A plush, red couch adorned in silver with tiny tasseled pillows sat in the middle of the large, dark room. The windows were high and the silver moonlight poked through the leafy trees, casting an eerie glow on the nearly bare room. The couch was of elven design, of course, and surrounded by tiny, whisking candle flames, blowing in the slight draft of evening. Sparse though the room was, a book rested on the seat, its weight heavy on the overstuffed couch. The candles smelled of pure wax and fire, though the room also had a slight tinge of incense, mild hints of sweet spices mixed with flame. The room was fairly large and with simple décor, several small wooden tables and chairs spread out to surround the couch. A large painting was hung between the two windows of a beautiful elven maiden with dark hair and a pregnant stomach, splayed outdoors in the woods across a large rock. The painting was expertly made and richly framed though the colours were dark and subdued giving it an almost haunting look in the flickering light.
Slowly the men began to arrive. Not many had been invited, though they had all been elves of a rather rich upbringing. They had been carefully selected for their part in the Silvermoon restoration in regards to art and literature. Scholars. They shuffled in on their heavy, unsure feet, having not quite experienced anything like this and unsure of how the evening would unfold. They nod to each other somberly and take their seats, quiet and awkward, their bodies folded into themselves. All in all there were four. A fifth chair and the couch remain absent of presence.
The men sat in the large, bare room, tapping their fingers awkwardly and watching the moon light through the window as it rose higher and more dominant in the air, the trees twitching under its blue watch, rustling as if in anticipation. Across the room in the far corner, sitting in the dark, was a shelf lined with rich books, coated in fine leathers, the scent of their bindings and aged pages subtle against the more dominant flames and incense, but detectable none the less.
Small, bare footsteps tip toed along the heavy wooden floor, inaudible to all but the most attuned hunter’s ears. The hall leading to the room, the men knew, was long and with many doors leading off. The house was being rented from one of the rich magister’s outside of Silvermoon, restored to its former antiqued glory at no small expense for its owner. To recoup his losses he took to leasing some of his private rooms for those with more specific needs and requirements. Among his best clients were those looking for privacy from the prying, judging eyes of Silvermoon. Discretion was the key.
The tiny footsteps continued to creep down the hall with languished movements, a heavier pair of feet now joining them, echoing into the halls. The rooms were soundproofed, of course, in the renovation. The magister had a great desire to keep his noises to himself. Slowly a tanned, forceful hand pressed open the heavy wooden door from its ajar state, a trim and agile body pushing through the frame. He steps to the side and elegantly bows towards the door in a fluid motion, accompanied by a sweep of his arm, his toned body obvious through his tight black pants and fitted black and silver filigreed shirt. His blond hair was carefully brushed and pulled back into a high pony hair, bangs lovingly clinging to the sides of his face and forehead, with long, thick golden locks that spilled around his ears and over his shoulders. Even in the dim light his face looked boyish and charming. He held the low bow as the woman stepped through the door, standing there a moment and letting her eyes adjust to the dark, her silhouette in the doorway showing off the brilliant curves, her waist nipping in tightly where a gold-trimmed red silken belt hung, then rolling outwards over her thighs.
There were no clothing lines on her body, though that wasn’t to say she was bare. What little accessories she did wear were carefully picked out for the evening. A long, pearl necklace draped over her neck, wound around three times with the longest strand cusping the top of her large chest, the second hugging at her collar bone and the third, shortest length wrapped loosely around her neck. A matching bracelet hung delicately on her thin wrist. Her blonde hair was piled high in an elaborate updo, carefully curled and pinned up with a few loose strands framing her face. A black flower sat at the side of her head, above her long, elven ear.
Even in the dark her eyes glowed the fel green, and as she began moving she stayed on her tip toes, her movements long and purposeful. Her bare pelvis was thrust out proudly, her arms back as she presents her chest to the watching men, luscious ample breasts perched majestically there, the curves of which hung in such a naturally beautiful manner. Each leg purposefully traveling in front of the other, her curved and toned stems outlined lovingly in the moon lit eve. Her gaze met each of the men’s, slowly as she studied their faces, each of them handsome in the dim light. The male elf at the door had trailed his eyes upon her as she walked, his own fel green gaze watching the tiny small of her waist and her rounded rear as she moved, transfixed as if in a blissful daze. He slowly righted himself, moving towards the free chair and sitting his own toned ass upon it silently.
