Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at a Literotica story! Feedback is appreciated, and if you all seem to enjoy, this may be Part 1 of a larger tale. Let me know what you think ;)
Her cloak whipped around her as the wind howled down the road. Layne glanced over her shoulder instinctively, but anyone following her was lost in the sheets of water pouring from the skies. Still, she quickened her pace a bit and looked to her left. Selene said nothing, but even in the traces of moonlight making it through the storm, Layne could see her gaze was cool and measured as she answered. "Just a bit further, so I know we've lost them."
Two weeks ago Layne would have found it off putting to have her question answered before she asked, but after traveling with the elf for this long, she knew it was normal. As Selene adjusted her long, loping stride to match the new pace, Layne noticed for the smallest second the lithe, sinewy body under the elf's shirt and breeches. She immediately pushed the thought out of her mind, as well as the one that followed, regarding the fact that her attire, tight as it was, would have been very nearly scandalous on a human woman.
She recognized her slight bias against elves, having grown up in a village where elves were the villain of stories as often as goblins or trolls. Not to mention any reasonable woman knew that elves were downright whorish when it came to sex. The horror stories often included savage elves breeding like animals or pleasuring themselves around the fire. However, since Layne had been accused of stealing (she hadn't), and Selene had been accused of killing a sheriff who tried to come onto her (she had), they had found themselves escaping an angry town magistrate together. They had decided that two women stood a much better chance than one of losing a mob. Selene had survival skills that Layne frankly lacked, while Layne had an excellent knowledge of human manners as they pertained to farmers and villages.
As they tromped along the now-muddy road, boots sticking and breeches dripping with a delightful mixture of old sweat and rain, Layne wistfully thought back to just a few short weeks ago. Until a patron had accused her of stealing from his coin purse, she had quite enjoyed her singing residency at The Farmer's Folly. Master Bartram, the innkeeper, had been just as an innkeeper should be: a plump, balding man who was more than willing to joke with patrons unless he was confronted by the anxiety that every innkeeper has about running out of food and ale. He had paid her well, and she had always enjoyed the chance that a handsome client might ask her to take a tumble under the sheets or in the barn at the end of her performances. She counted it both as a credit to her voice and to the fact that most of her dresses had a neckline which highlighted her pleasantly plump breasts (especially when she took a heaving breath before a high note), as well as a skirt that showed a roundness through the hips.
While it wasn't totally proper (it was in fact fairly improper) for her to take any patron of the inn up on this sort of request, Layne had developed her own code of ethics regarding how to proceed. She reasoned that as long as she did not behave whorishly while they tumbled, there was less of an issue. To that end, once a partner got done massaging her breasts and the delicate, cherry-red nipples hidden below the neckline of the dress, she was willing to let them fuck her.
She did rather love the way that beyond the breasts, once people saw that the roundness of her skirts was hiding pale, creamy buttocks with a pleasant bounce, they only became more insistent that she let things proceed. However, since she was at least somewhat proper, if they were going to fuck her, she insisted they take her the way a man was supposed to take a woman, which meant she would lie demurely on her back while they thrust into her, and there would only be enough pleasure squeals and moans so that the other party could tell she was enjoying. The last step to her code of ethics involved a strict rule that the man finish on her belly. As a (mostly) proper girl, she would not end up with child while unmarried, but nor would she swallow a man's seed, because that was firmly within the territory of whores.
At this point Layne was quite lost in her own thoughts, and she jumped when Selene spoke. "Over there." Layne squinted, trying to make out what the elf might have spotted through the storm. Lightning flashed, and she was fairly certain she made out the shell of a dilapidated barn across what seemed to be an abandoned field. She nodded, and together the two women left the road, trusting in the rain to wash their tracks out of the mud. They crept across the grasses, feeling tall stalks brush their hips. When they arrived, Layne could see that it was indeed a derelict barn, but also that the roof and walls were surprisingly intact. The gods' own luck was with them, as the wall with the biggest portion missing faced away from the road. The girls set down their packs and took in the space, which included enough leftover hay that the floor might be reasonably comfortable when they slept. As usual, Selene took charge.
She gathered rocks and made a pit, and then started a fire with a speed that never stopped surprising Layne. As she did, Layne once again found herself starting to notice the elf's toned body. While small, her tits were perky, and her ass looked round and firm with muscle. Another one of Layne's concessions to impropriety, she admitted to herself, was that she did enjoy using a whore's vocabulary from time to time, as long as it was strictly in her own head or during the heat of a good fuck. Once the fire was started, Selene announced that she would be setting traps for game, and disappeared into the rain again. Layne was grateful that the elf did handle this part, but also thought that the woman might be slightly insane.
For her part, Layne unwrapped her cloak and removed her coat and hung them to dry. She then spread her bedroll and took her boots off, before peeling off her breeches, which proved quite the challenge. She would not usually have done this, but Selene had been nearly nude their first night around a fire. Layne had nearly had a heart attack when the elvish woman walked into the light wearing a shirt cut high above her belly button and a garment that barely qualified as panties (no more than a thin string running up between her buttocks). Besides, as much as she held some reservations towards Selene's ways of doing things, she did have to admit that a comfort being undressed around other women was helpful, especially now while her clothes were soaked.
After brushing the tangles out of her flowing auburn locks, she sat on her bedroll, clothes slowly drying, she was confronted with a dilemma. Layne had not had the company of a man for two weeks now, since the start of their escape. While this would have been acceptable, if not preferred, during normal circumstances, stress definitely made her crave satisfaction in that regard. She did some quick mental math before deciding that she was going to pleasure herself whether she genuinely had the time or not.
Layne wasn't proud of the fact that she masturbated, but she had long ago accepted that it was a necessity. As with sex, she had a ruleset for herself, which included mostly fingering herself and never rubbing the small nub above her cunt, no matter how badly it throbbed. Eyeing the barn door to make sure Selene's silhouette wasn't visible, she reached into her pack and grabbed her long-handled knife and a bottle of cooking oil.
She poured a small puddle of cooking oil into her palm before rubbing it into the knife handle, making sure it was coated well. The handle of this particular knife was smooth from repeated use. She then opened her knees and ran her fingers across her soft, pink lower lips just long enough to confirm her suspicions: her cunt was soaking wet beneath the soft red curls of her bush.
The wooden knife handle slid smoothly into her. She gasped. The handle slid out until the pommel barely stretched the lips of her cunt apart, and then it slid back in, hard. She bit her lips but couldn't quite stop the moan. She felt the warmth in her belly. She felt her asshole spasm for a second. She gave in.
Her arm was moving by itself, sliding the long, wooden handle in and out of her sopping cunt. Her hips writhed, simulating a man's motion as well as she could. Her thighs were starting to tighten. Her breasts heaved with each breath. No longer attempting to be quiet, she whimpered and moaned. She let out a scream of pure bliss and her cunt started to tighten. She could tell she was getting close to her peak. Her motions were quickening, the long, smooth wooden object of her pleasure slid in and out. In and out. She pushed it deep, knowing she was perhaps two thrusts away from finishing so hard that she shook while her pleasure fountained out from between her legs.
Shhh. The unmistakable scrape of a boot. Fuck. Instantly her eyes snapped open, her peak ruined. Selene stood in the barn, pale green eyes meeting Layne's deep blue ones. Panic rising, she babbled "uh, I..um, so sorry, I just..." She trailed off, her shame overwhelming her.
The elf smoothly arched an eyebrow. "You think I have never seen another woman pleasuring herself?"
Layne sputtered, although she knew there was not a convenient way to explain herself. She started hotly "I was not...!"
