Today’s Prompt selection was: Semi-public, Object insertion, Sex pollen. I picked Semi-public because I had one I was going to use earlier and threw it in here instead! This- might be just straight-up public? I don’t know, my lines of definition are not good.
This is very rushed because it got too late, sorry.
This story takes places in the magical fantasy realm of Arellan, and I’ve written another million and a half words at this party!
We know Martina already! She has been in a few other snippets including Day 1 and uh, shit, others, I can’t remember right now but will try to come back and edit tomorrow.
Geraldo is a very old man who is surprised that he has not already passed away, a member of an aquatic species, and a colossal pervert (self-described). He’s married to Angus, though they are very open (there’s backstory there. There’s backstory everywhere. It’s not particularly important. It is nice I think but not important.).
This scene involves a woman slipping below the table at a game of dice to suck a guy off while she pleasures herself! He is old, she is young, but that’s happenstance and not something I did intentionally. If that sounds like fun, read on; if that sounds like suck, and not in a good way, then go ahead and pass.
After the gap, some spicy stuff.
Angus cleared his throat. “Now, I was actually here inviting Geraldo to a game of dice that I’ve been wrangled into-”
“Oh, so wrangle,” Geraldo threw a hand dramatically into the air. “Please, Geraldo, come save me from stripper!”
“Not save,” Angus spluttered.
“Chanel?” Martina giggled softly as Angus nodded in confirmation of her guess. “Oh, she’s uh- she’s a friend of mine. I’d love to come along?”
Geraldo gasped in excitement, and Angus rolled his eyes. “Oh, look what you’ve done now – he’ll not be able to fit his head through the door at this rate,” he sighed.
“I’ve heard something quite like that,” Martina laughed, following as Angus led the way, and she waved as she saw Chanel, and grinned at the blown kiss she got in return.
Horatio, the quite attractive Betras, and a half-elven person Martina didn’t know, all sat in chairs in various degrees of reclining. The latter kept shifting awkwardly as if not quite comfortable, as if something was poking them in the back or like they weren’t used to sitting in chairs.
“Alright, table’s full,” Chanel announced as Angus deposited Geraldo in a chair and then slipped into one beside him. “Sorry, little love – no more room.”
“Could she pull up a chair?” Angus raised an eyebrow.
“There’s no more dice,” the half-elf whispered heavily, voice ragged but soft like a tattered fleece.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Martina assured everyone – as Horatio made a move as if to leave and give up his spot to her, as Betras cleared his throat for some protest or counterpoint. “Really – I don’t have to play! I’m shit at dice anyway-”
“All-a the more reason for us-a to want you at-a the table, ha!” Horatio interjected.
“-and I’m just not feeling it right now,” Martina giggled, shaking her head.
“Good,” Geraldo nodded, “not play – just sit in lap instead, yes, to kiss when is not my turn.”
“At least it’ll keep him from making inappropriate jokes,” Angus grumbled with a smirk nearly hidden in his beard.
“Is there any other kind?” The raspy-voiced half elf chuckled.
“You,” Geraldo cried, laying himself out forward across the table and stretching out a hand. “Such a beauty! Please, you must tell me your name – and then you must take off your shirt!”
“Firstly,” they laughed, “my name’s Wyrria. Secondly, nobody wants to see me with my shirt off-”
“But I do,” Geraldo insisted, interrupting, but Wyrria continued as if he wasn’t talking at all.
“-and thirdly, I like your style and I definitely think you should get other people to take their shirts off. But I’m also reasonably certain that a shag would kill you.”
“No!” Geraldo insisted. “No, I have the sex earlier – I fuck the ass! And no die!”
Wyrria leaned forward slowly, holding Geraldo’s eyes as a grin spread gradually across her lips until it was very wide. “I’m reasonably certain a shag from me would kill you. No offence meant, I just know what I want, and it’s generally either tits or a hard cock hammering me like cold steel at the forge-”
Horatio cleared his throat lightly, shifting in his seat, and Martina saw the hint of colour in his cheeks and the way his eyes flicked over Wyrria.
