A cold morning in Truha

A pile of hay, while a comfortable place to lay when your body is ready to collapse from exhaustion, is not a good long-term solution for bedding. If dry, it is comprised of thousands of stiff stalks, the needling ends of which poke and scrape the skin endlessly. When damp, it is a soggy pile of mush little better than sleeping down in the mud. The greatest shortcoming, however, is that it can be both at the same time.

The pile of hay you collapsed into was good enough when you collapsed into it, but now its shortcomings are dragging you back to waking life. You lay on one side, exposed arm in a rolled-up sleeve and the parts of your face unprotected by your hand and cloak are prodded by a hundred stiff plant ends. One of them has ventured so far as to jab unignorably into your earhole. The body and legs of your robes have sucked in the damp of the rest of the pile, exposing you to the morning's cold. And it is a very cold morning indeed.

"Waking, a buffet of small slices of hell," Sabba grumbles sleepily.

Between the two experiences you have with waking up so far, one on a lakeshore and one on a pile of hay, you can't say you love the process. Though most living things strive to do the whole waking up thing indoors, something you have so far avoided.

"It is little better to do it warm," Sabba lectures, "All life is slices of hell, the question is merely how you chose to glut yourself."

You roll onto your back to get the hay out of your ear and to let the blood flow back into your strengthless numb arm. The hay that had clung to your face immediately falls into the hood of your robes and begins to grate against the back of your neck. The whole back of your robe, now flush against damp hay, instantly turns bitterly cold, forcing you to shiver. Somehow, this is worse than letting your arm go numb and being jabbed in the ear by hay. If you had any aspirations of falling back asleep, they dissipate into thin air.

"Thin cold air." Sabba shivers within you.

You continue to lie listlessly in the hay, hoping that your body will adjust to the hay and you'll stop shivering. It isn't working. A few moments into it, you hear the groaning of the barn door sliding open, followed by a moment of silence.

"Ma, there's an elf in the barn again!"

You rise to your feet, body screaming in stiff protest the whole way. The person standing in the barn door is a young woman, one who has clearly spent the whole of her life so far working this farm, considering the stockiness of her limbs and build and the seemingly uncleanable layer of grime on her. Somewhere, under it all, she's likely a fine young woman. Your first proper contact with another human being brings strange feelings. Ones in the head, the heart, and especially the loins. All of this for a homely young farmer. When you step over to her, you realize that you actually stand a good few heads above her, the crown of her straw-blonde hair around maybe your armpits. Though she seems to be wearing large boots with some elevation to the platforms, likely to spare her dress the spattering of animal waste you haven't protected the hem of your robes from. She looks up at you, judgementally but incuriously, unperturbed by your height advantage.

"How tall is she?" Comes an amused voice from the house.

"Taller than pa!"

"She might be royalty!"

"If she's royalty, why's she covered in pig shit?"

You simply stand there and let them talk, not sure what you would say if you did choose to butt in. The girl holds a pitchfork, not a choice weapon, but a sufficient threat considering your lack of arms.

"Welcome to your new life," Sabba sighs, "Every human you meet will react to you a different way, and you will react to them all the same. Both measuring what threat they pose to you while lusting for them all the same."

"Did you sleep in the barn?" The girl suddenly prods you with the pitchfork.

"Yes" You respond flatly, unsure what else you would do

"She slept in the barn, ma!"

"Well, she's probably pretty cold then!"

"Are you cold?" The girl prods you again.

"Yes?" You respond unevenly, reaching up to grab the pitchfork before she can poke you again.

"If she does try us, I can show you some basics spells," Sabiha muses, "Magic is power applied through precision, and there is little precision needed for a fireball."

"She says she's cold!"

"Well let her in the house then!"

The girl plants the pitchfork in the ground beside her and looks up at you suspiciously, her arms crossed over her chest. She screws her face up at you, looking you up and down. Finally, she shrugs.

"Ma says you can come in, but don't touch nothing."

"I heard," You nod.

"I know."

You excuse yourself from the girl's... intense presence and duck into the crummy little door of the depressing little cottage. At least, that's how Sabiha sees everything here. You point out to her that living in a palace her whole life has likely colored her opinion of living quarters, but she simply shrugs it off.

