A warrioress turned party favor!

The cavern thrummed with a low, contented energy, the kind that followed a full belly and a shared brush with death. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows that made the skeletal remains in the corners seem like benign spectators. The air was thick with the smell of roasted spider-meat, sour wine, woodsmoke, and sex. Sue Storm was the source of that last scent, and she was the beating heart of the celebration.

She was not a guest. No heroine. No Invisible Woman. Very visible. Not Sue Storm of Earth. No one cared for such a woman. She was not a warrioress. And yet, she was part of the party, as integral as the wine skins being passed hand-to-hand, as the sweet, pungent toombah weed being smoked from a repurposed helmet, as the game of stones being clacked together by two dwarves in a corner. She was a service, a diversion, a stress relief. And she loved it.

A clay bowl, scavenged from the debris, sat by her knee. It wasn’t for spider legs. It was for the warm, salty tribute that flowed from the dwarves she serviced. She’d already taken six of them, one after another, her mouth and throat working with a practiced, hungry efficiency that left each one staggering away with a dazed, grateful grin. Three of the halflings, their members slimmer but no less eager, had also knelt before her, and two had already returned, coins in hand, for seconds.

She knelt now before a dwarf named Borin, whose broad back was to the fire. He was telling a bawdy tale to his companion, Dugan, who was seated on a rock, drinking deeply from a skin. Borin’s cock was in her mouth, and she sucked him with a rhythmic, hollow-cheeked intensity that made his voice hitch and stutter as he spoke.

“...and so the troll, he says to the barmaid, ‘I’ve got a cask for your keg!’” Borin narrated, his hands resting on Sue’s head not to guide her, but simply to feel the motion. Sue focused on the sensation: the hot, smooth skin stretching her lips, the musky, earthy taste, the way his shaft pulsed against her tongue with each beat of his heart. She moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. The story was forgotten. “Gods below, woman,” he grunted.

Across the cavern, a proper card game had begun. Three Dragon Ante, the colorful, dragon-emblazoned cards flicking onto a spread cloak. Skeeve was there, sitting cross-legged, a pile of copper and silver coins before him. He held his cards with a goblin’s sharp-eyed focus, but his ears twitched toward the wet, sucking sounds Sue made.

“The horde,” rumbled Thorgrin, the large dwarf leader, discarding a card. “Old Glauraug’s hoard. It’s not in these peaks. I’d stake my beard on it.”

“Your beard is worth less than this copper,” Skeeve retorted, not looking up from his hand. “The tales say the Dread Mountains. Three days’ march north, through the Sorrowpass. These are just foothills. You’re digging in the wrong dirt.”

As he spoke, he laid down a winning run of cards, scooping the pot toward him with a smirk. Then, as if remembering a casual errand, he stood. He stretched, yawned, and ambled away from the game. He walked directly to where Sue worked on Borin.

He didn’t announce himself. He simply moved behind her, where she knelt on all fours. Her back was arched, her full, marked buttocks presented to the air. Skeeve unbuckled his trousers. His thick, green goblin cock sprang free, already erect and glistening at the tip. He positioned himself, one hand gripping her hip.

Sue felt him, of course. A familiar pressure, a welcome intrusion. She didn’t stop her oral ministrations on Borin. Instead, she pushed back against Skeeve, taking him inside her in one smooth, practiced motion. Oh, yes. He filled her, a different stretch than the cock in her mouth, a delicious, claiming fullness deep in her core. She groaned, the sound muffled around Borin’s flesh.

Skeeve began to fuck her. Steady, deep, casual strokes. He didn’t grunt or strain. He kept talking, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the music and chatter, as if he were just continuing his conversation from the card table.

“The Dreadly Mountains are lousy with old dwarven delves,” Skeeve said, his hips pistoning, his hands firm on Sue’s swaying hips. “Collapsed tunnels. Perfect for a dragon’s nap. Not like here. This is just spider country.” He thrust deep, making Sue gasp and Borin groan in sympathetic pleasure.

Sue was the nexus. Skeeve’s cock drove into her from behind, each thrust jolting her forward, making her take Borin deeper into her throat. Borin, for his part, was now clutching her head with both hands, his tale completely abandoned, his eyes squeezed shut in bliss. Another dwarf, Dugan, had risen from his rock. Entranced, he came over and knelt in front of Sue. He pulled her face from Borin’s cock just long enough to guide his own between her lips, then Borin without hesitation, knowing his friends own need, moved his shaft between her heaving breasts. Sue now had a cock in her mouth, one between her tits, and Skeeve pounding into her from behind.

It was a symphony of sensation. The push-pull rhythm. The salty pre-come on her tongue from Dugan. The hot slide of Borin’s length against her cleavage, squeezed tight by her arms. The deep, internal friction of Skeeve, hitting a spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. Her own arousal was a slick, hot flood, dripping down her thighs. The power of it was intoxicating. She was a conduit for their pleasure, and it made her feel immense, potent, needed.

Skeeve’s thrusts became faster, less controlled. “See?” he panted, his lecture breaking. “The… the passes are guarded by stone-wights… not giant spiders… ah!” His climax hit him. He drove in to the hilt, his body locking, a raw, guttural cry tearing from his throat as he emptied himself inside her. The heat of his release triggered her own. Sue’s body clenched around him, a violent, rippling orgasm that stole her breath and made her scream around Dugan’s cock. Her convulsions made Borin erupt, his seed painting hot stripes across her neck and collarbone. Dugan, feeling her throat constrict and her moans vibrate around him, followed suit, pumping his own release down her willing throat.

