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To Beseech the Godslayer


Hier kommt die Sonne
Sep 28, 2013

Clara would sacrifice her life to protect her hometown, but the Godslayer desires something else entirely.​

Aurianna and her acolyte Clara arrive safely in Monsford, but that safety is fleeting. The Host of Torment is but days away from sacking the town, enslaving or killing everyone there.​

Monsford’s only hope lines in the dragon who rules these lands, Verrier, also known as the Godslayer. It falls to Clara to make the trek up Mount Fearfire to beseech his aid, and, if necessary, offer herself up as tribute to ensure his assistance.​

After a daring rescue frees Matthias from not only the Lady of Torment’s clutches, but from his own demonic soul, Aurianna remains in Monsford to bolster their defenses. Injured, and without his demon to call upon, Matthias must make use of the primal tongue to aid Aurianna in defending Monsford against the massive force. But each spell he casts draws the attention and ire of the terrible dread dragon, Yarost’cherev.​

Protecting the town of Monsford tests every last bit of faith and strength that Aurianna and Matthias possess. But none of that will matter, if Clara can’t convince Verrier to lend his strength to the coming battle.​

Available here.
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Hier kommt die Sonne
Sep 28, 2013
The Broken Paladin
Matthias had a weapon, now.

In the early hours of dawn, he doubled back to the ferry, wanting to ensure that Aurianna and the girl, Clara, had made their escapes. He found a scene of battle, the rotting remains of two demons, one impaled on a harrow spear, the other sprawled amongst scorched craters and dried blood. The tattered remnants of the girl's jerkin lay on the ground as well. Had she been wounded, or Aurianna? He used the jerkin to clean the blade. Spears weren't his preferred weapon, but he had learned them, along with sword and axe and mace.

Flies buzzed in the background, hovering around demon corpses, as if trying to decide if they could be eaten. After he'd finished cleaning himself off he'd gone back on the hunt. The hunt was all he had left, since the Dark Choir had twisted his mind, leading Aurianna to abandon him. Less than a mile from the river, he'd stumbled across three more of the Dark Choir, and a small taste of revenge. Striking without warning, he'd killed all three before they could attempt to warp his mind. The third one he'd drank down, filling the gnawing emptiness with bitter, metallic blood.

A shadow flickered, drawing his attention. Glancing upwards, Matthias reached for his spear. Three black-winged demons soared overhead, bearing barbed cruciform lances. The one in the tail glanced downwards, then cried in a harsh voice. As one, the three banked left and circled back towards him.

Matthias didn't wait. Seizing his harrow spear and coming to his feet, he tossed it into the air and sunk it into the abdomen of the lead demon. She shrieked in agony, clawing at her guts as she tumbled from the air, and he leapt to meet her. Kicking her own weapon away, he tore his spear from her body and drove it into her throat. Blackish blood gushed from her mouth and nose, and then she lay still.

Something tore into the flesh of his back, ripping and pulling as he stumbled forward. He tried to sag to his knees but couldn't, hooked by the barbs in his muscles. He grunted in agony as the barbs pulled, trying to drag him into the air, and he forced himself to reach up and catch the shaft. Razor-edged ridges grated the flesh of his fingers and palm as he pulled, and he screamed in agony as he released it once more. There was time for a quick impression of flayed flesh and red-black blood streaming down his fingers to soak the earth, and then the other surviving demon swooped down at him.

In desperation, he tore himself from the barbs in his back, screaming in agony when pieces of muscle and skin ripped away. Dodging the other lance was more luck than skill as he stumbled and fell to the ground beneath the swing of the demonic weapon. His left hand closed around the shaft of the harrow spear, and his fangs bit through his tongue as he forced himself not to cry out as he rolled and slashed with the blade. The demons beat their wings, rising away from his strike.

Concentrating, allowing his demon more and more control as he fought the pain and the injuries, he rose to his feet once more. "You bitches want me?" he laughed, voice becoming cold and inhuman. "Come on, then. I'll tear your wings away and devour your corpses!"

One of the succubi laughed. "We will take our time on you, little lust demon." Then she sniffed the air. "You stink of the War-Whore, demon. Perhaps our Mistress will wish to play with you, instead."

Matthias whirled when a shadow alerted him to the motions of the other demon, and he lashed out with his spear. His tattered back screamed in protest, and his strike fell short. The winged demon's blow did not, and barbs bored into his left thigh. She jerked at the weapon as she soared past, and he was torn from his feet and dragged behind her. Before he could react, the other demon's lance punctured his ribs, and he screamed aloud as he was pulled into the air.

