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.
Cheyna was amazed at how often the two lovers rutted: several times a day, and several more again at night in ways and positions she had never imagined. It was quite apparent they were not trying to procreate: as often as not the man shot his load onto her body, or into another orifice entirely.
Cheyna was fascinated and captivated by their behavior. She desperately wanted to lap at the puffy, red-fur trimmed lips of the woman, or to ride the rigid member of the man. She even thought she might like to take him into her mouth as the red-haired woman so often did- both seemed to enjoy that so much.
Cheyna had hastily carved herself a smooth wooden dildo with the knife, and she thrust it feverishly into her own cunt every time she watched the others fuck, pulling at her own smallish tits and clitoris as she frigged herself.
But now she was starting to get...worried. The two were proceeding along a trader's road- more of a path, actually, carved by the wagon's of the traders and slavers that travelled in caravan's through the mountains each spring.
But those caravans were protected by large parties of mercenaries, and followed established routes by certain rules.
These two were not traders, and would likely be considered fair game: they were trailing a handful of horses, some of them packed with good steel weapons and armor, which were invaluable in the hills, where iron and even stone were much more common.
And they were entering centaur territory.
The Lyceni and the centaurs were mortal enemies. It had been the centaur god Kallis who had slain the goddess Lycene less than two centuries past: the Lyceni had lost their shape-shifting abilities forever, and the packs now ran on two feet only.
A lesser folk would have withered away and passed, but Lycene had inured them to hardship, and they had continued in the old ways despite the loss of their goddess and their magic.
But there other, even older sorts of magic in the hills and forests, and Cheyna had been attuned to them since birth. She could see and hear things that her pack members could not, and sometimes the trees talked to her. She could make the mark of an eye on a tree and see out from it even when she was miles away. She could befuddle foes, and entice prey into traps. She could heal wounds and sickness, and knew things about plants and herbs that were taught by no Lyceni.
