Included kinks:
Futa, non-sex chapter, plot chapter, multiple POVs, fantasy, romance, drama, mini-gts, female muscle, size praise, masturbation, size difference, catfight
All characters are entirely fictional and all above the age of 18!
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Lyanne stared at the ropes connecting the dormered top of her field tent. Again. Was this all she was good for nowadays? Sleeping and recovering? Last night's carousing with Fel must have been glorious though, for her body took easier to mending gaping arrow wounds than to freeing her from a splitting headache. Well, at least she found her way back into her tent somehow and without Syn seeing her in that pitiful state, she hoped. Still, quite a shame Lyanne couldn't remember most of it.
What also eluded her was the reason for the giant tent protruding from her blanket, throbbing with almost painful vigour. She had not been THIS hard for many years. Whatever her drunken mind conjured up in her sleep must have hit the right spot and for sure featured one particularly beautiful half-elf in earnest.
The coal-haired anointed knight's firm grip took care of her raging erection for the third time before she felt fully at peace again.
"What has gotten into you today?" she grinned down at her finally satisfied, limb 8 inches.
Not the worst start to the day.
The constant pulsating in her temple subsided enough by the time she cleaned herself from her sticky early morning routine and stood before her mirror. Like every day she took a few minutes to take in the reflection of her muscular frame. And as usual, she always found a dozen new reasons to further enhance her chiselled physique. This time it was her forearms which she deemed "subpar" enough to prompt her trading the comfort of her tent for a chilly early morning breeze.
The sound of clanging weights and Lyanne's throaty grunts were often the first signs of life in the entire camp. And after a night like the last one, there was no one expected to join her any time soon.
Lyanne worked up a sweat and had gotten through four of her sets before Kalthorn came to join her. He was a northern ranger of strong build and dashing looks, who was always first to greet her in the morning and setting up his tent next to hers with every encampment.
"Lyanne," he said softly with his signature charming grin.
"Kalthorn," she replied with a nod, her chin pulled over the bar once more.
He was a man to her liking, she caught herself thinking. Cultivated, well-mannered, tempered, but fierce in battle. Maybe her sudden fascination for him stemmed from her boozy escapade the night earlier, but she didn't mind. Maybe the influence of a few too many drinks was all he needed to muster that last bit of courage to court her properly as well. And given the great mood Lyanne found herself in, she very well might feel inclined to "reward" such courage.
She bit her lips and tempted him with her eyes and pumped arms, but the right moment passed as fast as it arose.
"You long-limbed cheat! I knew you only took baby-sips!" a thickly accented, always thunderous voice echoed.
"Brossim Cavebane. Risen from the dead. Back for more I see," Kalthorn replied after Lyanne broke her lusty gaze.
The red-haired dwarf growled and waddled into Lyanne's vision, as always, a huge grog in his hand and head-butted the ranger, who he barely reached to his chest.
"Careful, you lanky pansy. You speak to the champion of Tukhardún. Four years running," he chuckled.
"Can't be for drinking, judging by yesterday's showing," Kalthorn returned and after an intense stare-down both started cackling like drunken fools.
Brossim was dwarf through and through. Lyanne couldn't really tell where his hair ended, and his beard began. To her, it was almost impossible to make sense of what expression he was wearing, unless he was shaking top to bottom with merry laughter. Which was often, especially when he indulged on his self-made schnapps.
"Can you believe that guy?" Brossim said and at last addressed Lyanne now punching away on her bag. "You're also looking better than yesterday. And I can say for certain you didn't cheat."
"And I still pay the price for it," Lyanne grinned back.
"Did you drink any of mine?" Brossim asked, his wild beard quaking in what must have been a smug grin underneath.
"I think I would be dead if I did," she replied and made him erupt with laughter again.
"See! When a big lass like her can't take it, so can't you. You cheeky fucker," Brossim snorted and pushed his grog into Kalthorn's stomach. "Now bottom up. This time for real. I'll watch."
The two made for an odd, yet inseparable pair. In a way they complemented each other. 'The calm and the storm', as Lyanne often called them. A bit of a shame, for she liked Kalthorn more when he was by himself compared to when Brossim's uncouth demeanour rubbed off on him.
Knowing that her role would be secondary at best from there on, Lyanne returned to her regular rhythm. Beat for beat, her mind slipped away and shrank to nothing but her, the pleasurable tightness in her arms and the sandbag.
"What else did I miss? Besides you getting even more shitfaced?" Kalthorn said.
"Oh boy! You didn't hear it?" Brossim giggled. "You must have been more drunk than me after all."
"Hear what?"
"The boss getting her brains fucked out. All fucking night."
Lyanne picked up fragments of the last few words, purely on accident, but her ears sharpened and her heart started racing immediately.
"With whom?!" the ranger pressed on.
"Noone else but big ol' Fel. That orc... by the builder's epic beard... she must know her way around a woman's body. Never heard someone moan like that," the dwarf said, somehow with another horn in his hand and a small barrel to pour from.
Lyanne stopped, wishing her ears deceived her, but she could see Brossim thrusting his hips to further accentuate his point.