“-or, conveniently for handjob over there,” Wyrria snapped her fingers and pointed at Horatio without looking, “someone who can detach at the wrist and fill me up with their whole forearm.”
“I have a hard cock,” Geraldo protested poutily, but only gently, as chuckles and laughter swept around the table. “I have one right now!”
“I think your hammering days are behind you,” Wyrria sighed, and it sounded nearly wistful – sorrowful, almost. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am, and if it was a hundred or even fifty years ago I’m sure you could deliver, but as it is? I mean, even if I rode you I’m pretty sure I’d shatter your pelvis, and if I didn’t I’d still be worrying that I would, and it just- it sounds very difficult to enjoy myself in that sort of situation.”
She didn’t exactly sound horrifically, torn-up sorry about it, but Martina did think that she was genuine in the loose sense of what she was saying at least.
“If it’s any consolation,” Martina stroked at his shoulder, “I’ll still gladly sit in your lap and make out with you?”
“Oh, very console, yes, I am so console,” Geraldo nodded happily, scooting his chair to the side to make space for her, and Martina laughed as she slid mostly into the chair, but a little bit into his lap. He was fairly narrow, and left a fair amount of space for her knees on either side of his legs.
“Certainly feel pretty consoled,” Martina muttered with a giggle as she gradually rested her weight in his lap – but when it didn’t seem to be crushing his pelvis (as, indeed, Martina had some concerns over the exact same thing), she relaxed, and felt his firmness through his pants and through her panties as well.
She didn’t pay particularly much attention to the game itself. Dice wasn’t a game so much as it was a class of games, from craps to Deadlands Dice, a game she’d played called Flotsam that was named after the city of the same moniker, Herramian Two-Fours, Ast, Panttreas – there were at least a couple dozen dice games Martina knew, and she was sure there were many, many more that she didn’t.
Instead of paying attention to the rules, she instead paid attention to Geraldo; giving him space enough to focus, enough to pay his own attention – and even encouraging him to do so in a couple of instances.
She kissed at his neck, lightly with her lips, saving more distracting actions for later and gently correcting his chin toward the table when it started to drift toward her. She took her time, in no rush in any sense, slowly following a loose line down his neck to his collarbone and then back up to his jaw, her hands gently caressing at his arms and chest.
Angus genuinely didn’t seem to mind, or hardly even to notice – he shot an appreciative look in her direction briefly, but she could tell from the focus of his eyes that it had nothing to do with her. He didn’t seem to hold her in any reproach, but he also didn’t seem to hold any particular attraction to her specifically.
He did seem to be attracted to Geraldo, though, and by extension to people who were involved with him. To people bringing him satisfaction. Martina suspected as well, even beyond that, from a little edge on his eyes’ gleam, that Angus simply liked to watch. Anyone, with anyone, really.
Martina made a note to herself to introduce him to Erris, either later at the party or after they got home to Labsallidas. They’d get along well, and could probably have loads of fun with a little bit of peeping – and Martina didn’t mind Angus watching her any more than she minded Erris watching her.
The idea of it did excite her a little less, but really not substantially. The idea of someone else getting pleasure in a way that took genuinely nothing at all from her – no effort, no contact, not even any awareness? That was a perfect situation in her books; Bellerrellan Gold, as it was sometimes called.
Martina let herself twist and shift freely as needed. Geraldo leaned forward to roll his dice and she leaned to the side, devoting her attention and lips to his ear for a moment, running the tip of her tongue along the edges and ridges of his scalloped, fin-like ear.
He certainly seemed enthusiastic, but also at the same time he wasn’t thrown by her presence or – somewhat to her surprise – overly focused on her. He paid attention, most certainly, but he also played the game, and the feel of it made Martina giggle a little bit; like they were in some old-time gambling hall, the ones where everyone wore stilted suits and the air drifted thick with smoke and liquor fumes, and he was the gambler rolling bones across the green felt while she was the one who hung off of his arm, off of his neck.
Geraldo paid attention, most certainly, but not all of it and not all the time, and that actually made it more fun.
