"High Lord Beresant," Lura said, bowing her head before the master of Everlund. "You summoned me?"
"Indeed, Lady Lura," the man responded. Lura had always viewed the man fondly. He was a seasoned man, formerly a skilled fighter by all accounts, and held himself like the military leader he had been. Standing straight as a board, his stiff navy jacket and crisp white shirt, bedecked with golden jewelry, matched his no-nonsense demeanor. He had a broad chest and narrow waist, and though not quite as large, he reminded her of Hammer, the handsome, massive barbarian she had known for a short time. In fact, had the High Lord been as tall and massive as the barbarian, she would have guessed the two from the same barbaric stock.
But the High Lord carried himself too differently for that. His shoulders back, hands clasped behind his back, hair neatly trimmed and a thick, graying goatee on his face demanded respect and declared him too civilized to be a barbarian. She was slightly comforted by that fact. Barbarians were unpredictable because they were noble, honorable people. They would do just what needed to be done to be noble, and that wasn't always what a conniving drow expected. Sure, they were easy to read, but their actions could be just as varied as the ideals of honor and nobility among the world. But a diplomat, a politician, that was something Lura knew. She had grown up among drow, the most notorious schemers above and below Faerun. Anything this man could think up was child's play among her people.
She paid more attention to what he was saying and less on his physical appearance. It was just so hard for her these days to get past appearances. She had never been a wholly visual person, but with her libido severely malnourished, the smallest things were triggering her basest instincts. She noticed, not for the first time, the tightly packed bundle at the crotch of the High Lord's meticulously tailored pants, and couldn't help but imagine what would sprout out if she knelt down, reached in, grasped...
"Lady Lura, are you listening to me?" he demanded when he noticed her glazed eyes.
"Absolutely, High Lord, forgive me. The tribulations of the Spellplague seem to take a toll on us all," she said, affecting an exhausted tone even while her focus was crystal clear. It disarmed his ire and even seemed to relax him a little.
"Of course, forgive me," he said. "I'm sure you understand; my nerves are simply on edge and, well—"
"You need to find some way to ease the stress," Lura said, purring a bit more than she had anticipated. He looked at her curiously as she quickly reigned in control of her body. Shrugging, he made his way over to an oak desk, whereupon sat crystal carafes and short, wide glasses. A brownish liquid was inside, she presumed some potent liquor.
"Seems we are both in such need," he said. "Care for a drink?"
"Thank you, High Lord, but I must decline," Lura said demurely.
"Not much for the hard stuff, eh?" he asked. She was delighted in the less formal, more social tone his voice took. She imagined he spoke in such a manner in his youth, serving in the military. She smiled at him and shook her head, causing her long, luxuriant white hair to toss about. The red strand that marked her as Sune's Chosen fell coyly by her cheek.
"I simply never found a taste for human liquor. Perhaps it is my drow tongue," she said. This time, she affected the perfect amount of purr to that last statement to give the High Lord pause, as if to question, "is she really coming on to me?"
"That is too bad," he said after clearing his throat. He sat on a large, overstuffed chair, and extended his empty hand to the adjacent seat. He sat his glass on a dark wooden stand between the two chairs. "You and your people have done an admirable job with the refugees," he said, crossing his ankle over his knee. Lura felt her gaze drawn to the bulge at his crotch, but resisted. She sat, crossing her legs in a ladylike manner, her Red Robe never betraying the bare mound that was unclad beneath. She wore it in a formal manner: The skirt long enough to be decent, yet not so much to be prudish, while her neckline plunged, but not so deep as to be whorish. A golden sash, not part of the robe, was tied around her waist, and she wore golden jewelry on her ears and neck, as well as wrists and fingers.
"Thank you," she responded, dipping her head respectfully. She watched as he rolled his head from side to side, as it to stretch out tired muscles. That was her opening. A brief moment of doubt entered her mind: would she really seduce the High Lord of Everlund in his own meeting chamber? There was a resounding affirmation in her loins at the prospect. Could there ever be any doubt? She was no whore, but the last time she had a good lay was...well, it seemed a drow lifetime! And this man was clearly well seasoned, and more than likely knew his way around a pussy.
"But I need those refugees to move on," he said, promptly plucking her from her ruminations. She grit her teeth, but gave no outward appearance that she was distracted. "We simply cannot..."
