Today’s Prompt Selection was: Omegaverse, Possessive sex, Choking/Gagging. I have a variety of selections here, mostly of the last – mostly because, well, quite frankly and I might as well pull off the mask here for a second, I really like being choked? I like the idea of it, I like it in practice, and I’ve only recently become aware of the health problems associated and honestly damn that sucks because… it was fun. I’ve never had a partner who liked choking, so I didn’t get to enjoy it super often, but now of course because I am a wellness-minded person it will happen even less even if I happen to get a partner who does like it. So. That’s a shame.
Just gotta live vicariously through fiction I guess XD
At the same time, I’m somewhat conflicted, because I do not want to glorify and thus potentially spread something which is potentially harmful. So. I’m kinda caught between a rock and a hard place and slightly irked by it.
For now at least, I’m going to forcefully and repeatedly clarify: this story is set in Arellan, a magical world, wherein they have spells, potions, and rituals which are capable of healing and even reviving. People can more freely engage in dangerous activities here because there is more recourse from them. Do not take these words as suggestions, as a game plan, or anything of the sort; do not act out this scene at home, no matter how good (hng) Iz makes it sound.
Anyway. Characters!
Izzrannyk we saw previously in another day (Coming Untouched, Day 2) – with somewhat waxy skin and tightly curly black hair, and a thoroughly medium build at 4’4″ (and a few secrets physically but those aren’t important here), she is a dwarven woman from a family of fairly high power which has supposedly been cursed to prevent them from gaining acclaim. She used to fight against the idea of this curse and devoted everything she had to redoubling the family’s reputation, but recently has chilled out a little.
A little.
Gurt is a butcher, a 5’7″ half-orc with green skin, violet eyes, tightly braided black hair, and strong build. She is incredibly socially anxious and awkward, and as a result really does not talk very much at all. When she does, it often comes out wrong. She is also a drummer, and has a love of sex toys, and appeared in yesterday’s excerpt (Day 13: Dildos) for which I’d forgotten about this scene but it’s fine!
This scene involves, as you’d guess from the title and above, choking: it is consensual, it is not violent, it is in fact explicitly requested and sought. It also involves two women having sex with their mouths, hands, and a sex toy, as well as a bit of moderate kinda-voyeurism (Erris shows up at one point: he is sexually involved with Gurt, but not with Izzrannyk; Iolanda shows up at one point: she is sexually involved with both Gurt and Izzrannyk. And Erris. And more. XD). It is also, at times, very erudite, and certainly waxes poetic both generally and also specifically about getting choked (and the rest).
If this sounds good, read on! If not, perhaps not.
After the break are some spicy things.
She directed her feet swiftly and solely toward Gurt. “Gurt – I hope I did not misinterpr-”
Izzrannyk’s words were cut off as Gurt spun toward her and pulled her in tightly for a deep kiss, cutting off a word with her tongue’s presence, and the kiss was different for them both standing; Gurt a foot or so taller than her and Izzrannyk’s head tipped back as a result, but not unpleasantly as it positioned her well for the kiss to deepen, and she sank into her likely soon-to-be-lover’s strong arms with a satisfied sigh.
“Good,” she hummed softly as the kiss broke a few moments later, one hand stroking down one of Gurt’s strong arms to her hand. “I had hoped.”
A small snort of a giggly laugh flew from Gurt’s nose as she nodded, grinning wider than might have been expected from her wordless and sometimes stoic demeanor. Her violet eyes held firmly on Izzrannyk’s for a moment, lips shifting softly as if to make words but none coming out.
That was fine. Words could be overrated.
Wordlessly, they stepped away toward another room, for another activity.
They swept into the room, and Izzrannyk recognized it as being the one Iolanda had actually properly been staying in, at the Inn; the other two were additions of the night arranged for the party alone it seemed, and even the one she had been staying in since her arrival at Am-Karrak had been substantially rearranged.
