A Pretty Elf in Qeynos Part Twenty Six

The morning after Mama’s successful soirée, Amber woke in the full light of the morning, curled up in Cadwarra’s arms in Cadwarra’s bed with a mouthful of lovely hard nipple attached to a lovely soft breast. Had she suckled Cadwarra all night? They had lazily slept away a good part of the morning. Dozing, she could hear someone was fucking the High Elf next door, having a morning ride before the day’s work was begun.

There was no servant to come in and light the fire so she stayed under the blankets wrapped around Cadwarra’s warm body, boob in mouth, while she listened to the approaching orgasms on the other side of the wall. The squeaking of the High Elf’s bed could be heard to increase. The panting of the male sex partner rose in volume. It made Amber want Diamander’s cock. She wished he had come home last night. No matter the hour she would have asked him for a fuck. Surely Cadwarra would have wanted one, too.

“Baby, you’re so wet this morning!” the male told his High Elf lover on the other side of the wall. His enthusiasm was so loud even Amber’s Human ears could hear.

“It’s you. Making me so wet” the High Elf answered. Amber knew all males loved to hear that. She wanted Diamander to make her wet like that. She lay there, sleepy and sexually frustrated, Cadwarra’s breast in mouth. Horny, she circled Cadwarra’s nipple with her tongue and waited for the sunlight coming through the window to warm the room. Cadwarra quietly snored away. She felt Cadwarra’s nipple rise in her mouth. Cadwarra raised her arms in her sleep and gently cradled Amber’s head.

Amber sucked tit and wondered why Diamander had not come home last night to physically please his girls. Cadwarra, when asked about it before bed, had artfully sidestepped the question. That was not a good sign.

Amber recalled Diamander had been talking to that nosy little jerk Shockley at one point in the evening. She suspected Shockley was one of those closet fags and she feared maybe he had managed to convince Diamander to go home with him and suck some cock. But why would Diamander do that when he had two willing girls waiting for him in his bed? Well…Cadwarra’s bed.

Cadwarra stirred in her sleep again. Without waking, she pulled Amber in closer. In her dreams she whispered “I love you, Fayt.”

Fayt? Who was ‘Fayt’? Amber did not know. Was it some fellow that had screwed Cadwarra long ago? Maybe he was her first. Maybe she would ask Cadwarra when she woke up. Maybe it was best she did not.

Amber thought of how Diamander had fucked her in the very bed she and Cadwarra now occupied. She thought how much he loved it. They needed to do it again. She was so longing for his big cock that her snatch was hot. She was angry at that faggot Shockley for tempting Diamander into not coming home.

She reached down and touched Cadwarra’s vagina. She slipped one finger in then another and began to please Cadwarra a little. Cadwarra felt slippery. Amber was sure that that was cum that made Cadwarra’s slit so juicy. She gently pushed two fingers deep into the cum-slathered pussy. She liked having cum on her fingers. It was only when her fingers were soaked with all that cum did Amber realize that some of that cum she was touching was Papa’s cum. It was too late, she rationalized, and it was not like Papa was using it anymore, anyway. She pushed Cadwarra’s clithood up and worked her love-button, using the semen to masturbate Cadwarra as she slumbered.

Amber remembered a few of the things Cadwarra had told her about Papa on last night’s walk home. Now sober, she was not sure she liked knowing things about how he was in bed. She supposed she could pass that information on to Arleena, though, since she was so interested in Papa.

Arleena had tits a bit like Cadwarra’s. She could assure Arleena that hers were the type Papa liked to play with. She would also let Arleena know to grip Papa’s prick by the base so he would not hurt her too much when he pushed it deep.

The thought of Papa fucking all those women somehow turned Amber on. She pushed her fingers back into Cadwarra’s vadge, using three fingers this time. She slowly moved her fingers in and out. She calculated Papa must be bigger than Diamander since she had not needed to grip Diamander’s cock at the base.

And what size was Uncle Triander? The way his eyes had drifted down to Cadwarra’s breasts when he had been introduced to her last night, Amber had little doubt he would be coming around to Cadwarra’s bed to try her out himself soon enough. Once that was done, Amber would simply ask Cadwarra about Uncle Triander’s size.

Pondering such a question of size, Amber suddenly had an insane urge to be kneeling in front of the three Vishra men and sucking all three cocks at once. It wasn’t such an evil thing to do, was it? All those lovely big pricks laid across her cheeks and chin, sliding into her mouth, fucking her face. She was sure they would enjoy her blowjobs. Diamander had. She pushed her fingers deeper into Cadwarra’s pussy. Papa’s cum coated her digits.

