Chapter Text
Uriah the Conjurer
Part I ‑ "Homecoming Hero"
By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson
Original Date Written: October 12, 2020
It’d been a long journey home, for the conjurer. Weeks riding in the plains, days more at his destination, weeks in the footslogs back…All told, he’d last seen his cozy little cottage on the mountainside almost two full months prior, back before he’d first undertaken the journey to claim the old necromancer’s head. He’d succeeded in the endeavour, of course - the necromancer had been well-versed, yes, but all in arts the conjurer could counter - and following the standard searching, appraising, and shameless looting of the petty warlock’s lair, the conjurer had separated the old man from his head, taken it to the duchy, and been rewarded in all his usual fares: gold for the endless treasury, goodwill from the people, and prestige with the nobles and merchant lords who helped keep his homestead well-supplied. Just another feather in his cap, really.
Although his passion for the travelling life and the wealth it could invite was something he didn’t think he could ever truly let go of, it certainly wasn’t for lack of enjoyment at home. His quiet time at the cottage, alone with nature and all of his beautiful wives, was all he ever truly yearned to do with his days, anymore. How could he ever truly roam, anymore, when right there at home was where all the love was? Mmm, but to travel, though, and meet new people, to see new things, new ideas…Ahh, his two worlds beckoned so sweetly!
Scaling the slight incline in the hill, the morning chill in the air putting a noticeable dew across the grass and a light mist in the dips of the rolling terrain, he breathed deeply of the cool air, smiling at the sight climbing closer with every step: his hearth, his oasis, known only to his closest allies in times of desperate need. He hadn’t a name for it, hadn’t ever been one to name his weapons or properties, but the ladies, he’d come to find, had taken to calling it “the Retreat,” in as much for themselves as for the conjurer. He could already see one of his wives, busy doting over the herb garden and creeping vines she maintained across much of the cottage’s eastern side, the vines sprouting purplish little tufts of petals that looked divine against a sunset.
Drawing his robes a little tighter together, his lengthy staff doubling as a walking stick, he felt the smile on his face stretch from ear to ear when she noticed him, eventually hearing his casual footfalls. She were one of he, the Fairfolk, the dominant species to walk the lands, although a distinction was personally borne between them as she were one of the Northerners, the White-Walkers as she preferred, those of the Fairfolk who lived closest to the Giants. She was taller than most women, as tall as he was around six feet and some inches, with a long, thick head of luscious platinum blonde hair done up tight in a bun. Her skin a pale peach hue and her eyes an icy blue, her firm frame fit with natural muscle tone, she bore her body nearly as bare as the day she’d been born. Even in the morning dew, his beautiful Lady Asmalynn bore her near-nude self with pride, nary a care in the world. The conjurer loved it.
She waved, smiling, eyes clear and keen, those austere cheekbones and ridged nose putting an imperial twist on her every expression. “Hoy, sweetness. Ye back home, then? Don’t be teasing my little heart, now.”
He smiled. “I’d never,” he playfully denied, “I’m back home, sweetheart. Plan on staying a good long while this time around, too.”
Her full, pink lips split into a big grin. Slipping off her gardening gloves, she started marching across the lawn towards him, still naked but for a thin pair of cotton panties and the sweat on her skin, arms outstretched for an embrace. “Praise be, c’mere you auld dog,” she curtly sighed out, throwing her arms around his neck and cinching herself against him the instant she could, his arms wrapping tight around her waist as he held her hot body close. He squeezed her tight for a few moments, but then he let his hands explore down her body, her arms only extending further around him as he slid his hands across her tight, toned rump, both hands getting in one long squeeze before rhythmically kneading. She sucked her teeth by his ear, but he could feel the way her smile quavered.
He'd met his lovely little Lynn years prior, back when he’d led an expedition into the north in a bid to set up a trading route for the kingdom of Vennkirk. Upon contact with the foreigners, however, one miscommunication led to another and, for fear of relations shattering, a quick fix was proposed by both sides: political union. Although they’d outwardly appeared to have little in the way of common ground, although their marriage had initially been meant to be little more than a political convenience for the factions represented by both individuals, the conjurer and Lady Asmalynn eventually came to find they both, at least, enjoyed consummating it as frequently as possible, and the next thing he knew, she’d more or less simply begun making herself at home in a more permanent fashion, content to make a real bond out of their figurehead union. She’d been at his side, ever since.
Away from the Long Halls of her people, he’d gotten to know the Northerner unlike any other: the way she preferred to go without clothes if in casual company, her sarcastic and often irreverent sense of humour, her innate greenthumb, exactly how well she could endure the cold, the way she’d only pull on even underwear if forced to step outside the house…“Nobody around for miles,” she’d say, “not like anyone will see me.” At least the man to stumble his way into seeing her, that morning, was the same man who’d put a ring on her finger. He loved the way the morning light lit up her curvaceous body, her slender shoulders, those hefty breasts, that narrow waist and decent set of abs, the wide hips and thick thighs of a lady with a cushiony backside, but maybe even better was the way the cotton panties around her waist wedged in tight at the rear and had just about turned transparent at the front thanks to the sweat she’d worked herself into, the blonde curls of her thick landing strip even peeking up past the waistband. What a damn honey-bunny.
He clapped her bum one last time. In the same motion their arms were sliding off of one another, he let his hand dip down into her lap, his hand casually petting across the front of her underwear until he could trace his fingertip across her ridge, stroking across her through the moist material. Her shoulders barely lifted, mouth falling open in a silent inwards gasp before she’d started smiling, watching his eyes as he murmured “The other girls up and at ‘em?”
She nodded, standing still as his arm gently shifted, lightly rocking. “Mhm,” she hummed. “Rebekah and I made sure they all got up and had something to eat. They’re a real handful, you know…Especially the big one, in the cellar.”
“Hah! I can imagine, heh. Good job, I knew I’d be leaving the place in good hands,” he congratulated, trying to hold back his snickers. “I’m sure the girls’ll be excited to see me,” he offhandedly added, hand only slowly slipping away from her as he stepped past her side, making for the cottage door. He shot her a bit of a half-grin, half turned as he spoke over his shoulder: “When you’re done in the garden, can you talk to Rebekah about what kind of dinner we can put together? Go crazy, put together whatever you like, I’m sure it’ll be great.” Just before he’d pushed open the cottage door, he joked “If there’s any of Tinny’s felleaf left, I’d have some.”
He heard Lynn give a quick, short laugh behind him, the man just about walking into a completely different world the moment he’d taken himself past the door’s threshold. As soon as he’d crossed back inside to his personal bubble for the first time in ages, he’d found himself coming under assault from a plethora of scents, raucous sounds, and scenes, each playing out in their own little controlled chaos. The first things he noticed were the nose-crinkling scents of incense and burnt incantation materials, the somewhat overpowering aromas no doubt squarely Kylie’s fault, but there was a certain sort of heaviness to the air, too, a humidity or mugginess that better exposed to the underlying scents of sweat and musk – sex, in other words.