"There are a million of these little homes, spread out through every society and species that dot this wretched planet. In each of them, a group of people who will likely never travel more than a hundred miles from the site of their birth. They will be born, eat, sleep, and birth more children into this cycle. Achieving nothing, changing nothing. Their love, if not incestuous, will be to another of these groups with no greater aspirations than the animal instincts to go without starving. What would you call this?"

You shrug, life, for lack of a better word.

"A kind of hell," She shudders.

Sabiha is especially cheerful today, it seems. Though, considering how long and how well you slept, you aren't in a fantastic mood either. The inside of the little cottage isn't much better than the outside, but the fire burning in the fireplace radiates an angelic warmth on a bitter morning like this one. Without instruction or comment, you sit in front of it and pull your knees to your chest under your robes. There's a simple, inalienable pleasure to a fire on a cold day.

"It was far warmer where we came from, though further into the cold regions," Sabba contemplates, "Unless the climate of the world has changed in my absence, that castle and the surroundings were kept warm very intentionally."

You hadn't doubted that your old mistress dealt in magic, the question is if what any of this means practically.

"Most kin prefer the heat, but elves especially. Really, anything colder than the summer sun chills us to the bone. Far in our history, we lived in a seemingly endless desert. Much mythos surrounds those days, much of it false and useless. You can either believe our predilection to heat is because we spent so long in the desert sun that we absorbed some of it, like the old legends say, or you can surmise that an elven woman going to a cold place was looking to be alone. Potentially unfound. Learn to think this way, no piece of information exists purely to be known. All things are context, in some light."

You're so bust listening to Sabiha that you don't notice a new woman come up behind you. She prods you in the back with her foot. When you crane your neck to see her, you see a woman entering the tail end of the years where she can be called a young woman. Somewhere, in the past few years, likely imperceptibly at first, she passed the invisible line between still young and getting old in the eyes of those around her. Her appearance has not yet changed that much, but a certain slowness and surety has crept into how she carries herself. Whether she noticed this change or accepts it is something only she will ever know for sure. Somehow, the sight of her is far more appealing than the young woman from before, at least to Sabiha. When she speaks, you recognize the voice that had come from the house before, the one the young woman called "ma". She's offering you food.

"Are you hungry, ma'am?"

You take a fairly meager offering, but you're in no place to complain, and thank her earnestly. She returns to her work, Sabiha enjoys watching her leave.

"Really?" You can't help but tease the elven queen.

Sabiha responds very matter-of-factly, "Yes, really. Laugh if you will, but I am less attuned to noticing the differences in human appearance. Inasmuch as all human women look more or less the same, compare what you see in that one to her daughter. The mother has experience, self-assuredness, warmth and kindness," Sabiha lectures, then finishes sheepily under her breath, "And far plumper thighs."

"It's hard for me to picture the elven queen lusting after a farmer's wife," You continue to tease as you greedily eat the meal handed to you.

"It is easy for you to laugh now," She responds coldly, "We shall see if you remain so cocky when you have experienced the hunger that thing between your legs is capable of making you feel."

Eventually, you turn to warm your back for a while, but the cabin proves far less interesting to look at than the fire. Sitting by the fire is also slowly melting knots out of your muscles worked deep in by your resting in the barn. You catch yourself nodding, sitting back to the fire with your knees to your chest.

"Fool!" Sabiha hisses groggily, "Lie down at least! Falling asleep with your back to a fire is a good way to never wake up again!"

Moreso than anything, you want dearly for a real bed with real blankets. When you lie down perpendicular to the fire, the harsh wood of the floorboards proves an even more inhospitable resting place than the hay was. Fortunately, the mother comes in and finds you like this, and tuts to you scoldingly.

"We have a bed, if you'd like, ma'am."

"Perfect," Sabiha purrs, "And you to warm it for me."

You come just short of slapping yourself to quiet Sabiha's voice, fearful that you'll end up echoing her accidentally. You thank the woman and stand up. Standing over her, you realize she's even shorter than her daughter, and the height difference feels even more pronounced. It also doesn't help that your skin is dark like a night sky and theirs are both pale, under the grime at least.