The High Lord let a profound yawn and Lura seized her chance. She stood abruptly. "High Lord, relax," she said, walking around behind his chair. "I will handle the refugees, and I have friends that are able to deal with internal security and peacekeeping operations. You need to rest your weary mind from this business."
Lura slid her hands down to his shoulders, kneading and rubbing gently, attempting to lull him into a relaxed state. "Empty your mind," she whispered. "Relax; I am very skilled at this. I will ease your tension." Luckily for her, the back of the chair came up to shoulder level on the High Lord. Her fingers worked their way to the back of his neck, and she heard him sigh in relief as her hands dissolved all semblance of stress from his muscles. Smiling devilishly, she willed her Red Robe to change. The skirt shortened considerably, drawing up to mid-thigh. Her neckline all but vanished as her breasts almost spilled out of the scant fabric. She knew the coup de grace would be her chest, and knew exactly how to employ it.
Her hands descended down to his chest, rubbing outward to the shoulders, and in the process she leaned forward, her generous breasts rubbing lightly at the back of his head. Her skin felt like it was on fire at the touch of his short, bristly hair against her tender breast-flesh. But then her plan collapsed. The High Lord seized her hands and slowly stood, turning to face her. If drow could blush, she was certain that her face was a deep shade of purple.
"Lady Lura, I appreciate what you are trying to do here," he began, "indeed, the entire church of Sune should be publicly praised for the relief it has given this city. But you simply cannot help me."
"I...I apologize, High Lord," she said, feeling very self-conscious. Her Red Robe shifted, covering her breasts more than she would normally allow, and the skirt descending all the way to the floor. It became formless and she wrapped her arms around her body defensively.
"Lura, please," High Lord Beresant said, coming forward quickly to put his hands on her shoulders, "I assure you, it has nothing to do with your charms. They would work perfectly on most other men, I am sure."
Then things started clicking in the drow's head. How could she not see it before? Even at the touch of her hands, there was no change in his pants. His eyes never once betrayed him by gazing longingly at her. He had never shown any outward signs of affection. "I see," she said. High Lord Beresant was gay. "Well, I apologize for being presumptuous," she said, almost laughing at herself.
"A mistake any could make," he said, smiling warmly at her and offering her a seat again.
"No, no," she said adamantly, "not me. I've lived my whole life reading people. I've picked out the gay, the lesbian, the straight, and the curious, out of crowds of complete opposites. I used to pick out priestesses in my home city who secretly loved their male counterparts and would treat them as loved ones in private. Such a thing was forbidden, you know."
"The stress, then," the High Lord offered.
"No, it's not that," Lura said, letting out a profound sigh. "I haven't had any semblance of cock in so long that my pussy doesn't know left from right, up from down, gay from straight, hand from tongue...I could go on," she said. "I need to get fucked, and not by myself!"
"Don't I know," the High Lord said. "I don't remember the last time I was taken by anybody. I've almost forgotten the taste of cum!"
"And that's the worst part!" Lura declared, throwing her hands in the air with exasperation. Both laughed heartily. "And I never would have pegged you as the woman in the relationship, High Lord."
"Please, call me Andrei," he said. "But only in private, obviously. And yes, I love being ravished. Not that I'm opposed to taking one of the handsome men in my disposal, but nothing like feeling like a powerful man is behind you, filling...well, you know."
"I do," Lura said, smiling coyly. "Would that I had my own cock, our problems would be solved."
"Let me know if you grow one!" he said, laughing again. She was quite pleased that he was still a very manly man, and not flamboyant, or shy. In fact, had they not been talking about cock, she would have never known he was gay by his demeanor. She decided that if, indeed, she had a cock, or was a man, she would totally have jumped him. "Ah, Lura. I feel suddenly that we will have many fond talks together," he said. "But for now, I must return to business. Truly you have brightened my demeanor and the day will pass more quickly for your efforts."
"My pleasure," she said, standing and bowing.
"Next time, perhaps I can arrange something for you," he said. "For us both, if we're lucky."
"Should Sune favor us," Lura said, winking over her shoulder as she let herself out. She was certainly in a better mood now, but her inflamed libido simply would not take a break. Everything she saw, from swords to halberds to pillars, reminded her of cock and how none of her tight holes had clenched one in so long. She made haste to her apartment at the Dreaming Dragon, hoping to catch Mikhail there.
*****
