Sex and the Spellplague

"Playing with fire?"

The question distracted Cyra from her business. She looked over her shoulder, her pale shoulder-length hair flipping about at the quick action. Benefast stood in the doorway of a private room Cyra had acquired. The Dreaming Dragon had slowly been expanding, absorbing nearby buildings with an intricate system of elaborate bridgework, part wood, part magically-reinforced glasswork. The expansion had allowed Cyra and her comrades to expand their living arrangements to an extent. Cyra's room was small, almost cell-like, and only had a brazier for small fires to warm the room, a bed scarcely big enough for two people, and a window that afforded her a view over the southern city wall.

A small fire currently occupied the brazier that she more often used for burning incense, and she sat in a wide wooden chair facing away from the doorway. The halfling leaned casually against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest.

"I like fire," she said, somewhat detached from reality.

"It's in your veins," the halfling said. "I was just wondering if you knew when Lura would be back. There are people asking after her downstairs, and I'm not entirely sure that she'd want to see them."

"A few days, perhaps more," Cyra said, turning to face the fire.

"Hmph," the halfling said at her dismissive response. "Well would you mind taking these people off my hands?"

"Certainly," the tiefling said, tossing a small smile with her pouty lips over her shoulder. The halfling almost melted at the cupid's bow shape her lips made when they smiled. Plump and soft, as if asking to slide over his thick, if not overly long...

"Let me finish here and I'll be right there," Cyra said.

The halfling gazed into the dark room, his keen eyes ignoring the disorienting, dancing shadows. For the first time, he realized that Cyra was naked, her firm, toned thighs slung over the arms of her chair, prehensile tail curling and swishing out the back of the wooden seat, and her toes curled in delight. He snickered to himself, shut the door, and went down stairs.

Closing her eyes, she put the halfling's words out of her mind. She opened them again and fixed her attention on the dancing flames. It was only recently that she had felt such affinity for the flame. The tiefling didn't question the gift, but embraced it. It still was hot to her, but it didn't burn her flesh. If anything, it tingled and sparked much like electricity, but distinctly different. Her hand slipped to her damp, fragrant folds, slowly sliding her index and middle finger up and down either side of her slit. As her fingers ascended to her clit, she pulled her nether lips apart, and as she slid down toward her anus she pressed them firmly together. It was an intentional, self-imposed torture. Dull pleasure pressed at her clit, not intense enough to elicit a curl of ecstasy in her gut, but enough to make her curse her own sadism.

With her free hand, she traced her nails, feeling oddly sharp, up her taut stomach to her bountiful breasts. The ruddy orbs, capped with areola and nipples the color of cinnamon, and pinched her erect nipples. The heat from the small fire brought perspiration from her skin, and it shone like dragon scales in the firelight. Her fingers slid easy over her nipples, lubricated by her perspiration, and she repeatedly tugged her nipples out, only to have them slip delightfully from her fingers after they had been pulled to their fullest extent.

Cyra focused her will on the dancing flames. She watched with delight as the flickering flames slowed their dance and stood straight up, like a candle's undisturbed flame. With half-lidded eyes, she watched as they began to sway side to side, acquiescing her will. She slid her middle finger along her slit, feeling finally the spike of pleasure as her fingertip pressed firmly against her engorged clit. An audible moan escaped her lips from the delayed pleasure.

But it was more than an act of self-gratification. She felt a semi-sentience coming from the flames before her, and her finger pressed firmly on her clit was also a request, an idea planted in the pseudo-intellect of the still fire. With both hands, she pulled apart her labia, exposing the glistening, almost steaming folds to the fire. There was a moment of disembodied eagerness, and the flames leaned toward her sex much the way plants grow ever upward, seeking the comfort and warmth of the sun. She imagined, if a tree felt distinct pleasure and eagerness whenever it saw the sun, the fire before her felt the same thing with her exposed sex.

With eager anticipation, Cyra watched as the flame's tongues neared her sex. She held her breath as three distinct fiery appendages seemed to hover before her sex until, finally, the largest of the three stroked from about mid-slit up to her clitoris. "Oooooh," Cyra said in a husky voice. She closed her eyes and her head fell back onto the back of the chair. A burning, prickling sensation coursed up and down her slit as the other two tongues of fire lapped at her juicing slit.

