Dual Apprentices - High Society
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Teenagers, Consensual, Romantic, Magic, Heterosexual, Fiction, First, Oral Sex, Size, School,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Wenn and Crissa discover that in high society, being a magician can be a disadvantage.
"We've got to what?" asked Wenn, his face incredulous.
Crissa looked at him, focusing her huge blue eyes on his flailing hands as he spoke. "Master Marrat wishes us to receive what he calls 'classical' education," she repeated. "In addition to our normal studies."
"At the Academy?" Wenn peered out the window of their shared room, eyeing the tall spire that marked the main building of the Academy of Norboro. "But that place is full of nobles' brats and rich merchants' spoiled kids."
"Speaking of spoiled," said Crissa, giving Wenn a sidelong look. "Perhaps we should concern ourselves more with the difficulty of the instruction there than with the social worries. Hmm?"
After her somewhat chastising words, she rose from her desk and put her arms around Wenn's shoulders. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'll protect you from the bullies," said Crissa, kissing his earlobe. Her hands moved down his chest and to his lap, where she found him already growing stiff. "My mighty Wenn," she cooed, squeezing his swelling prick through his pants.
Wenn smiled and leaned back to kiss her neck and to nuzzle into her straw-colored hair. "You know, they say lushes drink before noon. What do they call a woman who wants love before noon?"
"A catch," said Crissa, flashing him a brilliant, dangerous smile before moving back and toward the door into the stairwell.
The young apprentice's smile evaporated as he watched Crissa open the door, and a small measure of alarm came into his expression. "You're leaving?" he asked.
"You implied some fault to my desiring affection in the early day," said Crissa. "I'll not pester you with unreasonable demands." With that, she flipped her long tresses over her shoulder and disappeared through the doorway.
Wenn sat silently for a long moment, and mourned the pleasure his so-called wit had just cost him. He then closed the hefty tome he had been perusing and stacked his parchment notes into an orderly pile, looking at Crissa's disheveled desktop as he did so. No discipline, he thought, but then again, she's studying a different form of magic than I.
That sentiment was more than true. Crissa, indeed, was studying a very different form of magic from the wizardry Wenn studied. She was an innate power. That is, her power was inborn, not learned. What she had to learn was to control and hone that power. Wenn, however, studied the world of spell casting. His learning was akin to mathematics, and had many formulae in common with that esoteric art of number juggling. However, instead of manipulating the concepts inherent in numbers, he was manipulating reality. Spells had to be learned, and the formulae memorized and the rotes perfected. Crissa simply had to think properly, focus her mind and things happened.
They weren't flashy things, like a fireball, they were subtle, quiet things, like turning a man's mind to thoughts of lust, or hate, or fear. She could even, now, sense the surface thoughts on another's mind, and of late, had been able to sense other things, like the air about her, and even Wenn's magical aether being drawn in for a spell.
Marrat was rather fumbling in the dark instructing Crissa, as he was a wizard, as Wenn would become. He only took Crissa on as an apprentice because he feared for her safety, and for the safety of those near to her, if her powers remained undisciplined. At least, here at Marrat's home, and nearby, he could counter most of the effects of her occasional outbursts of power and random emotional shrapnel. In the meantime, he did as much research into her abilities as he could, both through observing her, and through study of books, which came from farflung libraries about the Western Realms and beyond.
Wenn closed the door behind him and descended from the turret room that he shared with Crissa. They had been lovers since they first made the two-day journey from Morrovale to Norboro. Marrat had planned that, they later discovered. He was not particularly keen on having two apprentices at one time, but with her powers manifesting in the form of unbridled lusts and desire, he desired to have a young buck about to soak up the stray arrows.
Not that Wenn minded the extra dose of attention directed at him whenever Crissa accidentally set herself into rut on the occasion. Being eighteen, almost nineteen, he had little issue with it at all.
Soon after their arrival, Crissa had breached the subject of monogamy, and they decided, rather she decided that it would not be practical to try to hold one another to such a thing. He loved her, and she him, but they could not promise, especially with random fluxes of passion floating about the house all the time, that they would never cross that line, so she erased the line.