After all, if he was going to devote all of his focus to her, then they might as well just have left the game entirely and gone off on their own. As it was, his attention would drift away – when it was his turn, he would pull his mouth away from hers, straighten up and lean forward, assess his situation compared to the others, move his bets and his dice with shaky hands according to whatever rules they were playing by and he’d roll, and while he did, Martina’s mouth would move to his neck, his collarbone, his ear, maybe his jawline.
When it wasn’t his turn, his focus dwelt much more thoroughly on her. Their lips clashed passionately, Martina making efforts to keep her sounds quiet, but present; miniature moans which he would feel in his mouth more than he would hear, such soft sighs as he licked at her neck that they would barely make the distance to his ears, gentle groans as his hands ran up her sides and down her back. Nothing louder than the chatter around the table, nothing louder than the sounds of play that were constant or the background murmur of the party – of other people playing other games at other tables.
He joined in the conversation, as well. He was in every way a player at the table, every bit as active as any of the others.
It was just that his idle moments were a little different.
“Not really something I’ve got any ability to speak on, without my fellow Council members,” Angus replied flatly to an attempt on Horatio’s part to strike up some sort of business deal between Labsallidas and Sal Al Maris.
“Ehh, well, maybe you-a remember when you get-a back-a home, eh?” Horatio chuckled. “Sal Al-a Maris is a good town! Ehh, lots to offer!”
“Is Bellerrel town, yes?” Geraldo leaned forward with interest, shuffling his pieces with one shaky hand while the other slipped underneath the hem of Martina’s shirt, just barely, to lightly press shivering fingertips to her skin and sweep them along across her back and side.
“It’s-a-” Horatio let out a brief sigh, “ehh, it’s a town of-a many things. We have-a fishing, natural-a beauty, business and-a entertainments – ehh, the town is-a under the protection, yes, of-a Bellerrel.”
“Ah, good,” Geraldo sighed as his hand slipped around to caress at Martina’s belly as she licked a line up his neck. “It sound like a good town, yes.”
“Not sure a two-day ferry ride’s advisable for you,” Angus grumbled.
“Nonsense!” Geraldo protested with a creaky laugh as he rolled. “Is fresh sea air, is healthy! Especially, mm, because I breathe under the water.”
Angus rolled his eyes, muttering something to himself as the others laughed, and Martina giggled as well. It was nice to be involved but ancillary; she didn’t feel unwelcome at all, but she also didn’t feel obligated or expected to partake in any given part of anything. She liked games, she liked banter, and she was even okay with the expectation to inject herself into those things, but it was also sometimes nice to be without them.
As turns continued to move around the table, people chuckling or swearing or remaining conspicuously silent after the clatter of their dice, Geraldo began to tug at Martina’s buttons on her shirt. As their tongues softly writhed together, one of her hands cradling his head and the other caressing at his chest, both of his shakily took hold of her shirt and began to undo buttons from the top to the bottom.
Occasionally, his hands got distracted, hesitantly at first spreading out from the centreline of her body to stroke or squeeze at her chest, or peeking underneath the fabric to caress at her belly’s skin and make her shiver slightly.
The more buttons he got undone, the more excited he got – but the shakier his hands grew, as well. The first button took him about five seconds, and there were only four of them that Martina had done up upon getting dressed, but Geraldo’s excitement and thrill at the idea and the glimpse of her body instilled his already-shaky limbs with a deepening shudder.
She murmured gentle instructions into the hollow of his neck about how to unclasp her bra; the metal heart in between the cups was made of two pieces, two heart-shaped rings that nested inside of each other and could be twisted apart, and from how Geraldo tugged at it, she knew that she’d described it at least pretty well, but he wasn’t able to get it open and as Martina heard frustration start to leak into his quiet noises, she withdrew her hands to unclasp it herself and giggled softly at Geraldo’s excited gasp when he did, as if he hadn’t seen them just a few minutes beforehand, as if he hadn’t already touched them.
She moaned softly into his mouth as his shuddering hands each grasped one of her breasts, and they became a little more still when they were resting solidly on her body, but still not fully. As long as they were extended at all, they seemed to shiver and shake, and the more excited he got the worse it became. If his hands were resting in his lap or on the table, they seemed fine – if his arms were limp, his hands didn’t seem to shake.