Normally, there were not four beds in the room, of course. Nor was it usually divided up into a half-dozen smaller spaces.
Its standard one bed, washbasin, and one room divider, had been supplemented by several more beds and dividers, but Izzrannyk’s feet led her through on a practiced path to one of the beds – the one which had always been in that corner – as she and Gurt occasionally stopped for messy kisses or swift gropes.
Or, on occasion, didn’t stop for them.
“If I were a poet I would spend a thousand words, a hundred thousand, tracing the curves of your body,” Izzrannyk murmured against Gurt’s firm but delicious lips as they held each other’s faces in close to each other, eyes burning into one another’s depths. “Were I a painter, a hundred thousand brushstrokes; a sculptor a hundred thousand strikes of my chisel; a warrior, a hundred thousand blows of my axe – but as it stands I must default to nothing so lofty and let instead my body’s burning stand as testament to your beauty.”
Her fingers interlaced with Gurt’s briefly as the other woman began to undo the buttons of her shirt, and their mouths met once more as Gurt half-fell backward to sit on the bed, but it was convenient. It brought the nearer to being the same height, and Izzrannyk’s hands wrapped around the back of Gurt’s head to pull her in firmly for a passionate kiss.
Gurt gasped softly as they parted, all of their hands dedicated to undressing the other. “Iz,” she huffed, following the single syllable with a firm swallow that made it clear that it was not simply the first syllable of the longer name, but rather a word in and of its own self; a shortening, a nickname or pet name, a moniker other than the one which had been provided by parents and inscribed on every legal document, and it had been suggested that despite her pragmatic tendencies there was a degree of romanticism which lingered deep within.
Whatever the cause and whatever the reasons, Iz found a shiver sneaking through her body at the sound of the name and the thoughts it inspired. “It sounds good on your lips,” she sighed. “There’s no other name I’d rather be called by you than yours.”
Gurt let out a slight laugh, brief only and barely capable of leaving her lips before Iz’s mouth met them again; clothing flew to the floor, lighting all around them like pigeons in one of the city’s squares at the drop of a handful of seed, and when there was nothing left Iz leapt forward, pushed Gurt back on the bed, and laid overtop her with their bodies pressing wonderfully together.
Their hands sought over each other’s bodies, and Iz delighted in both; in the feel of Gurt’s skin underneath her fingertips and palms, the occasional scars and the toned muscles, the way Gurt would gasp or sigh as Iz stroked and caressed in gradual exploration; in the way Gurt touched her, not uncertain in the slightest but nor rough, her hands unworriedly and unhurriedly cupping and caressing at Iz’s body, at her sides, at her chest, at her bottom.
A small flurry of light laughs and giggles ensued as they shifted, pulling the covers back and diving underneath. Iz was practiced and used to not partaking in such things: sex, as with all things, had its practical aspects, and Iz was used to relying on and accentuating those.
On occasion it had gotten bad enough that she had, in fact, exited more than one sexual encounter because her partner was taking too long to finish – or because she was.
Lately, however, she was trying to take things more easily. Not to pencil in entertainment and enjoyment as one time slot amongst a daily schedule’s slate run thick with appointments, but rather, to simply enjoy enjoyment.
Getting in underneath the covers was a substantial flag of that move in her life. Previously, there had seemed little point: wasted moments in getting underneath them, and wasted minutes in needing to re-set them afterward, as opposed to a quick tidying up had one instead laid atop the covers or even nothing needed at all if one eschewed the bed entirely.
Underneath the covers, it felt more like those poems which Iz had on scheduled occasion let herself enjoy. It became part of the poetry, the falling of clothing to the floor baring them mimicked and mirrored by the covers enveloping them – embrace-like, as well, the sheets which bound them together, only temporarily intimate but intimate at least even if temporary.
