Of Elves and Marital Intervention

This is a standalone story, but it has connections to others in the series. If you enjoy Temora's adventures, leave a comment so I am encouraged to continue them.

In the sparse and shattered wastes that dragged across the southern reaches of the continent there were great ruins that rose spectral from the earth. She had traveled long and far from the comforts of great cities such as Kakila, and further still from her ravaged homeland in the North. The people of these lands, few that they were, were pale and spindly, and Temora's brown skin and robust physique stood out. Grey eyes squinted from a face battered by years of travel in the harsh sun, though she had not yet seen three decades. As she drifted from a nomad's camp, their accusing eyes bored into her back.

"There are no elves here! Be off with you, outlander," an old man cried. Still, she walked towards the ruin, a rucksack strapped to her back, and dull brown traveling clothes hanging loose off her frame. It was hard to tell, but her figure was comely beneath, and tied to her waist hung a bamboo flute, ill-played these days. She looked out towards the ruins and grit her teeth.

They had to be here. This was the farthest place, the last bastion before the southern seas. The Lady Yalid had told her the two great masters lived here, centuries ago, and perhaps still. Temora knew she had to try.

It took her nearly a day to reach the crumbling spires, the broken pillars, the empty halls and chambers, and the dark pools of water. At first, she wandered aimlessly, trying to make sense of the ruin. But then, as the sun fell below the horizon, and the moon rose, she began to feel something, a faint thrumming in the ground, a tension in the air. Unsure of what to do, she drew her flute to her lips. She played a song she had learned from the Nymph Queen, before things had gone terribly wrong between them.

The stones began to sing. The wind carried her tune, and the stars twinkled their accompaniment. The very earth seemed to vibrate, and a light appeared, deep in the bowels of the ruins. She followed it, and as she descended into the darkness, the light grew brighter, and the air warmer. When she reached the bottom, she saw a shimmering pool of pristine water, and beyond it, the outline of stone walls. The smell of hearthsmoke drifted though, mixed with blossoms of spring.

They appeared from the darkness around her, like apparitions. Their faces were strange, with pale flesh stretched over high cheekbones and sharp, knife-like ears. There were two of them, both far more slender and shorter than her. Their hair was long and silvery blonde, their eyes cold and luminescent, of indeterminate and constantly varying color. One wore their hair in a long braid, and the other let theirs fall loosely over their shoulders. They were both dressed simply, in robes made of soft fabric the color of the sky before dawn.

"A human," the loose-haired one spoke. A man, it seemed, though he would have been effeminate amongst the Northmen of Temora's home. "I have not seen a human in a very long time. I wonder, Syrena, how she found us?"

The other circled Temora, who kept playing her song dutifully. Her eyes were wary, watchful. She extended a hand and snaked long, spiderlike digits across Temora's shoulder. "Her song is one of the nymphs. The stones gave way for her."

The male elf stopped before her, watching her with a curious tilt of his head. "And how did you learn such a tune? Your people have forgotten so much, I thought such arts must be lost forever."

Temora's throat felt dry. She swallowed and lowered the flute from her mouth, the melody still ringing throughout the ruins. "I was taught by the lady of the wood," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The Nymph Queen, in the Karyg lands. I learned many songs from her, and tales as well. It has been... a long time, now." Two years since she'd fled the Karyg.

The male smiled, showing sharp, filed teeth. "I see. So you are gifted, for your kind. But why have you come here?"

Temora took a breath. "I am looking for the masters of the arcane, to learn their arts. I was told by Lady Yalid of the Steelskin Dwarves they once dwelt here."

The two elves exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. Then the male spoke again.

"How is it that you know Lady Yalid?" His mouth twisted. "She is unwise to tell humans such secrets."

"We were... close," Temora said. Her cheeks colored slightly. Close was an understatement, as she knew the Lady Yalid quite intimately.

Syrena, the woman, seemed to study her carefully. "I sense no deception from her. Perhaps we should teach her, Viren."

"A human, Syrena?"

"A skilled human," the woman said. "I can feel the fire in her."

Temora took a breath. The two elves would not speak to her if they were not curious, but she could sense their power. And their age. She would have to be very careful.

