Warrior shamed!!!

Sue sat in the dim, smoky light of the inn’s common room, a plate of roasted meat and thick bread before her. She ate with a focused, primal hunger, tearing at the greasy strips with her teeth. The night and morning had been a whirlwind of drink, smoke, and Skeeve’s relentless, delicious attentions. Her body felt like a well-used instrument—tuned, played, and vibrating with a deep, satisfied hum. She was famished, but it was a good hunger. An alive hunger.

She hadn’t felt this free in years. The weight of her past, the ghost of Reed, the constant pressure of survival—it all felt distant, muted behind the vibrant, now sensation of Skeeve’s hands on her skin, his cock inside her, his laughter in her ears. She scribbled in her private journal, the neat, scientific script now interspersed with sketches of goblin sigils and notes on the strange, possessive warmth they emitted in her body. Was it the magic? Of course it was. The sigils were active, they were influencing her. But the connection she felt to the little green runt wasn’t just magical. It was… real. Feral. Fun.

From the bar, Skeeve’s chittering voice rose above the dwarf-song. He was perched on a stool, gesturing wildly to a group of bearded, tankard-clutching dwarves. He kept pointing back at Sue. Bragging. Clearly telling them all about it. Sue watched, a slow smile spreading across her face. She didn’t mind. She felt a surge of pride, of ownership. He’s mine, she thought, and the thought felt good, not restrictive. She raised her hand, waving at him playfully. Skeeve saw her, his yellow eyes lighting up, and he waved back, his grin wide and shameless.

She felt good. Confident. Reinvigorated. So she’d dressed for it. The practical, protective armor was packed away. Today, she wore a short, brown leather bodice that was more crop-top than garment. It cinched just under her breasts, leaving the full, pale curves of them exposed, the dark nipples visible through the thin, supple leather. A matching skirt, equally short, hugged her hips and flared just above her knees, showing the length of her legs and the curve of her ass when she moved. Why not? She had the confidence. She had the body. And in this world, displaying it was a power all its own.

The clatter of heavy boots on the wooden stairs cut through the tavern din. Sue looked up, her fork paused mid-way to her mouth.

Dastaan the Agile descended, his face a mask of stormy disapproval. He was in full travel armor, the dust of the road still on him, his sword at his hip. His eyes scanned the room and landed on her like a hawk spotting prey. He strode over, his presence causing the dwarves to quiet slightly, their laughter turning to wary muttering.

He stopped before her table, his gaze sweeping over her—the exposed cleavage, the short skirt, the journal open beside her plate. His expression tightened, a mixture of confusion, disgust, and a raw, undeniable hunger.

“What is this, Susan?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “What has he done to you?” His eyes lingered on the sigil over her left breast, the dark mark of Skeeve’s name. They dropped to the low bodice, to the hint of her nipples. “You look… you’re dressed like…”

Sue opened her mouth to answer. A simple retort. A dismissive explanation. But her throat closed. The words stuck, lodged behind a sudden, powerful sensation of inappropriateness. A deep, instinctual voice whispered: You should not be speaking to this male. This human male. Without permission. It was the magic, the tribal sigil on her neck, the possessive one on her breast. They flared warm against her skin, a silent, firm command.

She blinked, confused, a flush of embarrassment heating her cheeks. She couldn’t speak to him. Not freely.

From the bar, Skeeve hopped down. He waddled over, his small form moving with quick, sure steps. He placed a fresh mug of ale in front of Sue without looking at Dastaan. “Don’t be rude,” Skeeve said, his tone surprisingly firm. “Speak with stinky human!” He nodded once, a perfunctory gesture, at Dastaan, then scampered back to his dwarf friends, as if he’d simply unlocked her voice.

The block vanished. Sue drew a breath, the air finally reaching her lungs. “Hello, Dastaan,” she said, the words flowing now, smooth but edged with a newfound awareness. “Good to see you too.” She sighed, a sound of **** patience. “He’s done nothing.”

Dastaan’s jaw worked. “It must be Darkskull’s magic. A ****. Skeeve cannot be trusted. He’s a minion of the Hollow. A goblin.”

Sue picked up her journal again, her fingers tracing the page. “Darkskull had nothing to do with this,” she said, her voice calm. “I need Skeeve’s connections here in Bardoz. He agreed to help me. It’s a business arrangement.”

“An emissary of Darkskull… a goblin… helping you?” Dastaan’s disbelief was palpable. His eyes kept drifting back to her chest, to the way the bodice strained against her full breasts as she breathed. Sue felt his gaze like a physical touch, and instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture that only pressed her breasts together, making them more prominent.

“You know it’s not wise to share quest information, Dastaan,” Sue said, closing her journal with a snap. Her tone was final.