He had to smile. Glad to know the girls had been keeping themselves preoccupied in his absence. It only made the place feel like even more of a retreat, if he were being honest…After all, what man didn’t like it when all his lady friends got along?
In the background, he could hear Rebekah giving a laugh from the direction of the kitchen, the rough around the edges ex-bandit, ex-corsair, ex-soldier getting up to who-knew-what. A second later, he could hear Kylie give a whooping from her second-floor laboratory – well, his laboratory, really, but he’d allowed her essentially free reign of the entire place to keep her happy and experimenting – and simultaneously, he better picked out some chatter coming from the living room, not to mention a blurted-out comment from the second-floor hallway too muffled by the ceiling to make out. Then, there was the heavy shifting and thumping coming from the cellar…
He’d barely begun setting down his sack of supplies and hardy provisions by the small sitting area next to the door when little Tinny’s somewhat high-pitched voice suddenly struck up in a laugh, just around the corner from the entryway. “…Hah! Just wait ‘till I tell Lynn, she’s gonna have your ass in a sling with just her fist, for that.”
The voice of his Elvish consort, the prim and proper Penelope, was quick to protest “Please don’t, I promise it was in the heat of the moment-”
Predictably, Tinny had none of it. “When she tells Uriah, you can bet he’s gonna put your ass in an even bigger sling, too!”
The conjurer raised an eyebrow. Will he, now? We’ll see about that. What’s the grave misstep?
The two started rounding the corner into the entry hallway in a hurry, Penelope wearing nothing but her underwear he immediately noticed, neither noticing him straight away. Tinny’s black bob swaying along her jaw with every motion, she continued with an impish delight: “Your butt’s gonna be so busted, you’ll never shit right again! I bet he…” She suddenly came to a stop, noticing him, eyes and grin immediately widening. Voice suddenly spiking in excitement, his beautiful little goblin wife blurted out “Uriah! You’ve been gone so looong! Hah hah, welcome home!”
As soon as Penelope spotted him, she started beaming from ear to ear, too, but it didn’t take long before she were reminded of the apparent situation at hand and how, evidently, she might be concerned over his reaction – unnecessarily, he’d think, unless she did something wildly drastic like somehow misplace every single coin in the treasury, but he found that somewhat difficult to believe given her meticulous nature. She couldn’t say much in her own defence, however, before the chatterbox of Tinny was barrelling towards him, provoking him into dropping to a knee for the incoming hug before Tinny could, and would, launch herself face-first into his crotch for a hug around his legs. The gorgeous goblin, eyes closed and a huge, fang-filled grin on her face, threw herself into him, arms latching around his neck as she squeezed herself tight against him.
He’d met Tinny some years prior, back when he’d undertaken a quest to clear out a cave of goblin raiders making life miserable for the few small towns within a piss’ stream from their neighbouring vicinity. Given how quickly goblins could breed if left unchecked, everyone victimized knew that things would only get worse, and fast – unless, of course, somebody put a stop to it. Wiping them all out, however, would’ve been an unnecessary amount of bloodshed, Uriah’d believed. Simply eliminating their clan territorial markers and, if need be, eliminating their War Chief would’ve been enough to scatter them. However, it wasn’t long after Uriah’d set out that news began to spread: the goblins were kidnapping prisoners during their raids, now. Enslavement changed things, for the conjurer.
Summoning up a small horde of both necromantic and elemental minions, Uriah’d stormed the cave, mercilessly watching his minions slaughter the hostile goblins exactly as the bounties had requested. What prisoners and slaves they hadn’t already killed and devoured, he set free – but in the process, he’d found Tinny, a goblin from a rival clan they’d kidnapped specifically for her intellect, having tried their best to threaten and coerce her into using black powder they’d pillaged to make miniature explosives they might use to bolster their territorial gains. Tinny had already been in the process of creating both self-sabotaging grenades, as well as an overpowered charge she might’ve used to recklessly break open her cell door and escape, when Uriah’d come along. Long story short, she’d liked him enough to tag along with him on a journey or two, and before he knew it, he’d been bumping her cervix with his third foot.
Not long after, they’d been wed in a traditional goblin ceremony, the private details of which could still entertain in hindsight. Tinny, a name she’d enjoyed ever since a childhood spent tapping empty explosive casings together for fun, was less than half the conjurer’s height, the very top of her head hardly even reaching his navel – her face, wonderfully enough, squarely at groin-level with the human, something they’d both observed more than a few times. Unlike her barbaric, kidnapping cousins, Tinny was gorgeous and generally rather well-heeled, if sometimes crass and hedonistic, in her behaviour and speech, her flawless face and pouty lips complemented by her emerald green skin, long, pointed ears, yellow eyes, and deliciously curvaceous figure. She had all the goods and she knew it.
Beyond a bit of a felleaf habit periodically giving her flashy little dresses and stylish outfits the scent of smoked herb, she also had a rather intense size queen predilection in the bedroom just about literally addicting her to all the Long-Legs waltzing around the cottage, but all in all, she was another beautiful wife for him to enjoy the company of…Not to mention, of course, a pocket-sized toy he could veritably lift up and effortlessly have his way with until she were insensately gritting her teeth and rolling her eyes back. Sometimes he could get a little rough with his little fuck-doll wife, but for some reason, who knew what it was, she never had any complaints about said manhandling. Chalk it up to marital bliss, he supposed.
Her tight purple dress essentially two halves over her front and back laced together over her sides, the open-sleeved dress barely extending far enough down to cover over her lap and heart-shaped keister, her thick thighs exposed thanks to her tanned leather high-heeled boots only coming up to her knees, the fluffy white shawl nearly fell from around her shoulders in her eagerness to hug the man, the beautiful goblin making it a point to press her generous bust into his chest for several long, squeeze-happy moments before finally letting go. A big, self-assured smile wide across her pretty face, she winked at him as soon as she’d let him go, asking a glib “Should I even ask whether or not you won? Of course you did, you always win!”
Uriah appreciated the vote of confidence, at least, even if he knew age would eventually catch up with him…Still, that was neither here nor there. Once Penelope had started walking deeper into the entry hallway, a warm smile on her face as she happily said “I’m so glad you’re back, honey,” all the talk must’ve caught the ear of Numaz, that distinctly Orcish voice, just the tiniest bit hoarse and the tiniest bit low-pitched, calling out in excitement from close beyond the dining hall entrance behind the Elvish woman, the perennially meek and demure Orc swooning “Uriah’s back? Uriah!”
Penelope grinned, making her way towards her consort before Numaz could throw herself all over him, doubly making sure she got in her hugs and kisses before Tinny could rat her out like the little troublemaker she was. Uriah’d met Penny during his time in the Elvish Kingdoms, a period of a bit over a solid year some four or five back. Some of the other ladies he enjoyed having under his roof may not have always treated her like it, but Penelope – and her mother, Sasha, who it warranted pointing out also enjoyed his hospitality – were actually Elvish royalty, technically speaking. Certainly, they weren’t direct heirs, but should the worst come to pass, the two of them were in line for the throne of the Partner of Sandy Hill, “Partner,” of course, being the term used for a senior member of the Elvish Alliance. Much power, there. Old families with long roots.