"My name is Temora Honeytongue, Master and Mistress," she said. She bowed deeply. "I do not mean to use your arts for evil or for greed. I have a dangerous enemy, and I must master the arts of your kind to face him."

"You speak truly," Syrena said. "I can smell your honesty." Her fingers raked through Temora's hair, sending a little cold thrill through her. "What a pretty human. So tall and weatherbeaten, yet soft and comely. I can tell she is of good quality. She would be a worthy student." She look to Viren.

The elven man drifted away, standing by the shimmering pool. "Who is this enemy you speak of? I will not have you turn your hand against one of our kind, few of us that still remain."

Temora bit her lip. "I know not his race. Few have ever laid eyes on him. But I seek to face the Greatlord, and dismantle his empire of greed."

They were silent a while. "I doubt you have the skill." Viren stared at her coldly. "You know nothing of his powers. Even Syrena and I were no match for him, in our youth." His scrutiny grew more intense. Something in his eyes made Temora blush. The elven woman pulled away from her and returned to the man. Her arms slipped around his waist. He regarded her.

"I scent her talent, Viren. She is special." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, which stirred no emotion in his eyes. "Let us teach her, husband. Four centuries has it been since we had a student. Shall we cower in the darkness forever, and give nothing to the world that burns outside?"

Viren sighed, and his gaze shifted back to her. "I will do as my wife wishes. We shall be your instructors, Temora Honeytongue." He turned away then, something unreadable in his expression. It was hard to understand their elfin features. "You will come with us to the Place of Knowledge."

#

The Place of Knowledge was within a cavernous maze of a place, lit by crystals ensconced in the walls. Long was the winding journey through labyrinthine passages to its center, a great plaza with faded frescoes and shattered statues. A long stone table marked one wall, and upon the other was an altar with curious stone idols and symbols. The two elves seemed to appear and vanish as they pleased on the journey, rarely saying a word, just watching her with those multicolored, everchanging eyes that both seemed to frighten and thrill her.

They took seats upon raised stone daises in the center of the plaza. "We shall begin your teaching immediately." Syrena crossed her legs and folded her palms together. "First, we shall begin with the study of conjuration, of which I am the master."

Viren gave her a curt nod as he rose. "I shall excuse myself. I will return when my wife bids you, to teach you the principles of teleportation. You will need both these skills to face the Greatlord."

He disappeared within an instant. This, Temora supposed, was the power of teleportation he knew so well. She looked at his wife, her fair elven features quite bewitching, yet she seemed so cold and distant. The air in the room warmed as a fire roared in the hearth, and Temora's heavy traveling cloak and trousers suddenly felt an encumbrance.

"Remove those garments," the elf said. "I have a training shift for you to wear."

"Here?" Temora said, looking about. A blush suffused her cheeks. Not that she was a modest woman by any means, but it seemed unseemly to do so before an elven mage of such standing.

"Do you have a problem with your ears? I said remove them, human."

The tone of her voice was like a dagger. Temora obeyed, her fingers quickly unfastening the buckles and clasps of her leather jerkin. Beneath was a simple cotton shirt, which she removed over her head, revealing a plain cotton wrap about her breasts. Her belt was next, and her leather trousers. Then the boots, until she was standing in naught but a linen wrap and smallclothes.

Syrena sniffed. "Oh, you are quite filthy from the road, aren't you?"

Temora's blush grew deeper, this time out of embarrassment. "Forgive me, mistress."

Syrena raised a hand and conjured up a long, grey gown. "Put this on. You can bathe after your lesson is finished. My husband will not tolerate such a smell. He barely tolerates human scent as it is. And I wish for you to please him." Her teeth formed a cold smile, but Temora could not understand her intent.

"As you say, Mistress," Temora said. She took the gown and slipped it over her naked body. It felt cool against her skin, and she found it clung to her breasts and hips quite snugly. Humans were clearly more voluptuous on average than elves.

"It suits you. Now sit. Like me." Syrena sat upon the dais and crossed her legs. She held out her hands, palms facing upward. "We will begin with a simple exercise. Conjuring a stone in one hand, and an identical stone in the other."

"Yes, Mistress," Temora said. She copied her stance. "But how do I do that? I only know how to conjure fire, and that came naturally to me, as a child."