Crissa was making breakfast as he entered the kitchen, and Marrat was sitting at the table, looking like a petulant child who was being kept from his favorite dessert.
At Wenn's curious look, Crissa said, "He was going to eat pie for breakfast!" She cast accusing eyes at Master Marrat, their mentor.
Marrat looked at her with a squint. "I'm sixty-two years old, if I want pie for breakfast, by the One, I'll have pie for breakfast!"
Crissa spun about, her hair fanning into a golden halo, she stopped, with her small hands in fists upon her nicely curved hips. "You'll eat a proper breakfast, and you'll like it," she said, with an air of certainty. Then her face broke into a huge smile and she ducked in toward the elderly magician, hugging his neck and back. "I only wish to take care of you, you sweet man." She then kissed the top of his balding head and straightened his blue sash, the mark of his profession.
The old wizard tried to wriggle free of her grip, but was not very convincing that he did not like the attention she was giving him. Though his lips remained in a semi-scowl, his eyes were sparkling and had the straight lower lid of a hidden smile.
Wenn helped her prepare breakfast, mostly by fetching utensils from various disparate cabinets and drawers about the rather odd kitchen that Marrat insisted on keeping his way.
"The headmaster will be expecting you two tomorrow morning," announced Marrat, digging into his oatmeal, eggs, and sliced ham with gusto, belying totally his lack of desire for breakfast.
"Must we?" asked Wenn, picking at his food with the unpleasant, at least in his mind, future looming over him.
Master Marrat leaned back from shoveling food into his mouth. "Son, this is an exceptional opportunity for some formal education at the Academy. It is not every year that they have two students drop out mid-term and leave vacancies that the Headmaster wishes to fill pro bono."
"Besides, Wenn, you were the one who was all excited at living in the 'cultural center of the duchy'," said Crissa.
Wenn stared at his oatmeal for a moment. "That was before I met the people at that center."
The first week in Norboro, Wenn had come across several students from the Academy at the pub nearest Marrat's home. As he sat and drank his ale, they came over and began to give him grief. Soon it escalated to full-blown bullying, and then one had thrown a punch at Wenn, when he refused to back down from an insult he returned to the lad, with interest.
Wenn had thoroughly beaten the lad who started it, without even resorting to magic, but his two friends extracted vengeance in short order, leaving Wenn with bruises to both his body and ego. Crissa's vengeance had been swift and utter. The two lads had been caught the next morning, performing acts upon one another in the middle of the town square that immediately got them expelled from the Academy, hence the two vacancies amid term.
People about town still marveled that the two lads had managed such a thing, much less actually did it in public. When Wenn asked Crissa about it, she simply said that she knew little of the perversions that the rich and noble got up to, but that she heard it could be quite depraved.
"Sorry about picking on you about your flirting with me this morning," said Wenn as they washed dishes side by side. "It was only a joke."
Crissa leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. "I know, dear," she said. "I wasn't truly in the mood, I simply wished to play some."
Marrat had retired to his study to work on some new formulae for Wenn to study, and probably, by the theories that both the apprentices held, come up with odious chores for them to perform. Crissa dried her hands and moved behind him pressing her body to his back and hugging him from behind.
"Still playing?" asked Wenn.
"No," replied Crissa, "now, I am in the mood." In an instant, Wenn was, too. He never knew if it was she or himself, but when Crissa wanted love-play, he knew he did, too.
He turned about in her arms and kissed her, pulling her to him and enjoying the wiggle of her body against his. He breathed deep the jasmine scent of her hair and then kissed her flawless neck as she unfastened his pants. As the thong that held the front of his pants closed came loose, his erect cock sprang forth. Crissa grasped it with a practiced hand and began stroking his now fully hard organ, smiling at him.
"How this time?" asked Wenn.
Crissa giggled. "On the table."
Wenn kept kissing her neck and ear as he moved toward the table, Crissa backing the whole way. She ended up sitting on the table stroking his hard cock in one hand and lifting her long dress with the other. She still refused to dress in the more current 'elven' style, wearing short skirts and half-tunic tops. Wenn no longer lamented that, for she also never wore undergarments and he found her quite accessible for that.
