A Dwarven Party!!

The euphoria of survival and the sour wine’s warmth had settled into a lazy, comfortable haze in Sue’s bones. She leaned against Skeeve, his wiry body a familiar anchor against her side, both of them propped against a pile of moldering packs near their small fire. The cavern was quiet now, save for the drip of water and the faint rustle of their own breathing. The massive, twitching corpse of Tindra lay in a pool of its own ichor, a stark reminder of the danger they’d just escaped.

Then, a sound. Soft, muffled.

Not from the floor. From above.

Sue’s eyes, still glowing with the gentle buzz of the wine, drifted upward to the vast, sagging web that still clung to the cavern ceiling. Among the silk-wrapped bundles—the ones Tindra hadn’t yet consumed—several were moving. They twitched, they shifted. A faint, collective whimpering filtered down, like the cries of trapped kittens.

“Living larder,” Skeeve murmured, his voice thick with drink and satisfaction.

Sue felt a pang of sympathy, sharp and clear despite her relaxed state. People. Trapped. Like we were. The memory of the immobilizing silk, the helplessness, flashed through her. She couldn’t leave them.

She pushed herself up, the movement fluid. The sigils on her skin pulsed with a steady, warm rhythm. She didn’t need to think about the magic anymore; it was a part of her, like breathing. She focused on the web, on the bundles, and extended a hand. Not with a dramatic gesture, but with a simple, concentrated will. The air between her fingertips and the ceiling thickened, became a tangible ****—a gentle, invisible hand.

“Down,” she whispered.

The web strands near the bundles obeyed. They loosened, they stretched. Slowly, with a soft, creaking sound, the entire section of the web containing the moving sacks began to descend. It was a controlled, eerie lowering, like a curtain being drawn. Thirteen larger bundles and four smaller ones drifted down, settling on the stone floor a few yards away with a series of soft thumps.

Skeeve was already moving, a pitted dagger in his hand. Sue joined him, drawing her short sword. They worked together, slicing through the thick, pale silk. The material parted with a fibrous snick. The first sack opened, and a head of wild, matted brown hair and a bearded face burst out, gasping for air.

A dwarf. Naked.

Sue cut the next, and another dwarf emerged, equally bare.

And the next. Soon, thirteen dwarves—all male, all thickly muscled, with brawny arms and broad chests covered in coarse hair—were stumbling free, coughing and blinking in the torchlight. The four smaller sacks revealed beings that were… different. They were about half the height of the dwarves, with finer features, less body hair, and a quicker, more nimble build. Not quite dwarves, not quite humans. Sue’s mind, drifting back through years and dimensions, supplied an old, almost forgotten word: halfling. She’d read about them in a book long ago, in a world far away. The thought made a soft, amused laugh bubble in her throat. Hobbits. The absurdity of it, here in this ****-cave, was delightful.

Her laughter died as she took in the fuller picture. The dwarves were all nude. And as they blinked, orienting themselves, their eyes inevitably found her. Sue, standing there in the flickering light, her hair a vibrant red, her skin adorned with dark, intricate tattoos, and wearing… nothing. She was utterly bare, her full breasts with their dark nipples exposed, her curvy hips and the smooth plane of her stomach on full display. The dwarves’ reactions were immediate, and entirely physical.

A collective, almost synchronized hardening occurred.

Thick, dwarven cock, rising from between their legs. Not as long or as thick as a goblin’s, but certainly broader and more substantial than a human man’s. They stood there, naked and armed only with their sudden, uncontrollable arousal, staring at her with a mixture of shock, gratitude, and blatant lust.

Sue laughed again, louder this time. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but one of genuine amusement. Of course. In this world, desire was rarely subtle. It was a blunt ****, and she was a catalyst. She watched as they scrambled to find tattered clothes among the debris—threadbare tunics, torn trousers—covering themselves hastily, though the fabric did little to hide the persistent bulges.

The largest dwarf, with a crest of iron-gray hair and a beard braided with rusted wire, stepped forward. Thorgrin, his name came to Sue as he announced it with a guttural growl. His eyes were fixed not on her, but on Skeeve.

“Goblin,” Thorgrin spat, his hands clenching into fists despite his nakedness. “Agent of Darkskull. I know your stench.”

Skeeve tensed, but Sue moved smoothly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He is with me,” she said, her voice calm and

authoritative. “He helps me. We are not your enemies.”

