Cheyna watched the couple mate from her hiding spot in the trees. She had been wandering numbly about in the woods, in search of a quick death when she had stumbled upon them. For she had been exiled, kicked out of her pack for the double sin of being barren beyond her eighteenth year, and a charge of witchcraft.
The feeling of loss and isolation had been crushing: at that point she was almost ready to just curl up and die. After being expelled naked and weaponless from her pack, she had simply run aimlessly for three days. Galloping directionless, without plan or even a conscious thought, she had paused only a few brief times to drink at streams and nap fitfully in the boles of trees.
Without the presence of her pack, she felt useless, utterly worthless. Before her exile, she had never spent a single night in her life without her pack in range of her voice, but now she was utterly alone in the world. There didn't seem to be any point in living.
Then she had heard the sounds of rutting- the moans of a woman and the grunts of man, and almost against her will she had found herself creeping through the forest to find the source.
The red-headed woman had been leaning over, hands splayed on a fallen log, her legs spread wide, as the man entered her from behind. Both were big specimens, far bigger than any of her pack members, even the Alpha- but size alone was of relatively minor consequence in the pack. Speed, stamina, stealth, ferocity- all counted for more. The strength of the pack was in its teamwork.
Still, Cheyna lusted after the woman's long, shapely legs, and her breasts were large and full. They danced and jiggled as she received the thrusts of her partner. Downwind of the pair, Cheyna could smell the tang of the woman's excitement on the breeze.
If the woman was desirable, the man was something else again. The Lyceni produced mostly female offspring, and those that were whelped were typically weak and runty. Few lived to adulthood. So they raided their neighboring nations for males to keep the packs strong.
The men were slaves- branded property of whichever pack captured or traded for them. They were called limpers, for each had a foot cut off to prevent escape. Most were of the Lapiths, the small, dark folk who bordered the Lyceni lands on two sides. But this was a man of the high mountains, young and strong and virile, and would be an incredibly valuable prize. Maybe even enough to bring her back from exile.
The lovers shifted position now, and the woman laid flat on the ground, throwing her legs open wide. Cheyna had a clear glimpse of the glistening pink gash of her cunt. She also noted that the woman's bush was very small and, as if it had been deliberately shaped. Likewise, there was no hair under her arms. Even the hair on her head was close-sheared, as if she were a sheep.
Cheyna wrinkled her nose in surprise: such notions were alien to her. The man knelt down between her legs and began to taste her. This too was foreign to Cheyna- that was a pack mate's behavior, one warrior to another- not the prerogative of a limper.
Cheyna decided to get a closer look, moving silently through the trees. By the time she settled in to a hide not a stone's throw from the lovers, the man had moved to enter the woman with his member.
Cheyna watched in envy as he pumped into her with all his strength, muscles flexing all along his body. The woman's legs were still wide-flung, and her feet fluttered wildly. He fucked her hard and strong, and Cheyna reached down to her own sopping cunt, scratching at the itch that was burning into her sex.
Then the red-headed woman's' hands came around to clutch the man's ass cheeks, and Cheyna sensed and smelt magic as both hands flashed in a bright yellow glow.
Cheyna didn't know what the spell did, but she saw both their heads simultaneously arch back in mutual pleasure, and they cried out together in orgasm.
The woman was a witch, too, Cheyna thought in excitement. Then she watched in astonishment as the man pulled and stood above the red-haired woman, his glistening rod pumping out gush after gush of semen onto her chest, which she received eagerly, rubbing the hot sticky fluid against her pleasure mounds.
Cheyna was speechless for a moment, the stepped forward out of the woods in righteous indignation.
"Blasphemy!" She yelled. The waste of such valuable seed, which should be used to strengthen the pack and the people, was an inconceivable sin to her.
The two lovers turned in astonishment to face her, and Cheyna only then realized what she had done. She turned and vanished back into the trees.
For the next two days Cheyna followed them. The mountain man was a decent woodsman for one not of the people, but nowhere near her league. She had stolen right into camp twice. The first time she had collected food, a spear, and a blanket of soft wool. The second time she took what they had obviously left out for her: a knife, a set of flints, a water bag, a belted tunic and a small pack of food.
She had thought the two might try to trap her, but so far they had not.
