Fyneen - to the Docks

Fyneen headed to the docks district, her head reeling from a heady mixture of love and lust. Shairi was like no one she’d met before – beautiful and wise, cunning and brave. Fyneen had been a virgin when she joined the mage guild. Torax had singled her out to become his personal slut, and had occasionally shared her with his guests or his more favoured male apprentices. She had hated it, but found some pleasure in the act. She’d never even thought of being with another woman, let alone experiencing the ecstasy that Shairi had given her. She was utterly devoted to her new mistress.

That was the only reason she was going to the docks, a region that had scared her since she was a little girl. But, she reasoned, the bustle of foreigners was the best place to look for a magical being.

She saw a group of mercenaries leave a tavern, heading for the next one with a couple of giggling whores in tow. The majority were humans, orcs and a few dwarves – all too mundane to be of use to her mistress. But their leader was something else – a powerful, bull-headed minotaur that towered above his men. His muscular body was covered in downy fur, and his long horns were capped with gold. He made a comment that Fyneen couldn’t hear, and his men laughed bawdily.

Swallowing, Fyneen followed them into the tavern. They had monopolised a cluster of tables, and were calling for drinks and molesting the waitresses. Fyneen approached cautiously.

A dwarf grabbed her and pulled her on to his lap. “Hey, sweet thing, want some fun?” His breath stunk of beer and his bushy beard tickled against her.

She struggled to escape. “Please, I need to speak with your leader.”

“Send the wench over, Ulgarth” the minotaur rumbled, and the dwarf reluctantly pushed her off his knee. She stood in front of the beast-man, her mouth dry.

“I am Taug’n Thar, Chieftain of this band of mercenaries,” the minotaur said. “Who are you?”

“A frightened little pheasant, ripe for the plucking,” one of the mercenaries suggested. To Fyneen’s surprise, it was a woman, one of several in the band.

“Please, sir,” she said timidly. “My mistress is a sorceress–”

“Bah,” the dwarf said, “I hate sorceresses.”

“Sorceresses are alright,” Taug’n said. “The key is to fuck the stuck-up sluts so hard that they’re too busy moaning to cast spells.”

The other mercenaries laughed uproariously. Fyneen blushed, but continued.

“And she sent me on a task. I… I need a sample of your cum.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realised it might have been the wrong thing to say.