Penelope, who Uriah had always relied upon as his personal treasurer and secretary, was the very picture of a beautiful, regal princess: tall, a bit lithe and wiry in frame, skin a creamiest peach and hair a most golden blonde, eyes like emeralds in the sun, a cute button nose, and pouty lips…Not to mention halfway generous curves, for a woman her age. Oh, by human years she was much older than Uriah, certainly, but in Elvish terms of maturity, she was still more or less a fresh-faced little twenty year old, sweet and, truth be told, occasionally a little naïve. She kept her long, straight hair primarily in a waterfall of blonde directly down her back, keeping all but her sweeping bangs neatly tucked back with the aid of a glossy pink, diamond-studded hairband. They weren’t the Crown Jewels she wore in relation to her station as Princess, but around the cottage, they may as well have been.
Considering Penelope’d walked into the room wearing nothing but her thin smallclothes, a snug little pair of booty-hugging panties whose pink and white stripes stressed out into a giant, tenting bulge over the crotch, Uriah could take a couple guesses at what kind of trouble the girl’d been getting up to. She and her mother got freaky like that, sometimes – the actual Elvish queen, Queen Tatiana, had no idea the extent of her sister and niece’s relationship. Other than that, shoot, maybe she’d been tending to the big girl downstairs and trying to get freaky with her, instead. The mental image, at least, was entertaining enough for the conjurer. Long, lovely legs picking up the pace, the beautiful girl’s smile split into a grin as she rushed up and threw her arms around his neck with a deep, forceful kiss, her silky-smooth body pressing up against him.
Tinny rolled her eyes as hard as she could, muttering out the side of her mouth “Tongue him all you want, it won’t stop him getting mad at you for breaking your mom’s chastity spree.”
Penelope practically threw herself off of Uriah, eyes wide and mouth falling open, gasp sucking in before an outraged “Tinny!” flew back out.
Just as Tinny was smiling her most rotten smile and Uriah was, contrary to Tinny’s earlier assumption, simply trying not to chuckle too hard, Numaz came from around the corner of the doorway to the dining hall, eyes and face lighting up at the sight of him. Just about skipping her way through the room, the pretty Orc girl came at nothing less than a charge, Penelope very wisely taking that one long step backwards before she could get shoved out of the way. Tinny, on the other hand, very nearly came underfoot, the poor girl just about squawking as she jumped back at the last second, avoiding the rough shouldering she could’ve expected.
As soon as she’d reached him, Numaz stopped dead in her tracks, balled her hands into fists, just about stamped the floor, and snapped up at the conjurer “You’re late! You told me one month, not two!”
Uriah cracked a smile, trying lamely to offer an excuse about how much longer than anticipated the trip had run, tentatively stepping around her until she’d sidestepped directly back into his way, glaring up at him in a tusked pout. Caught, he froze, chuckling all the more pointedly. She rarely cut him any slack and nothing at all suggested this situation would somehow become an exception to the rule. She had a point, after all, and whenever she did, she clung to it like a crocodile: he had promised her he’d be back sooner. Good grief.
He’d met his little Numaz just four months prior, making her one of his newer wives and more than a little eager to prove herself around the cottage, not just to the other ladies about the household, but to her husband, as well, primarily in her defence of the cottage grounds against the few things that came snooping. Primarily that consisted of wild animals, but on the odd occasion that bandits or shiftlings came passing through, Numaz could consistently scare them off else beat them to a pulp. She might’ve been puny for an Orc, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pack the same sort of power in her petite frame.
When Uriah had been put in the curious position where not marrying an Orc Chieftain’s eldest daughter would’ve shamed him and provoked a bloodbath, he’d found himself with an Orcish wife, and the reality of it hadn’t wound up anything like he’d had imagined…In a rather positive way, he would’ve been quick to point out. It was only upon meeting her – mere moments before the arranged Orcish ritual, consisting of a traditional speech followed by a feast of roasted goat – that Uriah realized why the Chieftain had been so keen upon the marriage, why he’d had the notion so readily in mind: Numaz was, by all accounts, an absolute runt. Even by human standards, she wasn’t particularly tall, and her frame wasn’t overly defined with any real sort of musculature, at all.
As soon as he’d seen her, Uriah’d understood the whole situation. Marrying a Chieftain’s eldest daughter was usually a great privilege, she’d ordinarily be the most fit and had the longest to learn the talents necessary for survival and combat from her father, but the honour had the queer duality where, the older the daughter was, the more it seemed likely there was some sort of catch. From an Orcish viewpoint, Numaz being such a petite thing, at least by their own standards anyway, was that catch, was a great shame to both her father and the clan as a whole, and that being forced into bondage with her was a transference of that shame. From an Orcish viewpoint, she was a borderline useless wife, nothing at all worth showing off or even having seen, more a burden than a gift. At least for a viewpoint separate from that cultural bias, Uriah found himself somewhat thrilled, smitten as soon as he’d seen her.
Numaz was a bit under six feet tall, maybe somewhere around five-six, making her absolutely diminutive by Orcish standards, a real runt of the litter somehow coming out front and center, instead. Her skin was a jade green, deep and smooth, her thick head of hair a waterfall of jet black spilling down around her neck. The irises of her eyes were a bright, vivid yellow, standing out against the whites of her eyes like golden rings. A spitting image of her own mother before her, Numaz was gorgeous, her face open and girl-like, the tiniest of tusks peeking out from behind her lower lip. The only things she ever liked wearing was lingerie, usually in pinks or whites, and that morning had been no exception: beyond a pair of toeless silk stockings and a matching garter belt, she’d worn a cupless bra and silk opera gloves, all a uniform pink.
As far as her figure went, Uriah couldn’t have been more content: a full, bouncy bosom of generous, hand-filling softness, wide hips, a thick, jiggly rear, and an adorable little funstick down below, a cute little cock no more than three inches hard. “A runt in all respects,” her father had snorted to Uriah right after the wedding, rolling his eyes. Uriah hadn’t bothered making plain his disagreement to anyone other than Numaz, stunning the pessimistic and borderline self-loathing Orc woman with the heaps of, in her own mind, unwarranted affection. Truth be told, Uriah hadn’t really had the foggiest what to expect, but Numaz continued to touch him with her odd brand of charm…Not to mention excite him with her wide array of kinks, most delicious of which was her taste for orgasm denial and chastity. She’d agreed to one month; he was pretty late…
He tried gesturing for Numaz to calm down and relax, but she only pouted up at him all the harder, reminding him “You promised. How are you gonna make this up to me, huh? You kept me waiting around a whole extra month!”
Tinny, lips in a flat line and one eyebrow arched, pointed out “Y’know we were all kept waiting that extra month, right?”
