Today’s prompt selection was: Voyeurism, Sounding, Hypnosis, and I am becoming increasingly convinced that while I’ve got material for all days I am likely to be taking the more vanilla option out of most (as the first option seems normally to be) – but, that’s fine by me! From a glance there are a few days that won’t be the case at least, and regardless, that’s not the point of this exercise anyway!
For today, voyeurism – and we start with crossover to yesterday’s excerpt! Another party guest by the name of Ersufat Kint, a human of moderate age whose life path has led him to be a thief, an assassin, and to be exiled from his country (ironically, for neither of those things whatsoever), begins this excerpt by overseeing Erris and the two goblins Jenny and Bellick having sex. Ersufat, also an artist, draws them, and then proceeds to seek out the party’s host – Iolanda – who he’s previously seen going off with a good friend (and sexual partner) of his own who goes by the name of Betras. The two of them are also having sex, and Ersufat spends a very long time watching them very intently and drawing them in the act – aided, no doubt, by both his skills as a thief and assassin, and also by the general distractedness of two people having sex.
(Worth noting: because this was all based on TTRPG characters, I have actually given all of these characters stats, and I’ve rolled for things whenever applicable. Ersufat’s sneakiness and his art skills here are the result of those rolls being measured against rolls for observation or perception from all the others – so, if something seems incredibly convenient to the plot, keep in mind that very little of it was pre-ordained and the vast majority was randomized to at least some extent! Even character attractions, sexual/romantic preferences, performance in party games like strip poker; I rolled for all of it. The spreadsheet is a thing of beauty.)
This story is set in Arellan, a fantasy world.
If these sound like things you would like to read, keep reading! If not, then not – or not, up to you.
Below the break are some spicy and very voyeuristic things.
He sketched out a few others, playing cards – then, on a whim, did a swift rendition with all of the players replaced by dogs for no other reason than it seemed amusing, and he snickered down at it when he was finished, before wandering off in search of further inspiration.
Some presented itself in the form of an immediately, immensely, and intensely attractive grey-skinned man with slender but broad wings that befit his wiry yet lanky form, probably a bit over six feet although he was hardly at full height – his black lips pulled back gently from his teeth, a soft snarl as he thrust into one or another of two goblins, it was difficult to tell with them as intertwined as they were.
Demonic blood, surely, or something close to it; a people with no nation known to mortals at least, though some distastefully stated that the Hells were theirs or that they had some claim to the same at least, though Ersufat disagreed. As his pencil scribbled and strained to take in the scene and his eyes draped lusciously over the man’s thin form and long black hair and the clear lust in his face and pure black eyes, Ersufat knew that hellsbloods, demonkin, whatever you wanted to call them, had no particular reason to know anything of the Hells nor to have any claim to the same.
They might, or might not, like any human, any elf, any orc. He did wonder, however, whether Iolanda had deliberately invited so many to the party that night – whether, perhaps, despite having no nation, there was something of kinship to them yet. He’d heard as much in a few places, certainly not an unknown phenomenon, but one he’d not known Iolanda to be involved in.
That said, he’d also not known her to be involved in getting railed by two men in the corner until about a half hour ago – delighted though he was to have had that knowledge newly granted.
The thought inspired him to slide away, after taking a few sketches of the others – the goblins certainly attractive, but, Ersufat noted with a mild sort of bittersweetness, primarily attractive due to their generalities rather than their specifics: that was to say that, while Ersufat certainly didn’t know them, there was little about either of them which drew his eye.
He liked the look of them for all their differences, as he always did; liked the sharp teeth and elongated ears, one’s breasts aflush with extra nipples and the other’s muscular chest dotted with the same. He certainly liked how they were all involved, thrusts and moans and motion making it somewhat unclear just whose cock was going into just whom, but regardless, an alluring sight to say the least. His eyes dwelled long on Jenny’s (as her name was shouted out by the other two) breasts as they shook with each thrust of the others, her mouth stretched wide and long tongue lashing as she yowled her pleasure; he stared intently at Bellick’s (as his name was moaned by the others) chest and belly rippling with muscles, his yellow eyes straining and briefly crossing as he surely unleashed himself within Jenny; both of them were very much attractive, and Ersufat dedicated a page to swift, brief, ten- or twenty- second sketches of them all, but none of the other two held near a candle to Erris’ (as the others hissed out the winged one’s name to be) roaring fire of an inferno of attraction in Ersufat’s eyes.
Eyes, etcetera.
Very attractive, and Ersufat’s mind slid off in search of ways to make a meeting occur, planning out rough ideas of how long the man (and he himself) might need to recover, so that they could properly make each other’s acquaintances. He found himself very much envious of Jenny and Bellick – a minute or two’s watching having confirmed that, indeed, both of them were granted the certain delight of Erris’ shaft (and its delights were rendered quite certain by their full-throated shouts of approval) – though he didn’t begrudge them in the slightest.