A moment later, she was prone on the table, and he was inside her, grasping her legs to his stomach and chest and driving his rod into her feverishly. This was to be a quick round, he knew, from the fact that she was not naked, and neither was he. When Crissa intended longer bouts of love play, she managed to get them nude, and usually into their room, usually.
She screamed out as her climax took her, and her fingernails dug at the wooden top of the table, which was already somewhat scarred up by her markings. As she came, a blue and yellow, coruscating light surrounded the room, and rippled as the waves of pleasure overcame her. The magical wards that prevented her stray arousal from escaping the house were absorbing her lusts. However, they seemed to be taking more effort to do so these days. Crissa was growing more powerful. Even with the added control she had learned over the last few months, she still had a lot of what Marrat called 'backlash'.
Wenn followed her example and came soon after, grunting and driving his spike deep into her as he spilled his seed into her. Crissa ran her hands over his arms and her own thighs as she cooled down, cooing and smiling at the ceiling. A few moments later, she and Wenn were dressed again and Wenn politely cleaned the table, not that they had tarried long enough to make a noticeable mess of it.
Master Marrat came in a moment later. "One protect me, girl," he groused. "You're getting stronger faster than you're getting better control." The old wizard's robe tented out a little from a receding erection as he shuffled through the kitchen and out the back door to the outhouse. "Make sure you clean the table, I don't wish to get anything on my cuffs when I eat lunch," he added as he wandered down the steps and closed the back door.
Wenn and Crissa laughed at his constant barrage of complaints. Marrat had already proven that he liked his apprentices, and his fussiness was, in his own way, his manner of showing it. They had met a former apprentice that he did not like much, and that lad complained that he never spoke at all, not to complain or anything.
They trudged up the stairs to their turret, which was on the third floor of his home. "I sort of have a date tonight," said Wenn.
"Oh?" asked Crissa, turning as she reached the door into their room. "With whom?"
Wenn blushed. "Shanelle," he replied. "You know, the girl who works at the bakery."
"Oh, her." Crissa's face took on a look of happiness. "She's very pretty, and I hear tell she is quite, well, friendly."
The lad gave Crissa an odd look. "I didn't say being friendly was bad," said Crissa defensively. "I'm a bit friendly myself."
Another impassive look from Wenn caused her to blush. "Okay, very friendly myself, extremely friendly, even."
Crissa giggled then. "You win. I'm a one girl welcome wagon," she finally said.
Wenn kissed her, pressing her to the wall. "And that is why I love only you," he said as they pulled back from the kiss.
"And I love you," said Crissa quietly.
"If you'd rather I didn't go?" asked Wenn, and Crissa saw the half hopeful look in his eyes. She knew he wanted them to be monogamous, but she was afraid to commit to that. It would hurt them more if they promised it, then she broke it in a moment of weekness.
She sighed. "Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted me to pay her a little visit this afternoon, sort of give you a little edge for tonight?"
Wenn looked shocked. "No!" he exclaimed. "Please, don't ever do that."
She shrugged. "Okay. I won't."
"It was kind of you to offer," said Wenn afterward.
Crissa grinned. "What are lovers for?" she asked.
"What are your plans tonight?" asked Wenn as they went into their room and he sat upon his bed.
She looked into the distance. "I don't rightly know," she said, truthfully. "I suppose, I could go out and be friendly."
Wenn covered his look of dismay quickly, but not quickly enough. It wrenched Crissa's heart a little to see him like this, but she knew it had to be so. She had tried, during their first week in town to remain loyal only to him. However, the first time she had been alone, things had gone far different.
Crissa had been doing the shopping for the household. Working her way through the market stalls and picking out choice fruits, vegetables, and breads, along with seeking out odd herbs and chemicals for which Marrat had given her a list.
As she had been perusing a particularly odd assortment of little vials of strangely marked chemicals, she had felt a palpable stare upon her. It was her senses again, working sporadically and without control. She turned to see a very large man standing across the narrow alley between the stalls, leaning on a tent pole, and watching her with very interested eyes.