"You must learn to manipulate the forces around you," Syrena said. "The world is full of energy. The earth, the air, the water. You can draw upon them and shape them. Try to focus on the ground. Feel its texture, its energy. And then try to pull a piece of it away."

"I will try," Temora said. She closed her eyes and focused her attention on the ground. After a moment, she felt a slight pull, like the tug of a fish on a line. She opened her eyes and saw a small pebble resting in the palm of her left hand.

"Very good. Now, the right hand."

Temora nodded and tried again. This time, it was more difficult, but after a few moments, a second pebble appeared in her hand. "Yes!"

But her Mistress was not so pleased. "It is not identical. See?" She pointed at a crack in the surface. "Again." The stones disappeared from her hands.

She tried again. And again. But the stone never quite formed perfectly. It was a very particular shade of pink, the same as the river stones in the village of her birth. But she could not get them to ever match. Each one was different.

Syrena noticed. "What is this stone you seek? What is its importance to you?"

Temora sighed. "A memory. Of a place that no longer exists."

"Rather unusual," Syrena remarked. "I find that beginners typically summon random stones, of more common color. With no significance. It appears you do indeed have talent. Let us a few more times."

She did not succeed. She tried what seemed twenty or so times, and by the end of it, was drenched in sweat. Syrena seemed to have decided that this was enough practice for one day.

"You seem quite spent. We shall continue your training tomorrow," the elven woman said. "Now, I wish for you to bathe before we sup." She gestured at a room at the end of the plaza. "In there is a bathing chamber. I will leave fresh clothes for you in the antechamber."

"Thank you, Mistress," Temora said, bowing her head.

She walked away, towards the room Syrena had indicated. When she opened the door, she found a spacious antechamber with a stone tub filled with steaming water. On a table near the basin was a set of robes, clean and folded, freshly conjured by her Mistress. She stripped off her sweat-soaked garments and eased herself into the warm water, sighing as the heat soothed her muscles. The bath was luxurious and decadent, the water smelling faintly of jasmine. She washed the grime and dirt from her body, then submerged herself, letting the warmth envelop her. She could have stayed there all day, but her stomach rumbled, and she remembered that Syrena had promised her food. She reached for a bar of silvery soap on the ledge next to the tub.

But before she could rise or even begin to scrub herself, she stiffened. She felt another presence in the room. A sudden chill descended upon her, and the hairs on her arms and neck stood up. She turned, and the presence disappeared. Temora waited a moment, and then took the bar of soap. Cautiously, she lathered up and began to scrub down her grime-covered shoulders. She felt the chill again. Behind her. She turned her head and it was gone.

This cat and mouse game continued for a while. Each time, she felt the cold presence, and it disappeared the moment she turned her head. But after a while, it faded for good. She felt unnerved, but decided to continue bathing. She did not want to disappoint her elven teachers with her foul human scent. She lathered herself up and rose to scrub down her backside. That was when she saw him.

Viren remained in shadow, most of his body suspended in some other realm. All but for his eyes, which she dared not meet. She could feel the dark heat of his arousal. Temora felt a sense of violation but also... a thrill. A powerful elf mage like him desired her? And was not so bold as to show himself? It was thrilling.

His lustful gaze made her loins warm. And she felt compelled to give him a bit of a show as she turned around, displaying her pert, supple buttocks. Then she slid her fingers down the sides of her body, tracing the curve of her hip. As her fingers reached the inside of her thigh, she heard Viren shudder, unable to control himself.

He was a man who had not been touched in some time.

She had him.

Temora continued the slow, teasing dance, moving her hands over her breasts and cupping them gently. Viren's eyes were still closed, and he was breathing heavily. Her own breath grew more labored as she stroked her nipples, feeling them stiffen beneath her touch. She closed her eyes, imagining Viren's hands on her, his lips kissing her neck. Her fingers slipped between her legs, stroking her wet, sensitive flesh. She was surprised at how aroused she was, for she did not normally prefer the company of men in the bedroom. But the elf was... different. She tried to imagine what his cock looked like. How it would feel, compared to a human's in her hand.

