retha’s lap, and said, “Don’t think you’re finished, now, do you?” with a wicked lilt in her voice. “Retha promised me certain services.”
“Uh-huh,” Arlis said, moving atop her, and rubbing his cockhead against that lovely, moist cunt.
I found myself wondering, as I sometimes do at such moments, about the real meaning of what I was experiencing. What was this man, I asked myself? A beautiful, brainless body? An enormous, tireless cock?
The answer, according to Retha and Livia, seemed to be “yes.” He had what they wanted, didn’t bore them with trivialities like conversation and intellectualism, and they were happy. When they were done, he’d probably happily go his way and act as stud to another beautiful woman the next night. Poor man...
As Arlis’ cock moved ponderously into Livia, stretching her lips in the same way as it had just cleaved Retha’s hairless pussy, I mused that it must be a dull and colorless life to exist as a purely sexual creature, moving from one meaningless encounter to another, awash in a sea of breasts and lips and cunt juices, used for one’s cock and cast aside. What a useless, pointless existence. To live for sex and nothing more... I would never choose such a life. Better, I thought, to die than give up my freedom...
“Oh! Arlis! Fuck me!” Livia cried. Her legs were wrapped around Arlis’ shoulders, and his cock thrust into her like a tireless piston.
Kybor’s balls, who the fuck was I kidding? Maybe I wouldn’t want to live the life of a mindless sex puppet, but I wouldn’t mind it for a while... In fact, I had served in such a capacity when I was a lion-man, and it HAD gotten kind of old, but still...
“FUCK ME! HARD!” As Livia continued to cry out, Retha moved astride her flushed face, allowing her to lick as she bellowed. “I’m...” lick-lick “coming,” Livia moaned, alternating her screams with impassioned attention to the sopping, hairless lips above her. “I’m coming...” Lick-lick. Gods — in the throes of orgasm, and Livia still wanted to eat pussy...
That was it. I grabbed my still-hard organ and started stroking. I’m normally not so uncouth as to abuse myself in a friend’s closet, but dammit I was beginning to think I had no choice.
It still wasn’t over.
“You know what I want,” Livia hissed, face plastered against Retha’s sopping cunt, idly running her lips and tongue over it as she spoke, muffling her voice. “She promised.”
“Uh-huh,” Arlis said, with a trace of enthusiasm. Phaedra, did he ever say anything else?
I watched, bravely jacking off, as Livia continued to lick at Retha. Elsewhere, Arlis stroked a single, thick finger against the pale pink rosebud of Livia’s asshole, lubricating it with her cunt juice.
I kept on stroking. Sodomy had never been my favorite activity (though with Narisha it seems like a sacrament, mind you...), but now, as Arlis slipped a finger into Livia’s tight hole, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. After all, Livia seemed to like taking it everywhere else, why not there?
Still, even I began to wonder at her wisdom as Arlis now stroked his impossibly huge organ against Livia’s anus. Evidently, no one else was worried, for Retha had turned around, letting Livia lick her while she watched Arlis tease the blonde woman’s asshole.
“I promised her you’d fuck her ass, Arlis,” she told him. “Now do a good job.”
I stroked with one hand while clapping my other hand over my forehead. Was this trip really necessary?
The comedy was rapidly moving toward its main act, as Arlis stroked Livia’s hole more ardently, and finally slipped the purple head inside. To my amazement, and unexpected excitement, he actually began to make headway, thrusting with slow, steady pressure into the tight depths of Livia’s ass.
“Ahhhhhh....” Livia gasped, mouth still tight against Retha, head flanked by the redhead’s muscular legs. “Feels so good...”
Good, I wondered? The description had never occurred to me, but then I’d always been primarily heterosexual...
“Yessss,” Livia continued. “Where’s his cock, Retha? Where’s he putting his cock?”
“Up your ass, Livia,” Retha replied, her voice as tense and excited as her friend’s. “He’s fucking your ass.”
My only comfort was that Arlis was far too occupied to say “uh-huh,” but was instead intent upon pushing the entirety of his stiff organ inside Livia. My heart pounded faster, and I could no longer prevent myself from wanting to be where he was, my cock thrusting into Livia’s deepest recesses, feeling her tight and hot around me. I stroked with both hands now, and wondered what the hell I was going to do when I came.
The hot, tight-fleshed length of Arlis’ cock had now completely vanished into Livia’s asshole. He pulled out, and thrust again, slowly but intently, then began to move faster and faster.
“Oh, he feels so good in my ass,” Livia breathed. She didn’t seem interested in addressing Arlis directly anymore, but he didn’t appear to care. The knob-headed organ was fully in motion now, fucking her ass with the same speed and intensity as it had penetrated her cunt. Retha cried out, excitement at Livia’s penetration combining with the pressure of the blonde woman’s tongue, and I realized a moment later that she was coming again.