He was a Coghlander, one of the large men from the island of the same name. He stood at least a foot taller than she, and massed, probably double her own weight.
She turned back to her studies of the bottles and once again felt the stare, this time accompanied by an undeniable desire. She could feel him wanting her.
Again, Crissa turned and glanced toward him, her eyes drawn to the front of his skirtlike kilt like moths to a candle. He noted her stare, and followed her sight line and his handsome, rugged face smiled at her as he moved his legs and stood differently, casting the outline of his organ more clearly in the loose-hanging cloth of his patterned kilt.
Crissa turned back to the chemicals, thinking, he's huge. She was now uncomfortably hot between her thighs. An image flashed in her mind of the big Coghlander behind her, with her bent over a barrel and taking her with that oversized cock he was sporting. That was no imagining of hers, the thought was his.
She swallowed and abandoned her search for rare chemicals and decided to get home, now.
With quick, furtive movements, she headed out of the market square. Then, after moving a block away, she realized she was going the wrong direction. She had walked down a dead-end alley. What am I doing? she thought.
She spun about, preparing to walk back out of the long, narrow alley. It had made a couple of minor turns around buildings since she had left the market and she could not see the brightly festooned stalls from here. However, she did see the Coghlander. Once again, he was propping up something with his massive shoulder. This time it was a wall. He was so powerful-looking that she could have sworn he really was holding the wall up.
Her breathing was now shallow and rapid. Again, the image of her lying over a barrel, and being spread open wide by his thick spike flashed into her mind. Her eyes flicked over to her right, where a barrel lay upon its side, just like the one she had seen in her vision. It wasn't mind sending, it was foretelling, she thought, One save me.
"You look lost," the Coghlander said in a very powerful voice. His Westron was passable, but not particularly good.
She shook her head. "I just got a bit disoriented," said Crissa. She tried mightily, but could not avoid looking down at his somewhat tented kilt. A moment later, she realized she was still staring at his organ outlined in stark relief by shadows on the cloth. With a quick shake of her head, she blinked and lifted her gaze to his eyes. He was smiling again. Her legs were wobbly now, and she was not at all sure she would make it out of this alley without stumbling. She sat upon a nearby crate that lay near one wall. The heat between her thighs was intense now and her mind was casting about furiously for a way out of this situation.
The Coghlander, running his fingers through his red hair stepped closer to her and sat upon another crate nearby. Her eyes tracked him, and once again, against her very will, locked themselves onto his semi-hard prick sliding and bobbing beneath the cloth as he moved.
"You a very pretty girl," the mercenary said, looking at her with deep green eyes. She felt a wave of lust wash over her as he said that. "Very tall for Westron lass, and beautiful eyes."
Crissa looked at him. "Thank you," she said, then almost reflexively added, "You're very handsome." She knew he could hear her small, gasping breaths of air, and the way her eyes darted about, but always coming back to his slightly tented kilt. His organ was no longer semi-hard, it was fully erect, and seemed to go halfway down his long, muscular thigh, she swallowed again, from both worry, and because her mouth was full of saliva.
Another image flashed, unbidden, through her mind, of her on her knees before this mighty man, servicing him as best she could.
The Coghlander's eyes widened. He felt that one, she thought, this is about to get bad. She visibly saw his organ twitch beneath his kilt, the cloth moved a good distance from where his root should start, she noted, a very long distance.
He watched her eyes for a long moment, and she finally blinked again and looked up to his. "You want see it?" he asked.
Crissa's face turned a deep crimson and she gasped. "Oh my," she said, her eyes again moving down, as if a reflex, to the pronounced bulge. Then, in a voice almost totally devoid of volume, Crissa said, "Yes." What? No! NO! her mind rebelled.
"Look if you want," he said, smiling at her. Despite her better judgement or even her own straining will, Crissa knelt before him and began sliding her hands up his muscular thighs. She hooked the hem of his kilt with her thumbs as her hands moved upward. Having lifted the kilt only a few inches, she already saw the massive knob of his cock's head, still hidden beneath the fleshy hood of foreskin. Her eyes widened at the thought of how far below his groin this extremity of his member laid. She pushed the kilt up to his waist, his organ bobbing upward from beneath the heavy cloth.