Iz groaned her appreciation as Gurt’s mouth sought her collarbone, pressing a tusk into the side of her neck delightfully as her hands stroked lower, clutching at Gurt’s petite but toned bottom, giggling softly at the sound that emerged against her neck.
One of her hands dwelt there as the other tickled teasing patterns out around Gurt’s hip, up her ribs and back down again along the side of her belly, sneaking in past the crease of her hip and making a loud groan rumble loudly enough in her chest that Iz could feel it in her own as her fingertips strained to the limits of their length to even barely tickle at sensitive skin, but Gurt didn’t reposition to make it easier.
Content to tease herself it seemed with Iz’s hand, and the thought – and the physical strain – twisted the sounds of pleasure from Iz’s throat slightly in the direction of being whimpers. One of Gurt’s hands clutched firmly at a breast in advance of Gurt’s mouth joining it, her tongue and lips working in tandem to make Iz gasp again as a few fingers stroked slowly up the inside of her thigh.
There came then what sounded like a knock, followed by a voice, inquiring. “Gurt?”
Iz pushed herself back slightly into the pillow, raising a curious eyebrow as Gurt seemed to freeze entirely; her hand clutched steadily at one of Iz’s breasts, thumb in line with one edge of the Mark which spread across it – her other hand stilled entirely at the inside of Iz’s thigh.
Her jaw stuck, her eyes frozen fairly wide, and Iz let out a soft groan which slowly twisted toward a whine as her nipple, caught captive between Gurt’s frozen teeth, gradually pulled its way loose over the course of a couple of seconds of natural tension relieving, and Iz gasped a breath as Gurt’s head, seemingly freed, snapped up. “Yup.”
“I’ve got some clothes out here I was gonna put away for Iolanda – mind if I put it in there?”
“Might depend somewhat on what precisely you mean by in here,” Iz murmured with a smirk and a chuckle as she glanced around and Gurt hurriedly repositioned to lay beside her. “I suppose this is Iolanda’s bed…”
Her eyes went to Gurt’s, seeking confirmation wordlessly, but Gurt gave no indication one way or another. The voice, meanwhile – Erris’ voice, she recognized, although more due to the moniker than the voice, continued. “Oh hey Nykky! Nice to see you again! Well, not see, obviously, or not yet – or I mean- not yet, like not presuming or anything, but just uh- y’know-”
“Come in already, attend to your dealings,” Nykky called out with a dismissive wave even though he couldn’t see it. “Quickly though, if you would. I was in the process of getting to know our apparently mutual friend a bit better, and am reticent to delay or slow the process much longer.”
“A well worthwhile pursuit,” Erris murmured as he stepped around the corner with, indeed, as he’d stated, a moderate armful of clothing neatly folded. “One which might I say make me slightly sad to’ve announced my presence so clearly! Would’ve considered catching a glimpse of that quite agreeable indeed.”
“Would you now?” Iz quirked an eyebrow, trying to meet his eyes, and it would’ve been easier had he not seemed heavily determined to look anywhere except for at her.
One of his hands reached up to rub at his neck as he chuckled, cheeks colouring a bit more. “Heh, well uh – I mean, I know, it’s pretty obvious I’m not exactly your type to get involved with but uh, I mean I think you are still very attractive, and so that felt like a conv-”
“We’ve had sex!” Gurt blurted suddenly, sharply, interjecting and interrupting and her head snapped to the side to fixate on Iz entirely. Her violet eyes stared firmly back, stretched wide, and Gurt slowly raised her hands.
Made a circle out of the fingers of one, and poked one finger from the other through it.
With a snort of a laugh, Iz swatted at Gurt’s hands – a teasing joke, surely, as it must have been, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh I’m familiar with the concept but I hardly care. I’ve no preconception that you’ve never been touched before, and in fact suspect – and hope for – quite the opposite! As well as which, if I can avoid any particular crassness, I hope you’ve no hopes of the same for myself,” she chuckled, “because I can say with confidence you are quite far off the mark of being my first either.”