Anjasa stopped in front of the couch, the candles moving in the breezes of her careful movements. Her voice is low in tone, laced with the thickness of sweet honey as she welcomes those around her to an evening, she promises, that they will never forget. She lifts the book, fingering the indented title in the leather before slowly crawling upon the couch. She lay to her side with her bottom leg outstretched, her top leg bent to an angle, her triangular mound slightly hidden beneath her toned and shapely thighs. A small silver chain hugs tightly to her slender ankle, glinting in the flickering candles. Her body is fully tanned with a light, healthy glow, her stomach toned with almost no hint of any fat. Her supple breasts fell casually to the gravity, the necklace squeezed between the two rounded globes of flesh, her areola and nipples excited by the small cool air that breezed through the open window.
She had specifically requested the heavy crimson curtains to be parted to their maximum capacity, the windows facing the empty back yard, a small pond some distance away. The trees, though, provided the necessary cover from prying eyes. Anjasa’s delicate fingers caressed the book a moment longer, a single white-gold band adorning her thumb, before opening the book entitled ‘The Real Anhola’.
The room was silent but for the soft wisps of wind and the quiet, polite breathing of the men. Anjasa opens her full, carefully painted crimson lips and licks her long, dexterous finger with her moist tongue, flicking open the first few aged and yellowed pages, the musky scent rising into the air.
“The dew was thick on the tiny blades of grass,” she starts in slowly, putting pressure on the word thick, “the rain having fallen quickly the night before, though it had paused some time before day break. A bare footed path carved through the wet blades, the gaps between them in long, frantic strides. A puddle of mud held the print of a fallen bottom, the weight of a bag having crushed into the ground.”
Anjasa pauses and looks at her audience, licking her lips and moistening them. Her eye lids were pointed a smokey grey, seductively outlining her almond eye shape. Her lips were full and carefully shaped, the bow of her mouth more prominent.
“The steps continued, trailing the mud with it for more steps before returning to their cleaned state, disappearing in the woods. However, the steps were not unpaired, often matching with heavier, longer strides, more certain and determined. There was no stumbling for those feet; they were broad and carefully planned. Though they were in a rush, they were not running. They would simply outlast the smaller, more frantic steps.
“And, should you have traveled further into that forest, and followed those steps to the small pond where the smaller of the feet was trying to drink and regain her strength, you would have seen the beast of the man that had caught up to her,” Anjasa pauses, looking around the room to check for their rapt attention, “his body broad and muscular as he lurched over the petite girl-woman in her simple night robe and her fearful eyes and her matted hair and known the dastardly things he had done to her before leaving her for dead there in the forest.
“But the story would not end there, for there was another farmer’s daughter picking berries in that deep and foreboding place, and the woman tenderly cared for her and nursed her back to a state of health. Lita was Anhola’s little savior, as well as her father and mother who allowed her to stay despite the mysterious illness that caused her to be ill in the morning and to desire more food. Anhola wouldn’t speak, except to Lita, and only in the dark in the heat of the sticky summer. Lita slowly drew out about the monster of the man that had chased her and the blood relation that complicated matters and chained her to him despite all her fear and reservations.
“And as the months passed, her mysterious illness didn’t seem quite so mysterious and she gave birth to a tiny little daughter. The stress was too much, though,” Anjasa pauses and struggles to hide her discomfort of the thought, relatively successful in that, “and she had lost so much blood. The farmer’s daughter could not save her twice. But Lita took the child as her own, though she was but a child herself, and coddled and raised it, sheltering her from the pain that her birth had caused.
“And when the child hit her eighteenth birthday, Lita decided she should know the truth. But little Anhola, named in the memory of her mother, handled things as her mother did before her and ran. She ran through the farmer’s fields, then through the thick forests, and in to the small towns where she collapsed and could no longer run. It wasn’t something she had planned and she left without anything more than the clothes on her back, and without a thought in her mind other than the deep desire to flee.”