She gasped at his size and at the magnificence of it. It was two-thirds the length of her forearm and thicker than her wrist. Each of his massive testicles would fill one of her hands, she figured.
She swallowed again. "Wow," said Crissa. "That's impressive."
"You want look closer, touch?" The Coghlander asked, taking the kilt's accordioned cloth from her and holding it to free her hands.
"Yes," she agreed again. NO! NO! NO! a small voice in her head said, even as she leaned in closer.
She was over a foot from him and his pole was nearly reaching to her. Crissa looked at one side then the other, noting the large, thick veins that covered the mostly smooth surface and the foreskin that covered the head. Men of the Western Realms were almost all circumcised; this was the first foreskinned penis she had seen.
"Touch," the Coghlander said.
Her eyes went up to his face as he spoke, then immediately focused upon his cock again.
Crissa tentatively raised her right hand and wrapped it about the shaft of his organ midway between the head and base. Before she could think, she said. "I can't even get my fingers around its girth." Crissa playfully pushed the foreskin back, revealing the swollen head beneath. It stayed put when she let go, held back by the swell of the ridge behind the head.
He looked down, and indeed, there was a gap of almost half an inch between her thumb and middle finger.
Moisture was joining the heat between her thighs. "You like?" the Coghlander asked, and once again, her body betrayed her mind by nodding. "You know how cocksuck?" he asked, using a crude word, but quite adequate for describing the action he wanted her to take.
NO! NO! NO! NO! her mind shouted as she opened her mouth and took the huge head into herself. Her jaw popped as she opened it far enough to take him in. She already tasted precome, even now, and knew this would be a very juicy man. The skin of his pole was soft like silk and hot as it slid over her tongue.
Her other hand joined the first and she began stroking the long thick shaft with both. The Coghlander said something she did not understand, and his powerful, massive hands held to the back of her head. He was definitely a moist man, and she was obliged to swallow several times to keep breathing.
I'm sucking a stranger's cock in an alley, Crissa thought, I'm such a whore.
The Coghlander grunted and his hands locked into place behind her head. She readied herself and expected it when her mouth was flooded with gout after gout of semen. Crissa feared for a moment she would choke on it, so copious was the flow, but it subsided quickly, leaving her only a few trickles around the edge of her mouth to lap up.
He sighed, pulled her upright, and kissed her, apparently not minding the taste of his own seed on her lips. With no visible effort, he picked her up and laid her over the barrel. There it is, she thought, smiling at having been right, after all. Soon her dress was up under her arms and he was burying his tongue into her opening. By the one, even his tongue is large.
The big Coghlander lifted her rump from the barrel and began to suck and lick her entire lower groin, from her anus to her clit, and back. She groaned in pleasure as he thrust his soft, thick tongue into her backside then again into her cunt. In moments, she grabbed his head and held his mouth to her as she ground her cunt into his mouth, then screamed as she climaxed. "One protect! Take me you barbarian!" exclaimed Crissa, pulling his hair and trying to pull his head up to hers, to lay him over her body.
The redheaded man obliged willingly, moving up her until he was directly over her body, lying draped over the barrel. He lifted his kilt again and held it up as he aimed his rod at her entrance. She felt the head of his cock trying to open her and her face took on a look of momentary fear as he did so, stretching her wide open in the process. His cock had been thicker than her wrist at midpoint, but was much thicker, still, at the head, and toward the base.
As inches slid into her well-lubricated cunt, she groaned, feeling now more opened than she had ever felt. She loved Wenn, it was true, but he could not open her like this, and definitely could not drive into her with the fury that this man was releasing. His massive arms corded as he pulled her down onto his cock, impaling her on his length. She grunted as her pelvis slammed into his.
It hurt a little, she had to admit, but it felt good a LOT. He drove into her repeatedly, hammering her body with blow after blow from his powerful thrusts. All the muscles in his thighs and arms worked together to drive him into her as much as he pulled her into him; the barrel creaked in protest at the rocking motion. Again, she felt her muscles lock up as another climax overtook her, then another. She screamed out each time, calling out obscenities and demanding more. "Fuck me harder, man, HARDER!" she screamed.
