Saying farewell to Skrain

Skrain’s tent is simple, and free from trappings. With his armour abandoned, the only decoration is the broken haft of the maul she’d used to banish Kulrakan. His bed - their bed, for now - consists of a pallet and several folded blankets.

He doesn’t seem to find it the least bit uncomfortable, as she kneels over him, her thighs supported, her naked flesh prickling in anticipation. Her hands meet his as she lowers herself, and she moans softly at the sensation of him gently parting her folds, sliding inside her inch by inch. He guides her down, controlling the pace as she wraps herself around him, her body yearning for him to impale her, but her mind already in a state of **** bliss as he takes control.

She is still terribly sore from her **** at Kulrakan’s hands, her insides sensitive and ****. But in the way he moves inside her, and the way he guides her body, it is as if he knows all her most wounded areas, and navigates around them with care and affection.

He grips her around the waist, beginning to bounce her slowly on his length, and she responds by rolling her hips, letting her walls contract and shift around him.

“I’m.” She squeaks, with a soft blush, “I’m not very good at - at taking the lead up here.”

“You don’t have to.” He murmurs, gazing up at her. Slowly, he eases himself up, pulling her down onto his lap, his chest pushed close to hers. He locks her lips in a kiss, rolling back against her and setting the rhythm. She feels him almost entirely inside her, and rises, not quite ready for the flood of feeling that she knows will be coming, when he fills her.

He follows, and they shift together up and down, Lavorra clinging to his powerful ridged shoulders. She finds her confidence in his embrace, bringing to ride him, biting her lip in between kisses at the audible sounds of her wetness. Even the melding of their sweaty flesh is a kind of intimacy that makes her feel so very, very cared for.

Having both Skrain and Zeya inside her at once had been raw and wonderful and so deeply arousing. But in this moment, held by him, allowed to explore her own movements, but thoroughly in his control, feels right. It feels true.

She gasps, her tits rippling with motion as he speeds up, clapping against his flesh. Skrain leans back, but brings her with him, clutching her tightly; his hips rise, one hand around her back, the other on one globe of her bouncing ass, as his skin smacks against hers. From below, her takes her, almost entirely within her now, with just a little of his length left to keep her comfortable. Lavorra pants, neck exposed to his gentle teeth as she moans in heady pleasure, feeling her flesh bounce and shake as he thrusts up into her. Faster now, but by no means rough, still tender and controlled. She can feel herself getting close, and when his hand slips down to brush her clit, she lets out a string of Elvish curses, ending with that word she’d used for Sir Henry, but which she actually means now.

“Elantir.”

“What does that mean?” He asks her, his voice rough with his own pleasure.

She blushes hard, and whispers the translation in his ear. She feels him throb inside her, and she pulses in reply. And then…

And then she is lost to bliss, her back arching and her thighs shaking as she thrashes in his arm, till she finally goes limp.

She lets out a low, mewling groan, flinching in residual pleasure as he slowly moves himself inside her still, the rawness of her insides teetering on the brink of unbearable sensation. Finally, he removes himself, and she feels him, still hard as iron against her bottom. Now the soreness inside her is dulled, washed over by the waves of her pleasure, muted for the time being. She cups his face, looking at him, her hair falling over them to make a tent for them to share. “You haven’t, have you?”

He doesn’t reply at first, staring at her as though committing her features to memory. “Your eyes.” He whispers, then shudders. “No. I - I can’t tell you how much I want to, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you?”

“I want it too.” She admits. She wants it very badly. “But you’re right. Still, doesn’t mean I can’t help you.”

“That’s very true.” He grunts, groaning as she reaches down to take hold of him, rubbing his tip against her soaking entrance.

“Tell me what you’d like, please.” She murmurs into his ear, giggling shyly.

He lifts her head by the chin. There is a little embarrassment there at asking, but he finds his confidence, and that makes her more than willing to oblige.

“Your mouth, Lavorra. So I can look at those eyes one more time.”

She obeys, guiding his hand to her head - thrilling as he bundles her hair gently in his fist - as she kisses her way down his body, pausing to worship at his muscular chest and stomach, tongue exploring the clefts of his muscles, and the ridges of his Daemonic flesh.

Then she is between his legs, feet rising into the air, kicking lazily as she takes her time. She holds his cock against her cheek, inhaling him, kissing his shaft tenderly. She grins up at him as her lips envelop one of his heavy balls, sucking softly, eagerly, relishing the sensation of servicing him again.

Then she is taking him into her mouth, maintaining eye contact obediently, lips gliding over him. Her toes curl as she tastes herself on his cock, cleaning him as well as pleasuring him. She feels him throb, feels his hips buck uncontrollably, the tightness of his grip on her hair increasing.

God he was close, when he was in me.

I wish… but no, this is good too. Very, very good.

She bobs her head now, her mouth working noisily, her eyes never once straying from his. He watches her in adoration, guiding her head, occasionally adjusting the pace with that firm tenderness, but always meeting her eyes, drinking in their forest green.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, groaning, “Elantir’s good girl.”

Her ears, slender and sharp, actually twitch, as he says it, and she feels a pulse between her legs. Because by the Matron it feels so right coming from him. She moans lustily around his member, sending vibrations along his length, and knows he is close.

“Lavorra.” He gasps, legs drawing up on either side of her, “It’s coming. I’m close. You can stop if you wa-“

She doesn’t, taking him to the base in one quick dip of her head, ready for him this time around, ready to gulp him down. He cums with a shuddering spasm, his cock straining inside her throat as it releases wave after wave of his seed.

She lets it flow into her, swallowing thickly but calmly, still staring at him. When he is finished, she draws her mouth back his length slowly, till her lips release him. Carefully, lovingly, she cleans him again, gathering the final drops from his tip, sticking out her tongue to show him, then swallowing.

He guides her back up, holding her close to him, and drawing her in for a kiss.

They say nothing: they don’t need to. Instead, he holds her, her head on his chest, legs tangled together, simply enjoying the slow crawl of the end of their time together.