Gurt shook her head, a blunt and blurted laugh tumbling from her lips, and Iz smiled softly at that; some people made a big deal out of it. That was fine. She told them, they left, no problems ensued.
Admittedly, it had been some fair number of years since anyone had presumed she even might have been inexperienced in that particular matter. She was hardly a blushing debutante, and even during her years of debut had been far from the most prone to blush.
Erris mumbled something that Iz didn’t quite catch, but Gurt’s sharply laughed response was both immediate and clear; “pervert!”
It led to a good deal of spluttered excuse from him, as well. “W- hey! I m- ps- look, first of all, that’s Martina’s line, actually! And s- and secondly, rude. Also, I mean, accurate, but you know,” he shrugged, “I mean, obviously I’ll back off if-”
His excuses, and indeed all of his words cut off in an instant as Gurt yanked the covers down from her chest, revealing it and causing Erris’ eyes to widen and his wings to flare – like a reflex, like the way his jaw dropped a little, and given their stated history it was all but certainly not the first time he had seen it but his reaction was still one of nearly stunned shock.
Endearingly so, in a way, and with a giggle Iz ripped the covers off of her own otherwise bare chest as well and saw the sight of it strike Erris like a blow to the chest, ejecting a weak gasp from his mouth which grew like a vine into a plaintive whimper.
“Well, that was a delightful interruption,” Iz grinned, turning back toward Gurt with a dismissive wave in Erris’ direction. “It would be far from the first time I’ve been overseen whilst involved thusly – watch what you like, but don’t expect any attention from me. I devote it much more wholly to my partners, and speaking of,” her eyes trailed over Gurt’s body alongside her words, “I have already delayed for too long I think…”
With that, she followed through on her words, ceasing to pay him much attention at all – if he stayed, if he put the clothes away and for that matter where, if he left or whatever else, she didn’t care until it became something worthy of reaction, and it would have taken much to overpower Gurt’s particular weight in that matter.
Their mouths met intensely, and Iz ripped herself away from the kiss to mouth at Gurt’s neck instead, hands gripping and stroking alternately at her sides; Gurt grabbed her and pulled her atop, the two of them returning to their former positioning or something like it.
Erris hadn’t quite left, though, and said something – something Iz half-heard and attended to only half as much as that, something about having a reputation to uphold as something less than entirely a pervert and she chuckled. “I think such a reputation might have already been spoiled. Might be pointless as well.”
He mumbled something, but Iz didn’t care for it anywhere near as much as the warm skin beneath her lips; nowhere near as much as the way Gurt’s breath hitched in her throat and small aborted sounds fell from her lips as Iz kissed lower across her body – starting at her neck and trailing down like a pilgrim through the valley of her breasts, across the curve of her belly, following the crease of her thigh with lips like a river.
Gurt cut off halfway through a rough and throaty groan, voice catching in her throat as her thighs tightened up on either side of Iz’s head, and when her voice emerged again it had shifted, inverted, turned itself instead into an almost reedy whine which sent shivers racing down Iz’s spine as Gurt’s hands cradled the back of her head and held her in close but not too tightly.
Short, sharp sounds shot from Gurt’s throat, her head pressing back into the headboard at times and lurching forward at others, and Iz studied her with one eye and her head cocked to the side; she had probably a greater degree of experience with partners of that physiology, and most certainly a greater degree of care. Greater impetus to learn and to please them, partly through her own inspiration and partly through necessity.
Someone with a cock was probably happy just as long as it was going into something.
Someone without tended to require more care, and in addition to that, Iz simply felt more inspired to try. Not to say she never liked a cock, she had enjoyed a few – but had known many more than that number which she had enjoyed.
Gurt, she very much enjoyed.