The Coghlander smiled and happily complied with her wishes. Grabbing each leg with one hand, he lifted them until he was standing with them pulled to his chest and her shoulders on the barrel. With a grunt, he drove into her in this new position and knocked the wind from her as his cock bottomed out. "YES!" she screamed, "Like that!"
Another orgasm gripped, her, the master of the others she had experience so far. Her hands gripped his wrists and she helped add to the thrusts, lifting her shoulders from the barrel as she came, he rammed into her one last long stroke and she felt his come pour forth, even as her own climax subsided.
Crissa could feel each pulse of semen as it filled her womb, and there were many. She sighed with each, slumping back onto the barrel as he held her legs locked to his chest, spending into her. He moaned with each pulse of the fluid into her, and sighed contentedly as the last shot forth. He sat her down gently as his knees tried to buckle beneath him.
He moved down to his knees, his organ withdrawing from her and sliding out. Her cunt felt empty now, like something was missing, and she groaned in protest at the absence. "Please, tell me you're not done," said Crissa.
She lay there panting, and feeling the warm rays of the sun on her exposed thighs and pussy. The Coghlander stood up, finally, and sat on the crate again, his cock still half erect and forming a gentle arc out from his body and then down. "You want more?" he said, disbelief marking his features.
Crissa sat up, smiling. "Not really," she said. "I think more might do permanent damage." Then she laughed. "I'm going to hurt for a week over what we just did."
He grinned at her. "Sorry," he said insincerely. "If there another time, I go slower," he informed her. For a long moment he thought, and then said, "My name is Douglas."
She giggled at that. "I do suppose we've not been introduced. My name is Crissa."
"Is short for?" he asked.
Crissa stood up, her knees were still wobbly, but manageable now. "Just Crissa, my parents didn't believe in long names."
"You live in Norboro?" asked Douglas.
She tried to straighten her hair. "I do now, I've lived here a week."
His face grew saddened. "You just get here and I have to go," he said. "My unit loose contract, and we leave on morrow."
Crissa's face grew saddened, as well. "That's sad. Where are you going?"
"Crystern Islands, big war there with Theocracy," he said in his pidgin Westron.
"Oh, my. May the One protect you," she said reflexively. She had heard that the Crystern Chain was a meat grinder of a war, and that most men who went there never returned.
He nodded solemnly. "Yes," said Douglas. "I want thank you, though."
"For what?" asked Crissa, avoiding the obvious reason a man might be thankful right about now.
He smiled wanly. "You give me good memory to take with me," he said. Then in a conspiratorial whisper said, "You only woman I make love with in Westron lands. You first tall beautiful one I saw."
Crissa blushed at his continued compliments, even though he had already gotten what he wanted from her. "Happy to be of service," she said, winking. She looked about, though, noting the shadows on the walls about her. "Oh, my. It's gotten late, and I need to get home," she said, noting that it was almost suppertime and she was the cook this evening.
He nodded. "Thanks again," he said, and held out her wicker basket of supplies to her.
She kissed him heartily, pressing to him again and suckling upon his tongue for a long moment, then smiled as she took possession of the basket. "Thank you, and be careful," she said.
"I will," he replied, "Got something to come back to Westron lands for." He grinned broadly at her and Crissa blushed again, turning to walk out of the alley.
When she had gotten home, Wenn was terribly upset; rumors of a random spat of unexplained sexual promiscuity had already spread throughout town. She had completely forgotten that without the wards, her orgasms would send forth great pulses of unbridled lustful emotions to all and sundry for dozens of yards around.
"Wenn, we never promised anything to each other," she said defensively as he stomped up the stairs to their room. He had just announced that he was going home. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and she sobbed gently.
"I will speak to him," said Marrat. "He does not understand you fully, my dear."
"I don't even understand me fully, Master Marrat," said Crissa.
"I know dear. Just give him a while and let me talk to him." Marrat patted her shoulder and went up the long winding stair to the turret bedroom.
