The Moon Maiden
Calafein bled from a dozen small wounds. His chest heaved with exertion and his thighs and hips were beginning to burn from constant work. The weapon master of House Baensek had spent several days exerting himself like this, but his life of constant training and conditioning had prepared him well for such effort.
Sinala Auvryana, high priestess of Lolth, was not much better off. Her nose bled and her lip was split. Her eye was nearly swollen shut, but the grin on her face was unmistakable. She was thrilled by the pain.
Thrilled, further, by the way the weapon master of House Baensek gripped her neck tightly in his strong hand and pressed her bare body against the rough tunnel wall. Both had been at it for hours, rutting like impassioned beasts in heat. Their black-skinned bodies blended perfectly with the darkness of the tunnel, though the scant moonlight filtering in through the cave mouth a hundred feet away caused their eyes and silken white hair to gleam to their ultra-sensitive eyes.
Sinala snarled at the weapon master thrusting violently into her. Her back ached and she could feel hot blood running down her stone-cooled skin from dozens of abrasions, some of them from the last several days of repeated abuse at the hands of her favorite weapons master.
Calafein couldn't deny his own enjoyment. He wasn't fond of Lolth or her followers, but he did enjoy the physical exertion they offered him, a renowned weapon master at the peak of physicality.
Sinala pushed off the wall behind her with surprising ferocity, and Calafein took a step back to keep the priestess from sending him to his rump, impaled upon him all the while. Still, he took her meaning as she took the aggression from him. Her hands wove into his thick white hair, gripping and pulling him backward as she kissed him ravenously, biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood—again. He growled in his throat, but Sinala only grinned in response. The weapon master continued backward, each step measured perfectly despite the intense distraction of the high priestess's hips slamming down on him over and over again. His bottom hit the stone wall opposite from where he had just been grinding the woman into stone.
The high priestess of Lolth planted her heels into Calafein's calves, using them for leverage as she rode him. The wall was angled just right for the drow man to sit back slightly and allow Sinala to properly ride him. She leaned back so that she was perfectly vertical atop Calafein's slightly reclined body, her hands playing over his sweat-slickened flesh. She rode him masterfully, her hips gyrating just so, her loins clenching tightly every time she rose up along his rigid shaft.
Grinning, Sinala began to laugh as she saw blood drip from her mouth and onto Calafein's chiseled chest. He was powerfully built, decadently so, and she reveled in the pleasure he granted her. Surely, she thought, none of the other priestesses on this expedition had been fulfilled as she now was. And so, she was inspired.
Calafein, for his part, looked up at the grinning, laughing woman, reckoning her to be at the height of careless joy, having shed the constraints of her servitude to the hated dark elf goddess. Calafein, for that moment, saw in her something he had not seen in the other priestesses he had ever known—or slain. He saw a kindred spirit, free from the chains that held down their people. And for a moment, his heart soared. His hands gripped her buttocks, eliciting a surprised, delighted squeal from the priestess who fell over him, kissing him hungrily again, tasting and swallowing the blood on his lips.
He buried his face in her breasts when she pulled away, the soft mounds just generous enough to kiss his chiseled cheek bones. His hands rose along her sweaty, abraded back, across her ribs, to cup those perfectly shaped orbs. He pinched the turgid nipples hard, and she squealed again. He nearly laughed himself, so caught up in the perfect moment of bliss, pain, and ecstasy.
Then he heard the chanting. Sinala's arms were open wide, her mouth barely moving but her voice unmistakable. He recognized the imprecation to Lolth, and he knew the magic would soon coalesce. Hating himself for believing this one drow woman could have been his equal in spirit, he threw her down to the ground, trying to interrupt her chant. She grunted, but otherwise showed no sign that the spell had been broken.
Lolth had her, and Calafein would wrench her from the goddess's wicked grasp. He grabbed hold of her hair, lifted her onto her knees, and squatted down, hammering himself into her from behind as he wrenched her head back. Her neck bent in a most painful, exquisite way, and her voice shrieked.
