We step into the Saltport Inn, a discreet gem amid the rustic bourg. Velvet cushions line the private salon, firelight dancing on polished oak. The innkeeper, eyes gleaming with admiration, ushers us in. No coin for the night—our defiance of the corrupt guards earns us the vast attic suite. Six kingly beds draped in finest linens, air scented with wild herbs. My turquoise silk tunic whispers against my skin, nipples hardening under its sheer caress. Níniel’s sage silk clings to her curves, blush fading as Krill’s gaze devours her. Hermine lounges, her form a promise. Gardain rubs hands, already plotting sales at the armorer’s.
We feast: roasted quail dripping juices, wine tart on tongues, bread crusty and warm. Details sharpen desire—the linen’s cool slide, steam rising from platters. Gardain haggles outside, returns lighter, purse heavier from goblin spoils. Laughter flows, guards’ threats forgotten. Upstairs, the attic envelops us. Windows overlook the moonlit Bandonnée River, bridge ruins a shadowed warning. But here, exclusivity reigns. We shed inhibitions with clothes. Silk pools at feet, bodies glow in lantern haze.
The Privilege
Krill pulls me close, his muscled chest rough against my breasts. Fingers trace his thickening cock, six inches pulsing hot. Níniel kneels for him, lips parting. The suite’s luxury liberates—plush rugs under knees, mirrors reflecting every angle. Hermine and Gardain entwine nearby, her moans soft echoes.
Krill lays back on the vast bed, feathers yielding. I straddle, sage silk discarded, my wet folds engulfing his shaft. Slow thrust, filling me deep. Níniel mounts his face, cuissardes gleaming mithril heels digging sheets. His tongue laps her nectar, greedy. Gardain kneels behind her, short sword probing her rear. Double impalement—her gasps sharp, body quivering between warriors.
The Excess
Hermine and I mirror, head-to-toe on adjacent bed. Tongues delve slick cunts, clits throbbing under flicks. Nectar flows, salty-sweet, fingers plunging. Beds creak rhythm, air thick with musk. Krill’s hips buck, pounding my core. Níniel rocks, ass clenching Gardain’s girth. Peaks build—muscles tense, breaths ragged.
I shatter first, walls gripping Krill’s cock, juices soaking him. He grunts, flooding me hot. Níniel cries out, double-stuffed ecstasy rippling through. Hermine and I peak together, tongues buried, thighs trembling. Gardain withdraws, spurting across backs. Sweat-slick, we collapse in tangled bliss.
Dawn filters through heavy drapes. We cleanse in copper tub, scented oils foaming. Breakfast arrives discreetly—fruits bursting juice, coffee bitter-strong. Guards below, oblivious. River monster looms, but suite’s walls seal our secret. Purse fat, bodies sated, we plot crossing. Boat waits. Tertre Sanglant calls. Elite unbreakable.