She was never sure what Marrat had said to him, but after that, Wenn did not get mad about her indiscretions. She was not terribly frequent with them, but they did happen. It bothered her, though, to know she was hurting him, even if only a little.
Now, when it came down to it, she was a little jealous of him going out with another girl. She had to remind herself that she had, indeed, started it, so should still her tongue and comfort herself that it was for the best. You know he loves you, she thought, and you love him. Then another voice in her head, a meaner voice, said, now, if only you could keep from bedding every good-looking man you came across. Her head shook miserably and watched Wenn dress in one of his better outfits and preen in the mirror over their dresser.
Wenn had left for his 'date' over three hours ago, and Crissa was growing restless. Little flashes of what might be happening kept flickering through her mind. Unlike the incident with the Coghlander, these were simply her jealousy and imagination ganging up to beat up her insecurity.
She sighed and sat up, and then walked to her wardrobe. Peering inside by the flicker of the single candle lighting their turret, she pulled forth the 'elven style' dress that Wenn had bought her soon after they had arrived in Norboro.
Crissa looked at it for a long moment, then slid off her long peasant's dress. The mirror reflected her nude form and she smiled. Slowly, with deliberate care, she donned the elven dress, watching herself do so, in a form of reversed striptease. Elven dresses showed when one wore a loincloth, for those who knew about such, and she did not. She turned about, craning her neck to see the results on her backside. She admired the finished product. Not bad, if I say so myself.
She chided herself for doing something so naughty; like wearing a dress Wenn gave her on the one night he was not about to appreciate it. Then she flipped her long straw-colored hair over her shoulder and plaited it into three long, neat rows, again elven style.
"You're too tall to be a elf," she said to herself, then giggled and unplaited her hair. No, she would not be quite so elven as that. Enough that she was wearing the scandalously short skirt with no undergarments.
If only I had the temerity to go out like this, she thought to herself.
Men turned to stare as she entered the tavern. Crissa had intentionally selected a small tavern with a very small clientele; she was not yet up to presenting herself half-naked to a large crowd.
It was a seedy little place, built of clapboards and only one story, without even any rooms to let. It was purely a place to imbibe alcohol, and served no food, even.
They gazed at her long cloak and turned back to their drinks and conversations with one another and the handful of other women who were here.
"Take your cloak, miss?" the bartender asked, pointing toward a long pegboard inside the door. She smiled sweetly and turned her back to him. He slipped the cloak off her shoulders as she untied its neck strings. Many men's eyes found cause to return to the doorway now; she was still wearing the elven outfit. A few men among the crowds' eyes widened at the sight and there were even a few murmurs of appreciation. She felt a low-key rush of desire wash over her and through her mind. With a broad smile, she stroked the bartender's hand as he moved toward the pegboard. This elicited a quick pang of desire from him, which she mentally lapped up like a kitten drinking milk.
She walked on into the tavern and slid onto a stool toward the end farther from the doorway. Upon sitting, a young man approached her. "Buy you a drink, miss?" he asked.
Crissa regarded him. "If you wish it," she replied, gracing him with a broad smile. The almost boyish rush of pleasure and relief that emanated from him made her smile even more broadly and turn toward him. "My name is Crissa," she said, bowing her head slightly, something else the people of the duchy had picked up from the elves in the last few years.
He nodded a quick bow in return. "My name is Charel," he replied. "I've never seen you about. Are you new in town?"
"Somewhat," said Crissa. "I've been here for four months now."
"Then you must have been hidden away, for had I seen you before, I would remember," said Charel, smiling.
"I am one of Marrat's apprentices," she said. "The old man keeps us quite busy most of the time." She took a long look at Charel, he was a tall lad, and slim, probably her own age or near it. She liked his hair. It was curly and laid upon his skull like a cloth cap. He also had appealing gray eyes, rather unusual in a Westron.
His eyes widened. "Marrat's apprentice?" he asked. "Wow. Then you are a wizard in training?"
"In a manner, yes," she said with a smile. "But fear not, my powers are feeble." She felt a short burst of panic cross from him to her, then relief at her disclaimer of power. An inward smile formed on Crissa's mental lips. Slowly, over a few minutes, his mood again turned back toward desire, and she felt that swell inside her as she absorbed the free-flowing lust from the aether.