As she teased herself, she could hear him grunting. He was growing bolder, as she turned away from him, thinking her unaware. Or perhaps he knew that she knew, and that thought only spurred her on. Still, she would not let him know, she would not let him touch her. He was a married man. She would only perform for her, a song that was different from the one she played on her flute. She teased out the bud of her clitoris, spreading her legs wide to expose herself. Her other hand tweaked at her nipple.

"Yes, play with yourself, human," his voice was low, sultry. "Your song is very pleasing."

She moaned. Oh, he was bold. But so was she. Her finger moved faster, her hips gyrating.

"I have never heard a human make such sounds before." He was standing behind her now, she could tell.

She did not respond. Her fingers were a blur, and she could feel her climax building.

"I can smell your arousal."

She moaned again. "Please, Master..."

"Please, what?"

She came. It was sharp and urgent, twisting her hips, but it ultimately ended too quickly. Soiled in perversion and frustration, she grunted and gripped the sides of the tub to stop from falling over. She panted and tried to catch her breath, then she opened her eyes. She turned around, but he was gone. There was a small puddle of something white pooling on the bathing chamber's floor. Elven seed. It was absorbed in the stone, and from the cold earth rose a little flower.

Temora stepped out of the water and took a linen cloth. She dried herself and went for the elven garments her Mistress had left her. They were soft and smooth against her skin.

Syrena was waiting for her when she arrived back in the plaza. She sat cross-legged, a stern expression on her pale face. Temora felt a strange thrill, and a flutter in her chest. "I was beginning to think you'd drowned yourself," Syrena said, though her tone was light and teasing. "I would have had to bring Viren in to pull your carcass out."

Temora's cheeks colored. "Forgive me, Mistress," she said, bowing her head. "I lost track of time."

Syrena's face was inscrutable. "Come, let us sup."

Temora followed her. It would be an unbearable ordeal. But to her surprise, when they sat down at the stone table, Viren was nowhere to be found. Bread and wine had been placed before them, but only two places were set.

"Where is your husband, Mistress?" Temora asked, gratefully accepting the bread offered her.

"He is a busy man. He has matters to attend to," the elven woman said. Her words were cold, and yet... there was a sadness in her eyes. Temora knew little of conjuration and teleportation, but she knew of sex. And this was a woman who had been long untouched. Perhaps, for centuries. "He will instruct you tomorrow. I hope you are prepared." Her teeth flashed briefly. "He is not as kind as I am."

Temora nodded, trying not to let her eyes betray her. "I will do my best to please him."

She felt her cunt twitch with the shame of betrayal.

#

In the morning she sat upon the dais, across from Viren, just as she had done with Syrena. He acted as though nothing had transpired with him, evincing cold politeness. She was unsure what to make of him. But she was also not a simple maid, and so she returned his coolness with equal reserve.

"We will begin your training now," Viren said. "Today, I will teach you how to teleport. This is a complex and dangerous art. If not done properly, it can result in grave injury or even death."

Temora bowed her head. "I understand."

"Good. Then let us begin. First, you must focus your mind and visualize your destination. It can be a place you have been before, or a place that you have seen in a painting or drawing. Once you have this image clearly in your mind, you must imagine yourself moving through the space, as if it were a corridor."

Temora nodded. "And then what?"

"Once you have done that, you must extend your will into the space. You must force it to bend to your will and allow you passage."

"Like when I pull a stone from the earth?"

"Precisely. You will start by teleporting just a finger into another realm. There are many realms, but you shall begin with your own personal realm. This is the easiest place to reach." His eyes looked over her probingly, and she blushed. He had been quite privy to her personal realm last night.

She nodded and closed her eyes, extending her mind towards her realm. She felt the tug, and her finger disappeared. It was a curious feeling, like it was no longer a part of her. She could feel its warmth, its contours, but it was not there.

"Now bring it back."

She tried to do so, but it would not obey her. Her will was not enough. She grew frustrated and angry, but she calmed herself. She took a deep breath, and focused on the tug. She imagined herself pulling it back to her. And it came, though not as fast as she would have liked.

"Impressive," Viren said. "You are quite singular for a human. In more ways than one." His gaze flickered to her breats, snug in the training shift, and then returned to her hands. "But you must practice."

