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“I cannot, my Lady,” groaned the Elf beneath her. “You have drained me dry. I am only flesh, and I must rest before my spirit flees altogether.”
She liked the way he squirmed, this strange, solemn man. Hard muscle rippled beneath his pale skin. But he had no hope of escaping the grip of her thighs.
“The night is long, and I am not done.” She rolled her hips. The woods around them were tall and dark, faint starlight slipping between the spaces in the canopy to shine dimly upon the man’s handsome face. His eyes were very wide, like the eyes of a doe. Her body slid against his with a vulgar sound. They were both sticky with the fluids of their many joinings. How many times had it been? She did not know. She did not care. She could not recall her body before it had felt the weight of this man’s cock, filling the empty places within her, bringing her again and again to peaks of bliss as she rode him hard and fast on the forest floor. Each climax had flowed so easily into the next, like a mountain stream that wound and twisted its way down from the highlands, merging, growing, feeding into greater and stronger currents, until at last they splashed down into a mighty river of breathtaking power that swallowed them whole and swept the churning water all the way out to the dark and screaming sea.
But he was only a Dark Elf from a dark wood, and his strength had flagged. She frowned. “Am I not fair to look upon?” She knew herself a beauty, though she could not recall her own face.
“Of course you are very fair, my Lady.” He bowed his head, casting his face into shadow.
“Do I not please you?” She held her breasts in her hands. They were high and firm. She must be young, yet. They had not swelled with milk nor sagged with age.
“Of course you please me, my Lady.”
“Then it is you who are weak,” she sighed. Her heart began to slow from a gallop to a steady lope. Her breath evened, her blood flowed less hotly. The sweat drying on her skin gave her a chill in the still air. Her cunt ached with emptiness.
The man beneath her did not protest. He wore armor of iron, gleaming black in the starlight. Fallen leaves tangled in his dark hair. Only just enough of his clothing was unfastened to free his member, which now lay limp and useless.
Well, so much for this forest. She cast her gaze about in search of her clothing. Where had it gone? For that matter, when had she tossed it aside? As her body and heart cooled and she regained her senses, she discovered herself fully nude. Her knees were smeared with mud where they pressed down into the earth on either side of the man.
She blinked and blinked, vision clearing as though waking from a long dream. The trees of this wood were strange: beeches there were, fir, and spruce, but they stood very tall, taller than any trees her mind’s eye could recall, and their trunks were very thick, and they grew in places so close, one might not even squeeze between. And there were others, too, trees whose names she did not know or could not remember, their dark boughs looming overhead, twisted growths hanging from their branches, their bark covered thick with layers of dark moss, their roots crowded with purple fungus. All was deep in shadow. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen wood and leaves. There was a smell of rotting things, and of the creatures that eat them.
She did not recall how she had been brought here. “What is this place?”
The strange trees shifted their leaves, letting for a long moment the light of the crescent moon cast in full upon the man’s face. She truly saw him, then, silver-bright and clear. A man very fair, and proud.
And she did not know him.
The thrill of discovery sped her blood. She readied to flee. She readied to fight.
But she had the advantage. She held him yet between her thighs, and knew in her heart that no matter how fiercely he might struggle, he had no hope to subdue a Lady like herself in the fullness of her strength.
“Who are you?” she asked. There was no fear in her voice, which was like ice. “What have you done with my father? My brothers?”
“My lady?” The man tried to sit up. She pressed him back down with a hand to his breast. He went easily. “These are strange words. You have no brothers. Your father has never stepped foot in this land. What can you mean? Who am I, you ask? I should weep to hear such a question. Do you forget so fast? Am I so worthless, now that you have stolen everything from me that you hold of value, now that you have had your fill?”
He pressed one palm to her belly, cupping the soft curve there, almost as though to suggest—
She shook her head, as though to clear it. Surely, he was mistaken—she was certain she had brothers.
Or had she? She reached for a memory, now so dim, escaping her reach: a battle beneath the moonlight, a young man cut down, her throat raw with screaming. It must have been very, very long ago. Or perhaps a dream.
Her hair, loose and heavy, fell all about her in thick black waves. One long lock fell across the man’s hands. It snagged on the rings of his fingers.
Gently, worshipfully, he removed the lock of hair, tucked it behind her ear. His rings were very beautiful, so many on each hand. Rings of polished gold set with smooth turquoise and bloodstone, agate and amber, silver wire twists studded with fine millegrain beads of glittering quartz crystal, thick bands around each finger and knuckle, a signet ring with his seal engraved in that strange black metal, a copper ring set with the tooth of a wolf. Yes, they were very pretty, this proud man’s rings, and the pebbles in them shone nearly as bright as true gems.
She watched as he twisted one band with an unremarkable stone upon a rectangular bezel about his thumb three times. He must be nervous. With such reverence he stared up at her, and he touched her cheek so softly.
His cool hand upon her skin reawakened the lust inside her once more. No, she had not had her fill at all. Desire uncoiled like a spring, inflaming her flesh, bubbling forth from her belly, pulsing with need, and pouring out as a throaty groan. Between her thighs, she ached. She became once more intimately aware of the hollow absence deep inside, the hole that begged to be filled.
Did the man speak, just now? No matter. She needed not his words. Nor did she have anything to say that could not be better said with flesh. She turned her face into his hand, nosing his palm. His thumb caressed her lower lip, opening her mouth. She chased that thumb, wanting it inside, she sucked it into her mouth, tasting its salt. Her tongue flicked the cool metal of the ring that rested at the base. She traced a tiny metal hinge. There was a hidden compartment, perhaps the type that contained perfumed ointments, set into the bezel.
“Not that one,” he murmured, and withdrew. She whined but let him remove his thumb. He pulled that ring off, and set it carefully aside.