At first, the flame's ministrations were clumsy, disorganized, and over-eager. It was pleasurable, there was no doubt in that; the sensations of having fire lapping at her slit were wholly unique and distinctively amazing. But Cyra knew what she wanted, and after the pet flames ate at her sex hungrily for a long moment, she focused her will onto the energetic tongues. Releasing her pussy, she brought her hands sliding up to her large breasts, squeezing at the slick flesh and pinching her nipples, all the while feeding the fire her wants.

It took a moment, and there was a pause as the flames pulled away, as if communing with each other, before they dove in hungrily again. The longest tongue of fire poked into her clit and began to swirl around it quickly, as only fire could. It was like a jolt of pleasure shot straight from her clitoris, up her spine, and into her brain at the speed of light. The intensity of the sudden pleasure caused her body to lurch forward, eyes to shoot open, and a choke in a gasp. Pleasure knifed through her body with a razor edge from the first tongue's attention.

As soon as she grew accustomed to the keen pleasure at her clit, a smoldering heat filled her canal. She felt the second tongue of fire delving into her sex, spiraling around inside her as it explored, licking at the sensitive walls within. The intensity wasn't as great as the attention her clit was receiving, but it heated her core and filled her loins with molten need, the kind that was pervasive and insistent, that demanded satisfaction over and over and over again. If the pleasure at her clit was like so many lightning bolts jarring her pussy, the fire in her sex was like the swell of the tides, cresting and falling repeatedly until the waves broke down her walls of self-restraint.

Her fingers were pinching her nipples hard now. The sharpened fingernails were digging into her breast flesh, scratching it painfully, and she needed the pain to keep her mind from soaring away in orgasmic bliss. She squeezed and tugged, panting with wanton need, her toes curling into themselves. Then the third tongue of fire pressed itself against her puckered anus, coated in a delicious sheen of sweat and nectar. There was no metaphor for the sensations. While her body was busy taking in the pleasures from her clit and canal, the flame pressing into her anus drove her mind into oblivion. She could feel her rectum stretching from the incorporeal energy, and she felt the flame licking at her anal walls, exciting all the pleasure nodes within with burning, shocking delight.

And then her body couldn't handle anymore. With a sudden surge of need, her pussy and asshole clamped down on nothing, her body spasming uncontrollably even as the flames continued assaulting her nethers. Cyra gripped the armrests of the chair so hard that her fingers popped. One orgasm turned to two, then to three, as the flames forced more and more from her wracked body. Then, when she finally thought it was all over, a final sensation assaulted her body. As the flames withdrew and returned to their normal state in the brazier, pain knifed into her skull where her horns sat. It felt like twin lances had been thrust into her cranium, and she cried out in pain, eyes wide in shock and fear and mouth agape. There was a sound of bone grating against bone, then, as quickly as it started, it was over.

Cyra sat in her chair, quivering from an overdose of both pleasure and pain, and her sweat turned cold despite the proximity of the fire. But then her body recovered from the shock. It was a strange sensation. The memory of intense pleasure followed by intense pain was there, but her body felt refreshed and renewed somehow. She brought her hands to her forehead to feel for anything, and her mouth opened in shock. Before, she had only had petite, brown horns, about the size of her thumbs, protruding from her forehead. Now, she had long, sweeping horns, thick at the base and curled back around the side of her head elegantly. They formed a crown, almost, not quite touching each other in the back. Looked at herself in the window, trying to make out a dim reflection, and saw that they were ruddy, streaked with black and brown, but smooth as they framed her skull. Her hair remained unaffected, still a lustrous pale blonde that hung around her shoulders.

She grasped for a reason as to why this transformation had happened, and then, as if the spark of knowledge had suddenly been kindled inside her, she knew. It was her birthday, though she couldn't put a finger on her age. Fifty, she reckoned. By human standards, she probably could have passed for an early twenties, though. "Hmph," she said. "Well, I'm sure this will cause a stir downstairs."

Cyra looked down at her nude form, grinning to herself. She knew that she could get away with strolling into the taproom wearing naught but her horns and a smile, but would just be asking to be raped. Not that she was afraid of attackers; she could handle herself just fine. She just didn't have the patience for it tonight. She turned to find her clothing, which consisted of one of her leather corset and leggings, and tall boots, but found she wasn't quite in the mood for that outfit. Cyra strode out of her small, private apartment in the nude and marched down the hall to Lura's room, sharing a smile and a greeting with a couple patrons before making her way in. She knew the drow wasn't quite as well endowed as she was, but figured she could make some of Lura's things work.