"How many times must I do this before I am ready?" she asked.

"Many," he said, his expression blank.

Temora's frustration was building. He had promised to teach her, and yet she felt his instructions to be opaque. "That's helpful."

His expression did not change. "Yes," he said. "Now try again."

And she did. For many hours, she did.

Her fingers grew hot. And her body grew sore. And she could not progress beyond teleporting one finger.

He watched her with bored indifference, rarely saying much. And yet his strange, vivid eyes occasionally wandered, to her shapely rear, to her muscular thighs, to her chapped lips. He eyed her less like a student, and more like a meal from a foreign cuisine he wished to savor. "Enough," he eventually said. "Go bathe and prepare for supper. Your talent has reached its zenith for the day."

Angry, flushed with frustration, she rose and walked to the bathing chamber. She stripped, cursing his name, and sunk into the bath, too irritated to enjoy the comfort it provided. And then she felt his eyes upon her, once more.

Her hands slid between her legs. This time their eyes met.

"I will watch you," he said. "Do it again."

She was angry. But she was also aroused. "Why should I?"

He shrugged. "Because it pleases me."

Her heart was racing. She was torn. She could see him now. Not all of him. Only his eyes. But his presence was strong and imposing.

"Why do you want to see me like this?"

"Because it's not easy for me," he said, his voice quiet.

"Why?"

"You're a human," he said. "And I'm an elf... an impotent elf."

"But... but I saw your seed."

"With my wife, I cannot perform. Long have we been wed, and so we tired of one another." His voice was bitter, and then grew pleading. "Please, pleasure yourself for me."

Temora hesitated. But his eyes looked so sad, and so lustful, and she felt the heat of them burn her cheeks and heat up her loins. She slipped her hand between her legs once more. Her fingers slid into her cunt, and she began to finger herself.

His seed splattered the floor again that evening. And again a flower rose.

#

So her days went like this for a while. Alternating sessions of conjuration and teleportation, followed by baths where she debased herself for her elven Master. Soon, a garden of flowers grew in the bathroom from their indiscretions. Her Mistress seemed to have little knowledge or care about the dalliances, and tutored her with unfailing patience and kindness. This only engendered more guilt in Temora, but did not stop her from her perverse doings. The truth was, the bard relished holding this power over an elven man. She did not enjoy the company of human men, having only occasionally fooled around with them. But his elven mysteriousness, his penetrating gaze, and his somewhat androgynous wiles charmed her.

But with all their forbidden pleasure-taking, she found that he was completely unable to progress her abilities in teleportation. She grew frustrated and angry. She did not wish to be his dirty secret any longer, especially when no progress were being made. And so one evening, after yet another session in which she had only managed to teleport a single finger, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Why can you not teach me?" she asked. "I am a student who is willing and ready to learn. I practice hard. You should not hold me back, Master Viren."

He stared at her coolly. "Your body is a distraction. It is not conducive to learning. I can smell it from across the room, your human lust."

"Then let me release it, before our sessions," she said. "Let me release your lust."

"It is not right. I should not enter the womb of a human woman." He bit his lip, as though the mere act of refusal pained him greatly. "I should be able to give my wife a child. Our race dwindles, and yet I can only arouse myself around the presence of a lowly human." His cock rose within his robe, and Temora felt herself scooting towards him on all fours, mesmerized by the prospect of finally looking upon his member. "I am a disgrace," he exclaimed, bitterness in his voice, shame in his eyes.

"No," she whispered, the word like a caress. "You are special. A powerful, proud elf. Do not hide your beauty. Let me see you. I want to know your body, Master. Let me please you. Without you entering my womb."

His expression was one of conflicted lust, and then resignation. Slowly, he pulled the cloth from his waist. And his penis sprang out. It was not as long or thick as a human's. But it was a beautiful thing. Elfin, like the rest of him. Slender and elegant, and a curious pale color. The tip was a rosy hue, and there were no balls hanging below.

She could not resist.

Temora placed her hands upon his thighs and opened her mouth, letting the head of his cock slide between her lips. While she was skilled at the art of cunnilingus, only once before had she performed fellatio. His elven anatomy was different, and her fingers slid up and down his length, teasing out the precum that had already gathered at the tip. It was a pale color, like the rest of him, and had an interesting texture, like a silk scarf. It did not have the strong, bitter taste of a human's seed.