Yes, they’d had something he hadn’t, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t also have it, presuming Erris agreed – and if he didn’t, it was unlikely he would have without Jenny and Bellick’s involvement. The possibility technically existed, and Ersufat did acknowledge that as his feet carried him through the game room in pursuit of his thought, suspicion, and indeed, hope, a little bit. The possibility existed, and if it proved true and Bellick and Jenny had somehow conspired to deny him any meeting with Erris, then that might be an issue to attend to, but he highly doubted it.
Quite stopped thinking about it, too, as he slid through the beaded curtain. It was far from soundproof, and even before passing through it Ersufat found his suspicions and hopes quite redoubling at the sounds of moans and soft shouts, but it was only after entering (both of himself into the room, and presumably of another sort as well on the behalf of another) that those suspicions and hopes were sufficiently stoked to pull his mind away from any other thought.
“Betras- yes, yes fuck!”
Ersufat’s eyes held firmly in that direction and he sighed softly through his nose, repositioning to see more clearly; from the door, he could see Iolanda’s head from the top, rested back against one arm of a couch – could see her legs fairly clearly wrapped around Betras’ hips, him leaning over her, and no clothing in sight. Betras dipped down, kissing Iolanda deeply with a familiar-sounding loud and emphatic moan that made Ersufat’s forearms tingle lightly as he fiddled with a few charms at his bracelet – a coin that had stopped a blade for Lady Luck, a section of a famous painter’s brush fashioned into a bead for one muse and a glass bead with the hair of a very noteworthy courtesan for another, an obsidian charm of an eye for aid in being undetected – and he slunk around the perimeter of the room and took a knee to be able to brace his notepad better.
They deserved it, most certainly.
Ersufat let out a wistful sigh as Betras pulled his hips back slowly, Iolanda’s mouth and eyes opening wide as he withdrew the full (and impressive) length of his shaft from her – to the point that the underside of his cock’s head was just barely visible in the trimmed-down (for the play, no doubt) pink fuzz between Iolanda’s legs, and then just as slowly Betras slid back into her until every one of his ten inches was buried in her. With every inch, Iolanda’s nails dug more firmly into his back and her shoulders pushed harder back into the arm of the couch, as Betras’ hands slowly but firmly massaged her breasts.
Ten inches – Ersufat had checked, himself. First while Betras was sleeping, out of curiosity as much as anything else, and then more directly a while later – although, admittedly, on the second occasion he had needed to wait for a minute for Betras to get hard again, having confessed in the afterglow to a curiosity over just how much had just been buried in himself.
After all, he didn’t need to tell Betras he’d already known.
“Goddess, Iolanda- so tight wrapped around me-” Betras’ voice came out gently growled, strained but thoroughly stoked and heated as well, and Ersufat certainly expected as much; he couldn’t capture a voice on his page, but he could capture the curl of Betras’ lip, the tension in his brow as he growled her name.
“Fuck- fuck Betras that’s so deep! Yes!” Iolanda gasped, her nails clutching so tightly at Betras’ scales that her knuckles stood out white against her pink skin; Ersufat could capture that, whitening small parts of the sketch with an eraser, and could catch as well the near-laugh of her lips stretched wide in satisfaction.
He couldn’t capture the motion, the way Betras’ thrusts rippled through Iolanda in two ways: directly and indirectly. Directly in the way his hips slapped against hers, shifting her backward and making her breasts shake, leaping toward her shoulders to fall back into a neutral position only to be dislodged again with another thrust – directly, the way his thrusts rippled through her thighs and her ass the way a good spank would’ve, because it didn’t need to be coming from a hand in order to be a spank. Indirectly, in the way each thrust filled her with lust and satisfaction that inspired her body to other motions; indirectly in the way her neck tensed, the way her head and shoulders pressed back into the arm of the couch, the way her back arched away from it and toward him, the way her legs wrapped tighter around his back to pull him deeper and more firmly in toward her body and into her hole.
Ersufat knew he couldn’t actually capture the motion, although he found himself bitterly distasteful at his own past self for not shelling out the few hundred gold he’d been offered as the price for a pencil that could manage motion; he’d been doubtful of the seller’s veracity, and had been quite confident that it was nothing more than an ordinary pencil (and remained so), but as he watched Betras and Iolanda’s mouths meet while their hips slapped together, he would’ve paid five times what he’d been asked for even a coin toss’ chance of being able to get the movement actually on paper.
As it was, he could manage an impression of it; artful lengthening, slight distension of anatomy, application of perspective – and their motions gave him plenty of slightly-altered angles, as well, to composite into one perfect piece.
“Hand-made by the Goddess indeed, mm! A- a gift to her people, yes- Iolanda!” Betras breathily shouted the words as his fingers wrapped beautifully around one of Iolanda’s equally beautiful breasts, both deserving not just of being drawn but of being art as they assuredly were; it gave Ersufat the opportunity to capture the perfect frame, the breast firmly held in hand with perky nipple peeking up between Betras’ fingers.
Iolanda’s knee slid up Betras’ side, nearer to Ersufat, giving him an excellent angle on Betras’ delicious shaft plunging into Iolanda’s assuredly just-as-delicious (if not moreso) slit, and Ersufat wasn’t sure he even blinked as he drew. “Yes Betras p- pound her fuckin’ gift harder an’ pull its hair! My hair? Whatever!”