Gasping in pain and wishing he could pass out, the harpies bore him west.


Waking up alone, in a bed, proved disorienting to Aurianna. Where was Matthias? Clara? Where was she, and how did she get here?

A knock at the door drew her attention. The room was simple, all whitewashed walls and sturdy handmade furniture. A dresser, a wardrobe, a single bed with a mattress stuffed with straw and a comforter stuffed with down and goose feathers. There was simplicity in the design that was calculated to allow the beauty of the wood itself to shine through. Clara entered, dressed to match, wearing a dark skirt of homespun wool, and a white blouse and a brocade vest in black and gold. All in all, she looked every inch a farm girl from a successful family.

The scabbarded sword at her side, and the hard set of her eyes, did not match that impression.

They had made it to Monsford, Aurianna reasoned, and they were safe, but not for long. Not with Hydranes approaching. And not Matthias. He was still out there, alone in the wilderness without a weapon. The memory stung, but at least Clara was safe.

"You... you're looking better..." Clara managed, the words strained. Then her lip trembled, and her eyes watered, and the bed bounced as she threw herself down next to Aurianna and embraced her. "Lady be praised!" she cried out, voice cracking with the emotions she was trying to keep in check. "I thought... oh, Goddess, I didn't know if you'd make it!"

Aurianna held Clara against her, with her good arm, running fingers through her hair. “I guess the Goddess isn’t ready to bring me home yet.” With a strong effort, she moved her injured arm into her lap and winced as the muscles pulled.

Clara sat up straighter, "Oh, I forgot. I... I didn't hurt you, did I?"

“Not too much. Besides, the pain means I stand a chance to keep it.”

They sat in silence for a while, Matthias weighing on Aurianna’s thoughts. Rage at what he’d done mingled with guilt over leaving him behind, and all she was left with was a bitter taste in her mouth.

Clara sighed, twisting the fabric of her skirt anxiously. "I... uhm, I need some... some advice."

Clara fell silent again, gnawing her lip. Meeting Aurianna’s eyes, she continued, voice brittle with strain. "Monsford is... it's probably, possibly, uh..." She swallowed hard. "The demons are coming. And... and everyone's... everyone's going to, to fight. To try and... and keep them back. Keep them out of the Kingdoms."

She fell silent again, wiping her eyes and struggling with her voice. "I... they... there's no way, you know? My fa.... my people, they're... they're brave. And they're good fighters. But... but that Host outnumbers them. A lot."

Shaking a little, Clara wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "So... so I'm going to the Mountain. To the Dragon. Lord Verrier." Her head turned away, eyes closed tight. "And I... I don't... don't know if... if I'll be coming back." She began rocking back and forth, voice falling to a whisper. "I'm scared, Mistress."

“But Lord Verrier… You said he protects the mortals of his lands.” Comfort was Aurianna’s intention, but uncertainty seeped through. This was a huge force, larger than she had ever seen come for the Seraphim Wall. And here she was, too injured to help.

" I'm going... to the Mountain. To the Dragon. Lord Verrier." Her head turned away, eyes closed tight. "And I... I don't know... if I'll... be... coming... back..." She began rocking back and forth, voice falling to a whisper. "I'm scared, Mistress."

“Clara, what do you mean?” Aurianna asked, grabbing Clara with her good hand, refusing to let anything else slip through her fingers.

“I am…The offering…for Lord Verrier…” Clara explained, shaking hard, barely able to speak the words.

“No! Offer me instead. The world doesn’t need me anymore, not a broken paladin,” Or a demon’s whore.

Clara shook her head, “You wouldn’t make the trek, not in your condition.” Looking up again, Clara forced a smile through the tears. “Besides, you can heal. You can be a great warrior again. Afodisia isn’t done with you yet, remember?” Clara stood.

“Once you’re able, you are to get moving as well.”
An older woman declared, leaning against the doorframe. She also looked like Clara, albeit, an older, experienced worn version of her.

“To join Clara? Aurianna asked. She moved to hang her legs off the side of the bed, as if to prove she would be able to make the trek in place of her acolyte.

“No. To go with the rest of the noncombatants to Kirstad,” The older woman informed her. Noncombatant. The word was a punch in the gut.

“Like hell I am. I can fight,” Aurianna protested, jumping to her feet.

“You can’t even move your arm,” Clara countered, “and your spear is two-handed.”

“Give me a sword. I can fight with my left.”

“With your off hand?” The disbelief in the older woman’s voice was another blow.

“From what I saw you need everyone who knows which end of a sword to hold to fight,” Aurianna asserted, “I can fight. I’m not useless.”