Calafein thought he had succeeded, and thus ended their lovemaking with a cataclysmic torrent. His orgasm thundered through him, filling the priestess with bliss and seed. His twitching cock sent her barreling over the edge of her own orgasm. The position, him dominant over a high priestess of Lolth, was a sacrilege most drow females would never tolerate.
He grinned in victory, pulling out of the abused priestess, both of them looking much worse for wear. She rose, though, grinning to herself as she dipped two of her long, skilled fingers into her nethers, pulling out a cloying, sweet nectar—a blend of their mutual passion—to taste, savor, and swallow.
"The goddess smiles upon our union," she said, putting her hands on Calafein's chest. "I could feel your seed take hold nigh instantly. Lolth is pleased. We will bear a mighty child, and you will be inducted into House Auvryana posthaste."
Calafein glowered, and his scowl could not be mistaken. She only giggled. "Come, then. Let us rejoin camp. No doubt they heard our exertions and have devolved into an orgy, inspired by our lust!"
Calafein retrieved his gear, and as Sinala began casting healing magic on him, he gripped her wrist—hard. "Leave me," he said. He watched her face and was surprised by the emotional pain that seemed to cross her face. It vanished quickly.
"Well enough," she said tersely. "Join when you are..."
There was a whistle that they could only hear in their minds, the signal to attack the fey elven community. Both dark elves looked to each other in alarm. To be absent during a raid was a dishonor and disservice to one's House. Not that Calafein gave two damns about his, but it would cause more trouble for him to be absent than to raid the fey elves and pretend to slay most of them. It was a ruse he had perfected over the decades, pretending to slaughter the hated fey elves so they could live on in whatever life they desired.
It was a vile thing to slay these weaker creatures, Calafein believed, and had not the heart for it.
Sinala, on the other hand...
No, that was not an expression of eager excitement that was undoubtedly plastered upon the faces of the rest of their kind. Hers was something different. Perhaps there was yet hope for her?
She produced a wand from her pack. "We must make haste," she said in a hushed voice. "Invisibility."
Calafein nodded. His armor slipped on easily, as the dark elven mail was supple and easy to don and doff. He helped the high priestess with her leather cuirass and she gave him a sharp kiss—his lips stung with the kiss, reminding him of the fervency and violence of their passion. Then, she tapped his forehead with the wand, rendering him invisible, and repeated the process on herself. Together, they sprinted out of the cave mouth to see that their cadre of drow raiders were already encircling the fey elven gathering. The songs had died off, the dancing had ceased, and there was little movement within the perimeter they had marked.
"We were not supposed to attack so soon," Calafein said as they rushed down the smooth foothill that lead to the rolling hillscape the elves had claimed. It would be a solid minute of hard sprinting, and Calafein worried his priestess counterpart would not be up to the effort. Calafein had spent his entire life honing his body to be the perfect fighting machine. Athletic, strong, graceful, durable, there were few tasks he considered difficult in the arena of physicality.
But he heard her feet trod the grass near him, nearly keeping pace with him, and he grinned his approval, not fearing she would notice thanks to their invisibility enchantment.
"Surprising?" she asked, a bit breathlessly. He did not bother responding. "A priestess keeping pace with a weapon master?"
Calafein mastered his expression. He should have expected a high priestess to have means to pierce invisibility. "Not quite keeping pace," he said, and sped away from her.
"They called the attack early," Sinala said from behind him. Not so far behind, though.
"Why?" he asked.
"To shame me," she said, "most likely. Rutting like a beast with a lowborn weapon master. Shameful."
He could not tell if she was chiding herself or not but thought little more of it. There was obvious tension between Sinala Auvryana and the leader of their raiding expedition, a middling priestess of House Baenre, the ruling house. Even though outright assassinations were forbidden during raiding expeditions—and within brothels and other establishments of revelry, but that was not relevant here—there were no laws against shaming your adversaries.
