The Futakeeper Ch 02

The Keeper reddened in shame, glancing away even though she lacked eyes. There was no hiding this, no claiming innocence; not even a hollow would believe any lie she could possibly weave.

"I'm sorry, I hoped not to... disgust you with my deformity." She whispered.

"You do not disgust me." The Ashen knelt, a warm hand wrapping around her shaft, warmer lips closing over the cum slicked tip. She gasped and squirmed involuntarily, orgasm smashing her like a landslide, her cock immediately twitching, erupting in his mouth; swelling his cheeks, leaking tendrils of cum in a white halo.

"Why?" She squirmed beneath him, his fingers caressing her trembling shaft and wringing another muted cry from her.

"You were the first thing in this world to smile when it looked upon me, and for that I would show you my gratitude." He plunged her throbbing dick between his lips once more, bringing her at once to the brink of orgasm, pleasure a burning tempest within her eager and desperate for release. "Until I can do so no more."

"I do not know how much more of your gratitude I can take!" The Keeper tensed, then crumpled back upon the stone stairs, knowing even without eyes that the Ashen's throat swelled with a river of thick, pale liquid; yet to his credit, he did not cough or gag, merely swallowed the geyser that gushed from her cock. Even as it thrashed and spurted within his jaws, he forced it deeper, the broad tip an obscene bulge midway down his throat. Now, the Keeper could no longer restrain herself: throwing her head back she screamed in ecstasy, her mind flickering, her muscles cords of iron beneath her skin. She fell limp, flopping back against the carven rock, breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Even as deep as he had taken her, a length half that of his forearm still jutted forth, ringed in slowly descending rivulets.

The Ashen pulled back, his stomach hot and leaden with her love, yet he knew she was far from satisfied, for her swaying, glistening length still pulsed with need, still stood tall and hard as shaped iron. He coughed, tasting the immense load that rested within him, and turned away.

I've revolted him. She thought, her cheeks, still red with shame, darkened all the more. Then, she hear him call out for of all people: Yuria.

Steps rang on stone, slow and even without trace of hesitation, but an air of -- perhaps only half-hearted -- deference.

"Yes, my Lord." Yuria was calm, until she emerged into the chamber, and that which lay sprawled upon its circular stair. "What is this?!"

"A task of mine that merits your aid, Yuria of Londor."

The Keeper sensed discomfort, unease.

"Honourable Lord of Hollows" Yuria began, cutting off abruptly as with a rustle of cloth the Ashen leaned toward her. What was the Ashen's name? Whatever he said was far too hushed even for her keen ears, yet it swayed Yuria completely. "As you wish."

As he wishes? The Keeper blushed, realizing what he meant.

"That is not necessary!" She cried, her voice weak and legs trembling, unable to life much less hold her. "You've done more than enough, Ashen One."

"Not nearly so." She felt his bare fingertip trace the underside of her half wilted shaft, running from base to tip and igniting passion's unquenchable fire as it went. Unbidden, a groan wrenched itself from her lips, and she fell back once more, strength fleeing. "When first I woke, I was stricken with terror, confused, uncertain of who I was, of this world and my place within it. Then, I stumbled here, through a storm of steel and blood, the fire of Gundyr seething in my veins, his soul squirming within me. I was lost, alone in this world, already feeling the leaden mantle of despair, knowing well that this world held naught but pain.

"Then I descended these stairs, and looked upon you." His palm was warm against the underside of her cock, whose width easily filled his hand with more than enough remaining to spill over. "And the smile with which you greeted me," His voice broke. "Made the world a brighter place," His breath was hot against the tip of her cock. "Gave me hope again."

She was only half aware of his words, passion wrapping her in its enthralling warmth; yet what she heard, stirred her cold and forgotten heart.

"I will thank you in any way I can," His soft lips brushed against the marbled head, his touch tender and gentle, prompting a shiver of pleasure. "Until I am no longer capable." The Keeper stiffened as he slid the near fist sized summit into the intoxicating warmth of his jaws. She moaned softly, brought almost at once to the precipice of orgasm, yet he quickly retreated, leaving her throbbing shaft aching for release, beseeching her with its silent cry.

I have disgusted him she thought. Even kind as he is, he can no longer suffer my deformity. Then, she felt a presence looming over her, arms on either side, a body pressed against hers. Yuria. A pressure on her cock, firm, unyielding, almost painful. This weight nearly cast her over the edge, yet she was again left unsatisfied as it relented.

"Honourable Lord," Yuria spoke without inflection, perhaps embarrassed by his presence, request, or both. "She will tear me apart from within, like a mace crammed where least my body can accommodate it."

The Keeper flushed bright red, realizing precisely what that pressure was.

"You are undead, are you not? What consequence is there?"

"A fair argument my lord." Her fingers -- soft yet firm and indomitable as stone -- wrapped around the midpoint of the Keeper's throbbing shaft, her grip alone flooding the prone woman with pleasure, nearly stripping away her sanity.

Pain shot through her as the stairs beneath pressed against her back, a crushing weight settling upon her cock like a furious avalanche, forcing a grunt of agony between her gritted teeth.

"Wait!" The searing, grinding pain at once relented, and Yuria's presence vanished. She fell back, limp and trembling with desire, yet her head struck not stone, but his powerful arms as he scooped her up, and carried her to the floor. He knelt, laying her upon something soft yet in places badly worn; his cloak, she realized. Kneeling still, he set her head upon his thighs, stroking her jaw with surprising tenderness. He is not mere drunk upon the same urges that besiege me. The Keeper turned her eyeless stare upon him, felt his smile though she could never look upon it. He truly does care. Her forgotten heart woke, its warmth flooding through her cold, dark veins. He truly does love me.

His lips brushed against her brow, planting a brand of kindness that burned away her discomfort and shame

"When thy body wills it, Yuria." He murmured, and at once the pressure was again upon her, silken fingers steadying her shaft, lithe muscles standing like cords of iron as she strained. For a moment, it seemed even that broad pillar would be torn asunder, bending beneath Yuria's weight; then, with a sound not unlike that of a boot pulled from the mud, something gave. Something tighter than the Ashen's fingers, warmer than the intoxicating embrace of his mouth, closed around the tip, and slid halfway to the base, swallowing her length with slow, yet inexorable certainty.

Yuria gasped and squirmed, tensing around the immense girth to slow her descent, wringing a breathless cry from the Keeper, whose mind flickered and heart nearly halted in her chest. For a moment she wavered, then she stiffened, and within Yuria's womb, her cock exploded. The Keeper clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling the scream of ecstasy that clawed at her throat, yet when that warm chasm descended further, consuming all but perhaps a finger's breadth above the base, not even her iron grip could render silent the urgent cries swelling in her chest. Moaning, she writhed and squirmed beneath Yuria, cum gushing from her throbbing cock and expanding the woman's stomach, its geyser neither slowing nor halting.

Above, Darkwraith Yuria moaned -- perhaps in spite of herself -- her belly already swollen as if with a child mere seconds from its term. She leaned back, skin gleaming like polished ivory, her eyes closed and lips parted in ecstasy. Then, she collapsed sidelong, pulling the Keeper's throbbing length from her and slapping it against the stones where it lay like a slain serpent, a thin ribbon of white trailing from its tip, its immense form garbed in a thick, pale mantle.

The Keeper sighed, her urges at last burned away to nothing more than warm, soft coals. Breathless, she lay with head in Aleorn's lap, his fingers tracing her brow, body limp and heavy with bliss. A smile tugged at her lips, and she realized that for the first time in so long her heart was no longer cold. She knew again, perhaps for the first time what it was like to be loved, and for it she felt indescribably happy.