Enjoyed the ways the woman lurched and bucked, clear demonstrations of her own delight but also just as clearly practiced: Gurt had known other lovers before, and while she bucked and lurched, arched her back and drove her shoulders back into the headboard and more, she never did so in a way that threatened to dislodge Iz’s head or forced her to struggle to maintain a position of pleasure – Gurt shifted her body’s natural writhings moreso toward her shoulders, her torso, her knees, and away from her hips, practiced and to very good effect too.
Enjoyed the sounds that Gurt shouted out, the occasional brief pleas interspersing them; plenty of her own name, short and sharp or stretched out long and plaintive, offered as a perfunctory and punctuative pejorative (“Iz! Iz! IZ! YES!”) or as a dilated and drawn-out desperation (“Please, please Iiiiiiizzzz!”) – Gurt played Iz’s name like an instrument, percussive and expressive and delightful in every way and each one sank into Iz’s ears and into her core like any kiss or stroke of the hand could ever have done.
Enjoyed every moment of it, Gurt clutching desperately at her head and then moving as if to reposition, to trade tasks if not precise positions, but Iz was unwilling to let such a beauty as Gurt go simply satisfied; someone so gorgeous deserved more and Gurt shouted a lustful laugh as Iz dove in with increased fervor, refusing any hands’ efforts to dislodge her head, and after a second the hands stopped and returned to pulling her in more firmly.
Iz slid a finger in to work in concert with the efforts of her tongue, stifling the occasional soft groan as if she had any choice but to stifle them – would have shouted them had she the freedom of mouth to do so but would never have dreamed of pulling her lips away in order to do such a thing.
Something tapping her on the shoulder, however, did inspire her to withdraw for a moment, glancing up to see Gurt holding a quite beautiful glass implement, clearly designed for such a purpose – fluted, bulbing outward slightly at the tip and narrower in the middle about as thick as one of Iz’s thumbs, and gently curved as well, it was clear with swirls of brightly vibrant colour within it and raised dots of the same all around the outside in pleasing patterns which called to mind rain falling on a smooth pool’s surface.
“A thing of beauty and function both,” she smiled, reaching up to take the glassen dildo and holding Gurt’s violet eyes as she gave the slightly chilled glass a kiss toward the tip. “Quite like its owner, then.”
Gurt let out a giggle, her mouth moving as if to say something but no words coming out for a few seconds. Iz’s tongue slipped out to stroke at the glass; slightly chilled, but there was an easy solution – and certainly it wasn’t cold enough to cause any true issue, but still, warm could be nice as well.
Iz sucked the glass into her mouth with a hum of a sigh, still holding Gurt’s gaze; she would have no sensitivity of it, of course, but plenty of people had paid plenty and gone to great lengths only to see such things. Iz was well aware of the role vision could play in everything erotic, from experiences in both first person and more.
“D-didn’t-” Gurt coughed, shaking her head sharply. “Don’t- didn’t mean to say- s- I-”
She seemed to stumble over the words, physically biting her lips together with her tusks still poking out of course as she nodded stiffly, cleared her throat through her nose, and then shook her head again. Once more, and then nodded. “You were doing good. I just like-”
Words ceased to come from her mouth, supplemented instead by fervent nods of her head toward the glass dildo she’d provided, and Iz let out a soft laugh, pulling it out from her mouth with a soft pop to lick at it instead with a grin.
“I gathered,” she stroked the tip of it between Gurt’s legs, sighing at the way it made her lover groan and shove her shoulders back against the headboard, “and while I’ve not yet been properly introduced to it, I quite like it as well. Along with which, you needn’t worry so much,” she let out a soft laugh, briefly pushing herself up onto her elbows and then to fists to press a quick kiss to Gurt’s lips before dropping to her neck. “I may not be the best reader of persons around, but I’m well aware when I’ve brought one to bliss with their legs wrapped around my head; I know you were enjoying yourself. You’ll enjoy yourself even more with our new mutual friend, yes?”
