Athaniel's Libation

© 2023 E.P van Gelder. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it's been copied without the author's permission.

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Here's the third installment my friends. If you've been waiting for the fucking to kick off in full force, today is your lucky day. Hope you enjoy!

Please let me know what you think!

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Princess Mala. Did I dream of her?

Mornings were the worst. Or the best, depending on the company. My taut flesh strained against the flimsy blanket like it was reaching for a lover. I pulled the cover down and found an impersonal, and by the looks of it, very frustrated stare to greet me.

If I was at home, up in the canopy, woken by the birds' chaotic songs, I would feel a mouth closing around it greedily before I could stretch my sleep-numbed limbs. But here, only my dry, callused hand was presiding over my relief. And a hand doesn't hum joyfully when it is rewarded with a first trickle of moullin. It won't sigh in relief when it is finished and sinks into a blissful haze in the crook of my arm.

I had asked many times, trying to understand their experiences. They described it in various ways. "Every sense heightened," they said. Or, "A soothing relief to my bones." I could grasp those concepts to some extent. But, "It's like there is a forest inside me, and I can go on a journey there," it all became a bit too abstract for me.

There was always a touch of envy in me when they spoke of the intensity of their climaxes. They claimed to enter a realm between the stars, where they could commune with spirits and the creative light that shaped us all. There, they would seek the blessing of fertility. I could elicit no such transcendent effect in myself. I was merely a conduit.

Merely a cock, I thought, looking down. It twitched as if it sensed my approaching fingers before they closed around the engorged head.

My hand didn't feel bad per se, it just lacked that... purpose. It was like eating clay. You could fill your stomach, but that didn't mean it offered sustenance.

Trying to make this quick, I called up images of home. I remembered Elliana bucking beneath me in the moon pools. Sarlai's hands tangled in Isani's hair. Lethiana sinking beneath me. But my cock just followed along, never galloping ahead to where I wanted it to go.

Mala's eyes studying me. Freya's suggestive smirk. Even the older princess with her huge startled eyes and her even huger mammaries. All these women, so young, so brief, but their bodies so ripe.

My mind flitted back to the dinner and Innifer's... tits. That word the humans used had always sounded so crass in my mind. But now it found meaning and I imagened hearing it in Freya's sultry voice: Do you want to touch her tits? Grab her tits, lord Athaniel, pull all that soft flesh out of her dress. Bury your face in it, my lord.

How much of her bodyweight was made up of tit? A quarter? A third? All that useless, decorative flesh only existed to strike lighting into people's minds. Her brief life only had one purpose I could discern: to be fucked, and to be bred.

In many ways, she was my human counterpart.

All this flesh around me, too ripe for its age. It filled my mind until it was swollen with it. Soft bulging skin, everywhere.

My pleasure was building now, finally running ahead of me. I made one last heroic effort to steer my imagination home. But the gallop slowed to a canter. Frustrated, I groaned at myself and let the collage of soft human flesh fill my mind again. It worked, and I was once again galloping towards the peak when a knock sounded, quickly followed by the click of the lock. The door opened to a crack.

"Ah!" I grunted. Which Forna, presumably, interpreted as, "please enter and come watch me stroke my cock. He stepped through the door. "Lord, I'm here to give you a--" He froze, eyes firmly on the cock towering from my grasp. "I'm sorry, I..." He stumbled through an apology without ever taking his eyes off my cock. "Would you like me to, erm... come back?"

"No, just one moment Forna." I rolled out of the soft, pillowy embrace of the bed and landed on my feet on the cold stone floor. Forna's eyes tracked my bobbing member like it was an apex predator while I hastily put on some clothes. By the time I presented myself again, fully dressed, he had recovered most of his composure.

That day Forna gave me a tour of the keep. And equally, of the world of humans.

Essentially, they were divided into two groups: Those that served rushed around, quietly and unobtrusively taking care of all the work. Those that 'were served' sat by idly, eating, drinking, and occasionally swinging swords at each other.

Despite being merely a hostage, it turned out I was to be in the latter category. I was to mill about, doing nothing, while time stretched out in front of me, infinite and featureless.

