Late afternoon sun bathes Lake Ouarium’s glassy edge. Our opulent tent shimmers, silken walls whispering against the breeze. Krill and Gardain stride back, trailed by villagers from Port-Taille. Their eyes feast on Mella and me—nude, arched in four-inch stiletto heels. Enchanted soles cradle our feet like custom Louboutins, sending electric tingles up silken legs with each step. No blisters. Pure comfort in exposure.
Gardain beams, pouches heavy. Twelve platinum, twenty-four gold for Mella’s thigh boots. Hermine’s sandals fetch twenty-one plat, forty-two gold. Hunters’ gear cashes twelve plat equivalent. Each pockets three plat, five gold, nine silver. He haggles ten percent extra. Two coppers for crusty fresh bread. Gong-Bong silent, but level up looms. Points banked.
The Privilege
He hands the loaf. Guards informed of the brawl. Beasts will feast on corpses tonight. We grimace. Nature’s law: strong devour weak.
Villagers strip the dead, ogle curves one last time. Depart. We strip too. Fire crackles, flames caressing bare skin like velvet robes. Dinner simmers—rich meats, herbs. Bonds deepen over tales.
Mella rises. Pulls Krill up. Drapes over his neck. Grinds lithe body against rippling abs. His cock thickens to six veined inches, pressing her belly.
“Lift by thighs. Promise of Cemenss.”
Massive hands grip. She guides purpled head to slick folds. Lowers. Velvet pussy engulfs him inch by inch. Slow rises, falls. Golden eyes lock his. Hypnotic.
Hermine sheds heels. Feet straddle Gardain’s lap. Toes curl ’round swelling sausage. Soles glide, arches knead frenulum. Precum slicks her soles. He stares, entranced. They peak first—shared shudders. Mella’s laugh rings joyful. His jets arc high, splattering her feet. Shame fades in afterglow.
“Never knew Galipett’s Foot Caress, Little Beard.”
Tit caress next. Furred Kiss later. Mysteries tease.
Hermine rinses by lake. Tent night. Flute melody weaves repulsion ward. Beasts shy away.
Dawn. Krill urinates. I squat wide, stream arcing. “Fourrage de Galipett for appetite?”
“Yeah. Fuck, eat, smash skulls.”
The Excess
All fours in dew-kissed grass. He kneels. Rams rigid cock into my tight ass. Grips waist. Pounds deep. I buck back. Balls slap cheeks.
Mella mirrors. Gardain mounts her tiny rear. Double rhythm. Grunts blend. Krill floods first. My orgasm rips—pure fire. They follow. Hot seed fills.
Lake plunge. Crisp water sluices sweat, cum. Flute glamour polishes us radiant.
Tent folds easy. Wand out. Chain hands. Incantation. Reality twists. Clearing materializes. Crisp air. Mountains pierce horizon like penthouse vista. Pine cone mound squats—not bloody.
Relief. No split. Tertre sealed. Paths fork: east, west. North-east logic picks east.
Forest engulfs. Ancient boles tower, light dimmed to twilight hush. Squirrels chatter welcome. No malice. Ring warns at twenty paces.
Bridge spans brook. New fork: east or south escape. Deal—east till midday, or retreat.
Silence but for elf steps. Halt. Arrow flies. Deer drops sixty paces off. Krill skins. Eighty pounds slung easy. Gong-Bong thrums.
Smaller clearing. Pristine cabin, chimney smokes. Knock. Silence. Wait.
Girl emerges opposite. Rabbit dangles from fist. Staff in other. Timid advance. Krill grunts hunger—and lust.
To be continued…