"That's it," he breathed. "Suckle my cock. Suckle me dry."

"As you wish, Master," she whispered, her tongue lapping the head. "I am yours to command."

He groaned, his hand tightening in her hair. "Yours," she repeated, "to command."

Her mouth descended upon his cock. Unpracticed and unskilled, but eager, she began to ride it with her mouth.

"That's right," he growled. "Take it. Take all of it, human bitch."

His hands came down and wrapped around her head, forcing her down further, his cock filling her throat, the head tickling the back of it. She gagged, and tears formed in her eyes.

"You want this," he hissed. "You want to be mine. To submit."

She did. More than anything, she wanted to submit. She bobbed her head along his shaft, up and down, enjoying the strange ridges upon its surface. Her own arousal was hot and thick in the room, but she did not touch herself. She devoted herself to his pleasure. She wanted to milk him dry, to be a good girl from him. He gripped her hair tighter, and fucked her face. The pace increase as he guided her head up and down her shaft. She was now just a tool for him, and she loved it. She would have to dabble with men more often now - they had their own charms.

When his seed spurted out, it was a warm, tingling sensation. The warmth spread through her mouth and down her throat, filling her up. She moaned and licked her lips, tasting his sweet cum. It was better than wine.

"Try teleporting. Your whole hand." He grunted as he stood before her, tying up his robe. "Go on, do it."

She stared at her hand. She willed it away. It vanished. She gaped, and willed it back. It returned. She stared up at him. "How?"

His smile was rueful. "Another reason why I should not mate with a human. Our seed... has magical properties. You shall grow stronger, every time you partake of it."

Temora licked her lips.

#

So the days went on, and she lost track of time. It did not seem to pass the same way in this dark land as it did on the surface, as she did not seem to age. She partook in regular fellatio with Master Viren, and she did, her magical abilities progressed rapidly. Syrena often commented on it, and if there was sadness in her eyes, she kept it well hidden. Temora had become a prodigious talent, with little that she could not conjure or teleport, but for the greatest of objects. And yet, the guilt of how she had come upon her powers tugged at her.

She felt that she had to confess. Her training was almost at a close, and she could not bear to leave this place with such a horrible secret between them. So one day, as she and her Mistress dined alone, as they most often did, she cleared her throat.

"I have something to confess," she said. The elven woman glanced at her with curious eyes. "It's a difficult matter to broach."

Syrena shrugged. "You are my student. There should be no secrets between us."

"I've... been having relations with your husband," she said. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes stung with prickling tears of shame as she looked at the ground. It was far from the first time she'd had her pleasures with a married person, usually a woman. But she cared for Mistress Syrena, and couldn't bear to make her a fool any longer.

Syrena stared at her. "Of course," she said, her tone dry. "Did you think I could not smell his seed festering in your whorish belly?"

Temora gaped. "Mistress, I -"

"Hush, girl," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Long has it been since we pleasured one another. Should I fault him if a common human girl aroused him? Clearly, I bore him." She acted indifferent, but the hurt hung heavy in the air. "We could not bear child, and eventually we tired of one another. We have not rut in centuries."

Temora felt her heart ache. How could two such beautiful, powerful beings, live this way? She had to make things right. "If I may, Mistress, I believe that I came here for a reason."

"To humiliate me?" Syrena replied, bitterly.

"No, Mistress." Temora rose and took the other woman's hand. "I came here to stir passions between you two again. To serve you. To arouse you." Her hand gripped Syrena's chin, and she felt the elven woman shiver at her touch. "Do you not desire me?"

Syrena's breath caught. "Of course, I do."

"Then allow me to pleasure you," Temora whispered.

"Yes." Syrena's voice was low and hoarse. "I... I have not been touched in so long."

Temora kissed Syrena, her tongue delving into the elven woman's mouth, and her hands slid down Syrena's neck. She pushed the robes from her shoulders, and it fell in a pool around her feet. She was naked, her pale skin glowing like moonlight, her slender limbs, and her small, pointed ears. Her breasts were small and her nipples almost as sharp as her ears. She had no pubic hair, only a delicate, once folded slit, glistening with arousal.