Cadwarra finally woke to Amber’s attentions. It felt nice. Her fingers slipped into Amber and the two Ladies masturbated each other shamelessly, up to the last knuckle. Lips met lips and tongues slipped in and out of mouths. Amber went down on Cadwarra and tasted Papa’s cum. Or was it Bowerbrook’s? She hoped it was Papa’s. The thought titillated Amber while Cadwarra kept fingering her. They soon came. Neither confessed to the other that they were thinking of big cocks.

They finished in time for Cadwarra to get dressed and head to the Temple of Life to see the Old Druidess to brush up on her heal spells, as required by Lord Bowerbrook’s Certification Committee.

Alone and no longer horny thanks to her orgasm, Amber felt guilty over her incestuous thoughts about her own Papa and Uncle. She rationalized it was just a wicked fantasy. Her girlfriends had similar masturbatory dreams about their fathers. It was no big deal, she thought, but she still felt uncomfortable.

She had two hours still before she was to meet Mama for lunch. She spent the time trying to figure out how to start a fire. It had something to do with ‘kindling’. She was pretty sure that was the little pieces of wood stored near the stove, beside the big pieces of wood.

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The Village of Willow Wood was small. Unlike the big city, the Wood Elves inhabiting the little hamlet seemed to have an easy time of things as they went casually about. Though himself a Wood Elf, Kivan grew up on a farm and had never seen so many Feir’Dal. They all strolled about as if they were going somewhere, but no destination seemed all that pressing.

Kivan did not spot the smithy despite the tiny size of the settlement. A passing woman, quite elderly, was kind enough to stop when Kivan bowed politely and asked for directions to the forge.

He had chosen to ask this particular person for directions thinking a grey-haired woman of her years would have learned at some time in her long life to speak Common. He preferred using the Common language over the Feir’Dal language of his race.

“Just up there and turn right, Young Man” was the answer she gave in flawless Common. “It’s the one with the big chimney and all that blasted smoke.” She used her yew staff to indicate the direction. The staff glowed and crackled magically as she swung it casually through the air and Kivan realized he had just stopped a most venerable Druid from going about her business.

Kivan was mortified. He bowed in abject apology. “Thank you for your kindness, Madam Druidess. I apologize for interrupting you.”

“Had you been interrupting me” she replied “I would not have stopped. And so you would not have been interrupting.” With the experience of age, the Old Druidess reflected that interruptions were what brings us change; things rarely happen by accident. Who was this boy that Tunare had caused to stop her for such a trivial question? Or was it a trivial question?

She should not have even been there at this time in the morning. She should have been attending to her duties at the Temple of Life. But she had forgotten to bring her cat with her when she departed at sunrise for her usual journey to the Temple. She had needed the tom for her lesson this morning with an incompetent Paladin and had been obliged to go back to Willow Wood just for the cat. What did this young lad have to do with all that, if anything? He was certainly not the Paladin she was to meet today.

She leaned on her staff and looked this young male up and down, as if trying to auger what exactly Tunare had intended by making her forget her feline familiar. Almost back to her cottage and her pet, she found that the Goddess had put this boy in her way. She doubted this was a random inconvenience. Tunare was clearly indicating he was good for something, though his use was not yet apparent.

“What is your purpose with the smith Master Mossclean?” The Druidess asked the question with no apology for her nosiness. She was fishing for some information to indicate what part it was that Tunare wanted her to play in this young man’s life. Was it a minor problem he had that she could help with or was there some important function she needed to perform?

“I am to be taught to be a Squire.” Kivan answered, puzzled why his business, such as it was, was so important to an august Druid.

“So, you are about to trod a new path in life, are you, Young Man?” The Old Druidess seemed intrigued. “And it seems I am interrupting you from starting on that path.“ The Old Druidess chuckled, turned and started to walk in the same direction as the smithy. “I shall trouble you no more.”

Kivan was puzzled by her abrupt end to their conversation. He began to walk in the same direction as the strange Druidess because that was where she had said the smithy was. He stayed well behind her out of respect and so as to not disturb her a second time.

After only a few steps, the Old Druidess turned to suddenly face Kivan again. “Just one bit of advice, Young Squire…”

He stopped politely. She stood leaning on her staff. She was studying him again. In the awkward silence, Kivan decided to bow respectfully. “Yes, Lady Druid?”

The Old Druidess lowered her voice and leaned in on her staff to confide an important piece of information to Kivan. “When you meet Denham Mossclean, don’t even look at his daughter. Mossclean is very particular about any of you skirt-lifting boys getting anywhere near her. I do not wish you getting your pretty face punched hard in a lop-sided fistfight with a blacksmith who has worked the hammer and anvil all his life.”