Numaz paused, just about blanching. The others didn’t know, yet. They hadn’t yet moved on to full-on chastity cages, so nobody’d seen a thing. The Orc’s eyes flicked to Uriah’s. Pink swelled in her face.
Uriah, grinning now, himself, remarked “Yeah, Numaz, it wasn’t just you, you know. I mean, I’m sorry, what more do you want me to say? I’m back, now, let’s not dwell on the past and just enjoy being together, again…” Moving past her, he let his hand drift across her wrist, teasing her with the chance of threading fingers. Subtly leaning in, lowering his voice, he murmured “…Look forward to tonight, instead.” He hadn’t forgotten his promise entirely, sweetheart…He knew he’d trusted you with a month of self-inflicted chastity thanks to that masturbation ban, but you’d been a good girl and gone ahead for the whole two months all of your own volition, hadn’t you, darling? Such a good pet deserves twice her promised reward!
Numaz’s eyes practically glazed, right there on the spot. Wobbly knees turning inwards, the feisty little Orc babe looked so thoroughly mesmerized she didn’t even seem to notice the vicious hard-on stabbing up from her lap. In a quiet, subdued little mumble, she answered a faint “Oh…O-Okay.” Without underwear to catch on her green pole in a lewd tent, the poor, pent-up little sex machine rocked her hard-on as naturally as clothing in front of everyone present, the needy thing just about drooling as she spun on a heel and followed after her husband. You can’t just get her excited, like that, and then leave her hanging! Don’t ignore her, baby, you made her miss you so badly!
Uriah kept moving through the cottage, smiling to himself as the three ladies followed after him, Tinny and Penelope going back to bickering until Numaz found herself dragged in. Poking his head into the kitchen, the conjurer spotted another two of his wives, one wearing nothing but a black fabric bra in her own strange sense of modesty and the other wearing more than enough black leather to have Uriah flapping his robes, trying to cool himself off. The former, the one in nothing but her brassiere and a black cloth choker, was his warrior-woman, a Roanoken from the Southern Islands. They’d never actually been wed, truth be told, insomuch that there’d never actually been any sort of formal ceremony. In the Islands, marriage wasn’t quite so institutionalized.
Her name was Rebekah. She’d been a soldier earning her own fair share of regrets in a feudal lord’s militia earlier on in her life, and for longer still after that, she’d been a member of more than a few corsair packs raiding the southern coastlines, drinking and pillaging to kill said regrets. She was a real beauty, a savage tiger personified in human form: tall, mocha skin, amber eyes, body entirely smooth-shaven, lean and willowy with only wiry muscle in the legs and biceps, perky handfuls secured above a firm set of washboard abs, her long, frizzy hair pulled back into an inky ponytail, a purple bandana wrapped across the top of her head. Besides a scar running through an eyebrow, she’d managed to get through her pirating career relatively unscathed. Good thing, too: would’ve been a damn shame for the world to lose her looks.
Tattooed letters in another language marked each of her fingers, a sigil for each joint telling a story. She’d tattooed dark rings around her eyes to make the need for applying and reapplying mascara and eyeshadow redundant, not to mention gotten a silver stud between her lip and chin. The dark rings just about made the gold in her eyes shimmer - when she’d been younger, she’d always had such a wild, crazed look in her eyes, and she knew just how to grin alongside it to have the boys in the crew shitting themselves before hopping to see out whatever orders she saw fit to dish out. To look at her now, you’d struggle to catch even a glimpse of her old self…But, all the same, when she went into bed, she still brought all her old firebrand enthusiasm and took you for a ride. The old pirate queen had settled down some, but that didn’t mean she liked being bored, now.
Uriah’d met her when she’d tried robbing his ship back some seven years prior, back when he’d been on the hunt for Carnax. She’d caught him by surprise, true enough, but he’d managed to convince her that the ship he was pursuing had even more valuable stuff on it. Unfortunately, Carnax then managed to all but wipe out Rebekah’s crew with his spells, and after Uriah’d fished her back out of the watery wreckage and led her to revenge, he’d helped her move enough of his goods to get herself back on her feet, a new ship to her name and even more of a legend to attract more pirates willing to sail under her command. Still, after a few more years of sailing, she’d started visiting the cottage more and more until, one day, she’d told Uriah she didn’t really want to leave, anymore. Enjoying each other’s time as much as they did was as binding a coupling ceremony as anything, in the Islands. They liked seeing each other, they respected one another, they enjoyed doing things together – what more did you need?
The other woman in the kitchen, the one decked out from the neck down in nothing but glossy black leather, was a companion Uriah’d come across under very different circumstances. Going back about four years, he couldn’t help reminiscing on his time in the Pitch Lands. The woman was one of the Elvish, technically, but she was of the Umbra subspecies, one of the few Elvish races who’d never joined the Elvish Alliance or taken part in all their treatises and reformations. Thankfully, there’d never been any friction between Penelope, her mother Sasha, and this dark elf, Corali – in the end, none of them’d cared enough about politics to let it interfere with the Retreat. Still, Uriah wondered whether that’d change if the two nobles knew about Corali’s old line of work…In particular, the zeal with which she used to pursue it.
The shadow elf was, or had been, rather, an assassin. As Uriah’d heard it, she’d been exceptionally good at her chosen profession. She’d killed for decades, and nobody who’d ever shared a guildhall with her or paid her her due ever questioned her dedication to the craft of claiming lives. Be it poison, sabotage, kidnappings and disappearances, accidents rife with plausible deniability, false suicides, or just plain-old pincushion execution, nothing was beyond her when the Crown paid her for their political assassinations. She’d become a ghost: using alchemy, she’d been able to undergo a process whereupon she could shift almost all of herself into looking like someone else, even the opposite gender. She couldn’t transform into different races, but when it came to her fellow shadow elves, she could become anyone. Made infiltration and avoiding detection, not to mention covering her trails and avoiding capture, a non-issue.
Of course…The eternal malleability of years without a set face seemed to unlock, or perhaps more accurately further unhinge, something inside the assassin. It was a simple series of innocuous developments, as it so often is with these things, ultimately leading to an unrecognizable change. Being one of the best meant there was no real challenge for the assassin, and no real challenge made for unsatisfying work. Unsatisfying work, in turn, led to a profound boredom she attempted to compensate for her in her private life, and pursuing excitement in her private life ultimately led to sex – a lot of it. The intensity increased over time, old boundaries and thresholds became tame, and in time, it wasn’t long before she’d begun using her polymorphing alchemy in the bedroom, as well.
After years of this, all without a truly stable form, Corali – at least, that’s what she liked calling herself, at present – had ultimately decided she preferred feeling like a woman, despite the alchemy never truly being capable of altering her naughty bits away from their original…And fairly sizeable…Shapes. Some of her colleagues warned her she was going too far with her polymorphing potions and forgetting her true self, but Corali only found it all the more exciting for it, addicted to her own ever-malleable beauty and the power it could give her over people. Forgetting herself? Hardly, she were only now truly discovering herself!