Geraldo leaned over her shoulder, groping her gently with one hand alone while he reached out with the other to adjust his bets and roll his dice. “Is- a very good show,” he assured the table while rolling Martina’s nipple between his fingers, but she couldn’t confidently say whether he was intending to, or whether he was trying to pinch it, or what.
“Well, ehh, we have-a a space, but-a no dancers yet,” Horatio explained. “Or at-a least, none who are-a professionals and-a live in-a the town. It’s all-a traveling shows, or-a the Bellerell-a worshippers, or,” he laughed, “amateur-a night.”
“Every night is amateur night?” Chanel laughed brightly. “Sounds delightful – but, tell me, what sort of set-up do you have? I mean, I’m always looking for a new audience… and such a captive one? I mean, captivated, of course.”
The others laughed while Martina thought, considered, and traced the tip of her tongue gently along the flaps that covered Geraldo’s gills. As he settled back into his chair with a sigh and she caught his mouth with hers, his hands weren’t any less shaky – as they returned to her body, they shuddered with excitement or weakness, and either way, it only seemed to worsen the more involved he (and they) got.
It was easier for her to ignore or justify away the fact that he hadn’t been able to unclasp her bra. He might not have been familiar with the catch, and dealing with anything new can slow you down, but she couldn’t ignore it as he tried to undo the buttons on the waistband of her skirt. Three of them, and substantially larger than the ones on her shirt so they only should’ve been easier, but Geraldo’s hands and fingers were shaking so badly that he couldn’t undo even the first one. Martina stroked at his chest, shifting her hips slightly in his lap to try to give him the best possible position, but that seemed to make it even worse as it required her to shift against his erection pressing up inside of his trousers.
Martina considered as she counted, waiting, letting him continue to try, and she knew she could just do it. She could undo the buttons – or not even bother, could just undo his drawstrings and slip her panties to the side to let him slide in – but she hadn’t been convinced even from the very beginning that she necessarily wanted quite that much from him, there and then. He was attractive, certainly, but maybe there was lingering concern over his position or something else. His health, perhaps, which definitely wasn’t helped by feeling like his frailty was redoubling as their interactions advanced.
Geraldo couldn’t get the button. Martina became certain of that as she groaned gently into the hollow of his neck – he wouldn’t be able to undo the buttons of her skirt, and they didn’t need to be undone in order for any given thing, but the fact that he couldn’t was enough of an indicator for her. She shifted back in his lap, twisting slightly and easily freeing his hands from her waistband.
“I have a different idea,” she murmured into the skin just below his ear, and then slid slowly out of his lap and to the floor, underneath the table. She pulled his chair in toward the table a bit, now that she wasn’t taking up space in his lap anymore, and then reached for the drawstrings of his pants.
There wasn’t much room for her head, between his lap and the underside of the table, but there was plenty enough, and his erection leapt free as soon as she tugged his waistband down at all. She giggled softly, stretching up onto her knees and sighing a moan as she wrapped her lips around it and swirled her tongue around the tip, giggling again as she felt his knees twitch against her chest.
One of his hands slid below the table, fingers running through her hair to first clear it from her face and then simply to run, and it seemed less shaky with his arm resting flat against his own body, and Martina hummed appreciatively into her mouthful and nodded, letting out another giggle as it made his fingers tighten.
She’d always really appreciated that. The way a lover’s body would react to touch, to fingertips, to lips; it was something that could be unfortunate about Bellerrellan followers. They trained their bodies and their reflexes so thoroughly that sometimes they didn’t react as easily or as thoroughly; theoretically they should’ve been able to, but sometimes theory didn’t match up with reality.
There wasn’t enough space for Martina to bob her head as much as she would’ve liked up and down, but laying her head down on one of Geraldo’s thighs gave her plenty of opportunity to rock it left and right. She swept her tongue back and forth along the underside of his dick as it slid in and out of her mouth, and all it took was a shift of one of her knees to slide a hand up her skirt and slip two fingers into herself, already slick and ready.