Temora pulled her training shift over her head, exposing her own plump, dark-nippled breasts, her tanned, sunburned skin, and her lightly bristled cunt, with tight, slick labia. Their bodies pressed together, the warmth of their skin mingling, their hearts beating wildly. Temora's hands slid over Syrena's body, her fingers tracing the curves of her hips, the swell of her buttocks, the valley between her legs. She leaned in and kissed the elf again, her tongue entwined with the elf's, enjoying, suckling, groping with abandon.

She felt that same cold presence she knew all so well. Viren watched them, and Temora smiled, knowing this was what all three of them needed. Her hand slid between her Mistress's thighs, and found the wet, hot cleft. She teased it gently, sliding her finger up and down the slick folds, her thumb flicking the nub of flesh at the apex. The elvish cunt was so tiny, so sensitive, so different from dwarven cunt, or even human pussy. Temora began to kiss her way down Syrena's body, tongue slapping across her tiny breasts. The sharp elvish nipples pricked at Temora's skin, causing her to yelp. Syrena moaned and writhed, her fingers tangled in the human's dark hair. Temora moved her hand, thrusting two fingers into her cunt, and began to fuck her gently, feeling the tight muscles grip her, pulling her deeper. Syrena's breathing grew ragged.

"Yes," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "Oh yes."

Temora kneeled before her. Viren was behind them. She could see him stroking his cock. She pulled her fingers loose of Syrena's pussy, eliciting a frustrated whine from the elf.

"Master, you are too far away," she whispered. "Would you not like to fuck us? Would you not like to see my face as I am pleasured by another?"

His expression was conflicted.

"I want your cum, Master," Temora said. "And so does Syrena."

"Please," the elven woman breathed, her voice desperate.

Viren stood up. His robe fell open, and his pale, slender cock slid out. Temora moved forward, taking his shaft into her hand. She stroked him, and he groaned. Syrena whimpered, her eyes locked on the elven man. Temora used one hand to stroke him, and with her other, she gently parted the thin, utterly delicate labial folds of the elven woman. Her fingers dipped into her hot, wet cunt, her thumb teasing the soft bead of her clitoris. Syren moaned lewdly.

With both hands, she pleasured her two teachers, as they leaned forward and touched each other for the first time in centuries. Viren cupped Syrena's breasts as they kissed and groaned into each other's mouths. Kneeling between them, Temora's hands worked away relentlessly, churning at their nethers. Temora could feel herself dripping onto the cold stone floor. Viren's shaft was sliding through her warm, slick fingers, as Syrena's cunt squelched on her other hand's fingers that impaled her furiously.

Temora then leaned in and began to lap dutifully at her Mistress's cunt. Elvish pussy was so delightfully soft, melting on her tongue. Syrena tasted faintly of honey, cinnamon, and a spring breeze. She was a treat to savor, and her tiny clitoral bead pulsed delicately upon the rough contours of Temora's tongue. Her arousal was sweet and intoxicating, and she could not get enough as she licked and fucked her Mistress in furious counterpoint.

Viren started to spurt his seed upon Temora, splattering her face and hair. Syrena whimpered and tightened around Temora's fingers, her arousal splashing onto her hand. It was an intoxicating feeling. The taste of them, the smell of them, as they climaxed upon her, their little plaything. She rose, and drew them close with her, her cunt aching with need.

"I want both of you. Take me, please." They acceded readily.

Laying upon the altar like a sacrifice, she watched as Syrena lowered her head between her legs. Behind Syrena was Viren, who gripped his wife's waifishly thin hips as he slid his cock inside of her needy cunt with a long, drawn-out groan. She responded with a moan of her own and Temora squealed as the elf woman's hot breath kissed her labial folds, parting them as easily as two fingers. Syrena's tongue darted forward and licked the length of her slit.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes closing. "Take me. Take me in your mouth."

Syrena did so. She felt her lips purse around her clit and she felt it throb in the wet heat of the elvish woman's mouth. Her hips rolled, pushing up, offering herself to the elf, who took the invitation. Her tongue darted in and out of her hot, wet cunt and the bard gasped and groaned.