"Heavens, you are tall, are you royalty or something?"

"Something like that," You mumble.

"Well, you're pretty out of place if that's the case, not much in Truha aside from farms."

"Not a name from my time. It's supposed to be Marigold."

"Where are we, generally speaking?" You ask groggily as the woman leads you to her room, where a bed that would look depressing under any other circumstances calls seductively to you. "Isn't this Marigold?"

"Huh?" The woman asks somewhat dumbly, "Marigold is Truha."

Great, the line of linearity and subjectivity is nagging at you again. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know how equipped I'd be to explain it to you..." The woman grumbles, "It's one of those things where it's a loanword or something. I think you spell Marigold with the characters for Truha."

Sabiha wails inside of you, it's the most distraught you've heard her. "I worked for years on this language! Don't tell me time has perverted even this?"

You sit on the bed and clutch your head, Sabiha is making such a racket inside of you that the other voices are trying to calm her down, it's having no effect on her and a purely negative effect on you. Of all of the things to take this level of offense to... it seems like she took the most pride in her written language.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

Sabiha calms down, at least enough to speak through you for a moment, "Why do you call me ma'am?"

"Well, you're a royal-looking elf and all..."

Inside you, the duke yelps, "Loyalists! This far south of the desert?"

"I don't think anybody has bowed to elves for a long time," You smile grimly.

"We don't exactly get the royal procession this far south. For most of us, the king is just somebody who calls sons and husbands to battle." She says with some distaste. "You're at least here, and interesting."

Sabiha speaks through you again, laughing from somewhere deep in your mutual stomach, "I am interesting, am I?"

The woman seems suddenly a little intimidated and flushes a deep red, "I didn't mean any offense by it!"

"None was taken, tell me then, what interests you about me?" Sabiha is doing a far better job battering her voice through your lips than you've previously experienced. She still can't control your actions, but she can make herself heard when she wants to be.

"Well, if you'll forgive my rudeness," The woman looks around like somebody might be listening, then leans in and whispers, "Are you really royal?"

"If I told you I was Sabba given new flesh, would you believe me?"

"I've never seen one so tall, or with skin so dark, so I may not have a choice."

"Then I am the very same, and would need merely to prove it to you to hold your interest."

"You needn't prove it to me, your highness. I want to believe something as wonderful as that could happen. Have you come back to save us, or destroy us?" The woman speaks jokingly, but she's clearly enthralled to be speaking to somebody like Sabiha.

"Clasp her hand with your right and throw your head back while pressing your left to your forehead!" Sabiha quickly hisses at you, still in control of the body.

You obey, making a dramatic scene of clutching the woman's hand while throwing your head back and slapping your other hand to your forehead. "Perhaps I'm a menace, and only the love of a beautiful human woman can convince me not to plunge the world into darkness!" Sabiha speaks through you.

The woman laughs, "Oh, you are a menace, that at least is true."

"Kiss her hand!"

You obey, then Sabiha adds, "They say that the Broken Queen's heart was tamed by a human maiden."

"They also say that elven royalty aren't fully women."

"What do you mean by that?" Sabiha asks playfully.

"I suspect you may be less royal between the legs than you claim." The farmer woman teases.

"And what if I'm not?"

"Then I suppose I would have to convince the Broken Queen that humans are worth sparing," The farmer woman says with a grin, "No matter what it took."

You can practically hear Sabiha drooling, but she snaps out of it long enough to bark at you internally, "If I have to tell you what to do next I will ruin this body for both of us!"

At this point, you don't need to be told too much what to do. The swelling stiffness that has started becoming a problem between your legs has a mind of its own. Sabiha, through her drooling, threatens that what you feel now is only an infinitesimally small fraction of how bad "the hunger" can get, and it's best to indulge it now while you still have rational thought. You stand up slowly from the bed, rising to tower over the farmer woman. With slightly shaking hands, you reach around behind your back, unfastening first the knot behind your kneck, then the one behind your waist. The farmer woman looks up at you with a sort of goading eagerness as you do, not breaking gaze with you. When you let the robe slide forward off of you, falling around your feet on the floor, it leaves you in front of her in nothing but what was under your robes. You realize that this is the first time you have seen your own body naked as well, since any needed bathroom breaks along the way could be done with a minimum amount of pulling robes and flaps aside. The pure-black skin of your body is largely without flaw, wide hips and narrow waist, ample chest inside of a tight almost bandage-like wrap tied at the back. Your waist is wrapped in one of these too, though, despite the snugness, this one seems to have been built with a near-infinite stretchability. Something you are testing the limits of currently with your now almost fully-formed erection. As soon as the outline catches the farmer woman's eyes, her jaw hits the floor.

