Healing Spell

You had a reason to feel hurt. The elf before you made your loss less painful, the contours of her body barely visible beneath the translucent cloth, giving a sense of ease to your nerves. She didn't seem to mind as your eyes wandered, from her exposed clavicle, down her slender frame to her delicate hands. You wanted to take your own hand to them, before realizing - you could.

Was this a justification for something more subversive? You couldn't say the two of you had chemistry on your trek through the snowy gale, only each other's adoration for your respective crafts. Now, however, the air between you was different, and not just because of her simple weathering spells. You take her hand into your own - a confusion, set in both your eyes. Finding the courage, you bring your hand up against her shoulder, taking your fingers to the outline of fragile lace, and plant your lips onto her own.

Her physique was a lie to the woman underneath; strong, foreboding. She had the power to smite you the first chance you do her wrong, but she persists in your grasp, malleable to your deepest desires. The duality of the woman shows as she wrestles your tonsils for superiority, whilst simultaneously pulling away her gown, gently, letting free her body underneath.

The gown drifts away from her in a magical smoke, leaving you pressed against her naked body. Your hands track upwards, past the small of her back, coming forwards to a copping of her breast. She makes no mention of discomfort, leaning further into to your body, an equivalency shared as her hand trails downward, to the waistband of your pants. Both your breathing has slowed, and she looks up to you with blue doe-eyes.

"You're hurt."

You nod, hesitantly, not wishing to divulge your secret. You suspect she knows through some form of divination - or maybe you're not as great as you think you are hiding your emotions.

A solemn smile escapes her composure, dragging a finger down through the collar of your shirt. "Let me help you."

On her prerogative, the fly of your pants yields to her ephemeral hand, pulled away right as your cock springs out. The two of you drape yourself over her enchanted bed, fit for a king; and elven queen. You struggle to dispose of the unnecessary apparel donned on you, breaking free to feel your body against hers. For a moment, you share an unspoken passioned stare between the two of you, leaving her puzzled why a bard would resort to such silence to communicate.

You sink your heated erection into her reciprocal cunt. Her face contorts with satisfaction, fulfilling some scried prophecy no doubt divined through her magics. Carelessly, she pulls you closer, limbs wrapped around your body like a fiendish treant, albeit gentler. You rock against the confines of her tight body, causing her to seize up, wracked in extraordinary pleasure. Her moans could certainly be heard by your traveling compatriots, that is, if she hadn't magically sound-proofed her tent, a definite possibility.

Thrusting yourself into her hole, vying for the attention it receives, a scream escapes from the sorceress's mouth, curdling if it was not one of absolute ecstasy. You consider slowing down, letting her catch her breath, but you're close, another few seconds before a deluge of your seed escapes into the elf's pulsating nethers. You close your eyes, bracing for the full-fledged torrent soon to be unleashed. The elf's shriek subsides, for a second, letting loose an unintelligible incantation as you begin to seize up.

You press yourself deep into the elf, her eyes growing wide as every drop is transposed to her warm, fertile womb. Every string of the cosmos relegates the moment back to you, lying against the naked woman's body on a fanciful ornate bed, spent. As reality yields back to the universe, you look down at the disheveled sorceress, who's breath has relaxed.