The Futakeeper Ch 01

Loneliness burned like fire cold as ice keen as steel. The Firelink Shrine was nigh empty, its silence broken by the distant peal of blacksmith's hammer, the rasping breath of an undead merchant, yet its solitude weighed heavily upon the Fire's Keeper. Now like so many times before she felt sorrow clawing at her heart, raking its talons of frost across her ribs. Anguish defined the life of many an undead, and she was no different, for hers was a life eternal yet robbed of purpose, its joy stripped away leaving something frail, hollow, barren behind.

She had surrendered her sight, the better to become a vessel for souls, yet in so doing she had only become all the more deeply steeped in despair; she knew the Ashen's voice, but could never look upon his face; knew well the weight of his stride, how heavily grief rested upon his shoulders. She longed to embrace him, to comfort that distant warrior, bring warmth back into his empty heart, yet she could delude herself little: hers was not a place to provide comfort, but strength, nourishment from the souls he brought.

The Keeper stood with blind, sorrowful eyes downcast, pale hands clasped before her; a normal posture yet one that this time hid a most shameful bulge. Her soft, ivory cheeks had turned one of red's more adorable shades, their colour deepening all the more as the serpent between her thighs writhed and pulsed, begging for release. She hadn't sight, and therefore knew not whether she was alone; the Ashen came and went at his will not hers, and often in silence. This was not the first time such urges had struck her yet it was the most insistent.

"Ashen One?" She called out, quietly, cheeks flushing with shame. "Ashen?" No response came, and trembling with need, the Keeper all but collapsed onto the steps encircling the shrine. One hand fumbled at the hem of her gown, drawing it up to reveal slender legs, shapely hips, and the quivering mast nestled between.

Keepers were without eyes, yet she had no doubts about its immense size -- her hand could barely close around it, its warmth pressing against her palm, straining against her cold fingers as if it were a beast alive and squirming, trying to break free. Beneath her grasp it twitched, burning with desire, aching and screaming in its silent voice, beseeching her with soundless cries. Unbidden, a gasp of ecstasy forced itself between her lips, a shuddering breath wracking her body as slowly, her hand slid along its throbbing length. She moaned softly, stroking with long, slow movements, trying without success to relieve her urges in silence.

Her blush deepened as passion spurred her on, balls slapping against the cold stone, shaft sliding against her palm, sending vines of fire through her veins. A moan escaped her as with intoxicating languor her hand traced the throbbing length, inches sliding beneath her palm, rapturous pleasure swirling out from her touch like the ripples that marked a fallen stone's passing. Rapid and short, her breaths came in quick gasps, and biting her lower lip, she leaned back, resting her scalp on the step above, and her heavily laden testicles on the stair beneath.

So forcibly she clamped upon the moan rising in her chest, yet it mattered not: the closer she came to what would certainly be a volcanic climax, the more ragged her breathing became. A scream of pleasure burst from her lips, and in one last, desperate effort to mute herself, she leaned forward and rammed half her throbbing length down her throat, stopping only when her spine cried out in pain, and the mushroom tip grated against the back of her throat, warm shaft filling her mouth. No sooner had it plunged into the intoxicating warmth of her mouth, than it was twitching and convulsing, wrenching itself free, and at the same moment, the mounting fires of pleasure at last surged into an almighty inferno; without warning she came, spraying rivers of warmth across her face, filling her mouth and coating her cheeks. A scream of pleasure tore itself from her, yet it was choked as another geyser of white splashed across her face.

Panting, she collapsed in a quivering heap, immense cock swaying between her hips, weeping tears of ivory that slid along its length, or dripped onto her pale stomach. Then, she heard footsteps ringing on stone, and her heart stopped a curious voice cleaved the silence:

"Fire... Keeper?" The Ashen, had returned...