Sliding herself into a new uniform of a glossy, skin-tight leather bustier and accompanying pair of damn near painted-on pants and boots, perfecting her makeup to be as alluring and blood-simmering as possible for those who allowed themselves to be susceptible, the shapeshifting assassin had eventually taken to seducing her male targets, specifically, before executing them, her targets always notoriously…Spent, when they were discovered. She always found it so delicious; she’d found a different method of execution, entirely, and although in many cases it was exactly as easy to perform as all the other methods, this one was new, still fresh and exciting. Her legend had already begun to take on a peculiar wrinkle via said methods when, quite out of the blue, her next scheduled target turned out to be Uriah.
Suffice it to say, she’d failed, although it’d be more accurate to say that Uriah’d seen through her trap, bested her with a scuffle and a couple quick summons, found out who and where her guildhall was, then kicked her to the curb without so much as harming a hair on her head. Corali’d been stumped, she’d later confessed. She’d never really been defeated in combat, before…And she never would’ve expected mercy, either. Failure, of course, meant the direst of fates. Death would only come, if it even came, after suffering. She’d all but resigned herself to a night of the worst humiliations to supplicate her masters and beg forgiveness, no doubt servicing new recruits until her face had been glazed and her belly filled to gurgling with man-slop, when she’d found that Uriah’d seen fit to assault the assassin’s guild, killing all of Corali’s bosses in the process.
That act may have solved a lot of problems for the commoners and oft-threatened nobility of the Pitch Lands but, unfortunately, this also presented both Uriah and Corali with an unusual predicament. Traditionally, the killer of a killer’s master in the Pitch Lands inherited the service of his subordinates, and Corali, a firm believer in the old ways, quickly became obsessed with having Uriah accept her services…Forcing the man to not only, first and foremost, put her to use as his chief intelligence gatherer, but to satisfy all of the former assassin’s more tame sexual cravings, too. At least it was easy to keep her happy: a good night, for her, was a night spent giving oral and jerking herself silly, so Uriah couldn’t really complain.
Her long, silver hair pulled up into a high ponytail, her makeup heavy even at that time of morning and nothing but bright pink to stand out against her deep, dark purple skin tone, her heaving bust gently spilling and quaking in valleys over the rim of her tight bustier’s cups with every breath, the crotch to her leather pants shamelessly swollen in a bulge big enough to warrant an armoured codpiece, the silver-eyed elf looked up from her book with a smile, the mocha-skinned Rebekah similarly looking back at Uriah with a grin, fingers instinctively brushing some hair out of her eyes so she could better see him from her seated angle.
Just as they were getting excited about his return and rising to their feet to kiss him hello, Lady Lynn walked into the room from behind Uriah, already setting about pulling open spice drawers and cupboards as she declared “Bekah, get up, let’s git breakfast goin’, already. Uriah’s peckish, y’know? Aren’t you ready for a bite?”
“Yeah, I guess I could eat,” the dark-skinned beauty lazily replied.
“And we’ll have to think about dinner, too,” Lynn added, raising her eyebrows at Rebekah, as if to pre-emptively warn off any attempt to cut corners.
“Where’s Sasha,” Uriah casually asked, to which Penelope winced.
“U-Um, honey, mother’s, ah-”
Tinny grinned. “Still upstairs in bed, probably, where she and Penny had been busy suck-suck-suckin’ each other’s cocks for the better part of the last hour.”
“It wasn’t for that long,” Penelope gasped, mortified, shooting Uriah a shamefaced grin.
Numaz laughed a stunned laugh, eyebrows rising. The outrage! When honey gives you an order, you follow it! Each and every one of you had promised to do anything for him, anything, and that includes keeping your nut in your balls, if need be!
“Oh, right, the suckin’ was only for about ten minutes, the rest was straight face-fuckin’,” Tinny laconically drawled, rolling her eyes.
Lynn looked annoyed at the bickering. Rebekah snickered “I knew they’d be up to mischief.”
Corali then gave a haughty, unimpressed sigh, brow furrowed as she airily remarked “I thought our darling agreed with Sasha she wouldn’t, shall we say, get distracted during his absence. Gods know she enjoys being made to save up…”
Rebekah sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes in Corali’s direction. “You knew she wasn’t going to last forever, not with Penny teasing her all the time,” she remarked. “Just watching her little girl get plowed, all the time? Sasha must’ve been chewing her nails, she was so horny.”
Corali suddenly got defensive, posture tightening as a hand came to her chest. Brow furrowing, lips barely moving, she muttered “Oh no, don’t you try putting this on me, now – what was I supposed to do, not fuck Penny? How often do you think I had a chance to bang light-skinned elves, before the Retreat?” Penny’s pointed ears started flushing, the girl turning wide-eyed to Corali. With a quick, exaggerated eyeroll, the dark elf added a sarcastic “Like I’m gonna pass up an opportunity to bash that creamy little butt!”
Uriah felt a laugh building up inside him, more and more. Glad to hear his ladies were enjoying some bonding time, in his absence. Of course, before he’d even gotten beyond a chuckle and said anything important, maybe throwing in his two cents about breakfast and dinner or maybe try to calm down some of the apparent jealousy towards the two vivacious elves, one of said elves made her presence known behind him, dragging alongside herself one of the last ladies whose affections Uriah had somehow been able to capture. While he’d enjoyed earning the company of a coterie of women both fascinating and unique, not to mention heady to bed, it was these next two who arguably could’ve been the most immediately eye-catching…Well, assuming one were overly familiar with cute little Orc babes who loved going around the house in nothing but frilly pink lingerie, anyway. The debate amongst some of the wives continued, even then.
No, the beautiful babes in question were Sasha, of course, Penelope’s delectably curvaceous mother complete with all the right hot, thick mommy curves and, shall we say, sexually imaginative interpretations of common and familial decency, and Kylie, perhaps the most unexpectedly tender wife Uriah’d found himself tied to…Beyond, perhaps, the one in the basement. Sasha, at least, commanded more attention in a room than Kylie, knowingly or not, and very swiftly spoke first, capturing Uriah’s attentions the instant she’d been able to lay eyes on her beloved human husband. Two months, sweetheart, you’d only told her about the one month!
Sasha ran her mouth as she entered. “There you are, darling, come back to bed and let your mother have that sweet baby-batter, I-”
There was a sudden, embarrassed giggling as everyone in the room turned to look at the two newcomers, in particular the one who’d opened her mouth. Sasha’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates, just for a second, once she’d spotted Uriah. Referring to him by the Elvish name he’d been graced with upon their marriage, she hurriedly blurted out “Oh! Eh heh, um, darling Vanus, I had no idea you’d returned home! Hah hah, welcome, ignore everything I just said! I mean, what?”
Lynn gave a short, scoffing chuckle. “Smooth,” she derided.