The older woman just sighed. “Fine, you can stay if you are so certain to throw away your life.” She offered her hand, “Ingrud Kelvasdottor, Clara’s Aunt, and Mayor of Monsford.”


Aurianna vented her frustration on a wooden training dummy. Or she would have been, if trying to fight with her off hand wasn’t causing even more frustration. Oh, she wasn’t terrible. Merely mediocre. Below average. The left arm was sluggish compared to its twin. Not used to leading, to driving the attack. When it followed its partner, it thrived. But her right arm hung limply at her side.

“I had heard there was a Paladin here, but I wasn’t expecting Afodisia herself!”

Aurianna cringed. Not the first time she heard the comparison, but it highlighted her irritation as she failed to live up to the gifts the Goddess had bestowed upon her. Besides, that was what Jeoram used to call her.

“You shouldn’t blaspheme. I am but a pale shadow of her glory. Especially like this,” she replied, sheathing her sword. Abating the urge to stab some innocent bystander. Or embarrass herself by trying and failing. She glanced towards the man interrupting her.

“She wouldn’t have given you those eyes, if She did not want Her children to see Herself in you,” the older man teased, twinkling in his worn blue eyes.

Aurianna didn’t respond, just blinked. This was slightly less frustrating than fighting poorly with her off hand. The man was certainly a strange case. Taller than her and thinner, he must have been well into his sixties. His hair was frayed silver and hadn’t been brushed in months.

“Shouldn’t you be evacuating?” she asked, leaning against a nearby post.

“Oh no, I have far too much work to do here to evacuate. But shouldn’t you, broken paladin?” he shot back at her.

She stiffened at his remark. “I can fight,” she argued, clenching both fists, despite the pain that shot through her right arm.

“Oh, like a green girl.” He laughed, a little too loudly to be appropriate. “Tell me, girl, you want to be really useful?”

Aurianna scowled as he threw insults at her, hurt by their accuracy. And yet, his last question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to be broken. I think I could fix you,” the old man asserted, rubbing his chin. “Almost certain I could.”

“I…don’t understand. Are you some kind of healer?”

“Hmm? Oh no, nothing like that.” The old man laughed once more, as though her remark was amusing.

“So… you can help me?” Her tone was sharp, frustration replacing the brief glimmer of hope.

“Oh, well, yes. Your arm is injured. Why wait for it to heal when you can just replace it?” he asked, as though the question made any sense.

“I... uh, what?” Her patience wore thin.

“I have a few pieces that I could embed in your bones, should return you to full range of motion. Then you could actually be an asset to Monsford,” he explained smirking. Aurianna’s blank expression spoke louder than words, so the old man, continued, “Follow me to my workshop, I’ll show you what I mean. I’m Otis by the way…”



Hydranes stared down at the tribute, cruel eyes laced with a hint of curiosity. He was strung up by chains hooked into the meat of his arms, hanging a few feet off the ground.

“What is Baath Me’el’s rebellious slave doing all the way out here?” she questioned. Before he could even answer, two of her servants drove heated rods into his thighs, preemptively ensuring his honesty.

Matthias felt no shame as he screamed in agony. He'd learned that it actually made torture easier to bear. Slightly. So he shrieked in anguish as iron rods pierced his thigh and pressed into his bones, roasting them. "Killing... your... demons..." he gasped. Then he retched at the scent of burning meat.

Hydranes laughed, then gestured. Bloody meat was forced into his mouth, and he drank it down by reflex. His wounds spasmed around the barbs and hooks in his flesh, trying to heal, and he whimpered in agony as the wounds sealed and tore open once more.

“Where is that paladin cunt I smell on you? Baath Me’el wants her back so badly. I want to see what all the fuss is about.” Her black lips curled into a sinister smile.

He went mad for a second, screaming and struggling against his chains, heedless of the new injuries he inflicted. The hissing kiss of sharp, hot iron driving into his belly stopped him short. "Mine, bitch! She's mine! I'll kill you! I'll rape your corpse in front–"

The rant cut off in a high, keening wail of utter agony. The barbed spike in his gut twisted and pulled, and he screamed again as it tore from his flesh and dragged a perforated loop of intestine behind it. Laughing, Hydranes seated herself on a chair shaped from a living human body. "Oh, I do so love the strong ones." Negligently, she gestured at an attending demon. "Fetch the worms."



Strapped down to a chair, there was little else Aurianna could do but scream as Otis applied the metal joint directly to the bone. Far more painful than the injury that wounded her, the injury he was trying to “fix.” And fix was a rather appropriate term for it, as he used blacksmith tools to attach armor directly to the joints, enchanted by magic to move under her control. A roundabout way to regain use of her arm, but what choice did she have?