At least at home I had a purpose, I thought, as we walked past two of their 'ladies', sitting on a bench. Their conversation halted as we approached and their eyes followed me in silent wonder. Did I though? Have a purpose? Other than to provide sexual pleasures to my consorts and the hopes of bearing a child?

Forna cut through my reverie just after we had passed the ladies. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to greet the ladies instead of ogling them like a starving wolf."

I stopped walking and looked aside at him. "I wasn't staring. They were staring."

"Right," he answered shortly, stopping in his tracks. I thought he was going to give me a talking to. But he just looked at me for a long instant, his face a mix of emotions.

Casting his eyes down, he kicked at the gravel under his feet. "Not that I blame them." He said, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

Shocked, I didn't answer. He regarded me rather intently and then shrugged before walking off, leaving me to look after him in the courtyard's bustle.

My kind didn't frown at a man desiring a man. In fact, it was fairly common amongst the elflings. They could couple freely before they entered a bond with one or more females. Most Zinthrasas included more than one man too. It balanced the energy; or so it was said. Or, as they also say, more hands make lighter work.

With a pang of sadness, I remembered Shelainas. He had joined our Zinthrasa in all but name, but before we had made the journey to the springs on Zinth, he had answered the call to fight humans in the lowlands. He took his sword from the cave and rode off to battle. That was the last time we'd seen him. Even now, a few hundred years later, his memory produced a lump in my throat. We'd never found another man to replace him. And never again had I known the touch of a man's lips.

So, a human? It had not even occurred to me. And honestly, the idea didn't exactly make my heart race. Even with Forna, who, I must admit, was a reasonably well-put-together specimen. Clean too. Even so, that stubble didn't look like it would be enjoyable rubbing against my face. Or any other parts.

But I dropped those thoughts as I caught up with Forna, just in time to follow him into the stables. We weaved between a throng of men that were carrying tack or leading horses.

Forna dodged one such horse and turned around to wave his hand around vaguely. "The stables."

I looked around and decided it was much like the stables back at the Broken Crags, just bigger and more chaotic. Horses were everywhere, and the air carried the unmistakable scent of hay. Both the kind that goes into the horse and the kind that drops out on the opposite end.

"Darra!" Forna called out to someone behind me. "Where's his mount?"

"Third right from the back!" Came a rough voice from behind me. Forna turned and led me to a stall in the back of the stable. Our 'conversation' from before was clearly over.

By the time we got there, another man had joined us. I recognized his voice as the one who had just told us where to go, Darra.

"A fine beast." He said in the same gritty voice, patting the giant animal's flank.

"She is." I agreed.

"Does she have a name?"

"A name?" I said, surprised by the ludicrous notion. "If she does, she hasn't deigned to tell me."

Darra stared at me, dumbfounded, and chewed his lip in silence. A grin spread on his face and he bellowed out a laugh. He looked over at Forna, who smiled hesitantly and winced when the large horse keeper slapped his shoulder.

"He's funny! Ha! What a joke!" he nigh on shouted. The horse danced sideways in its stall and made that lip flap sound that horses make.

Still cackling, Darra walked left us standing by the nameless horse. I looked at it. The animal seemed happy enough. Forna regarded me from the side. When I turned to him questioningly, he shrugged. "I guess I'll show you the kitchen.

If the stables had been crowded, the kitchen was a whole different level of chaos. It was a sweltering inferno, filled with women in servant attire scurrying about, lugging pots and pans, their faces etched with terror while a massive, sweaty man bellowed orders at them from across the room. The air was heavy with a cloud of flour dust, the tantalizing aroma of roasting meat, and the pungent stench of the perspiring head cook.

Thank the stars, we didn't stay long. Forna must have caught the look of horror on my face because he promptly whisked me back out into the courtyard. Once there I gulped at the fresh air like I'd just emerged from the depths of the ocean. If that kitchen was where my meals came from, I'd rather have stayed blissfully ignorant.

Forna, shrugging apologetically, walked off towards the gate, gesturing me to follow.

Next on the agenda were the practice grounds. It was a vast square of trampled grass just outside of the keep's walls where rows of men hacked away at each other with straight, heavy swords. Their fighting was crude and artless. But, as I had found out many times before, their willingness to die more than made up for any lack of skill.