Sasha gave a giant grin of embarrassment, hands to her hips as the mechanical woman by her side winced in embarrassment. Uriah smirked, raising an eyebrow, openly glancing down at the long, hard cock still swinging around over Sasha’s lap with every motion of her hips, the woman’s traitorously sex-laden scent betraying her better than her own horrible poker face ever could. He sucked his teeth at her, which prompted her guilty grin to quiver in lighthearted embarrassment before she’d rushed in close for a tight hug, both embracing him hello and apologizing for her indiscretion by pressing those heaving breasts of her’s tight up against his chest. Don’t be cross, darling, she was only savouring some mommy/daughter bonding time!
When it came to sheer curvature, Sasha was easily the most voluptuous of all Uriah’s sweethearts and mistresses, and beyond simply being appealing to the eye and touch, it’d provoked more than a few jokes – once even an honest discussion – about how Sasha could easily serve as the wet nurse for any children sired by Uriah. While Penelope did indeed look quite a lot like her mother, she’d inherited certain little things from her father that’d kept her from being a spitting image, such as her green eyes and perfectly straight hair. Sasha, by contrast, had eyes like glittering sapphires, hair wavier and wilder, usually flowing down around her shoulders but, just at the moment and no doubt purely to get it out of the way for her rampant, incestuous suckfest, presently done up in a high bun, secured with a diamond-studded clasp.
Sasha was tall for an Elvish woman, taller even than Penelope and Uriah himself, no doubt somewhere around six feet and five or six inches. Her cup size was stupendous and, given their sheer size, their perkiness downright defied belief – Sasha’d once admitted to using Elvish alchemy in enhancing her figure, but as to what she’d enhanced, she’d always been playfully cagey on specifying. Could’ve been her beautiful face, her perfect button nose and pouty lips; could’ve been her enormous breasts, bigger than her own head and capped off with big, pink areolae and cherry-sized nipples that leaked if suckled too hard; could’ve been her perfect amount of chubby tummy or flared, childbearing hips; could’ve been her thick thighs or big, fat, clappable ass; as most suspected, if it weren’t as simple as all of the above, it’d no doubt be her manhood, all grower and no shower.
When flaccid, the milfy elf was only a skinny little couple of inches to go with those swollen, clementine-sized balls, but when excited, she could easily reach a veiny seven inches, tip circumcised and rod capable of more than enough pre-cum to slide into anywhere she wanted. Whenever she was away from the cottage, she routinely wore a chastity cage to hide her secret – last thing she needed was courtesans seeing such an important member of the royal family sporting a huge, weepy trouser snake under her dresses, after all!
As it could’ve been expected, Uriah’d met Sasha at the same time he’d met Penelope, and while it’d been Penelope who’d been more obviously smitten with the human at first sight, it’d been her lecherous mother who’d had the confidence and aggressiveness to go after the conjurer first…After all, like her daughter, her life of nearly unlimited funds and essentially limitless opportunity had produced a great deal of self-assurance, and in self-assurance, as Corali knew so well, debauchery could easily flourish. After all, it wasn’t as if Sasha were actually afforded any immediate opportunity to take the throne and responsibilities therein. Sasha’s sister, Tatiana, had been queen of Sandy Hill for going on eighty years, now, with she and her chosen king having already produced a few different offspring, each mature and responsible in their way, each a suitable heir to the throne.
In truth, it could’ve been said that Sasha had always been in Tatiana’s shadow, second to her and what she could bring to the Alliance; there was, indeed, a very real chance that Sasha never actually ascended to the throne. Still, the relationship between the two sisters had always been positive, the two each other’s closest confidantes and the best of friends to a fault, Sasha doing what she could to uphold the image of the royal family while enjoying the privilege and wealth it provided simply for being there to enjoy it.
However, the thing about living with such circumstances was that it could often provide one with room for much boredom, the resulting diversion sometimes leading to things better kept away from public eye: the goings-on at the secret vacation cottage of Princess Sasha, of course, being chief among them. The public didn’t know the Princess had actually married a human commoner, the public didn’t know how the Princess’ prestige had allowed for ravenous sexual appetites, the deviance even stretching to the use of alchemy, if suspicions were to be believed, to change her naughty bits into something more eye-catching…Or, for that matter, how she’d extended the same opportunity to her own beloved daughter, another wildly perverted little prim n’ proper freak in the sheets.
Still, it may not have been a wildly curvaceous, alchemically gifted, daughter-loving royal of an elf that stood out as Uriah’s most eye-catching companion – that distinction may just have gone to Kylie, a woman who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be composed primarily of metal. “Steelblooded,” they called them: men and women who’d been converted through esoteric rituals into base materials more durable than flesh and blood, else strange golems shaped into men and women and given that essential spark of life, sentience, through said rituals. Kylie, herself, couldn’t be sure which theory was more likely to be true. The life she’d had before activating, if indeed she’d ever had one to begin with, had seemingly been wiped away from memory during the process.
Uriah had dealt with golems, before. Golems could’ve ranged anywhere from legitimately mindless things purely imitating life insomuch that they took orders to stand guard and attack whomsoever the controller of said golem had designated as a threat, but others had been capable of speech, of parroting things instructed to them to repeat upon hearing certain noises or questions, a certain degree of complexity better fooling the living into thinking the golem counted amongst them. None other than the Steelblooded, a “race” with an understandably extremely limited population, had the ability to think and choose for themselves, to recognize situations, circumstances, and language as opportunities for decision and self-expression. They were few and far between, but given their apparently immortal nature, over time they’d been documented and more widely known across the lands.
Uriah had first encountered Kylie when he’d been trekking through the underground passages of the King’s Highway, a great span of networks and tunnels that’d initially been intended to connect various Mountainfolk kingdoms, those largely subterranean, and it should be noted absurdly wealthy, halfling humans. The King’s Highway had originally been intended to help revolutionize Mountainfolk society into the beginnings of one joined empire, but in the end, it’d only wound up putting them all in grave danger. When the halflings of the Eastern Expanse, in their underground kingdom of Althumar, had dug too deep and unleashed the Red Spectres, an unprecedent slaughter took place. In less than nine hours, every single halfling in the entire Althumar kingdom had either been murdered or had fled into the King’s Highway, and the Spectres had only given chase.
The motivations for both the dig and resultant violence were still an unsolved mystery, but it was known that the Red Spectres, who could somehow incorporeally pass through the solid stone of the halfling masonry and architecture, had then moved on to the neighbouring kingdom of Turbetin, largely exterminating the resident population, as well. By that point, refugees from both kingdoms had been able to spread dire warnings, and when it was disseminated that the Red Spectres couldn’t seem to pass through volcanic rock – the origins of such a revelation also being a mystery to most – the remaining Mountainfolk kingdoms had collapsed most tunnels and blockaded them with obsidian collected from underground thermal channels, hoping to reseal the ghostly apparitions.
