Cyrenes Song Ch 01

Chapter 1

The bird songs of dawn cause Cyrene's eyes to snap open. Lying still beneath her bedroll, her hand finds the hilt of her sword. Unmoving, she listens for any unnatural sounds, footsteps or the snapping of twigs she had spread around her campsite the night before. Hearing nothing to rouse suspicion, Cyrene raises her head to survey her surroundings. The amber tinted light filtering through the tree tops casts a warm glow into the clearing where she had stopped the night before. Her horse, unsaddled and tethered to a small tree a few yards away, relaxed, crops at the sweet grass enjoying his breakfast. Needing no further assurance, Cyrene throws back the covers of her bedroll and stretches her nude body, reveling in the morning air caressing her.

Rising with sword in hand she slides the bare steel into its sheath and props the sword against a tree. Taking her wide bladed dagger with her, she leaves the clearing, moving into the tree line. After a few yards, using the dagger, she digs a hole in the ground and squats over it to relieve herself. Finished, Cyrene covers the hole with dirt and returns to the clearing. Excited for the days prospects, she moves to the ashes of the previous nights fire, pleased to see there are a few remaining embers glowing redly in the ash. Adding twigs and small branches, Cyrene soon has a small fire, plenty large enough to warm the second half of the rabbit she had cooked last night. Placing the meat on a green stick, she props it over the flames to warm and rises to tend to her stallion.

Reaching the large horse, with his reddish colored coat, she rest her head on his forehead while rubbing the sides of his large, noble face. Letting their scents and warmth intermingle, she feels love for this great beast. Untying him from the tree, she leads him to the edge of the small river that she had been following up until darkness had called a need to make camp. In their progress they startled a family of squirrels that had been digging for nuts in the forest floor. The startled family scampered up into the trees, chattering at them as their kind is wont to do. Reaching the waters edge, Cyrene releases the tether, allowing the stallion to lower its head and drink noisily from the river. Raising her arms and stretching languidly, Cyrene enjoys the feel of the suns morning rays upon her skin.

This same sun, this ancient watcher looking down upon her seems to approve of this human it is seeing and causes its rays to brighten into a halo around her. It sees a tall, raven haired woman of firm build. Her muscles, while pronounced and hard, are not in the least mannish. Wide, strong shoulders flow into a long and sturdy torso, topped with full cupped breasts, the nipples pointing up more than out. This strong upper body meets beautifully curved hips supported by long, muscular legs. A tight, round rear balances out a perfect figure, made for the fight and the bedchamber. Finished with staring into the passing waters, this powerful human female raises her face to the heavens, feeling the adoring suns light upon her face. It is a slim face, strong of brow and jaw, with a straight patrician nose and a wide luscious mouth. A supple muscled neck tapers into those wide shoulders like the slow stroke of a lovers finger. Eyes of brilliant green flash as the sun reflects into them off of the river. Hair so black it is almost blue, falls down her back, tips just brushing the top of her buttocks. This same blue/black color is repeated in the tight, curled nap between her thighs.

Smelling the rabbit, Cyrene leads her horse back and tethers him again to the tree. Moving to her fire, she grabs a water skin from her provisions, kneels before the fire and begins to eat. The meat is warm and delicious and as she bites into it, grease runs down her chin and drips onto her breast. Frowning at the mess, Cyrene takes a drink from her skin, and them pours some water on her chest, feeling it run over her breasts and down her taut stomach to flow through her pubic hair and over the sensitive lips nestled below. Enjoying the sensation, Cyrene repeats the action, shivering. The sun, ever appreciative, casts a ray on a solitary drop, clinging to hardened nipple.

Finished with her breakfast, Cyrene pours water from her skin onto the dying fire, extinguishing it before getting to her feet. At her saddlebags, she rummages through them, coming up with a stoppered vial of blue glass. Taking the vial and her water skin and picking up her sheathed sword, she returns to the waters edge, once again scattering the indignant family of squirrels. Squatting down, her beautiful rear tightening, she refills her water skin from the fresh, cool running water of the river. Propping her sword on a stone right next to the river within easy reach, and placing the vial next to it, Cyrene steps into the river. Raising her arms above her head, she dives into the cool, dark waters. Submerged and with strong kicks, she rolls and frolics in the coolness. Her long hair brushing and tickling her ass is pleasing. The soft hands of the river running over her breasts and down through the cleft between her legs causes her stomach muscles to quiver.

