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.
"Good for her then," Kalthorn said, nodding with an impressed frown. "You almost sound like you wanted to watch."
"If you'd have heard what we've heard... oh boy..." the vulgar dwarf said with a dirty laugh. "Let me tell you something. If I'd make women scream like that, then I would earn my gold with fucking."
Lost in his dirty-minded, indecent praise, he didn't notice that Lyanne's punching had long seized and that the hulking woman stood next to him, shivering top to bottom with pleading eyes.
"Are you sure?" she leaned forward and grabbed his shoulder as she asked with a shaky voice. "About Syn and Fel."
"Am I Sure? We fucking heard the boss belter it into the night! 'Huge Green!
Harder!' Haha! By the great pebble, I swear she wanted us to listen. And Fel wasn't much better. Pretty sure the entire camp heard them," he said, completely unaware every word of his was like ramming an invisible dagger deeper into Lyanne's chest, and he kept on twisting the blade. "I'm sure that wasn't their last time. And then you can hear it for yourself. Unless you, or that cheating bastard over here, sleep through it again somehow."
Kalthorn gave him a playful smack, but clearly thought little of the insult. Naturally it had to be him, who noticed Lyanne's face and eyes growing empty.
"Everything alright, Lyanne?" he asked caringly.
"Yes," she lied, barely whispering.
The 6'9" woman towering above them stared into the distance, her heart shattering into pieces every time she tried to recall those words over and over again. She turned around, ignoring both of them and simply had to start punching. Punch something. Continue to punch, harder and harder, until her knuckles were bloody, and one pain might kill another. Hopefully.
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Fel stretched herself heartily, her metal-ornamented arms rose above her tent when she gave her armpits a sniff. The scent of these weird, blue flowers wasn't something she needed on herself. But the girls at the bathhouse convinced her noble human ladies loved that odd stench. And Lyanne was all about such things.
As she stomped through the camp, Fel pondered on the events of last night. Like Syn's ass, by the spirits... what a nice, round ass! And a great fuck! The best she had with a northerner for sure. Maybe even more than that. For she never felt the satisfying tingle of pumping out a good load this many hours later. Nor did her muscles usually feel this sore and almost burning hot over just some fucking. But also, so insanely full of energy at the same time. Maybe Syn was just that good?
Regardless of what her body wanted her to feel, her thoughts burnt brightest with the moments she shared with Lyanne. When they sat together, just drinking, and talking... and when she tossed that powerful knight over her shoulder and laid her to bed. That was way better than fucking. Even such a fantastic ass.
Thankfully Syn drained her balls bone dry, otherwise Fel would have gotten hard by simply thinking about that brief second that made her heartbeat like a war drum. That kiss. She had looked forward to this morning, even when she was to the hilt deep inside Syn. To seeing Lyanne again and continue what they started the night before. All 7'4" of prime orc meat revelled in giddy excitement, with a blooming grin and restless feet leading the way towards the glorious sound of the most stunning woman in the north forcing her body to grow even more perfect.
Fel's tusks shone in the sun when the muscular knight's bulging back came into view. Her punches were so powerful, they left imprints on the heavy sandbag until it was all but covered.
"Hey, boss," Fel chirped happily, but earned no answer.
Lyanne's sweaty hair kept flowing as she leaned into every punch with an erotic grunt. She must have heard Fel, for she stopped for a split second before resuming even faster.
"She's going extra hard today," Kalthorn said joined by Brossim as they stood up from their fire. "Hasn't talked much. Must be the wine."