It’d worked, apparently, but all the same, it wasn’t uncommon for travellers between the remaining kingdoms to vanish into thin air. After a while, the King’s Highway became travelled only by the bravest of souls, with every entrance to every remaining halfling kingdom ready to seal itself with obsidian should it come under siege. Such dark recesses were perfect places for treasure hunters and adventurers such as Uriah, but they also drew the likes of scholars and historians eager to learn the truth of the matter. The Steelblood Kylie had been one such scholar, and while Uriah’d offered her his help, both for strength in numbers and to satisfy his own curiosity on the matter, they’d been unable to breach the sealed ruins of Althumar without encountering Red Spectres and retreating.
Their experiences together in that deepest, darkest of hells, not to mention their shared academic interests, had ultimately forged a bond that’d become romantic – whenever had physical differences, be they racial or in stature, stopped Uriah from seeing the person inside? To a Steelblood like Kylie, looking the way she did, such open-mindedness had meant the world. Looking the way she did, feeling isolated and shunned like she did, somebody treating her like an individual whose appearance didn’t matter and whose feelings, wants, were all valid had stolen Kylie’s heart, never letting go.
She, too, was tall, standing maybe an inch taller than Uriah. The majority of her body was, as the name implied, a sort of alloy that, while it more or less had the appearance of a stainless steel, was far more durable without being any heavier, the alloy made up of metals that had still yet to be identified. Her joints were all clearly spherical orbs, be they her elbows, knees, shoulders or knuckles, while other parts, such as her neck, back, and abdomen, were simply segmented to allow for realistic movement with realistic limitations on bending and leaning. Although Kylie enjoyed wearing fabric, woolen, and leather clothing like any mortal, they were purely decorative, serving no practical purpose to a steel golem with exceedingly dulled senses of heat and cold.
Underneath the clothing she wore, the scholarly Steelblooded was a beauty to behold: her legs were covered in swirling, golden embossments, climbing to halfway up her thighs like stockings. Similar embossments laced her hands up her arms to nearly her shoulders and, her hair, firm and modelled into a ponytail, had some fetching bangs swept to the side with manes running down either side of her face, her whole solid head of “hair” a solid gold to match. Perhaps the most intriguing thing about the Steelblooded was that they’d clearly been crafted to make the most of their sentience and capacity for emotion: their bodies had each been created to be anatomically correct. When Kylie had first sheepishly informed Uriah of this, he’d been confounded; he’d noticed the realistic movements and bouncing of her breasts, but surely she didn’t mean to say she had…Everything a woman had, correct?
Incorrect, it’d turned out. Not every part of a Steelblood’s body was solid metal. Certain sections of their bodies, including the face, were covered over in an unbelievably durable membrane-like substance that, essentially, served as flesh-like compartments, holding a silverish, mercury-looking, jelly-like substance produced from within the Steelblooded’s abdominal core, filling said compartments to provide an excellent facsimile for the fleshier parts of a mortal’s body. For both genders, that meant kissable lips and fully functioning, highly responsive genitals. For the women, at least, the membrane covered the entire front of the torso, as well, providing a startlingly lifelike, both in appearance and touch, set of breasts, not to mention an abdomen one could caress and a set of buttocks one could squeeze.
Best of all? The Steelblooded actually felt the contact, could properly speak and emote like a mortal, could feel and crave physical intimacy and pleasure. Uriah’d been all too happy to cross his golem consort’s eyes, soon as he could.
While Uriah let go of Sasha and found himself peppered with kisses from the tall elf, Kylie smiled and patiently waited her turn, milky gray eyes watching him, a quick grin growing on her face. Sasha, like the maternal figure she couldn’t help being, dropped question after question on Uriah about his travels and what he’d seen, whether or not his hunt for the necromancer had been successful, whether or not he’d missed her and Penelope, and so on. It wasn’t lost on Uriah, or some of the girls no doubt, that the nonstop questions were no doubt to try and stall for time in the hopes that Tinny or her own verbal slip-up earlier on wouldn’t betray that she’d cracked after two months of chastity and hadn’t been able to resist giving her daughter some motherly affection, but he didn’t have it in him to call her out. Wasn’t like he was actually offended, after all.
As soon as she had an opening, Kylie moved in for a kiss, she and Uriah taking each other in their arms and kissing long, hard, and deep, her saliva like a perfectly safe, edible, even sweet oil. As they let go of each other, she crooned “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you back, I’ve made the most amazing advancements in my portal spells while you were away! I can’t wait to tell you all about it, do you want to talk about it over breakfast?”
Uriah had been about to agree when Tinny piped up “Not a chance, Uriah just got back! I wanna talk to him about that banquet he was supposed to go to-”
Rebekah rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t care about that thing and neither should you, you know he doesn’t care about Queen Herida and her engagements-”
Lynn scoffed, while Sasha simply shook her head disparagingly. Lynn spoke for them both when she remarked “That auld hag simply wants the prestige of a hero in her halls, nothing more.”
“Hardly a hero,” Uriah modestly remarked, raising an eyebrow. Yeah, sure, he had his own moral compass, but he was driven by lust for wealth and excitement as much as the next adventurer.
The comment earned playfully disapproving looks from just about every woman present, including a couple playful slaps against Uriah’s arms.
Tinny raised her eyebrows before furrowing her brow, remarking “Yeah, well, I do like those sorts of parties – if this lady wants us to go out there and drink on her coin, I ain’t gonna spit on the invitation!” Grabbing Uriah’s hand, she grinned up at him and added “If none of them wanna go, I’ll just go with you alone!”
Judging by their reactions, ranging from a wide-eyed stare to a furrowed brow and a sneer, Numaz, Corali, and Penelope were all against the idea, each no doubt thinking that should anybody get to enjoy a private date in high society with Uriah, the pleasure should squarely fall upon themselves. Without warning, they’d each blurted out, nearly in unison, “No!”
Rebekah, already starting to move about the kitchen alongside Lynn, remarked “If you’re all just going to bitch, do the rest of us a favour and get out. I’d like at least a few minutes of peace before the bitching reignites at the dinner table.”
Before anybody else could say anything, Uriah raised an eyebrow and asked “Speaking of breakfast, has anyone taken care of Heva yet, this morning?”
Some of the girls paused. Corali’s mouth hung open, for a moment, before she admitted “Well, uh…I was going to, as soon as I had finished this chapter…It’s just taken me a while.”
Uriah smiled, but glanced skyward and arched an eyebrow. Already heading for the cellar stairs, he wearily answered “Listen, girls, I know she’s big, but she’s really nothing to be scared of. If you’re just nice to her, she’ll trust you and not get so startled by you when you walk around.” With a sigh, he pulled open the cellar hatch, exposing the steep, ladder-like steps leading down into the dim recesses below. When a couple protests came up, some hemming and hawing excuses, Uriah simply waved them all away and remarked “I’ll take care of it myself, don’t worry. You guys can’t just neglect her, down there. I really hope none of you have been ignoring her.”
