Signs in the fire

Susan moaned and bit her lip as her body shuddered through another orgasm as the Frog-Lord continued pumping even after he had released himself in her. The rhythm and power of his thrusts slowly cooled down as his spent cock demanded a rest of its own, but Susan suspected that perhaps the Frog-Lord was willing himself down.

Certainly, she had been pushed to her limit. Panting, sweating, smaller, lesser shudders periodically spasmed through her as he slowly withdrew. Semen seeped out of her as she collapsed on the Forg-Lords belly. She had been through so much, and the exhaustion of it all had finally caught up with her.

She seemed a thin, frail thing sleeping on Gorgmoth's belly. Even in her sleep he fondled her, squeezing her ass or stroking her hair. He regarded his prize, and even now his limp cock, so recently spent slightly spasmed with new life. If she were awake he would have taken her again – but now she could sleep. After all, what good would it be to break his new toy? Particularly one who held such promise...

As if on cue, the slow click of a staff end hitting the ground grew closer, until finally from the shadows emerged the shaman. A hunched over and wizened old crone of a toad and laden with heavy robes, she had been the true architect of so much of what had happened.

“Scrogaagh, my great Scrogaagh... how can I thank you? When we set down this path, even I never expected to reap such... rewards.” Gorgmoth patted Susan's ass as he spoke to the shaman. She stirred slightly – but she was firmly now in the realm of sleep.

“The path has been bloody. It will continue to be bloody – but you were wise to see the dangers we face, wise to see how we had to change our fate, wise for giving the gods their proper due, and kind for allowing me to exact my **** by doing so.

You are thrice blessed king, and indeed this is my repayment of my debt to you... the though the gods demand that such a loyal son receive his blessings, I happily pledge my service to you.” As the shaman spoke she removed a small knife, an obsidian athame made the smallest prick on the inside of her thigh. From this she drew out a small vials worth of blood, and into another she took a measure of the semen that had -and still was- seeping out from Susan.

“A potent smell, and impressive amount, my lord” she said as she rubbed a healing salve over the cut on Susan's thigh. “I don’t need to scry the fire to tell you good tidings will be on the way”

Gorgmoth smiled. “Excellent, but please shaman, scry the fire. Tell me of the things to come. Let us guide our race to it's future.”

Scrogaagh took a hair from Susan's head, and from Gorgmoth's back she pressed upon one of the burly gnarls on his back. Though now a tough and rubbery armor in adult hood, the shaman knew the ways to make them expel the potent essence -a poison or a potent ingredient- that younger frogs expelled so readily.

The shaman took these things, and other things hanging from belts or hidden in pouches all about her garb as she lit a fire in a stone brazier. Casting the things in and saying her incantations her eyes and attention became consumed by the dancing flames half of this thing a dash of that her ceremony stretched long into the night.

By the time she had finished even Gorgmoth had fallen asleep, and the rays of early morning sun were beginning to peek into the room. Susan still lay atop him, kept in place by hand still clutched to her body, and a cock that had risen in his sleep to double over his belly, its head nestled over the cleft of her ass cheeks.

Scrogaagh approached quietly, and knelt before the frog lord and his ****. There she waited until the sun roused him from his sleep, a great yawn coming from his mouth, and stretch one limb at a time – careful balance his treasure.

“My great lord Gorgmoth... I have news for you. News of you. News of her, news of the future. News even of the names that perhaps she will have.

“Tell me these things, Scrogaagh! Tell me now, and I shall see to it that what needs to be done will be...”