Cyrene surfaces and swims to where she left the glass vial. Standing knee deep in the river, she unstops the vial and pours a generous amount of a clear and unscented soap into her hand. Stoppering the vial, she lays it on the river bank. Gathering her midnight tresses, she works the soap thoroughly into her hair, creating a rich lather. As she scrubs her scalp, streams of soap run down her strong back, into her crack on its way to her legs and the river. Smoothing her hair back, Cyrene runs her soap covered hands over her arms, before moving them to her grease stained breasts. Slowly, she rubs the lather onto her breasts, circling them slowly, before gliding them up her neck, washing there. Seemingly, as if possessed with a mind of their own, her hands drift back down to her tits, her fingers trailing lightly over the skin before lightly pinching her hard nipples. A soft groan escapes her lips and she whispers to herself, "I've been too long without a man". Thinking back to more than a month ago, when she had spent a couple of days fucking Cullen.

The memory, and her wandering hands, creates a subtle swelling of her pussy lips and a burgeoning clit that is begging for attention. Cyrene runs her hand down her stomach, pushing her fingers through her slick, curly hair to gently feel the swollen bit of sensitive flesh. Shivering, Cyrene dives back into the water, rinsing all of the soap from her hair and body before moving towards the bank. Laying down, with her back against the soft moss of the river edge, she puts both hands between her legs, spreading her pussy lips with the fingers of her left hand, and running the fingers of her right hand softly around her hole. The silky wetness of her wanting makes it easy for two of her fingers to slide into her pussy. She slowly moves them in and out enjoying the feel of her inner muscles tightening around them. Getting her left fingers wet, Cyrene reaches around behind her and slides a finger into her ass. The sensation is glorious and makes her lightheaded. She wants more, no, she needs more.

Cyrene reaches over and picks up the glass vial which is longer than her hand and thick. She rubs this over her pussy lips, coating it with her wetness before spreading her lips and placing the vials bottom against her throbbing pussy. Slowly, so slowly, she starts pushing the smooth, hard substitute cock into her, feeling it stretch her and fill her up. Pushing the vial into her all the way to the ribbed top, she slowly pulls it back out. As she picks up speed, sliding it in and out of her, she gently drags her fingernail across the skin of her clit, making her cry out and shudder. Feeling her impending orgasm approaching, Cyrene grabs her tit and squeezes hard on her nipple, groaning as her pussy clamps down on the hard phallus in her pussy. Rocked by the waves of pleasure rolling through her, she slowly pulls the vial out of her, aware of each inch sliding out. Smiling a lazy, satisfied smile, Cyrene brings the vial to her lips and licks her juices off of it. "After this, it would break my heart if you ever got lost or broken", Cyrene told the bottle with a little laugh.

Placing the vial down, Cyrene slides into the water once more, rinses off and, gathering her sword and the vial, went back through the forest to her camp. After packing her belongings into her saddlebags, Cyrene proceeds to dress. Slipping into a red silk loincloth, she then buckles on a waist length red cuirass with molded breast cups and a padded interior. The breast molds fit her own breasts like a glove and have embossed nipples on them. Her boots are thigh high with straps that buckle into the bottom of her cuirass, preventing slipping. Riveted onto her boots are red steel sabatons, greaves and cuisses, to protect her feet, shins and thighs. Shoulder length gloves, which are buckled to the top of her cuirass contain riveted in place gauntlets, vambraces and rerebraces to protect her hands, forearms and upper arms. In colder weather, Cyrene would add a leather shirt and pants. Her helmet, is red steel with a spiked crest on top and a visor she can raise or lower.

Looking around the campsite one last time to make sure she has missed nothing, Cyrene mounts her horse, smiling at the pleasant soreness in her pussy, and steers the horse through the forest towards the river. On reaching the site of her solo tryst a short while ago, she grinned again, seeing the twin imprints of her ass in the soft loam on the edge of the river. Turning downstream, she continues on her journey that she began weeks ago, but prepared for and researched for almost two years. This quest began where a duel, and a bet, was lost.