Anjasa paused, inhaling the scent of the leather and the incense, turning onto her back briefly, her body shifting slowly as she does. She raises her leg nearest the audience, bending it at her knee and digging her toes into the sofa, her other leg relaxing down as her breasts roll back against her chest, the supple flesh moving so delightfully.
“But she had left without a copper to her name, and had nothing to sell but for her meager clothes and the young body covered under them, and though she had never met another man before, she found herself clutching onto one’s hand as he dragged her away with the silken promise of a place to rest her body for the evening.
Her body quivered slightly as the words rolled off her tongue seductively, “Her payment would be total and direct the course of the rest of her life, splaying herself before the man as he impaled her and she sobbed as his hot liquid hit her chest and stomach, but he curled up with her and let her sleep. So weary was she that she pressed her sticky body to him as he spooned her, his naked body rough and large against her slender, waifish form.”
Anjasa let out a slight, kittenish purr, her own body responding to the titillating words, her nipples hardening and pointing up slightly, succulently capping her smooth mounds. She looks to the other men in the audience and though their breathing was heavier and their attention full on her, staring at her lips and her breasts and her hips, touching her with their eyes, they stayed in their seats politely, their formal wear stiff against their varied forms.
Maglin, her attendant for the evening, in his filigreed top, was smiling at her broadly with his white teeth flashing, stuck on every word and every subtle motion in her body. Her legs tensed and relaxed slightly, her breasts rocking slightly with her movements as she turns the page, her arm casually draped along her side as she continued the tale of how the man asked her to travel with them, his large hands guiding her as they traveled town to town, a tiny and discrete collar curving along her lithe throat, firmly buckled and engraved.
“He defiled her, nightly, whether she was able or not. One night her body was hot with fever, her flesh burning to the touch as he pressed his head to her mound, her fiery body consuming his member in lust as he ravages her feverish form. She bounced against him, her body still tiny from too little food and too much walking with her skinny arms splayed above her on the bed as she drifted in and out of consciousness.”
Anjasa lets her arms drop in front of her with a tiny ‘ooh,’ her throat cooing as she fingers the bookmark with its gold little tassels, tucking it into the book. Her rich voice, pausing to strengthen from the prolonged narrative as she looks to each of the men whom fidget in their seat. She places the book down on the floor, then looks over at Maglin, patting the plush fabric in front of her, “There will now be a short intermission,” she says slowly as her eyes languish on Maglin’s form as he slowly disrobes.
He reaches his hands under the corners of his tight, silken shirt as he tugs it up over his toned abs, his well muscled pecs, his firm biceps. He lowers his arms to his side, hands fondling his belt buckle before teasingly opening it, letting to fall open to the sides of his pants, quickly undoing the buttons along his pants, pealing the tight material away revealing his hairless pubic region and the top quarter of his blood filled member, throbbing against the tight constraints of his clinging garments.
He lowers the pants readily, his firm cock pouncing for its new found freedom. Already a slight dab of precum glistens on the tip of his deeply hued head as it bounces with his movements before finally removing the last stitch of his clothing. Moving forward in front of the four other men with a haughty stride, his bare backside and legs toned and curved to paint a lovely picture of power mixed with a lithe, boyish body.
He sits at the area that Anjasa had been lovingly stroking with her finger tips, right in front of her stomach as she had watched him reveal his body without an ounce of shame or reservation. Her smooth form moved slightly as she made room for him, her breasts rippling slightly and rubbing together as she shifts, parting her thighs slightly to reveal her shaved mound but for a teasing trail of hair right above the top of her slit. Her inner lips poked through slightly as she revealed herself, the darker pink of her inner labia glossy and textured. Her clitoral hood remained covered by her protective outer lips, the flesh soft and delicate, exposed to the exhibitionist crowd.