“You need to stay still. And quiet. The procedure is delicate,” he chided her. Then stopped for a moment, looking down on her with a curious expression on his face. “I forgot to offer you something for the pain, didn’t I?”

“ARGH! Fuck! Yes! Fuck!” Aurianna cried out, aware of the cold metal bonding with the bone. Otis walked away for a moment and brought back a thick leather strip.

“Here, bite down on this,” he instructed, oblivious to the incredulous look on her face. Nevertheless, Aurianna accepted, screaming into the leather as he attached a bolt to her elbow.



Hier kommt die Sonne
Sep 28, 2013
The Tribute Feast
“A dance?” Clara exclaimed, stunned. “You must be joking!”

She sat at a kitchen table, knife in one hand and a half-peeled apple in the other, staring at her aunt as if the older woman had grown a second head. Ingrud, not stopping as she peeled an apple as well, shook her head.

“No. It’s the way of it in Gulder.” She tossed the peel in a bucket of scraps. “We celebrate the sacrifice. When your aunt Helga…”

“There is an army of demons less than a week from here!” Clara interrupted.

“When your aunt Helga was chosen as one of the two sacrifices to the Dragon,” Ingrud continued, “the kingdom celebrated for a day. And here, we celebrated a week.”

“We don’t have time!” Clara insisted.

Her aunt’s gaze was like steel. “We will not dishonor you or Lord Verrier, Clara.” The gaze softened. “Besides, your sword won’t be finished before tomorrow anyway. And we can’t hurry the evacuation any faster than that. So you, young lady, are going to have a fest in your honor like it or not!”

Nodding glumly, Clara looked past her aunt and outside. Already, workmen were erecting a stage in the town hall.


Later that evening, Clara stood as the festivities played out around her, fingers wrapped tightly to the wine goblet in her hand. Some people were feasting, but Clara found she had no stomach for it. The combination of her impending sacrifice and her concern that it wouldn’t even be enough to help her hometown against the demons, made her nauseous.

Oh, she wanted to enjoy the party, the celebration thrown in her honor. But how could she? The demon host was approaching, even now. How could anyone enjoy themselves while death waited just outside the walls? So she just sipped at her wine, fighting the angry tears that threatened to come up. “Some birthday.”


“Sigurd?” Clara answered, shocked by the man she saw before her now. He was two years older than her, yet, while they were growing up, he was hardly ever as tall as her. Somewhere, in the past four years, he had shot up in height, now almost half a foot taller than her. His pale blonde hair was still as wispy as she remembered, but the rest of his features seemed sharpened, baby fat melted away, revealing the strong jaw. His brown eyes were warm, as warm as his boyish smile. He laughed nervously as their eyes met, and she found her face growing hot.

“It’s so good to see you, Clara,” he said, seeming to savor her name as it rested on his tongue. The way he said it made her shiver, wondering if he would call it out like that —No! Stop, now isn’t the time for those thoughts. Just because it would be easy to get lost in his eyes, didn’t mean she should!

“Are you…are you a paladin now?” He asked, unable to hide the reverence in his tone.

“I…no, I am still in training,” Clara admitted, rubbing her neck. Was he always so handsome, or was that new? Goddess, why couldn’t she think of anything else but how his mouth might feel against hers?

“Would you care to dance? I understand if you don’t want to, but I was hoping…” He asked, like that, and she grew warm at the thought that she could make a man stumble over his words. Especially a man as attractive as him…

“I would like that,” she admitted, deciding to let herself get lost in the revelry, at least for one song. Lightning shot through her fingers as his hands interlocked with hers, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, shivering at the touch of his hand on her waist. She felt lighter than air, as he twirled her along the dance floor.

There was cheering and shouting and stamping of feet as Sigurd escorted Clara out into the square. Her cheeks, already pink from his attention, flamed scarlet. Then the band struck up a lively tune, and the caller began calling the steps, and suddenly she was too busy to do anything but spin and twirl and try to keep up with the music. Soon enough, despite her fears, she was laughing and enjoying herself.


From the sidelines, Ingrud watched her niece’s obvious pleasure with a contented smile. Arms slipped around her waist, and a scratchy, stubbly face nuzzled the back of her neck. She leaned back into a broad, strong chest. “You look pleased with yourself,” her husband murmured.

“Do I?” she murmured back, turning her head slightly to kiss him. “Must be because my nefarious scheme worked.”