"Oh heavens!"

Even constrained in your undergarments, the thing leaves a pretty strong impression, snaking down your leg. The white fabric is not thick enough to fully mask the dark hues of your skin, the effect achieved then is that the areas where the fabric is stretched the thinnest become the darkest intermingling of blacks and whites, making the bulge in those areas outline themselves. The farmer woman extends a hand slowly and brushes it against your almost shoulder-height stomach. For a moment, Sabiha gives way and your own personality breaks through uncontested. You're struck by how much your heart is racing, and the sudden wave of apprehension you're feeling about the woman in front of you. Sabba clearly takes notice.

"Come now, I shouldn't need to guide your hips for you. Does the prospect of breeding frighten you?"

It's not that it frightens you, it's the suddenness of it. This body is still... odd to you. There are times when you feel less than fully in control of your reflexes, times where it feels as though your reactions happen on a delay. All of this, and still barely having a name, and now you're all but naked in a stranger's house, her hand tracing down and fingers beginning to sink into your waistband.

Sabiha nods, seeming to understand, but that does not buy you mercy. "Come, today you will become a big girl then." She taunts, "I suspect this is a sensation you will use often, so come to be familiar with it now."

And with that, without warning, Sabiha drops fully into the background, leaving you and the woman alone in the bedroom, ragged breaths moving out of synch. It would almost be a mercy for you to have Sabiha take over fully and move you to the role of spectator, or to be suddenly overcome by some deep primal urge that turns you into a rutting animal. When you've pictured this moment before, you didn't think about what you would be thinking of in the moment, how your heart would pound in your ears, how you would struggle to swallow with a dry mouth. You moved yourself into the spectator when you fantasized of the moment, but now you are unshakably here, and all you can do is what your body compels you to, **** to question your actions the whole way. It's fortunate, then, that the farmer woman seems to move at her own pace regardless of your trepidation, a bony hand wrapping around the white-hot mass between your legs and pulling it out of your underclothes into the cold air.

"Oh, my queen!" The farmer declares, it's as much a performative lusty act as it is true amazement. Her pale fingers wrap incompletely around your length and stroke it up and down without waiting for your approval.

Somewhere within you, Sabba pleasedly whispers something about the "value of an experienced partner", but you lose most of it in the rush of hormones and sensations that strike you. You recognize the hunger, the one Sabiha promised could destroy you. It takes everything in your power not to throw the unassuming woman on the bed and ravage her.

"She might enjoy it," Sabiha purrs, rising back out of the murk for a moment, "But in your inexperience, you would likely hurt her to sate your own lust. Breathe, repeat these words, aloud if you want to."

The words are not magic, they have no inherent power, but the repetition of them allows you to climb back into your head for a moment, slow things down and not be so overcome by your more animal urges. The farmer, whose hands have not only not stopped teasing your cock to full mast, but have sped up and now cause it to swing painfully hard between your legs, does not make focusing easy. When you have control again, Sabiha surges to the back. She wants you to do as much of this yourself as possible.

"I'm surprised you can even walk with something like this," The farmer says breathily, "If you really are some kind of highborn or something..."

The words catch in your mouth for a moment, because you realize that you didn't even know what you were saying to begin with. If you hadn't stopped yourself, you probably would have groaned out a slurred jumble of words that all made sense on their own, but had no meaning in a group. The farmer looks up at you expectantly, trying to gauge if you want to play some more, or if she needs to move you to the bed before your legs give out. By her look, she would much prefer to drag this out for a while, and despite feeling like your balls are swollen to bursting, you're inclined to agree. But what you should say is another thing to figure out. Every option you have seems stupider than the last, until eventually you just let out a pleased grumble and unfasted the shoulder knots of the farmer's dress.