"Could I do my practice here?" I asked Forna after some hesitation. The place really held no appeal.

He glanced sideways at me. "Not the best idea."

One soldier turned around, and I recognized Kaelfred by his braided, fire-red beard. "Lord Elf! Care to join us for some weapons training? Or do you only practise with your wives?" His words were met with a chorus of hoots from the men, though not everyone seemed to find it amusing.

Forna glanced at me but when he saw I wasn't planning to respond, he shouted at the men at arms, "lord Athaniel has agreed not to bear arms, you know that Kaelfred!"

Kaelfred shrugged theatrically. "He can use his wooden stick! Or does he only use that on his wives, too?" That got him the laughs he was after.

Forna mumbled something under his beard and turned around. "Let's go," he called from behind me as he walked away.

For a moment, my eyes remained locked on the raucous group of soldiers. Perhaps their gods did exist, and if so, they were surely having a right old laugh at my expense. I shook my head and forced myself to turn away, trailing a few paces behind Forna. The weight of their stares bore into my back, intensifying with every step.

"There's something I want to show you I hope you'll actually enjoy." Forna walked ahead of me, across the courtyard, and then through an alley between the main keep and the barracks. We walked through a small gate and came to a second courtyard, this one much smaller where, miraculously, an old oak was growing. The bustle of the keep became muffled as we walked beneath its canopy.

During those few strides through the tree's dappled shade, it was like I'd remembered how to breathe again. I stopped to gaze up the branches, but Forna paced on and stopped beyond the tree, where herbs grew in square patches. I could see, just around the corner, how the building that housed the kitchen leaned against the main keep like a tired foal leaning against its mother.

Off to one side was a small orchard of fruit trees growing between tall grass. A big stone wall rose behind it, with a familiar rows of small windows. For all I knew, one of them could be mine.

No, I would have noticed the tree.

"These are the herb gardens," Forna said. "For a time, Mala's mother took a liking to gardening. This place was popular with the ladies then."

He gestured at the fruit trees, all heavy with fruit ready to be eaten. Some of it was already rotting on the ground. "She's the one who planted those. Before she passed."

Painful stories seemed to seep through the silence he left. But in that moment, I was too busy finding solace in the relative quiet and the touch of grass beneath my feet to enquire. The smell of the ripe fruit, so sweet it had a hint of decay, mixed with the rich smell of the soil and the grass. It was a place bursting with life, at least compared to anything I'd seen since leaving the fadal lands.

He turned and walked into the orchard and stopped there, spreading his arms. "Think it will do?"

I looked at him questioningly.

"No one will bother you here, lord. If you want to practice with your wooden blade."

I looked around again. There was more than enough space. "Yes, this is perfect. Much better than with..." I tossed my head to where I'd endured the men's teasing.

"It's called the Princess' Garden... The men will laugh, of course." He shrugged. "But that's better than to be seen as threatening." He looked at me with sudden intensity. "You understand me?"

I did. And I agreed. Besides, the men were going to laugh, regardless of what I did. It was that or fear me. Better keep them laughing.

Forna seemed to have gained some wisdom in the few years he'd been alive. With a newfound respect, I thanked him.

He kicked at the grass with his foot. "I can get a boy to grab the scythe and cut the grass. It will be done in a few days time."

I looked behind me, following his glance and I saw a small lean to roof in the wall's shadow.

"No need for a boy, Forna. I know how to cut grass."

He looked surprised. "It would look strange, lord, for you to turn to a servant's work."

I shrugged. "Strange, maybe. But not threatening."

His eyes wrinkled, and he lifted a hand to shield them. "Yes, but.." he trailed off.

"I'm never going to be anything but strange. And I am dying for something to do that isn't sitting on a bed, chair, couch or horse.

His gray stubble twitched into a lopsided grin. "Fair enough."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling back. "I really appreciate your help."

"That's fine," he said shortly.

"No one else has bothered." I said, just as a surge in the belly reminded me of the curvaceous servant Freya's 'help'. Better not mention that. Better not even think about that or I'll start getting...

Horny.