Feeling very much introverted at the moment, Cyra was pleased that there was nobody in the drow's room, namely Mikhail. Lately, the tiefling had found the human irksome and annoying, but she couldn't quite figure out why. Perhaps she was jealous of the growing feelings between the two. She shrugged, her breasts bouncing lightly with the act, and threw open the doors to Lura's wardrobe. It was almost instantaneous.

A daring evening gown stared at her from between other clothing. She immediately seized it and pulled it off its hanger to examine. Her eyes sparkled with excitement: there was a single shoulder to it, and the neckline cut down across the chest to wrap around to her back underneath her other shoulder. She examined its form and realized it would fit tight around her midsection and likely tighter around her breasts, considering her more generous proportion. It would be tight around her hips, too, but flared out around her thighs, which solved the issue of her tail holding the gown up and leaving her ass exposed. With a small grin, she pulled the silk gown over her head and let it settle on her magnificent frame. Her assumptions were correct. Her left breast, the one without a shoulder strap over it, was only barely covered. A careless lean would likely pop her breast right out. She smoothed the fabric and examined herself in one of Lura's tall mirrors, appreciating the way the fiery tones accented her ruddy, reddish skin.

The skirt only came down to about mid-thigh, but her tail kept it from extending fully, and even though she made a conscious effort to keep the prehensile appendage from lifting up the thin fabric, it invariably did so. She accepted the loose skirt barely concealing the tops of her thighs. To finish off the look, she knelt down into Lura's wardrobe and found some elegant, black heels. Cyra admitted to herself that, were she a suitor, she'd fuck herself. "I do fuck myself," she said with a laugh. "Oh well, gorgeous. Duty calls." She left Lura's room and made for the taproom.

*****

"Doesn't feel right," Benefast said. "They have a bad look about them."

There was a dead zone in the Dreaming Dragon around a group of five people, three men and two women, in the front corner of the tavern. And to Benefast, a dead zone was a zone that wasn't making money. He wished Lura was here to deal with these unsavory types, but he figured the half-demon would be intimidating enough to make up for the lack of Lura's diplomacy. When he saw her walk down the stairs, though, he knew she'd be able to handle them. She seemed to shine with infernal beauty, especially with the inferno-like gown she wore. Then he noticed her new horns and his mouth fell open in surprise. He'd never seen such a thing before. The horns, while decidedly intimidating and menacing, were elegant and complimented her natural beauty. She glanced at him, and he pointed to the five in the corner. With a curt nod, Cyra marched right up to their table, put her hands on her hips, and began speaking, but Benefast couldn't hear a word.

*****

"Who's looking for Lady Lura?" Cyra asked as she approached. Her tone was even but her eyes sparked with intensity that these five would not be quick to dismiss. A bald man stood. He was broad of shoulder, but not more so than Samon, and had a bit of a gut, likely from too much honey mead. He wore a plain tunic and rough breeches, and had black tattoos on his skull.

"We know she's been keeping a big man here, better part of seven feet tall and big as a brick shit house. He killed four o' our boys and we're wantin' satisfaction," the man said. His tone was gruff, but Cyra detected a bit of hesitance in his voice.

"What say the rest of you?" Cyra asked.

The other four looked at each other, then nodded their agreement.

"Well, the Lady and the Barbarian are out for the better part of the tenday. You'd best return then. Bring some more people, though, if you're looking for a fight," Cyra said with a smirk. She turned to walk away, but one of the five, a woman, reached out and seized her arm. The tiefling turned slowly, leveling a smoldering gaze on the woman. She was slight, boyish even, with not much to speak of as far as breasts and ass went, but her face was definitely feminine. She shrunk away when the tiefling's sinister visage fully focused on her.

"We ain't done," the bald man said. He had a sneer on his face. "We lost some product, and we're needin' reimbursed. Since yer all throwed in with each other, we're thinking you can repay the loss."

"You're thinking wrong," Cyra said. "You're barking up the wrong tiefling."

The rest of the posse stood, throwing back cowls. The two other men were also bald, with similar tattoos on their skulls, and the second woman had modest breasts but a plump bottom. Her neck was bruised and her eyes were deadened. Cyra felt remorse for the woman, and decided that, if she had the opportunity, she would be certain the Dragon and Sune took her in.