"When one is this far, there is very little wrong to say." The Duke opines.

"Ignore him, there is much wrong to say, but she can see your inexperience, she will forgive much." Sabiha returns.

That doesn't give you any better idea what you should say, and the silence is beginning to get awkward. Eventually, you feel your back is to the wall enough that you have to say something. You decide to try continuing on like Sabiha, emulating a confidence you lack.

"Could any human compare?" You ask smugly.

"None that I've seen," The farmer responds happily.

For a moment, doubt creeps in, "Are you sure it won't be too much?"

The woman grins in a way that almost unnerves you, "I almost hope it is."

Deep within your mind, you hear Sabiha all but frothing at the mouth. While words are difficult, it's all too easy to follow your instinct. The immediate one says to throw the woman over her mattress, but the more rational one points out how misaligned your hips would be and establishes a different plan. You stoop to your knees, kissing the farmer woman on her lips. This seems to genuinely take her by surprise, even more so when you dart your long pointed tongue into her mouth. You pull her face to yours, long slender fingers almost able to reach up to the crown of her head with your hands on her cheeks. She shudders, letting her dress fall away with a little help from your hands darting about. When you unlock lips and untwine tongues, she pants for breath, a little dazed.

"And could any human compare to that?" You ask her.

"Good heavens," She responds weakly.

You stand back up slightly as you snake your hands around her waist and lift her with palms under her ass. She squeals as you carry her over to the bed and set her down on her back. She looks up at you eagerly with her legs open, pussy beckoning to you as you crawl onto the bed between them.

"Come on then, your highness." She grumbles eagerly, rocking her hips up at you.

You take her completely by surprise when you drop your head between her legs, causing her to squeal. In the back corner of your mind, Sabiha cheers you on. She and the woman had both clearly initially intended this to be a quick pounding, but Sabiha especially seems happy to see you trying everything that strikes your fancy.

"W-what are you doing?" The farmer asks nervously.

"Has no human sampled your flower?" You ask her innocently.

"It's... dirty, isn't it?" She asks unsurely.

"It was how we honored our women in the old kingdom," You purr, Sabiha doesn't take issue with your historic inaccuracy.

"I don't want you to taste something bad and have our fun ruined!" The farmer admits meekly, but she's clearly not going to stop you.

"Leave that to me to decide." You purr back, letting your long pointed tongue hang down past your chin before pulling it back up over your nose and then back into your closed mouth again. The gesture causes her to eep nervously.

Only a second later, when you drill her pussy with that same tongue, the scared noise immediately turns into a howling gasp. Her fingers and toes both curl around the sheet for purchase as her chest rises and falls rapidly. You flick your long tongue all about her flower, focusing especially on the bud when you have. You switch between flicking your tongue over her clit, driving it inside her lips, and kiss and sucking all down the length of her pussy. It was already dripping when you started, after only a few dozen seconds, the lips are swollen and oozing and the pink bud stands out **** for attention. You do everything that comes to your mind to try with the nub, even humoring some of the suggestions of the voices. You do absolutely everything to her pussy, but you don't do any of it for very long and you don't give her any time to rest or catch her breath. It's almost gratifying how quickly you make the more experienced older woman cum, far more gratifying how hard.

She doesn't even try to muffle her delighted shriek, grabbing and yanking her handfuls of the bedsheets desperately. Her back arches as she rocks her hips up toward your mouth, then drops it away to try to escape the sensations. You snake your long fingers around the inside of her thighs, holding her legs open and not letting her pull her flower away. You keep stroking her pussy with your tongue the whole way through her climax. When she finally drops back onto the bed limply, you pull your mouth away, lapping the juices that run down your chin with your tongue. When she looks down between her legs blissfully at you, you gently lick the juices that color the inside of her thighs before kissing up and down the inside of her leg toward her crotch.

"The old kingdom... seems like a very nice place." She slurs happily.

You plant a final kiss directly on her clit, making her shudder, "More lovely than you can imagine."