As she talked, she let go of her staff. It stood upright by itself a moment, point resting on the ground, then began to scratch the dirt, untouched by the Druidess’s hands. Kivan waited, not sure what was happening.

After making a complicated device in the dirt, the staff stopped a moment, then fell back into the old Druid’s hands. She seemed to study the scratching in the dirt as if it could tell her something. After a moment, she looked back up at Kivan and gave him a nod of her head. “You are a young man. You will look at the Mossclean daughter, regardless of my warning.” The Old Druidess then gave a quiet laugh and added one more cryptic piece of information. “She will interrupt you, Kivan”

She left Kivan there. He went on to find the smithy on his own while simultaneously wondering how the Old Druidess had known his name.

The smithy had a big chimney with plenty of smoke rising from it. He entered. Though the early fall day was chilly, Kivan felt the heat of the forge as soon as he opened the door.

A charcoal fire raged in the furnace. The air smelled, not unpleasantly, of smoke and iron. The place was clean and the floor clear of any debris one might trip over.

Above the furnace was suspended a huge bellows of such size that it was the first thing Kivan saw as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside. The bellows was similar to the hand-held devices he often used to get a fire going in a Lord’s chamber but this one was gigantic.

The bellows was being pumped by a diminutive female arm which was nonetheless well muscled; the owner of the arm obviously having worked from a young age at the forge. Kivan followed the arm down to a pretty blonde Wood Elf female about the same age as he.

The girl saw she had a customer but did not slow her work with the bellows. Her beautiful blue eyes looked straight at Kivan for a long moment, though, betraying her interest. As the bellows fanned the fire, flames rose high and hot as if excited to see the gaze the two youngsters’ exchanged.

The girl smiled a pretty smile then asked in the Feir’Dal language “close the door, please, Sir…my Pa pays quite a few silver for this charcoal. We don’t want to waste it heating the whole village.” Her voice, though businesslike, was very sweet.

Kivan made sure the latch clicked as he shut the door and turned back to the girl. Too busy to speak further to Kivan, the girl used her tongs to pull a white-hot rod of iron from the furnace and lay it across her anvil. By then the rod had cooled to a red-hot state. She began to strike the metal with a smith’s hammer, swinging her tool with the practiced blows of a smith who had been at that anvil since a child. Like him, she was left-handed.

Not taking those clear blue eyes from her work she told Kivan “I’ll need you…blang!…to be patient…blang!…I need to strike…blang!…while the metal is hot…blang!… I won’t be long…blang!”

So that was where that expression came from. Who knew? Kivan waited politely. The work went on for several minutes. Kivan watched the girl hammering away. It gave him a chance to study the little female blacksmith as she toiled.

She wore little in the hot room, revealing a youthful Wood Elf figure as attractive as Lady Cadwarra’s. The girl’s sleeveless shirt was quite scanty and so short on her torso that it barely fell below her spherical breasts. It left most of her ribs showing. The shirt’s material was so very thin that Kivan did not need to guess where her nipples were. They were not hard but they were puffies and thus plainly revealed their unique shape as the cloth molded around them.

Her leggings, made of a light material, did little to hide the round shape of her firm buttocks. The waistband hung low around her curvy hips showing a great amount of flat abdomen below her navel. If the garment had sat any lower on her perfectly proportioned pelvis, Kivan would have seen a hint of pubic hair.

All the while she worked, those young breasts jiggled for Kivan’s enjoyment. Each expert blang! that come down onto the hot metal celebrated the jiggling freedom they enjoyed, unrestrained by any brassiere or undershirt a wiser girl might have ensured she was wearing in front of male customers.

In the extreme heat of the smithy the girl was freely perspiring. Beads of sweat perched on her forehead. Drops sat on her upper lip. Her bare arms and exposed shoulders shone slick. Small particles of charcoal ash had landed all over her as she worked and added an attractive patina everywhere she had exposed skin.

Kivan could see that despite the amount of sweat coming from her pores she had taken the effort to be as clean as the floor she stood on. The sweat soaking her sleeveless shirt was fresh and Kivan surmised correctly that her clothes were washed daily when the chores of the smithy were completed for the day.

As Kivan had already noticed, the girl was muscular but the muscles were neither bulging nor manly. They flexed and stretched such that Kivan became sexually excited to watch the red light from the fire play across her strong biceps, shining wetly with perspiration. He would willingly drink an entire glass of that perspiration just to see her smile at him again.

Too soon, the girl ceased her tit-quivering hammering. Taking a moment to examine the shaft of iron that she held in her hand, she nodded silently in approval of the work then told Kivan “Give me a few minutes to quench this, then I will be all yours.”

She turned to thrust the thick rigid shaft into a big bucket of cold water.