“Whatever it is,” Dastaan insisted, stepping closer. His voice dropped, earnest. “I can help. I can free you from these bonds!” He pointed directly at the sigils on her arms, his finger almost touching her skin.

Sue rolled her eyes, a familiar, human frustration breaking through the magical filters. “I put these bonds on for…” She stopped herself, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “Zardon… Earth… men are all the same. Women aren’t capable.” She uncrossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, deliberately displaying the sword at her hip, the powerful lines of her body. “What makes you think I need saving?”

She turned the tables, her gaze sharp. “Why are you here, Dastaan? What brings you to this inn, on this day?”

He deflected, his eyes hardening. “I’m tracking a fugitive. But that’s not the point. The point is him. He will turn on you. And people here are talking, Susan. They’re talking about you and his… activities.” He said the word with a venomous distaste.

Sue shook her head, a slow, defiant motion. “Let them talk,” she said, her voice rising slightly, brazen. “I am an adult. I can fuck who I want.”

The bluntness shocked him. His face flushed. “He’s a goblin!”

“And I’m a warrioress,” Sue countered, standing up now. She grabbed her journal, then picked up the mug of ale Skeeve had brought. She chugged the remaining half in one long swallow, then set the empty mug down with a thud. She laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound. “Doubt Darkskull cares. Skeeve’s getting paid… and laid.”

She called over to the bar. “Skeeve! The company here is…” She turned back to Dastaan, reached out, and rubbed a single finger slowly down the dusty leather of his chest plate. “…boring. Let’s pack and ride out.”

She didn’t wait for his response. She turned and walked towards the stairs, her short skirt swaying, the curve of her ass clearly outlined. Skeeve leapt from his stool, a gleeful chitter escaping him, and raced after her. As he passed Dastaan, he paused, looked up at the taller man, and gave a deliberate, knowing wink. Then he scampered up the stairs behind Sue.

Dastaan stood frozen, his hands clenched. The heat of her finger on his chest lingered. The sight of her walking away, that perfect body moving with confident grace, followed by that thing, burned in his vision. The dwarves at the bar erupted into fresh laughter, one shouting, “Seems the lady’s got a taste for green, eh?”

He seethed. A dark, humiliated rage boiled in his gut, mingled with the aching, persistent lust he’d carried for years. He **** himself to move. He ordered a plate of food from the innkeeper, ate it mechanically, tasting nothing. Every bite was ashes. Every sound from upstairs—a door closing, a muffled laugh—was a needle in his skin.

When he finished, he climbed the stairs again, his steps heavy. He intended to go to his room, to pack his own gear, to leave this cursed place. But as he rounded the corner to his hallway, he saw it.

The door to Sue and Skeeve’s room was open. Not just ajar. Open. Deliberately, provocatively open. The lamplight from inside spilled out into the dim hall.

And inside, he saw them.

Sue was naked. Completely, gloriously naked. She was straddling Skeeve, who was sitting in a wooden chair. She was facing away from the door, towards the room’s window—a reverse cowgirl position. Her head was tilted back, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted in a silent, rapturous sigh.

Skeeve’s hands were on her breasts. His green, clawed fingers cupped the full, pale flesh, kneading them, his thumbs rubbing over her dark, erect nipples. He was leaning forward, his mouth open, and he was licking the side of her neck, lapping at her skin, at the tribal sigil there.

And his cock. His thick, green, impressive cock. It was buried inside her. Dastaan could see it clearly: the base where it disappeared into her body, the length of it hidden within her, and the rhythmic motion as Skeeve’s hips pushed gently upward from the chair, driving himself deeper into her. Sue’s hips moved in counterpoint, rocking back onto him, taking him in with slow, deep rolls.

They seemed utterly oblivious to the open door, to the world, to him. They were lost in each other. Sue’s hands were braced on Skeeve’s thighs, her fingers digging into his green skin. Her back arched, presenting her perfect ass to the doorway, to Dastaan’s stunned gaze.

He walked by. He couldn’t stop himself. His feet carried him past the open door, his eyes glued to the scene. His own cock, trapped in his trousers, hardened instantly, a painful, throbbing echo of his earlier shameful masturbation. He felt the heat, the **** want, and the crushing jealousy all at once. He passed the door, entered his own room, and shut the door behind him. He stood there, in the dark, listening. He heard Sue’s moan, soft and deep, from down the hall. “Yes… just like that…”

He was hard. Embarrassingly, unbearably hard. And he knew he had to leave. He had to get out of this inn.

---

Back in their room, Sue’s world had narrowed to sensation. The open door had been Skeeve’s idea—a little ****, a little display. She’d agreed. Why not? Dastaan’ judgment meant nothing to her now. All that mattered was the slow, deep fullness inside her, the heat of Skeeve’s hands on her breasts, the scratch of his claws on her sensitive skin.