Arthur watched Clara fall into Sigurd’s arms as the caller called out to swing partners. “Did it now?” he grinned, returning the kiss. “And here I thought your nefarious schemes involved getting me alone?”

She ground back against him. “Not all of them,” she purred. “Just most of them.”

Arthur laughed. “What would you have done if she hadn’t been interested?”

“I’d have sent him back around. This time with his fiancée,” she answered, laughing. “Hell, if she’s anything like her mother I might need to anyway.”


Clara flushed a little as she whirled into Sigurd’s arms, skirts flying. His arms went around her waist, and for a moment all she was aware of was his strong, lean body hard against hers. Then she whirled out as they linked arms, spinning around one another.

He was taller than Willam, she noted, and fairer. Not stronger, surely —like herself, Willam had received the Mantle— but older and better defined. She wondered what his lips would taste like, and shivered deliciously at the thought of his bare chest and felt heat curling in her abdomen.

That thought started to sour her a little, but then the music stopped. “Bow to the band,” announced the caller. “And bow to your partner!” She did and then froze at the final, traditional call of each song. “Kiss your partner!”

Sigurd’s arms went around her and his lips were on hers. Her hands slid over his back, and she gasped a little in pleased surprise as one of his hands cupped her rear and his tongue slipped into her mouth. She clung to him, suddenly weak-kneed, and little inarticulate sounds of pleasure escaped her. And then, frustratingly, it was over.

“May I have the next dance?” he whispered, eyes twinkling.

“Oh Sigurd, that is hardly fair,” another familiar voice called out now, rich and playful in its tone. A fire-haired girl peeked her face around where Clara could see. “You can’t keep her to yourself all night.”

“Thora?” Clara asked, recognizing one of her closest friends before she left for her training. Goddess, she had grown far more beautiful as well, her tight, low cut dress. Clara couldn’t help herself from getting lost in the rolling cleavage of her creamy breasts.

“The choice is yours, of course, my dear Clara. Sigurd is a fine dancer, and I am sure you would have a wonderful time with him, but there is no need to limit yourself to a single partner,” Thora told her, her eyes suggestive, giving the word dance many meanings in this situation. Clara’s only response was to blush and imagine her lovely friend pressed up against her, both nude as their soft forms moved along one another.

“Well, Clara, would you like to dance with Thora this song? We could take turns with you,” Sigurd suggested, sliding his fingers through a strand of her hair. The idea made her shiver, and Sigurd continued, “I hate the idea of relinquishing you, but I think I would enjoy watching, in this case.”

“I…would like that,” Clara confessed. Fantasies of Sigurd and Thora together played in her mind, offering her all the pleasures a man and a woman could. She took Thora into her arms now, placing her hands on Thora’s slender waist, while Thora wrapped her arms around Clara’s neck. Thora’s scent, lavender, with hints of apple blossom, filled her senses.

Dancing with her friend was just as pleasing and dizzying as dancing with Sigurd had been, and Clara found herself looking forward to that last call, and pressing lips against Thora’s mouth, tasting her tongue. Except, she wasn’t just fantasizing now, as Thora’s hands caressed her face, pulling her into the soft embrace and a quick, moist kiss. Just long enough to leave Clara longing for more. Before she could miss the heat of Thora’s body against hers, Sigurd stepped back in to replace it.

The next few dances passed in a whirlwind blur for Clara. Her pulse raced, and she felt as if she were having trouble breathing, and she hoped it would never end. Sigurd and Thora had been her best friends, back before she’d been taken to the temple for training, and it was wonderful to see them again! And they were amazing, Sigurd was so handsome now and Thora was gorgeous and they were kissing and Sigurd was letting his hands ‘accidentally’ explore her as they danced and Thora had ‘accidentally’ cupped her breasts when they’d spun together once, and damn, but she was feeling flustered and hot and damp and…

And now they were dancing a wild reel, all three of them, passing from one to the other with all of them and none of them taking the lead. Thora linked arms with Sigurd as they spun wildly, then he spun to her and they caught hands and raised them high as Thora slipped between them – taking pains to rub against both of her partners as she did. Then she turned, catching Clara’s hand and the three of them moved together to the music before Clara found herself pressed against Thora’s back and Sigurd’s chest.

The music ended. “Bow to the musicians!” the caller demanded. Giggling, the three managed to bow together without disentangling. “Kiss your partners!” Thora turned her head, finding Clara’s lips as Sigurd joined them, and for a moment three sets of lips moved together in a dance as intricate as their steps had been. Hands moved over bodies as the kisses deepened and parted and changed orientations, and Clara was shocked at her daring as her own hands slid over Sigurd’s rear and the skin of Thora’s exposed cleavage.