She let out a squealed and forceful screech of lust as he did, encouraging her head back and neck to stretch gorgeously as his hips hammered furiously, and Ersufat just as furiously tried to get the tension in Iolanda’s neck right and the way her hair pulled between her horns.
Every gorgeous curve, lightly sheened with sweat; he could add the specularity of that later and intended to, from Iolanda’s breasts and belly to Betras’ bottom and back, all deserving of the attention to detail. Every thrust and shift and shake and shout, Ersufat tried to capture, and Iolanda’s mouth last of all.
As Betras breathlessly and brokenly stammered that he was close, Iolanda’s mouth was a semi-formed sketch from earlier which Ersufat was sure he could have filled in based off of effort of memory and imagination alone, but which surely would have stood out at odds with the rest of the piece had he done so; luckily, however, whether due to Lady Luck or the muses Aris or Luthis of beauty and lust, Ersufat was granted a perfect opportunity to fill in Iolanda’s mouth as the piece deserved.
In that moment, as well, it was even the way he most wanted to fill in her mouth, although that moment stood out somewhat at odds to most others for that particular measurement.
“Yes- Iolanda mm, I am- I am coming, take every drop in your tight wet gift, yes!” Betras didn’t stop thrusting as he moaned the words loudly, his hips even speeding up instead, and as he did Iolanda didn’t shout or gasp or moan in response – she’d been quite robbed of words and of breath, it seemed, and her mouth stretched open wide and beautifully circular in the perfect microcosm of ecstasy which Ersufat captured both in his intent eye and his slightly shaky hand.
Shaky primarily due to beauty of it all, and secondarily as a fairly normal bodily reaction to lust.
“Fuck!” Iolanda’s shout ripped out of her throat as her arms wrapped tightly around Betras, his thrusts stammering to a stop. “Fuck that was so good – don’t pull out yet. Please? Stay in me a while an’ we c’n kiss? Can I please say I love you?”
“Of course,” Betras chuckled back to her, and Ersufat nodded with a soft sigh through his nose and pursed lips, because truly only a madman would’ve said anything other than yes to a request like that and if Betras had said anything otherwise Ersufat was more than passingly convinced he would’ve been required on good conscience to kill the man in his sleep.
It wasn’t quite true that only a madman would’ve denied it, of course; plenty of others would have, quite sanely, denied it – however, their specifics were so specific (such as the potential occurrence of a situation that was safe for sex but then became promptly untenable for cuddling or even life, as due to the imminent approach of stampeding beasts for instance, or perhaps the instance wherein the sex itself had served as lure or mechanism for something else which, now sprung, would need to be acted upon or evaded – both leaving no time for such dwelling after the fact) that they hardly bore thinking about.
They murmured their love back and forth to each other, kissing with their beautiful and unscarred mouths as they smiled (beautifully) and giggled, grinned and stroked at each other’s faces and snuggled as they slowly caught their breath.
Ersufat flipped the page over and captured their afterglow as well, and similarly caught bits and pieces from different moments; the mirth in Betras’ eyes as he observed Iolanda’s tremulous reaction the first time he said he loved her, and amusedly suggested that he should say it during next time. The gorgeous arc of Iolanda’s finger as she traced it over one of Betras’ cheekbones, sighing his name as her legs pulled him in tighter to her. Their faces as they kissed, with bodies to be added later from a combination of memory, imagination, and the other extant pieces.
He continued to work as he walked away, thickening up lines and shoring up shading, pulling a kneadable eraser – a concoction of tree resin, clay, and other mined minerals to make something moderately soft and shapeable which did a good job of removing the pencil’s marks from paper – and took out small spots of the drawing, replacing them with white once more: soft splotches on Iolanda’s breasts, shoulders, thighs and belly, and similar ones on Betras’ shoulders, his back, his forehead, his bottom. The shine of light on their sweaty skin, and then tiny spots within both of their eyes for the same, tiny tight spots of specularity; a line of gleam along the half of Betras’ shaft which wasn’t actively buried in Iolanda, caught midstroke.
Little touches. Small details, and ones which held Ersufat’s focus closely and tightly enough that he didn’t particularly notice the effect they were having on the overall piece until he was done, until he held his pencil and eraser still off to the side, until he looked at the artwork overall instead of focusing in on one detail or another.
The breath sighed out of him as he beheld it, finished as it was, and he drew plenty – was known to draw nearly at any time that his hands had nothing else with which to occupy themselves (which admittedly, as both thief and assassin, they often were), whenever the situation warranted or even permitted it and even in some situations where it didn’t. He drew plenty, but – as is, of course, the way of such things – not every piece truly deserved the title of art.
This one, however, surely did. It was magnificent, in so many different directions: the pure distillation of lust, sex and ecstasy; the capture of intimacy, emotion and satisfaction; the implications of motion, tension and reaction; the beauty of anatomy, body and form.
Ersufat stared openly at it for a few moments, before slowly folding the notebook away because it felt like wasted effort to continue drawing at the moment; he would pick up the pencil again, he was sure, but there was a rhythm to such things.
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