But that was neither here nor there. "We'll get our due, one way or another," the first bald man said, scowling. "Good night, demon girl."

Cyra grit her teeth, but mastered her emotions with great difficulty. She was given to brash actions with little thought to the consequences. Such was the way of Sharess, she mused, the goddess of debauchery and excess, among other things. Her favor with the goddess was likely bound to those tendencies in some way. The five left the Dreaming Dragon, and Cyra let out a profound sigh. She moved with purpose to Benefast, who was washing glasses while Branley, the rejuvenated half-elf from the cobbler's shop that used to be next door, tended bar. He gave her a broad grin, and she returned his expression with a wink. Briefly, she recalled the story Lura had shared with her, about how she met him and cast a spell that had turned back the years for the half-elf. Since then, he'd been the most enthusiastic employee and devotee of Sune in the Dreaming Dragon. He made a point to share his affections with all the pretty girls.

Benefast arched a thick brow at Cyra. "What was that about?" he asked.

"Apparently Hammer made waves in the underbelly of Everlund when he killed those peddlers," Cyra said dismissively. They thought to take payment from me and the rest of the Dragon, but I think they'll think twice before they do something like that," Cyra said. Benefast nodded his head.

"There's plenty of city guard about tonight, and I doubt they have that much sway over the city authority," Benefast said. "Good, then, that that's settled. Can I get you anything lovely?"

"A strong drink and a stiff dick," Cyra muttered.

"Speaking of stiff dick," Branley said, "Where's Samon tonight?"

"He spends more and more of his time at the Manor," she said with a sigh. "I hate going there. It's too big, too stuffy, and too dark. But since his father was killed, he's taken it upon himself to continue the family legacy."

"Well, I always have an empty spot in my bed," Branley said, winking at the tiefling. Cyra smirked at him.

"I don't think you've had an empty spot in your bed since you moved in, dear Branley," Cyra said.

"A valid observation. You're as cunning of mind as you are beautiful," Branley said with a smile.

Cyra rolled her eyes, but gave him a kiss on the cheek. "One day, Branley."

The tiefling looked around the tavern, took note of the many people mingling, dancing, and drinking, and smiled. At the back of the tavern, against the wall, was a large, raised area. In some circles it would be a reserved area for high rollers and wealthy merchants. In the Dreaming Dragon, there were no such restrictions. As such, people walked to and fro from the circular booths, mingling and laughing and chatting with each other. The tiefling smiled and walked over to mingle. She recognized some of the people, but was more interested in meeting those she'd never seen before.

She spent several hours chatting, flirting, and even took one lucky young man to her private room for a brief fuck. He got off in torrents, and was modestly endowed—thick but not quite long—but it only left her wanting more. The hours of the morning were small, but she was still prowling. She had just set her sights on a particularly ravishing young woman, a brunette nearly as tall as the tiefling with perfect, palm-sized breasts that bounced freely whenever she giggled or walked. Cyra was about to make her move, her eyes locked on the slender, exposed legs and scarcely covered backside when the scent of smoke overwhelmed her. Her eyes narrowed and she felt fire nearby. It was strange for her; she'd spent time lately communing with small flames that she had started, but now she could simply feel a ravenous presence of fire emanating from the front of the building.

Then, several patrons cried out in frightened shock. Cyra turned her head to the front and saw smoke wafting in and flames dancing in the windows. Eyes ablaze, the tiefling stormed out the door, her infernal eyesight able to penetrate the obscuring fire to see the five hooligans from earlier, accompanied by several comrades, flaming flasks in hand. Rage burned in her breast.

Cyra reached her arms out to the side, feeling the fires burning the façade of the tavern behind her, and sent her will out to the flames licking around her arms. She strode forward, the arsonists noticing her as she began to peal the sheet of fire away from the tavern, encompassing herself in a flame wreath. A corona of flame enshroud her head, and fire-like spikes jutted from her horns like an infernal crown. The bald man that had addressed her earlier shouted commands, pointing at her. Arrows and crossbow quarrels flew at her, but tongues of flame leapt out from her fiery cocoon and incinerated them before they became a threat. In retaliation, Cyra threw out her arms straight out, crying out in a double-toned, feral shout. Gouts of fire erupted from her, blasting into her foes and knocking them to the ground while flames licked at their skin.