“Y-y-yes-” Gurt’s voice stammered in her throat, easily felt in Iz’s lips, and she sighed a soft groan as she slowly slid the implement in and felt a shudder rush through Gurt’s body and seem to transfer directly into hers.
“If it makes you feel better, I’d gladly return your specific request with a request of my own,” Iz whispered softly, catching an earlobe between her teeth. “In a moment, however, if you don’t mind. I’d like your legs around my head again first. Please.”
Gurt agreed, not with words but with a rough shout of pleasure and with hands that shoved Iz downward by the shoulders, roughly and swiftly enough that it made Iz’s laugh leap into something much more akin to a gleeful shriek instead before it was muffled between Gurt’s legs again.
The lack of feedback from the glass seemed to be more than offset by its other design aspects; Iz couldn’t feel it, of course, which sometimes made things a little more difficult, but it didn’t seem to with Gurt. She returned to her mostly-wordless shouts and Iz let each one rush down her spine like a ripple of warm water, and it didn’t take long at all for Gurt to be bucking and writhing again, convulsing sharply before pulling Iz up for a deep, glorious kiss.
“S- y-” Gurt panted, groaning sharply as Iz slowly continued to toy around with and twist the glass dildo. “Y- you. Wanted. Something? To ask.”
“I have a practiced favourite,” Iz murmured, an anticipatory shiver raising the hairs up on her arms, her neck, her back. “Personal favourite, if you wouldn’t mind. It makes me feel… so free from worry, from the anxieties that seem ever-plaguing-”
Iz caught her words with a soft laugh as Gurt’s eyes widened, and she glanced off to the side. “Apologies. Probably overly erudite in my explanations, but suffice to say-”
“No.”
Iz’s eyes snapped back to Gurt’s, wide and violet, and for a moment she thought Gurt was saying no before even hearing what the request was; perhaps had guessed it, given that on the occasions Iz had found other people with similar preferences they had spoken of not dissimilar aspects.
Gurt shook her head, but when she spoke again she disposed of any suspicion that she was denying. “Keep- keep talking. Please. I d- I don’t. I don’t. Talk. Much.”
“You make yourself known through things better than speech,” Iz insisted, pressing a kiss firmly to Gurt’s lips with a groan slipping from her nose, “but of course, if that’s something you desire I can gladly furnish you – I feel at times as if there is a rope within me,” she hissed, “twisted too tight perhaps to the point of fraying, I can feel every little inconvenience or misalignment crank the ratchet tighter; it manifests as a tension of worry, an ever-present knot of anxiety, but I have found something which relaxes that rope.”
Gurt nodded, sharply and forcefully, and Iz smiled as she stroked at her lover’s cheek, down her arm, and took one hand in hers. She raised it, placing Gurt’s hand over her throat, and then leaning back against the headboard with a sigh as she squeezed it a little.
“I want you to choke me,” she sighed, her eyes fixed on Gurt’s, and Gurt didn’t seem to look away the way many people did – Iz had been told she was too insistent with it, that she looked people in the eyes too much and too deeply, too intensely, but everyone knew that it was impolite to do otherwise.
There was, evidently, more to it than simply that, but it was a nuance which evaded her and sometimes to the point of frustration. Gurt, however, seemed not to notice – or at least not to react, which was all Iz could ever hope to gauge anyway.
“I want you to wrap your hand around my throat as you fuck me,” Iz rasped, her hand tightening around Gurt’s around her throat as she did. “Press me back against the headboard or the bed, pin me; it makes me feel- so relieved, no space for worries or concerns alongside – please?”
Gurt nodded, a small laugh tumbling from her lips as she squeezed her hand a little tighter and Iz groaned at it; Gurt’s grip tightened a bit further and sharpened the sound like a whetstone being drawn along a blade.
“B- uh. Breathing?” Gurt’s brow drew inward a little, and Iz chuckled.