“Maybe,” Sigurd whispered, voice thick and husky, “maybe we should go somewhere else?”

Clara started to speak, then shuddered with delight as Thora’s lips found her ear. “Somewhere where we can dance?” the older girl murmured.

Nodding, barely trusting herself to speak, Clara managed to say “Yes” with a shaky voice. “I’d… like that. Dancing.”


Ingrud and Arthur watched with interest as the three teens made their way out of the square, hand in hand. “It’s about time,” he grinned, leaning into his wife.

She laughed, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “You’re not kidding,” she agreed. “At the rate they were going, I thought they’d end up humping right there in the square.”

“What would you have done then?”

“At a Sacrifice Fest?” She shrugged. “Hell, it’d probably have turned into an orgy.”

Slyly, he cupped her breast. “You say that like it would have been a bad thing…”

Giggling a little, she slapped his hand. “Behave!”

He kissed her ear. “I am behaving…”


The trio found their way to one of their old childhood hangouts, a low stone building built half-underground. Once it had been a root cellar, but now it was used as a place to store sacking and sailcloth and nets and the like. As children, they’d played there at being kings and queens, or river pirates, or bold warriors setting off on a quest to slay demons. And for a moment, as Clara looked at the old boxes and heaps of cloth and the like, happy memories of those childhood games flooded back.

Then Thora was kissing her, tongue slick in her mouth and soft breasts pressing against her chest, and all thoughts of children’s games evaporated. Clara met the kiss as well as she could, exploring her friend’s body with her hands. More hands caressed her shoulders and moved her long hair, and Sigurd’s lips slid over the back of her neck as he pressed into her from behind. “Goddess, Clara,” Thora murmured, breaking the kiss and beginning to unlace the ties of Clara’s blouse. “You’ve gotten so beautiful…”

Clara shook her head. “No,” she whispered, shivering as Sigurd pulled the tails of her blouse from her skirts and slid his hands over the bare skin of her stomach. “No, I’m not. Not like Thora. I’m plain and flat-chested and…” Her voice died away as Thora slid her fingers over the skin of her small breasts, above the bindings that supported them.

Thora kissed her again. “Hush,” she breathed. “Tell her she’s being stupid, Sigurd.” Her fingers whispered over Clara’s abdomen.

“You’re gorgeous, Clara,” Sigurd murmured, slipping her shirt and vest from her shoulders. “Lovely little breasts like ripe apples in cream, and a nice, firm ass.” He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples through the binding.

“I wish I had an ass like yours,” Thora agreed, planting gentle kisses on Clara’s throat and working on the buttons of her skirt. “Tight and hard – mine’s too big, even with all the work I do.”

Clara found the laces of Thora’s dress, tugging at the knots as she rocked her rear back into Sigurd’s hips and enjoying the feel of his erection. “Uh-uh… you’ve got all these curves, and I just look like a boy…” She kissed Thora back, savoring the traces of cider on her lips as she explored the wet heat of her friend’s mouth. Then she sighed as Sigurd’s hand slid between their bodies and cupped her mound.

“No boy has beautiful little tits like these,” Sigurd whispered, squeezing a breast gently. “Or a sweet little peach like this.” His fingers pressed into her cleft, through the layer of her woolen skirt and her small clothes, and she ground herself against his hand. “Does it taste as good as it feels?”

“This is your night, Clara,” Thora whispered, fingers trailing up Clara’s sides. The skirt, unbuttoned now, slipped down her hips and remained in place only from Sigurd’s hand on her crotch and the two bodies pressed against her. “And I’m going to spend all night showing you just how beautiful you are.” She kissed her friend, biting gently at Clara’s lower lip, and then gave her a devilish grin. “Should we let Sigurd join in? Or just make him watch?”

With both of them caressing her skin, it was hard for Clara to think. To focus on Thora’s questions, to form answers that were more than just “uhh,” or “ahh,” or even “hmm.” All she could process was the suppleness of Thora’s skin, the throbbing of Sigurd’s erection rubbing against her ass, and the demanding fervor that consumed her thighs.

“I want…I want…both, ahhh,” Clara tried to answer, unable to help the greed in her words or tone. Dammit, they had been teasing her all night! How could she not want to feel both of them pressed against her, both of their mouths savoring her body?

“You will have us both then, however you wish,” Thora promised, between deep kisses, helping Clara slip her out of her dress, and adding it to the pool of clothing forming on the floor. Clara’s hands grew bolder, reaching out to palm one of her full breasts, enjoying how it yielded to her fingers, and loving how the nipple responded to her touch. “Who gets to taste you first? Who do you want to taste first?”