She rocked on him, taking him deeper with each downward push. Her inner muscles, trained and sensitive, clasped him tightly, a delicious suction that made him groan beneath her. “You’re holding me,” he gasped, his tongue leaving her neck to speak.

“I am,” Sue murmured, her voice husky. She shifted, changing the angle, and his cockhead ground against a spot deep within that sent a shockwave of pleasure up her spine. Her moan turned into a sharp cry. “Right there!”

She increased her pace, rising and falling on him faster now. The slow, lazy rhythm built into something urgent, driven. Skeeve’s hands left her breasts and gripped her hips, his claws digging in, guiding her movements, matching her thrusts with his own upward drives.

The climax built quickly, a familiar tide rising from her core. The magic in her sigils seemed to amplify it, the possessive mark on her breast burning hot, the tribal one on her neck humming with a shared energy. She felt connected to him, not just physically, but magically. His pleasure fed hers. His groans vibrated through her body.

“I’m gonna cum,” she whispered, then louder, “Skeeve, I’m gonna cum!”

Her body tightened, every muscle coiling. She pushed down onto him, taking him as deep as he could go, and held there. The orgasm exploded, a white-hot burst that radiated from her center out to her fingertips. She screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound of release, and her body convulsed around him, milking his cock, pulling his seed from him.

Skeeve felt her climax, and his own control shattered. He shouted, a guttural goblin cry, and thrust up into her one final, powerful time. His release flooded her, hot and copious, filling the space her convulsing muscles created. She felt the pulse of it, the internal heat, and it triggered a second, softer aftershock, a ripple of pleasure that left her trembling.

She slumped forward, then slowly, carefully, lifted herself off him. His cock, slick with their combined fluids, slipped out of her. She stood on shaky legs, turned, and looked at him. He was panting, his yellow eyes wide and satisfied, his green cock still semi-hard, gleaming.

She smiled, a tired, contented smile. “I need to clean up.”

She padded to the small bathing room. As she passed the doorway, she glanced out into the hall. It was empty now. But her nose twitched. The sigils on her skin, the magic in her blood, had sharpened her senses. She could smell things more acutely now. Goblins had keen noses.

And she could smell him. Dastaan.

She could smell his scent—leather, sweat, road dust—lingering in the hall. And underneath it, another smell. A musky, sour scent. Male seed. Weak. Human.

She stepped into the bathing room, used the cloth and water to clean herself quickly. When she returned, Skeeve was already pulling their travel packs together.

“I can smell him,” Sue said, leaning against the doorframe. “The sigils… they give me a goblin nose. I could smell him at the wall earlier. And I could smell his own… stinky, weak seed on his body when I talked to him downstairs.” She laughed, a soft, incredulous chuckle. “I think he masturbated to us. To watching us.”

Skeeve chittered, a sound of pure glee. “Stinky human jealous!”

“Very,” Sue agreed, watching as Skeeve packed. He was being thorough, but he was including all the blankets and pillows from the two beds. Sue laughed again. “One blanket and one pillow is all they’ll need now,” she said, walking over to him. She ruffled the spiky hair on his head, a gesture of affection that felt natural. He looked up at her, his eyes shining, and chittered with excitement.

They packed light, leaving the extra linens. Sue slipped into practical riding clothes—leather breeches, a thicker shirt, her repaired armor over it. The crop-top and skirt were folded away, a memory of a confident afternoon. Skeeve dressed in his simple trousers and shirt.

They walked downstairs together, Sue’s hand resting casually on Skeeve’s shoulder. They checked out, paying the innkeeper, who gave them a knowing, amused nod. Then they went to the stable at the back of the inn.

Their mounts, the warvs, were tall, broad-backed creatures with coarse hair and long, ridged horns. Sue approached hers, a dark-coated beast she called Shadow, and patted its neck. Skeeve’s was a smaller, more nimble one named Scratch. They unhooked them, led them out into the muddy courtyard behind the inn.

The sky was clearing, the earlier rain giving way to a pale, late-afternoon light. Sue mounted Shadow with smooth efficiency, settling into the saddle. Skeeve climbed onto Scratch, his small form fitting perfectly.

“We hit the mountain pass,” Sue said, looking towards the distant, misty peaks. “Make camp at the base. Then go for Maeven the Horrid’s spire stronghold in a day’s time.”

Skeeve looked at her, his eyes hopeful. “We fuck in camp?”

Sue nodded, a slow, promising smile spreading across her face. “We fuck in camp.”

She kicked Shadow into a trot, then a gallop, racing out of the courtyard and onto the wide road leading away from the city. Skeeve, with a delighted shout, urged Scratch after her, his small form bouncing in the saddle as he chased her, eager for the journey, and for the night ahead.