For a moment, it was just panting and the drip of fluids. Skeeve pulled out with a soft, wet sound, gave her rump an affectionate pat, and buckled his trousers. He wandered back to the card game as if he’d just fetched another drink. Sue, trembling, swallowed what was in her mouth and used the back of her hand to wipe the mess from her chin and chest, scooping some into the waiting bowl. Borin and Dugan stumbled away, muttering thanks and blessings.

Sue stood up on slightly shaky legs. She felt… glorious. Invincible. She was a foot taller than the tallest dwarf, and she towered over the halflings and Skeeve. Her body was a landscape of powerful curves and erotic sigils, glistening with sweat and spend. Is this how She-Hulk feels? she wondered with a giddy, internal laugh. Like an Amazon. A goddess of this little, lusty world.

Her eyes scanned the revelry. The card game. The stone-throwers. The halfling trying to coax a tune from the cracked horn. And then she saw him. Sitting alone on a low rock in the shadow of a large stalagmite. Frodor. The young halfling. He was watching the party with wide, uncertain eyes, his hands clasped in his lap. He was the only one who hadn’t approached her. The only one who hadn’t partaken.

An elder halfling, Balbo, with a face like a worried walnut, was at the card table, grumbling. “My boy Frodor… he’s here for the family honor. To bring a share of the horde to his betrothed, Mabel Burrowes. Good, solid girl.” He glared toward the shadowed corner. “He should not be seeing such… carousing.”

Thorgrin chuckled. “The lad’s eighteen winters today, Balbo. A man by any measure. Let him have a look.”

“He’s betrothed!” Balbo insisted.

A dwarf next to Skeeve nodded toward the corner. “Think he’s fine. Look.”

Sue was already moving. She felt a new kind of power, a gentle, predatory pull. She retrieved a small, hollowed stone from near Tindra’s hanging fangs. Others had been using droplets of the residual paralytic venom as a drug, diluting it in wine for a tingling, euphoric high. She tapped a few precious drops into a golden goblet someone had produced, then filled it with wine from a nearby skin. The mixture swirled, cloudy and faintly iridescent.

She walked to Frodor, her bare feet silent on the stone. He looked up as her shadow fell over him, his eyes widening even further, taking in her naked, magnificent form. He was small, even for a halfling, with a mop of sandy hair and a face that still held the softness of youth, though he was unquestionably an adult of eighteen.

“You’re missing the party,” Sue said, her voice a low, warm murmur. She sank down, not beside him, but directly into his lap. He gasped as her full weight, her warm, bare skin, settled onto his thighs. She was so much bigger than him, she enveloped him. She felt the immediate, hard press of his arousal against her thigh, trapped beneath his trousers. He was rigid with a mixture of terror and desperate want.

“I… I shouldn’t…” Frodor stammered, his voice squeaking.

“Shhh,” Sue said, bringing the goblet to his lips. “It’s your birthday. A special drink.” She tilted it, and he drank, his eyes on hers. She took a long swallow after him. The effect was almost instant. A warm, buzzing tingle spread from her stomach outwards, softening the edges of the world, making her skin hypersensitive. She saw the same haze enter Frodor’s eyes, his nervous tension melting into a slack-jawed wonder.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Frodor?” she asked, tracing a sigil on her own stomach.

“You’re… you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathed, the words tumbling out, fueled by the venom-wine. “Like a queen from the old stories. But… real.”

Sue smiled. She leaned down, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hair forming a fragrant curtain around them. “Your Mabel is a lucky girl,” she whispered, her lips inches from his. “But tonight, you’re here with me.” And then she kissed him. It was not a chaste kiss. It was deep, obscene, and hungry. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, claiming it. He froze for a second, then responded with a frantic, inexperienced eagerness. His small hands came up, hesitantly touching her waist, then gripping her with surprising strength.

A cheer arose from the card table. They had been watching. Balbo groaned and put his head in his hands. Thorgrin and the others roared with laughter and approval.

Sue broke the kiss, her own breath coming fast. The drug and his innocent passion were a potent mix. She slid from his lap, kneeling before him on the stone floor. Her fingers went to the laces of his trousers. “Let’s give you a proper birthday gift,” she purred.

He didn’t resist. He lifted his hips, letting her pull his trousers down to his knees. His cock sprang free. It was proportionate to his frame, but thick and painfully erect, the tip a deep red. He’d never been touched like this. Sue could see it in the tremble of his belly, in the awe on his face.

She didn’t take him in her mouth. Not yet. She wanted this to last. She spit into her palm, a crude, wet sound, and wrapped her fingers around him. Her hand, marked with magical tattoos, looked huge around his shaft. She began to stroke him, a slow, firm, twisting motion.

“Oh… oh, gods,” Frodor whimpered. His head fell back against the stone. His hips bucked helplessly into her fist.

“That’s it,” Sue coaxed, her voice a throaty rumble. She watched his face, watched every spasm of pleasure. She sped up her hand, her thumb swirling over the slick head on each upstroke. She leaned in, her breath hot on his neck. “Cum for me, Frodor. Let me see it.”

It was too much for the young halfling. His back arched off the rock. A strangled cry, part agony, part ecstasy, tore from his throat. His cock pulsed violently in her hand, and thick, white ropes of seed shot out, splashing across her fingers, her wrist, and his own trembling stomach.

The cavern erupted. Dwarves banged their cups on stone. Halflings whooped. Even Balbo peeked through his fingers, a grudging sigh of resignation on his lips. It was a chorus of masculine celebration for a rite of passage witnessed.

Sue laughed, a rich, full-bodied sound of pure joy. She brought her cum-slicked hand to her mouth and slowly, deliberately, licked her fingers clean, her eyes locked on Frodor’s dazed, blissful face.

“I… I think I love you,” he breathed, his words slurred with spent passion and venom.

Sue just laughed again, leaning down to kiss his forehead.