“Still sadly necessary,” she admitted, “at least as a general rule, but I’ll pat you on the back of the hand like this,” she demonstrated, patting one hand on the back of Gurt’s over her throat, “if you need to slack up a bit, and if I push on your shoulder,” she pressed a hand out on the shoulder to which that hand was attached via a muscular and beautiful arm, “let go completely, at least for a moment. Sometimes an awkward hold occurs and needs to be corrected, or I might need to cough or something. The intricacies of a body plague me still.”
Gurt snorted a giggly laugh, grinning and leaning in to kiss Iz deeply, and Iz hummed a soft moan that sharpened and grew louder as Gurt’s hand gently wreathed her neck. It stiffened and steepened into a groan as Gurt’s grip tightened, and was driven upward briefly into a squeal before being cut off altogether by Gurt’s hand as their tongues danced with one another, and Iz’s body writhed with gentle waves of ecstasy as her breath was stolen entirely.
“G-good,” Gurt admitted, letting go slightly and Iz gasped a breath in before it rushed back out in a giggle.
“Good,” she repeated with a wide grin. “Always better when something is a treat for everyone involved, yes?”
Gurt nodded sharply, pulling her hand away for just long enough to plant an open and wet kiss against the front of Iz’s neck, making her groan softly, and then Gurt seemingly tried to trap it there with her own hand.
Iz softly gasped as the glass toy’s tip teased at her, her head held back against the wood and unable to look around fully freely; she stared into Gurt’s gorgeous eyes, her breath slowly narrowing as the glass just as slowly slid into her and resulted in two sources of pleasure, one above and one below, the first descending and the second buoying to meet it and make a marvellous maelstrom in her middle.
Gurt’s grip was firm but never painful, her fingertips and palm lightly calloused against Iz’s neck, and the interspersed slackings of that grip were frequent enough to never make her fear for breath – but not so frequent as to rob that thrill from things, and it was clear that Gurt was practiced as well with her toy.
Of course she was. It was hers, after all.
Iz let out a tiny, squeaked squawk of pleasure before Gurt’s grip tightened even a bit more and cut it off for another few seconds before slacking and letting her gasp one sharp breath before it was cut off again; her hands roamed Gurt’s body freely but avoided the one shoulder, stroking at her back and over her hair done up to look like rows of corn, clutching at Gurt’s breasts and ribs, trying to stretch between her legs.
Gurt shifted a bit to let her reach, too, and Iz felt a loud groan bottle up in her chest as Gurt pulled the toy free and pressed it into her hand before replacing it in Iz with her own fingers instead – slacking her grip to let Iz shout out a sharp expulsion before cutting it off halfway through in a delightful and delicious interplay.
Iz felt like an instrument herself, and Gurt a virtuoso; she shuddered through ecstasy incapable of deciphering its indistinguishable peaks from its interminable troughs; all she knew was heat and desire, strong fingers around her throat and curling within her, gorgeous violet eyes and hot breath panting across her cheek, her chest, her arm. They kissed at times, and sometimes Gurt would withdraw to stare into her eyes and Iz could do nothing but accept it or ask for freedom by pushing on her shoulder; sometimes, it was nice to have options.
Sometimes it was very freeing not to.
Iz’s hips bucked against the bedspread, her shoulders shuddering against the headboard, and Gurt growled gutturally in delight; Iolanda entered the small space, bared and beautiful, and Iz felt a thick shudder ripple down through her spine at the sight – Iolanda’s body, plentiful with curves and revealed completely to the eye as she stepped in and crouched right down, reaching underneath the bed.
One of Iz’s hands flew up to grab at the headboard, strongly enough that she heard a soft crack of complaint from the wood – not a typical dwarven building material outside of the sturdiest specimens, and the sound seemed to draw Iolanda’s attention slightly. Her golden eyes flicked up, and then widened, and it was beautiful too.