Maglin moved carefully so as not to block the view, studied as he was in the art of theatre, he slowly parted her legs wider, lifting her top leg into the air and pressing further, bringing it towards her side as his probing fingers on his free hand delicately touched the soft and exposed inner most thighs, the skin heightened with nerves and sensations, causing Anjasa to shiver as another ripple crosses over her soft chest. Maglin prods further, his finger slowly pulling back a delicate outer petal, exposing the meaty, tender flesh within.
The elven woman rolls her eyes back in her head, her fingers twitching nervously and with excitement, eager to feel Maglin’s digits press into her silky folds as she pulls her leg closer to her, her sinewy muscles flexible yet held taut, her toes carefully pointed to create a sleeker illusion. Maglin toys with the soft flesh held hidden between her outer and inner labia, caressing it with great pleasure as his own body tenses with desire, another creamy amount of precum pressing through his slit, running over his foreskin and pausing, glistening there.
He brings his soft and manicured finger to his mouth, sucking on it to free it from her heady scent, his tongue snaking around the digit erotically as his moist muscle stimulates his nervous system, felatiating it with great skill and pleasure. He lowers it slowly from his lips, pulling his lower lip down before pressing it back between Anjasa’s inner most petals, pressing into her slit deeply as his lashes flutter excitedly. His member bobs again, hitting off his toned and bare lower stomach with a tiny slap that would be inaudible had the audience not collectively held their breath.
She shivers, the pleasure of the erotic touch traveling up her leg, her toes tensing and curling briefly as she exhales. Maglin slowly moves off the couch to the open end, his finger spiraling about her insides as he moves, resting his upper body on the couch as he leans his face in, inhaling sharply before snaking his tentative tongue out of his full, plush lips, pressing the member to where her lips meet her thighs, trailing just the tip up the length of her as he slowly removes his sole finger from her pussy, opening up the rarely exposed flesh. The dim light teasingly casts long shadows along her body, hiding her tender most area as Maglin works his tongue closer over the soft, moist flesh. His mouth moves closer and closer before he finally licks her inner lip, sucking it into his mouth slighyt as a gentle moan erupts from Anjasa’s throat.
Her carefully defined brows furrow as she watches the audience’s intent gaze on her private nethers, their bodies hard and rigid as they lean forward, and she notes that no less than two were trying to discretely readjust or rub at their own packages. She pulls her leg further back, grasping at the tiny chain on her ankle and tugging it, the round curve of her ass digging into Maglin’s side. He inhales her rich scent as he slowly lets her inner lip fall back into place, his tongue darting over her revealed slit, traveling up it with a languishing moan before finally reaching its destination – her exposed clit. It pokes slightly out of the hood, throbbing delicately against the exposed breath and air.
He kisses the tiny, sensitive nub tenderly, his full lips pressing against her as his nose nuzzles the tiny patch of manicured hair, flicking his tongue out at it and eliciting a low, honeyed groan from Anjasa’s mouth, quivering against his skillful ministrations.
He probes her with the flat of his tongue, the nub wetly gliding under his wet muscle, the pleasure already quickly mounting and shivering through Anjasa’s body, her stomach tensing and her breasts jostling slightly as she moves to eagerly press her wanting bud to his skillful tongue, suckling and delicately prodding at her as her body shakes around him, struggling to keep her leg hoisted in the air over her head as it shakes, the thin layer of pillowy flesh on her thighs quivering as she slowly breaches her orgasm with tiny, desperate pants. Her eyes open quickly, staring at the men as she reaches the cusp of her pleasure, her mound quivering against Maglin’s tender tongue, shaking her body with delight. Her nipples reach full peak atop her elegantly rounded, shaking breasts, her hands instinctively grab for them. Her slender digits sink into her large, supple mounds, causing her flesh to rise between her fingers. She continues squeezing them for the onlookers delight as she lowers her raised leg to Maglin’s muscled shoulder, her leg wrapping around his back.
She breathes with baited breath as her pleasure rescinds and her body relaxes slowly. Her arm falls over the side of the couch, finger tips brushing against the back of the leather book she had discarded, “Now then,” she says slowly, her own tongue thick and heavy in her wet mouth, “Moving on to chapter three.”
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