Quick refusals came up, but Uriah wasn’t quite sure if he believed them. Heva…Or, at least, Uriah was pretty sure that was her name…Was what he called the giantess he’d attracted, living in a natural cavern he’d unwittingly dug into while expanding the cottage’s cellar the previous summer. Once she’d become aware of something stirring uninvited in her den, she’d become upset, doubly so at the confusion over the movement suddenly appearing towards the rear of her cave home. When she’d spotted him, however, Uriah had found her reaction almost…Girlishly excited, shy and giggly and not the least bit frightened of him. Considering Giantkin were infamously antisocial, preferring much like a bear to avoid most people and animals even if they posed no real possible threat, finding himself the recipient of such attention couldn’t have surprised and confused Uriah more.
He’d never had much experience with Giantkin, so he hadn’t been able to realize straight away that that sort of behaviour was only displayed when a new object of romantic or acutely sexual interest had suddenly become available to a Giant. As might be expected, Uriah hadn’t quite known how to handle the situation, especially once he came to realize that Heva, as she seemed to be trying to introduce herself as at one point, was the proud owner of a manhood proportionate with her giant body – something she seemed curious about whether or not she could make fit in her new boyfriend’s body. How she’d thought that that’d work, Uriah hadn’t had the foggiest. He’d just chalked it up to a bad dry spell making her desperate for anything.
Thankfully, she hadn’t tried too hard before realizing that it simply wouldn’t work, meaning Uriah hadn’t needed to take measures to defend himself – also meaning that Heva’s advances or affections hadn’t technically been denied, something that had evidently signified acceptance of, and even enjoyment of, such attention from the giantess. Once Lynn had come across the situation, she’d used her experience with Giantkin, who had no real verbal language of their own, to peacefully defuse the moment and separate Uriah from the giantess, but there had always been some concerns that Heva wouldn’t, or couldn’t, understand that Uriah had multiple wives, and that seeing the other women of the Retreat too often might provoke some destructive jealousy.
Still, Uriah had found himself taken with the surprisingly attractive wild-woman, taking it upon himself to become a sort of caretaker towards her. From that moment on, the giantess had been as pampering and attached towards him as any other of his bondmates, eager for his own attention, affection, and approval. She’d been leading an omnivorous diet in the caverns beneath the cottage, and Uriah promptly entered into the ledgers a consistent fee for extra foodstuffs, ranging from barrels of produce to whole cattle just to keep Heva fed, leaving her to collect her water from an underground spring. When she wasn’t trying to gift him shimmery stones from the depths of her caverns, some of which had wound up being precious metals, she was trying to offer him food of her own, in return.
He provided furs for her to sleep in, and every now and then when she seemed to be getting lonely, he’d even spend the night alone with her in her den, letting the giantess show her peculiar sort of affection, trusting her to cuddle him gently. Of course, the added expenses in the ledger, while trivial in the grand scheme of things, still irked Penelope, who pointed out that there must’ve been a way to recoup the losses. After the suggestion had been made to try domesticating the giantess and putting her brawn to work, Uriah had struck upon an idea, something to kill two birds with one stone and make all parties happy: something the ladies of the Retreat tastefully referred to as “the milk chute…”
Uriah, conjuring a tiny light above an upraised fingertip, crossed the cellar and passed through the now properly constructed doorway into Heva’s den, calling her name and almost immediately catching her attention. Knowing she didn’t much like the light, he dimmed it even further as soon as he knew she were coming, the floor faintly vibrating as the eight and a half foot tall woman came striding over, already cooing and crooning in delight, obviously quite pleased to see her diminutive “husband” again. In the gloom, Uriah could barely see her: humongously tall, some meat on her bones giving her healthy curves and a plump figure, chiselled muscle hard in her arms and legs, pale skin and long, wild hair, horns atop her head, a black bear pelt skirt and bra, and a heavily musky scent wafting out from between her legs – eager for her morning routine to get underway, no doubt.
She put her hands to her hips and leaned over far, looming over him until he could see her remarkably human-like face in the light, eyes big and placid, horns pointed upwards like a devil’s, puffy lips curved into a beneficent smile, hair hanging down either side of her face like curtains. Uriah smiled back, speaking in a low, quiet voice as he said “Good morning, Heva…You doing okay?”
She smiled wider and puckered her lips, blowing him a little smooch. If she understood him or even his intent, he’d never figured out. He assumed, much like himself, she simply tried to interpret him, mingled with a bit of what she simply wanted to believe he were trying to convey.
He grinned. “Food or milk? Food or milk, first?”
She pursed her lips, turning her face a little more out of the light, at once looking shy and as cute as she could. He knew what that meant. Smiling, he waved for her to follow, the giantess gently taking his hand mid-wave until he could lead her over towards the device he’d had created for her near the rear of her cave. The idea he’d struck upon, something to satisfy both Heva’s needs and Penelope’s strict sense of business ethic, was, in essence, a surrogate orifice for Heva to make love to connected to a vat meant specifically to contain the giantess’ semen and keep it as fresh as you could possibly get it without getting it straight from the tap. As it turned out, some cultures, societies, and alchemists believed Giant’s semen held great mystical powers, capable of conferring the Giant’s strength and vitality if properly prepared one way or another.
Selling off the fruits of Heva’s labours had never been an issue for Penelope, and it’s not as if Heva seemed to mind having her thick, milky loads harvested…
Contented, Uriah led his giantess girlfriend over towards the machinery, all iron and dials. Tinny’d helped create it, as had Kylie: a tall, round vat, not too dissimilar from an alcohol vat complete with spigot for pouring free into smaller portable containers, was connected via pumps and pipes to a stand of sorts, the face of which was covered over with a thick metal hatch to prevent Heva’s unsupervised, and potentially damagingly rough, usage. Uriah could already hear Heva’s breathing getting huskier as he produced the magical key for the hatch from within his robes, waving the thing across the lid like a miniature wand before, all of it’s own accord, the hatch had silently lifted and eased out of the way, falling back to expose the vividly pink, puckered orifice sitting underneath, tight like somebody’s backdoor and already glistening with lubricant like a woman’s vagina.
Heva gave a giggly little cooing, eyes glazing and locking on the exposed orifice, a fingertip demurely touching her lip before she’d nibbled it. She gave Uriah an expectant glance; she preferred it when he watched, naturally, considering it was no doubt him she were thinking of every time she used it, hoping her performance pleased and impressed. Uriah took a step back, smiling to himself as he watched Heva reach under her loincloth, arm passing back and forth in the dark until she’d felt ready enough to step forward, pull her pelt skirt up and out of the way, take the device by the large handlebars set into the sides, and just ease her hips on in until she’d hilted it, lap pressing up against the soft, flesh-like face of the device. She shuddered, hissing in a breath, hanging her head back…Then, with a hungry growling, started thrusting.
Uriah raised an eyebrow at her enthusiasm, smile turning into a higher and higher smirk. Atta girl, let out all that naughty slime you’ve saved up – it’d make the cottage another pretty penny…He’d met a lot of gorgeous, fascinating ladies, put together quite a coterie of lovers and admirers in his private retreat, but milking a well-hung giantess of her, ahem, protein was a turn he never would’ve expected.
Uriah the conjurer, lover and crusader; may the adventures never end!
~~End of Ch. 1~~