Gurt’s hand granted her a brief gap in which to shout but she managed nothing but raw lust impossible to package into anything as petty and pointless as words; Iz was not and never had been a poet, only a disciple and admirer of the same, and words were something on which she had a decent handle but only a decent one.
She watched as Iolanda’s wide eyes widened further, her mouth shifting to catch her lower lip between her teeth; convulsed sharply under Gurt’s grip as Iolanda’s face shifted, her teeth relaxing and tongue’s tip tracing the length of her lower lip instead before she gave it a thoughtful chew instead, and Iz considered inviting her.
Considered it strongly, but such a thing felt like poor form with a first-time partner, and one whose opinion on such things was unknown – as well as her thoughts on Iolanda regarding such things, as well, and so Iz discarded the thought even as Iolanda stood again with a bundle of clothing clutched to her belly with one arm.
The other one of Iolanda’s hands stroked a few fingertips back and forth across her own pink thigh instead, as Iz bucked and writhed under Gurt’s firm pinning grip, forcing a few sharp stuttered squeals out despite the strength of it.
Iolanda continued to seemingly debate with herself as to how much she wanted to tease herself and how much she wanted to pleasure herself instead, and after another twenty or thirty seconds Iz returned her attention instead to Gurt.
She did, however, make a note to bring up the prospect at some later date. Iolanda surely knew Gurt and knew how to get in touch with her again.
For the time being, however, Iz had one partner alone, and devoted herself to the orcish woman completely again, pulling their mouths together and shouting groans or Gurt’s name or swears whenever she was granted the opportunity, her body a constant concert of convulsions until Gurt finally relented completely and withdrew.
“Fuck!” Iz shouted as her lungs were granted total freedom for the first time in quite a while and took that freedom to launch out what they had been denied for so long. “Shit- now we’ve both a bit of speechlessness, don’t we? Ha! Gods above damn that was good!”
“Y-yeah,” Gurt shivered, the two of them collapsing into each other’s arms, spread and splayed over the bedspread with covers messily wrapped haphazardly not so much around themselves as simply nearby, and they heaved breaths and sighed, stroked softly at each other’s sweat-kissed skin and pressed kisses to wherever they could reach, and little more was said.
Words were, at times, overrated.
As they pushed themselves up out of bed and began to dress again, Iz felt at least something should be noted, though. “A get-together to be thoroughly well-regarded,” she murmured, her eyes flicking up to Gurt’s over a smirk, “and frequently, I should think, at least on my part. Perhaps it could see a repetition at some point?”
It took some time for a reply to come. Long enough that Iz knew already that the answer would be ‘no’ or at least something akin to it, the only question was why, but it mattered little to her. One time or a hundred, it had been well worth it, and rarity would not spoil it in the slightest.
“Live in Labsallidas,” Gurt grunted. “Far.”
“So it is,” Iz nodded with a hum, vaguely aware of the city as a major trading port although having never visited it herself. Nor had she mapped out its precise distance away, but she knew it to be substantial. “Not so much so that it cannot be overcome, however, and… I find myself inspired toward travel, for business purposes. I understand Labsallidas to be quite a major port. Were I to be in the area… would you mind if I looked you up?”
Gurt’s hands froze on her buttons, her eyes rising to fix on Iz’s, and she blinked a few times, then nodded with a smile. “Yeah. Uh. Iolanda knows the house.”
“Perhaps I might send a letter or two if you’re amenable,” Iz suggested in a gentle sigh, and giggled softly at the suddenness of Gurt’s nod.
Some of the poems she liked were applicable, she felt, and while she doubted her capacities to write any of her own, she could at least send pages of someone else’s work along through the Courier’s Guild.
“I hope to see you more around this event as well,” Iz murmured, stretching up and wrapping her hands around behind Gurt’s neck, pulling her gently downward for another deep kiss through which she softly sighed. Gurt nodded into the kiss, as well, and that was good.
Words were so far from necessary at times.
Leave a Reply