Thorgrin’s eyes flicked to her, and the anger in them wavered, replaced by a different kind of intensity as he took in her full form again. He grunted, reluctantly accepting her word. He explained their purpose: a quest for Glauraug’s Horde, a legendary dragon’s treasure rumored to be hidden in these mountains.

Sue told them of her own quest, for Maeven the Horrid. As she spoke, she realized her own state of undress. Her “armor” was gone, shredded by the spider. She had nothing. The dwarves’ eyes kept drifting, their trousers growing tight again. She felt a flush, not of shame, but of a strange, detached awareness. This is my reality now. A beautiful, marked woman in a world of primal urges.

They found more supplies in the cavern—bags of food, additional skins of wine, even some cooking utensils left by previous victims. The decision was made: they would feast, regain strength, and then decide their paths. Tindra’s massive legs, once terrifying, were now just meat. They chopped them into sections, building a larger fire to roast the strange, fibrous flesh.

As they ate, the atmosphere shifted from tense survival to something more… social. The wine flowed. The roasted spider-leg meat, while odd, was filling. Sue sat on a folded pack, Skeeve beside her, eating with her fingers. One dwarf, a particularly brutish one named Germli, was gnawing on a chunk of leg, his eyes locked on Sue with a relentless, hungry stare.

“You are this goblin’s woman?” Germli asked finally, his voice rough.

Sue nodded, a piece of meat in her hand. “Sotz wane,” she said in Goblin. His girl. Her pronunciation was flawless, the dialect perfect, learned through intimacy and necessity. The dwarves stared, shocked. A human woman, speaking their tongue with such ease?

Germli’s gaze moved to Skeeve, then back to Sue. “How much for her?” he asked, bluntly.

The question hung in the air. Sue should have felt anger. Disgust. A flare of her old, human morality. But it didn’t come. The goblin worldview, which she had absorbed over weeks and months, slid into place effortlessly. Goblin tribes were not prudish. Females were valued, protected, but their bodies—especially their mouths—were often shared. At war parties, at celebrations. It was a communal thing, a bonding thing. A mouth was for pleasure, for service. A curi pite—a joy hole—was reserved for a mate, but other parts… were transactional. And goblins liked money. The thought was not foreign; it was a future she had already accepted. She’d probably have to please the Goblin King of Muurkwood himself just to gain entry to his halls.

Also… the idea sent a thrill through her. A secret, forbidden thrill. Reed had been her only human lover. Skeeve, her goblin. Now… a dwarf? The naughtiness of it was palpable.

She stood up, projecting a confidence she wasn’t entirely sure she felt. “Four gold pieces,” she said, her voice clear. “Or the equivalent in trade.” She’d done the mental math long ago; four gold here was about ninety dollars back on Earth. A fair price for a blowjob in a world without STD’s.

Germli laughed, a coarse, booming sound. “You are pretty, woman. But that is too much for a mouth.”

Sue walked over to him, her bare feet quiet on the stone. She stopped before him, looking down at his seated form. He was shirtless, his trousers straining. She smiled, a slow, promising smile. “I will suck your cock so good,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky, intimate pitch, “you will tell this tale until your last breath.”

The dwarf’s laughter died. His eyes widened. He looked at her lips, at her confident stance. He nodded, a quick, eager jerk of his head. “Done.”

The other dwarves and halflings watched, their eating halted, their eyes bright with anticipation. Skeeve watched too, his expression unreadable—a mix of pride, possessiveness, and a goblin’s understanding of the custom.

Sue knelt before Germli on the cold stone. He leaned back against a pack, his legs spreading. His cock was already fully erect, thick and stubby, rising from the opening of his trousers. The head was a deep, flushed pink, and the shaft was veined and powerful. Sue reached out, her fingers—still marked with Skeeve’s claiming sigils—wrapping around the base. The skin was hot, the muscle underneath firm. She gave it a slow, testing stroke, and Germli grunted.

Then she leaned in.

She opened her mouth and took the head inside. The taste was different. Not like Skeeve’s musky, familiar flavor. This was earthier, with a hint of iron and sweat. She closed her lips around him, creating a tight seal, and began to suck.

She used her tongue, swirling it around the crown, licking the sensitive ridge. She moved her head, sliding her mouth down the shaft, taking more of him in. She’d only had two cocks in her life before this moment. The novelty was electric. The feeling of this new, dwarven thickness stretching her lips, filling her mouth, made her own body clench with a sudden, responsive arousal. She moaned, the vibration traveling straight into his flesh.