Sigurd’s fingers massaged her clit in a way that made thinking even harder. Clara leaned her head back against him, pushing her chest forward, lost in the sensation of their attention. Thora took this as an invitation, bringing her mouth forward to lick Clara’s breasts. Clara’s only response was to moan and run her free hand through Thora’s copper hair, letting Sigurd hold her up while she surrendered to pleasure.

“Goddess!” Clara managed to cry out, shuddering as her two friends adored every inch of her body. She pulled Thora away from her breast, devouring her mouth in a hungry kiss, and sighing into her mouth as Sigurd slipped a thick finger into her tight channel. He moved slow, letting her juices drip down his finger, fitting the finger to the first knuckle, then the second before stopping.

“Clara is this…Is this your first time?” Sigurd asked, voice breathy as it tickled her ear.

“Yuh, yuhhh…yes…” Clara groaned, part answer, part pleasured cry.

“Oh, that won’t do!” Thora declared, teasing her with light, feathery kisses. She pressed her body against Clara’s, breasts rubbing against each other’s. “We are going to make love to you all night.”

“Please…” Clara could only beg, taking advantage of Thora’s closeness to kiss her neck now, taking her pent-up desire out on her delicate throat. Thora’s moans and sighs were just lovely, and it drove Clara to greater heights, feeling the frantic heartbeat pulsing through her veins.

Sigurd moved away now, as and much as Clara missed the heat of his muscles pressed against her, she was lost in the silky smoothness of Thora’s flesh to protest. He laid down some cloth, making up a makeshift bedding for the three of them to enjoy.

“Why don’t you two lie down, then we can figure it all out,” Sigurd suggested, with arms around both women as they kissed each other. He took a deep kiss from each before releasing them. The girls lied in each other’s arms, freeing fondling one another, while Sigurd stripped out of his clothes. Moonlight cast shadows over his firm muscles, highlighting his tone. Clara’s mouth watered as he pulled down his trousers, and his hardness sprung out to meet her as soon as it was free.

“So, who gets you first Clara?” Thora whispered into her ear, as her fingers moved up and down her sopping sex.

“Both of you,” Clara gasped as Thora traced her dripping lips. “I… I don’t know how that would work… but… I want both of you… my first time…”

“Both of us, hmm?” she purred, slipping her finger into Clara’s heat, “I think I’ve got a few ideas.” She slipped her finger back out, slick with Clara’s juices, and sucked it. “Goddess, you taste good.”

Eyes dark with lust, Clara pushed Thora onto her back, kissing her. Her tongue slipped and explored, tasting herself on Thora’s tongue, and her hips ground against Thora’s as she straddled the older girl. “Tell me about these ideas…” she murmured against Thora’s neck, kissing her way down the pale skin of her throat. “How… would you both have me?” She slithered down Thora’s body, moaning a little as her smooth flesh teased her skin. Lips and tongue traced the contours of her shoulder, her collarbone, and the swell of her breast before finding the hardened bud of Thora’s brown nipple. Clara tensed a little as she felt Sigurd’s hands caress her back and rear, then sighed and continued tonguing her friend’s nipple.

Sigurd knelt behind Clara, between both women’s legs, teeth scraping gently over the smooth skin of her behind. “Well,” he said, stroking her dripping sex as he nibbled along her thigh. “I could fuck you like this, while you ride Thora.” His fingers parted her lips and his tongue slipped into her from behind. Clara threw her head back, moaning in pleasure as his tongue laved her clit and thrust deep into her soaking channel.

Thora caught her hair, drawing her back to her abandoned breast. “Or, we could… oh, Gods, do that…” She took one of Clara’s hands with her own, placing it on the other breast. “Don’t forget this one…” Clara may have been inexperienced, but she still stole Thora’s voice as she teased and tasted her nipple.

With a shuddered breath, Thora continued, “We could… I could take you with… with my mouth while Sigurd… fucks you,” Her hands roamed Clara’s back, scratching and caressing gently, reveling in the hard muscle beneath her friend’s skin.

Clara moaned again, her channel clenching around Sigurd’s tongue. “Both,” she moaned, “Goddess… both of them…”

“We have all night,” Thora reminded her, “I’m sure we can find time do it all…” She groaned as Sigurd added two fingers to her pussy, fingering her in time with his tongue fucking Clara.