"Yes, Mistress. Yes!" Temora tugged at her own dark nipples, wincing with pleasure, before she conjured up a thick collar around her neck, choking her. Her breath grew sharp and ragged. Runes of pleasure, initiated by the pain of choking, glowed faintly on her body.

Viren's hips slapped against his wife's as he rutted her from behind. Syrena's moans were muffled by Temora's cunt. The bard gripped the sides of the stone dais, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. The noises she made were inhuman, and she looked into Viren's eyes, the two of them lustfully enjoying his wife on all fours between them, providing endless pleasure. And for those who have not experienced the delight of an elven woman's tongue, what Temora experienced would be near indescribable.

Syrena's tongue was longer, nimbler and more powerful than a human's. And the elf's mouth was hot, her spit thick and her lips soft and supple. Sharp teeth grazed the contours of Temora's sturdy buttocks as the elf's long tongue ventured further south. Temora was being thoroughly licked and explored, and she could feel Syrena's fingers working inside of her too. Temora writhed her hips, in rhythm with the slapping thrusts of Viren inside of his wife. His hands swatted her ass, leaving flushed marks upon the pale white skin.

Syrena's sharp teeth nipped Temora's buttcheeks, before clamping down on the soft flesh of her perineum. Temora shrieked in pain, and the runes of pleasure flashed across her body. The snake-like tongue writhed and slashed through her folds, across the taint and down lower. Syrena's tongue found a new opening. Temora squealed as the slippery muscle invaded her ass. The elf's tongue slithered deep, exploring her innermost depths. It was an ungodly sensation. She felt as though the elf's tongue could reach her very soul.

The runes were bright and burning, and she was aflame with pleasure. She only wanted to try one more thing. Desperately, as her body rolled closer, and closer to an orgasm, she wrapped her fingers around her tongue. She willed it to teleport.

And she teleported her tongue right into Syrena's pale, tight, elven asshole.

The woman twitched with surprise, and then she unraveled completely into glorious, body-racking orgasm. Syrena howled as her tongue slapped wildly and uncontrollably across the valley of Temora's buttcheeks, her fingers pumping mindlessly in and out of the bard's pussy. Temora's disembodied tongue could taste Viren's seed as he unloaded in his wife, and she could feel herself unravel, the hot runes of pleasure burning on her brown skin.

They fucked and screamed and fucked and bucked and collapsed into a sodden, sweaty, sticky mess. Syrena, the elvish woman, lay upon her back, her white body a pale contrast against the dark stone, her breasts rising and falling. Viren lay beside her, his slender, pale body a match for hers, his cock still erect and slick with cum. Temora's tongue, now returned to its rightful place, flicked the roof of her mouth, savoring the dessert wine sweet flavor of Master Viren, mixed with the sharp tang of Mistress Syrena's asshole. She giggled as she rubbed her cum and sweat soaked face.

"That was probably the best lesson you ever gave me." Their laughter echoed in the room as their tired bodies shifted and curled around one another, finding comfortable places to rest their heads.

#

The stone citadel's quiet was broken by the shriek of a child. Viren smiled as his daughter ran across the room, tiny braids flying in the wind behind her. He pulled her into his arms and held her up high. The cold chill of the southern winter was dimmed here, warded off by the magic of the place, though snowdrifts were visible from the great windows.

"Papa!" she said. "I found a friend." She held in her hand a tiny, docile, lizard, common to these wastes. "Can I keep it?"

"Surely," he said, setting her down. "But do ask your mother for me." The girl giggled and ran to the other side of the room, where Syrena practiced her conjurations idly, creating feather dusters that swept around the room, tidying up. He smiled at her, and she smiled back at him.

"Temora," Syrena said, tugging at her sharp knife ears, "I told you to stop bringing lizards into the house." Viren laughed.

Clearly, the girl took after her troublesome namesake. He often wondered where the bard had gone, and whether she had ever faced the Greatlord and won. But she had healed their home, and for that, he would always keep a piece of her close to him.

Literally and figuratively. The bard had produced a rather interesting conjuration as a parting gift, and he and Syrena found themselves using it quite liberally when they had put the little one to bed.

So continues the legend of Temora Honeytongue.