Germli’s hands grabbed her hair, not roughly, but with a ****, gripping need. “Oh… oh…”

Sue began to work him with a rhythm she knew was effective. In-and-out strokes, deep suction, alternating with tight licks along the underside. She focused on the sensations—the way his cock throbbed against her tongue, the way his balls tightened against her chin as she went deep. She was not just performing; she was exploring. Learning this new body. The taboo of it, the sheer whorishness of kneeling naked before a stranger in a cave full of men and selling her mouth for gold… it made her wet. Her own juices seeped, unnoticed by anyone but her.

She increased the pace, her hand pumping the base in sync with her mouth. Germli was babbling now, dwarven curses and praises mixing. His eyes were crossed, his face a mask of stunned pleasure. Sue felt his orgasm building, the telltale tremors in his thighs, the frantic pulses in his shaft.

With a final, deep plunge, she took him all in, her nose touching his coarse pubic hair. She sucked hard, and at the same moment, her hand squeezed.

Germli squealed. A high, almost comical sound of pure release. His hips bucked. His balls visibly tightened and then dropped as the first jet of cum shot into Sue’s mouth.

It was hot, salty, and plentiful. She swallowed the first burst willingly, then pulled back slightly, letting the next ropes spill across her tongue before she swallowed again. She milked him with her mouth until he was spent, gasping and limp.

She pulled off with a final, wet pop, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She looked up at Germli’s stunned, blissful face. “The tale,” she said softly, “begins now.”

She stood, turning to the gathered group. Their eyes were on her, wide with awe and renewed, urgent lust. She felt a power in it. Not just sexual power, but a social power. She was not only a goblin’s whore now. She was an actual whore. Performing sex acts for money. And it made her horny. The realization was thrilling, dark, and utterly compelling.

“My curi pite,” Sue announced, pointing to her own sex, “is his joy hole. It is not for dwarves.” She glanced at Skeeve, who gave a slight, proud nod. “But my mouth,” she continued, her voice rising, “and my tits… are for sale. One night only.”

She grinned, a wild, infectious grin. And then she used the magic. Not for combat, but for party. She focused on the piles of debris, on the discarded instruments—a dented drum, a horn with a cracked bell, a set of wooden pipes. With a subtle push of will, she made them play. A raucous, rhythmic, dwarven-sounding tune erupted from the dead artifacts, filling the cavern with unexpected music.

The dwarves roared in approval, raising their wine skins. A party had begun.

Another dwarf, younger, with a fiery red beard, stepped forward almost immediately, coins already in his hand. Sue knelt again without hesitation.

This time, she was even more confident. She took his cock into her mouth with a hungry, practiced ease. She sucked him with a rhythm that made him cry out within minutes. She felt his cum flood her mouth, hot and thick, and she swallowed it all, licking her lips clean afterwards. She took the coins, her fingers brushing his.

A third dwarf approached. She serviced him too, her technique refining with each new cock. She learned the slight differences in shape, in sensitivity. She discovered that a certain flick of her tongue just under the head made dwarves shiver. She used her hands more, cupping and squeezing their balls as she sucked, driving them to faster, harder climaxes.

Between clients, she danced. The magical music played, and she moved her body, her full breasts swaying, her marked hips rotating. She teased, she smiled, she drank wine passed to her by the halflings, who watched with a mix of astonishment and their own kind of curiosity.

Skeeve watched too, drinking, his eyes never leaving her. There was no jealousy in his gaze. There was a profound, goblin approval. She was enhancing his status. She was proving her value, her adaptability. She was earning. And every time she returned to him, wiping her mouth or accepting more coins, she would lean down and kiss him, letting him taste the faint, salty remnants of dwarf on her lips. It was a shared intimacy, a bonding in this bizarre, commercial celebration.

The cave, once a tomb of silence and ****, was now alive with noise, laughter, and the raw, honest sounds of pleasure. Sue Storm, the legendary warrioress, was on her knees, her mouth a busy, profitable tool, her body a celebrated spectacle, and her soul… was settling deeper into the wild, untamed rhythms of Zardon. She was not just surviving anymore. She was living. And for the first time in years, the path ahead, no matter how depraved or strange, felt thrillingly, irresistibly open and exciting!