“Now, though, I want your tongue inside me,” Thora demanded, slipping fingers inside herself, moaning out her pleasure. Clara had no qualms with that, the sight of Thora’s slick nether lips too inviting to decline. She pulled herself away from Sigurd, lapping at the honey between Thora’s thighs, inching closer to her sultry core. Thora’s legs formed a hallway that led directly to her hungry slit, and it was only inevitable that Clara would end up there. The taste of her friend’s desire was divine, and Clara sought the depths of her lust.

Sigurd watched the lovely display before, hand stroking his own excited cock. He brushed it against Clara’s wetness, slowing collecting her longing from her blossoming lips, pressing the tip against her swollen clit. Gently, he pushed into her slit, groaning as her tightness enveloped him.

“Goddess…” he murmured, fingers tight on her hips when he pushed forward. Clara cried out into Thora’s slit as she stretched around his cock. Sigurd filled her, stopping for a moment as he met the resistance of her virginity. He moved against it a few times, easing against the thin barrier. Finally, there was but a moment of opposition, before she opened to him, accepting his length within her walls. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he breathed, not moving now.

“No,” Clara said, too lost in the musky aroma of Thora to notice any pain. Goddess, it felt good, to be filled by him, while his hands massaged her back and spine. Every twitch of his hardness sent lightning pulsing through her veins, leaving Clara humming against Thora’s clit.

Sigurd’s movements started slow, building his pace to the tempo of her moans. Thora’s sighs and his own animal sounds of pleasure became a concert of bliss, underscored by the rhythmic wet slap of flesh in flesh.

Clara moaned against her friend’s lips, relishing the musky flavor of her arousal as she explored the woman. There was no expertise in her actions, just lust and a desire to taste and feel her pleasure, and her mouth made wet, sloppy sounds as she probed and licked. Little cries of pleasure escaped her, making her tongue jerk and dance within Thora’s cunt as Sigurd thrust into her. She slid her hands up the other woman’s body, cupping and kneading her breasts in time with the motions of her tongue. “Fuck,” she gasped, “Goddess, fuck me!”

Thora spread her legs wider, giving Clara more room, and arched her hips against Clara’s tongue. One hand stroked gently through the younger girl’s hair, gently guiding her and encouraging her, making her moan with pleasure as Clara found the most sensitive spots of her dripping sex. She sighed, a wordless noise of pleasure as Clara’s hands cupped her breasts, and her free hand fisted in the rough cloth beneath her body. “Mmmm… like that….” she gasped out, hips rolling against Clara’s mouth in time with Sigurd’s thrusts. “Goddess… get… get me off… with your… your tongue…”

Clara’s tongue moved faster, thrusting deeper and savoring Thora’s depths. Aching with the slow-building need in her loins, she thrust back into Sigurd, impaling herself on his cock with every thrust. The feel of his thick cock stretching her walls and his head bumping against her womb broke her concentration, leaving her moaning and swearing gently against Thora’s cunt. Dimly aware that the redhead’s hand was spreading her lips and circling her clit, Clara tried to return her attention to her friend and her delicious slit once more. Fingers tangled in her hair, pressing her mouth into the other girl’s dripping mound, and somehow, she still managed to fuck herself on the cock buried in her as she slurped and licked.

Sigurd gasped out, his breathing growing ragged. His fingers dug into Clara’s hips for leverage, and the sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the air as he abandoned gentleness and pounded himself into her slit as hard and fast as he could go. “Fucking good,” he sobbed out, voice thick and harsh with his rising pleasure. “So fucking good! And tight! Fuck!”

Clara threw her head back, moaning with pleasure, and the sight of her face glistening with Thora’s juices in the moonlight made him take her harder and faster yet. Thora dragged her face back down, her own cries of building pleasure coming in time with the desperate motions of Sigurd pleasuring himself with Clara’s tight sex. He couldn’t speak any longer, just cry out as his belly slapped her ass and his cock penetrated her deeper and deeper. With a final, wild cry, his cock pulsed within her walls and the heat of his seed flooded her womb.

The three crumpled into one another as their orgasms took over, Clara resting her head against Thora’s pillowy breasts, perfectly suited for this very purpose. Thora planted lazy kisses on her forehead, brushing back her sweat-drenched hair behind her ears. Sigurd lied beside them, wrapping an arm around Clara, and kissing her to taste the lingering traces of Thora’s pleasure. He caressed her face, his dreamy brown eyes meeting hers, leaving her shuddering against her buxom friend.

“Thanks,” Clara murmured, settling down into an exhausted heap with her two best friends. It was almost enough that she could forget all she was giving up, to protect Monsford. To protect them.
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