She was growing madder and madder with desire every moment she was left empty.
He saw the need in her face. “Oh, Lady, how desperate you have become,” he said, pity in his voice. “Yet I remain weak.” He gestured to his cock, still soft.
No matter.
She grabbed him by the hand. All those beautiful rings. He smiled up at her, tried to intertwine their fingers in a gesture of affection.
Then she took the hand and shoved it under her cunt, and she ground down upon his fingers, her full weight pressing her clit on the hard metal of a ring. She climaxed in nearly an instant.
It was a small one, a sparking spasm of bliss that skipped across the surface but did not reach the deepest places of her need. A tiny mountain stream. She adjusted her body, shifted her weight, and leaned forward. She gave him space to wriggle those long fingers against the slick of her lips, two fingertips teasing at her entrance. The cool gold and silver of those rings slid against the sensitive flesh, the faceted edges of the stones rubbing and teasing her in a way that was much unlike his smooth, hard, living cock. She found herself clenching around nothing, growling in ever unceasing desire.
He was no fool. He plunged one long, slender finger inside. It went in so easily, for she had been fucking herself upon his cock for so long, and she was so wet with her lust and so full of his seed, yet she still she hungered for more. He fucked her slowly with his finger, in and out, in and out. A finger was not a cock, it did not fill her to satisfaction nor did it feel so right inside. But the ridge of the ring scraping up and down against her inner walls felt strange and good, and she could seize her own pleasure upon him. She rode his hand, fucking herself on his finger and rubbing on his palm and the other fingers where they folded up beneath her, each ring forming little points of sharp pleasure against her exposed flesh.
A pinch. A metal prong, the inexpert setting of a common stone, caught her delicate skin. She drew back with a sudden gasp and a jerk. The prong released her, and even as it did, she came again, clenching around his finger with a grip like iron. She gasped and writhed, and he wailed and shouted in sympathetic ecstasy.
And she was yet not done. Desire grabbed her and threw her under its depths like a tidal wave. “More,” she sobbed, the word sounding strange and distant to her ears. Then she fell into wordlessness, no longer a speaking creature but a rutting beast, all grunts, whines, and howls. She half-collapsed, her breasts brushing against the man, her nipples hard and hot. He snaked one arm about her shoulders and pulled her down hard and flush to him, flattening her breasts against the metal of his armor. Then he shoved two more fingers inside, spreading her lips wide and stretching her, parting her flesh to accept yet more of him. She felt herself dripping all over, drowning his fingers and his rings in her wetness, and she clenched her thighs ever tighter around his hips and thrust her cunt ever harder against his hand. More, more, she thought, incapable of speaking around the panting breaths that escaped her mouth, her jaw hanging slack, and somehow he knew her unvoiced desire, and to her cunt he added a fourth finger.
She screamed. She felt split in two. She had never been stretched so. His entire hand was nearly inside her, the width of his fingers broadened by the thick, smooth rings as they plunged in and out. She was so wet, the sound of it was utterly filthy. She would bleed herself dry and wither to dust. At last, at last! She was full. He had done it. He had given her enough to fill her empty places, to make her whole, stuffed her to overflowing with his fingers. With every pump of his hand, his thumb brushed against her clit. She was so sensitive, and so swollen, she wept with every touch, the sounds of mixed pleasure and pain and instinct, primal and deep, ancient and desperate, drawing from her fathomless depths. Her vision blurred and spots of black appeared before her. Shadows of the woods appeared more dreadful, as snakes writhing in wait to strike her, as crows circling to consume her dead flesh, as evil beasts who dwelt in the dark with their eyes like narrow yellow slits and claws like needles eager to slice her up. There was a roaring in her ears like the rumble of thunder, a cloud breaking overhead, a pack of wild predators, the roll of drums. A mist fell upon her and cloaked her in shadow. Her senses were of no use. She perceived nothing but the pounding of his four fingers in her cunt. He fucked her with a strength he had not before dared to show, and her body grew yet heavier and more swollen by the relentless waves, climbing higher and rolling faster, as a mighty river bursting over its banks in a great flood ever reaching toward the bosom of the Sea.
And then he tipped her into madness. He stuck in his thumb alongside his four fingers, and she split apart in truth. Her body feigned resistance, shrieking in helpless protest, but had no defense against his will or her true animal desire, for even as he forced his hand, she delighted in the invasion. Light splintered into prisms of a thousand colors before her eyes, as she came, and screamed, and came and thrashed, and came and came and came, thrusting the full force of her mighty body against his hand where it was pinned beneath her hips, slamming herself upon him with all the strength of tree-lit Blessed Valinor that was lost to her and all her kin for ever.
There was a sound like cracking ice.
There was a sound like screaming.
She wandered in her mind, groping as one stricken by sudden, absolute darkness, seeking to grasp at the vanished light.
All was still. She was utterly alone. She floated as in dark waters.
After a time, she stirred, the madness receding. She rolled off the man, settling herself at his side, and she found her breath.
Silence had fallen upon the wood.
She looked up to the heavens, where leaves rustled against the black sky, and beyond, a sliver of the fair moon.
She turned to face the man. Oh, he was very pale and very lovely, this man of hers. His face was twisted in a terrible grimace as though caught in some kind of strange agony. He held his hand to his breast, his wrist bent at an unnatural angle, his fingers splayed out like broken twigs.
It seemed to her that words were put into her mouth. “My heart is thine for ever. Wilt thou have me, though I am no true Lady at all, but a white beast untamed and wild, who will hunger always and never be sated?”
He did not smile, but tears of happiness tracked down his pale cheeks.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
And there on the forest floor of Nan Elmoth, the valley of star-dusk, the wood of twilight, they looked into each other’s eyes, and they plighted their troth and were glad.