Luckily, Forna chose this opportune moment to distract me. He had a story to tell me, and it was moving enough to distract me and turn my vehement urges back down to a low simmer, even if temporarily.

"It was on the eve of the battle of Maene," he started. I did not know which battle he was referring to, but let him talk on.

"On the eve before our army left for battle, my boy, the little 13-year-old idiot that he was, stepped up onto the dais. Boy says he wants to fight. Oh, they all thought it was hilarious. Until the king made it even funnier. 'Sure boy,' he grinned straight at me when he said it. The cruel motherfucker."

"He sent a child into battle for the laughs?"

"Nah," he said. "He didn't like me. You're too smart, he always said."

"You made him feel stupid."

He snorted. "He was. Then he got senile."

"And your son... did he get killed?"

"Nah. The boy freaked. Flailed around like a chicken when you throw a fox in the coop. One of yours caught him. I saw it with my own eyes. I thought that was it. I'm gonna watch my son die. But your man, he grabbed him tight. When he saw me coming, it was like he knew I was his da. He turned the boy in my direction and let him go."

He peered up at me. Eyes wrinkled, jaw set. "I owe that man everything, my lord."

I shook my head. " You think you owe him a debt for not killing a child?"

"Of course." He said.

"Your kind scare me." I said.

"What...?" He trailed off.

"A child Forna, a child. What is more precious than a child?"

He looked at the floor. Chewing his lip. "Well, exactly."

We were quiet. Insects buzzed around us. And beyond the hustle of the keep around the corner.

I turned to him and put my hand on his shoulder. "We may not understand each other, Forna, but your help is appreciated. As is your company. Consider any debt paid."

He nodded briskly, then regarded me nervously. I could sense he was going to say something else. But before he could open his mouth, I said, "now... I have some grass to cut!"

He got the message and with a resigned nod; he left me there to deal with the grass. The scythe was different from the ones I was used to. And our gardens were growing mostly on their own, so scythes weren't really something we used much back home. But I soon got the movement right and set about clearing the orchard. With the sun facing the wall behind me, it hot quickly and believing myself alone, I soon ended up shedding my tunic. Not wanting to soak the garment in sweat, I draped it over a branch before continuing.

The work was hard, and I relished how my body strained and sweated. I lost myself in the rhythm. Each stroke with the blade was more efficient, more purposeful, as I learned how to wield the unwieldy piece of razor sharp steel. It really was no different from my stances, I decided, only I had been practicing those for so many centuries that the movements were near to perfect, and any improvement still possible, barely perceivable.

In the end, I cut about half the grass in the orchard. Far more than I needed for practice. Far less than would give me the satisfaction of a task finished. Every stroke of the scythe seemed to clear my mind as much as it did the grass, leaving me, for a blissful moment, to forget about everything.

Tomorrow I would return to practice my stances. And when those were finished, I would cut more grass. Focus, I just needed something to focus on. I would make myself sharp like a blade and keep my eyes on the goal.

Whatever that was.

Something thudded onto the ground behind me. I turned and found a plum, thicker than any I'd seen, split open with its sun-warmed insides seeping juice into the grass. Focus, I reminded myself, grabbing the handle of the scythe with white knuckled resolve.

"My lord?" a woman's voice asked from behind me. I froze for a moment, then steeled myself and turned around.

By their standards, she was a waif of a woman. She wore the same kind of drab brown clothing that all the servants donned for their labor. Her irises were so dark I couldn't tell where her pupils began. Did she remind me of someone? Surely not, it wasn't like I knew many human women, was it?

She was holding a basket on her hip. Tilting her pelvis just so to support it.

Aliveness coursed through me after the hard work. I was breathing hard, my blood coursing, my heart pumping, sweat slicking my skin. All this energy was rapidly finding a new focus, and the cock of her hips may well have had something to do with it.

"Yes?" I asked her, still catching my breath.

"I came to tell you we have prepared your bath so you can clean yourself off before the evening meal."

By the amount of washing these people seemed to do, it was hard to fathom how their men all reeked of ale and sweat. But I had worked up quite a sweat myself and a wash would certainly be welcome. It was more the cool, under a waterfall kind that I craved, but how about a warm one, with that servant, Freya, well...