“Fuck me,” Livia cried, legs held tight around Arlis’ shoulders. “Fuck my ass. Come for me...”
Arlis at last proved that he could make more noises than “uh-huh,” and began to moan, thrusting almost instinctively against Livia’s pale, rounded buttocks. Faster now, harder... Livia cried out, and once more her cries of pleasure were almost indistinguishable from those of pain.
“Come on my ass, Arlis,” she wailed. “Come on me...”
I could at least take credit that Arlis and I didn’t hold out any longer. When he pulled out and unleashed a jet of hot, sticky semen all over Livia’s sopping cunt and gaping asshole, I myself climaxed, shooting my own load onto the floor of the closet. As the three cries of passion subsided into low moans of satisfaction and the sweet murmurs of the afterglow, I stripped off my shirt — filthy and bloodstained anyway — and frantically sopped up the remains of my illicit climax. Now, in post-orgasmic depression, I felt inadequate and somewhat ashamed of myself, but forced my mind to think clearly nonetheless.
As I sat, wondering what to do next, Livia whispered “Off,” and the room beyond the closet dimmed into blue shadows. Damned mageglobes...
Okay, okay... It was now or never. I might as well get it over with. If I was fortunate, they’d all be too exhausted to give me too much trouble. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and went out to meet my fate.
“Livia...” I began.
“Wulf?” demanded an indignant female voice.
“Huh?” said a confused, somewhat sleepy male voice. That would be Arlis
“Who’s there?” said a second, similarly somnolent, female, voice. Dear Retha.
“On!” bellowed Livia, even more indignant, and the room was suddenly bathed in full magelight.
Oh hell...
“Uh, Livia —” I began.
“Well,” said Livia, sitting up in bed, pulling white silk sheets up around her exquisite pale shoulders, “if it isn’t Mister Sensitivity.”
“Uh, hello,” I said, looking first from one drowsy countenance to the other.
“You’re Wulf?” asked Retha, looking at me as if I was some legendary daemon-lord freshly risen from hell and shrieking for vengeance. She turned to Livia. “Is he the one who —”
She silenced her with a glare.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Wulf. We haven’t met, Lady Retha, but I feel as if I’ve known you for years.”
Then Arlis spoke up. “Who the hell do you think you are, breaking in like this?” he demanded while, beside him, Livia sighed and rolled her eyes. “This is a private bedroom, and you weren’t invited here.”
“Gods,” I said. “It speaks.”
“Answer my question, asshole!” Gods, it gets indignant, too. Will wonders never cease? “You weren’t invited here.”
“Then I’m one of a very select few,” I said, staring directly at Livia.
That didn’t sit well with the pretty-boy. “Now, see here,” he said, sitting up and giving every indication of being ready to bound out of the bed at me, “I’ve got half a mind to —”
I drew my rapier casually — having just fought some kind of elvish hell-beast, the prospect of gutting a naked, brainless sports major didn’t exactly frighten me.
“If you have half a mind,” I rasped, fixing him with the grimmest and most deadly stare I could manage (my blood-stained and generally disreputable state probably helped), “then you’ve considerably more than most of the little gits she brings in here. Then again, to look at you, I doubt that she wants you for your mind, half or otherwise.”
Arlis glowered at me, but remained where he was, his primitive brain probably reminding him that he was completely nude, and had no weapon save the one which had taken Livia and Retha’s interest.
“Well, you’ve certainly put a damper on my evening,” Livia said. “What do you want?”
I flicked a contemptuous gaze from one bed-mate to the other. “I’d prefer to speak in private.”
“Now, just a minute,” complained Retha, looking deeply offended. “We have as much right to be here as you do, and we are Lady Livia’s invited guests —”
“Shut your gob, sister,” I broke in. “You’ve had your fun, and now it’s my turn. I’m about out of patience with you two. Livia? Can we have a few moments to ourselves?”
She sighed again, and looked at each of her companions in turn. “I’m sorry,” she said, not unkindly. “It’s been lovely, and you’re very nice, but you’ll both have to go. The sprites will escort you home.”
“But Livia...” complained Retha.
“Out!” Livia said, a trace of steel in her voice. “I’ll let you know when you can come over again.”
There were no further protests. My new friends hastily clambered out of bed, gathered up clothing which had been scattered all over the room, and made quick, wordless exits. Arlis spared me a single, vicious backward glance. I stepped over and slammed the door on him.
Livia sat on the bed, wrapped in a white satin robe. “That wasn’t necessary, Wulf.”
I took a deep breath, and met her steady gaze.
“You know what’s more frustrating than a woman who won’t sleep with you?” I said.
She stared back expectantly.
“A woman who sleeps with everyone and his bloody brother — and his bloody sister for that matter — and still won’t sleep with you!”
She looked incensed. “We had our time together, Wulf. It was wonderful, but I have my own life to live. We each walk on different paths, Wulf.”