You crawl up the bed enough to loom your stiff cock over her waist, then sit on your legs to line it up with the farmer's hips. She purrs happily and wiggles her hips, letting you lift them to line yourself up more properly. Even as your heart pounds in your chest and tells you that it would still be possible to back out now, you ease the head of your cock into her slick pussy. You're surprised how well she handles the thickness of it, but length will probably be another issue altogether.

Her body unfolds around the head of your cock furnace-hot, slick and wet, and firmly tight. It's like having your cock wrapped in a sort of fleshy fire, textured and human all over in an almost tormenting way, but slick and hot enough to feel like it starts to melt all that it encompasses. As you slide more and more in, the sensations only become more powerful and harder to bear. The skin around the head of your cock is pulled back fully, the sensitive head completely exposed to a million different silky sensations. It feels like you're trying to drive yourself into her core, to fill her so fully that you find the red-hot pulsing heart of her. With each shift of your hips, the sensations shift and re-emerge, never truly the same. To your own surprise, you manage to make your aching balls touch against her body and completely engulf yourself.

She lets out a semi-pained groan, "Fuck!"

It's nice to hear her at such a loss for words, her "oh heaven"s and "your highness"s completely impaled on the rod striking her a level of deep that no human will likely ever reach. You try to shift and position yourself for thrusting, but you're like a spider looming over a fly. Most of the positions either require her to get bigger or you to get smaller. Finally, Sabiha takes pity on you and guides you into a position she found workable. You set your knees wide apart, resting them and your feet on the bed. You loom over the farmer, letting your breasts hang in her face and staring down at her, doing nothing to dissuade the spider comaprison. When you begin thrusting, it's down into her, almost through her. Each thrust is like you're striking down into the bed toward the floor, and the old bed responds with groans of agony. The farmer woman clearly hears them too, but ignores them in favor of joining her hands behind your neck.

"Faster! I want you to cum inside of me, your highness." She whines to you. As your thrusts get more ragged in time with your breath, the balance of experience and power goes back to at least even. You can barely string words together again, and you feel like your arms are about to give out.

"I might... break your bed..." You pant back.

"Do it then," She whispers back.

That's all the encouragement you need, you start to pound her with the sole intention of reaching your approaching climax as soon as possible. The room fills with squeals and meaty thwacks for a moment, drowning out even the protests of the bed. Looking down into her eyes, straining with effort in between gasped breaths, you have no concerns other than breeding this woman. If somebody came in right now and struck you through the heart with a dagger, you would likely keep thrusting oblivious to the pain.

And so it is that when you finally surge mind-numbingly over the edge, you don't hear the farmer call Sabba's name, or the loud crack of the bed underneath the both of you. You let out a surging thrust that borders on wrathful as your balls seize up into you and pump the first glob of thick elven cum inside of her. You feel everything below your waist go white-hot, the only sensation on your mind other than the pleasure coming from between your legs is the burning in your arms. As you rock your hips again, spraying the second wave of cum inside of the farmer, you feel your eyes roll back into your head and you feel yourself falling... literally. First, your arms give out and your body drops onto that of your partner, and you keep pumping into her blissfully as your lay on top of her like an oil-black sweat-slick blanket. Then, you fall again, the mattress coming crashing to the floor as the cracked legs give a final groan and collapse completely, dropping the mattress onto the floor. You are almost oblivious to both as your vision crackles with electricity and you jerk your hips a few final times. When it finally starts to abate, and the last refugee spurts come dribbling out of you, you're seeing stars. You would be more than happy to linger like that for a long time, were it not for the farmer politely tapping your shoulder and whispering, "I can't breathe."

You roll off of her, letting her pull the blankets over both of you as she rests her head on your chest. As your senses start to come back to you, you register what has happened to her room through a drowsiness you have no comparison for.

A moment later, the door slams open suddenly and the homely girl from earlier storms in.

"Ma! Are you oka-"

She stops mid-sentence as she sees the two of you snuggling on a destroyed bed.

"For fuck's sake..." She grumbles as she storms back out of the room.

You can't help but chuckle, looking down to see if your partner is doing the same. However, she's already asleep and snoring. Before long, you can't fight it any longer either.