Martina let her moan out gently but loud enough; she wanted him to feel it, sinking into his flesh as she savoured the taste of him. She didn’t bother taking time with any foreplay with herself, something which people didn’t think about sometimes – but she’d had plenty already, between the wrestling and the making out and groping it had entailed, and then more of the same at Geraldo’s hands (and mouth); Martina plunged her fingers deep into herself, groaning heavily around the dick in her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue.
She’d learned that at the Bellerrel Temple too. Some very fun lessons and lots of thoroughly enjoyable practice – along with more outside of the Temple, of course.
Martina could tell that Geraldo had very much liked the wrestling he’d watched. That he’d very much liked their little interaction off to the side of it. That he’d probably been touching himself some during the matches – that he’d thoroughly enjoyed kissing her while she sat in his lap. He was close, she could tell by the way his fingers shifted in her hair, the ways his legs shivered, the way his dick stiffened slightly more in her mouth.
She shivered against his knees, moaning heavily as his fingers tightened in her hair and then frantically released for a moment, tapping on her head several times before gripping tight again, and Martina let out a sharp but quiet muffled shout around her mouthful as he unleashed in her mouth. Her practiced fingers tipped her over the edge as he spurted, and she caught a light spray of her own in her palm.
Martina swallowed down the moderate mouthful as her thighs shuddered heavily and threatened to make her collapse to the floor, but she gripped tight onto the chair leg and held her place, moaning softly as she ensured that she got every drop out of Geraldo.
It was common practice, in the Bellerrel Temple – for Priestesses and Priests, specifically, not for followers. It was related to old superstitions about Bellerrellan worshippers being magic practitioners who would use the body fluids of their lovers to cast dark spells and rituals. As a result, it became standard practice for any Priest or Priestess of Bellerrel to ensure that any such things got destroyed, and the stomach was the perfect place for that. With a bit of someone’s blood, or hair, or semen, you could do all sorts of magic, but not after it was digested.
It was still a little ridiculous in Martina’s opinion, as if it was hard at all to get hair from sex or anything else. In her experience it was hard to avoid it, and she was regularly turning up hairs or other things from people that could’ve easily been used to link whatever spell she chose to them in a way that would’ve been incredibly difficult for them to avoid.
For her, it was simply a practical matter, at least at that moment – a matter of cleaning up, before she pulled Geraldo’s pants up a bit and did up his drawstrings, and then slipped out from underneath the table.
Back into his lap, too, and he didn’t waste any time nor spare any effort in kissing her again. Martina giggled softly and sighed into his kisses, glad for that because it always felt a little backhanded to her when someone tried to dodge that sort of thing afterward.
…and maybe it was helped along a little bit by her newly-discovered facet of joy, but she felt like that specifically was something that should probably be checked over with someone beforehand.
Regardless, he was good to kiss. His lips were slightly dry, slightly chapped, from environment or age or both, but they were soft and he had clearly kissed aplenty before. Well-practiced lips, that knew what they were doing, and they had Martina sighing as they worked at her earlobe, had her moaning when they found her neck or the tip of her ear.
It didn’t take long for the game to be over, and Martina couldn’t have said who had won save for their announcement because she hadn’t been paying much attention, but she clapped anyway and then – as she stood to leave – Chanel called her name.
“Little love! Oh, I feel ever so bad that you didn’t get to play that last round,” Chanel stepped over with an easy fluidity as if she was made out of silk rather than just covered in it.
“Got to play a little, actually,” Martina glanced off to the side with a smirk.
Chanel gasped a laugh, leaning in close to purr in Martina’s ear. “Yes, well I didn’t think you went under the table to find something you’d dropped,” she chuckled, then withdrew, holding Martina at arm’s length by her shoulders. “But! I do feel bad about it, so I’ve made sure you’ll have a special place at the next game!”
Martina raised an eyebrow. “What’s the next game?”
Chanel looked back at her blankly, flatly, for several seconds before she softly shook her head. “Strip poker. It’s strip poker, little love- I mean- honestly, what’s the point of building up a reputation if I can’t even then rely on it?”
Martina giggled, clasping up her bra and doing up a few buttons, and sliding into the seat next to Chanel, readying herself for the next game.
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