Charel and she chatted for a long while, talking of this and that and about her apprenticeship and his apprenticeship to a local tailor. "I may have made that outfit," he said. "Does it bear a label?"
She thought for a moment then said, "I believe it does." Almost negligently, she lifted the hem of the skirt and peered at the inner seam, indeed there was a label, and he peered at it and nodded. "I did," he said as she felt a fresh and more powerful wave of desire strike her mind like a wave coming in during a tide. She glanced down to see that from where he sat, he had a clear view of her pubic hair, if not her actual entrance.
Crissa blushed profusely at the realization and put her hem back into place atop her thighs. A tiny pang of sadness shot through the aether and she smiled to know he wanted to see more. She looked toward Charel and smiled, seeing him blushing as well.
"I should tell you, good Charel," said Crissa, a seriousness coming into her expression, "I am a mentalist, and can feel some of your stronger emotions."She gave him another broad smile that she hoped was disarming.
He nodded slowly. "I feared I was an open book to you, but find myself surprised at how open," said Charel. "I hope I've not given offence with my thoughts."
She narrowed her eyes a little and let one side of her mouth quirk upward. "I'm still speaking with you, aren't I?" she asked.
A wash of relief settled over her and she sighed to feel such a pure emotion in such abundance. Relief had no 'flavor' and it was like cleansing one's palate after a sip of wine meant for tasting. Now that her mental palate was clear, she turned to him again.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" asked Crissa.
A strong feeling of excitement slid over her mind and a fair amount of desire again. She luxuriated in the strong emotional current and turned herself to step down off the stool. As they came to the door, the bartender helped her don her cloak again and, arm in arm, she and Charel walked out into the darkened street. She let herself swell with the pride that Charel emanated as people turned to watch the couple move down the street. If he was proud to be with her, then she was proud of herself.
Wenn's mind kept seeing Crissa. He even caught himself three times thus far trying to say her name in place of Shanelle's. Shanelle was charming, in her own way. Pretty, petite, and quite intelligent, he found. She also had an uncanny ability to keep the topic of conversation firmly away from anything to do with Crissa.
They were walking down the boardwalk on the Ryss River. Riverboats were moored to the docks and longshoremen were busy offloading and loading freight. It was a fun place to walk though, as many impromptu merchants set up shop right off the boat, at least until the guards came and chased them off or got their bribe money. Shanelle was wearing a one-piece elven cut dress and the short hemline and the high-heeled boots she wore in addition very well displayed her long legs. This outfit and her natural good looks caused many a longshoreman to decide it was time for a minutes' break as she passed.
"I've never spoken at length to a wizard before, Wenn," said Shanelle. "Do you know any spells?"
Wenn smiled and nodded. "But nothing very impressive," he amended. "Would you like to see?"
She smiled broadly. "Oh, yes," she said, excitement suffusing her lovely face.
Wenn passed his hand over her hair, incantating as he did so. She smiled, but her face was rather confused looking as he stepped back and smiled at her.
"What did you do?" she asked, touching her hair, then gasped as she realized it was now braided in a very tight braid, close to her skull and intricate of design. "Interesting, a coifomancer," she giggled.
He smiled at that. "I can do more showy, if you like, but you need to keep in mind that you're asking me to do it," he said, a hint of warning creeping into his voice.
Her brown eyes glinted in the torchlight of the riverfront docks. "Okay, I will keep it in mind," said Shanelle, a bit of flirt in her eyes.
They walked a little ways down the docks, to where no boats were moored and he began incantating again. She saw nothing happen when he stopped, and regarded him with a look of concern. "And what did you do to me this time?" she asked.
He walked her to the water's edge, where she could see her reflection in the river water by peering over the dock's lip. "My dress is blue now!" she exclaimed. She looked at Wenn with wide eyes. "How long does it last?" asked Shanelle.
"Until I change it again, or someone dispels the magic," replied Wenn. "You do like blue, or do you have a preference for another color?"
She nodded. "I like purple, most of all," she said. "But no one about these parts had any purple cloth when I commissioned this dress."
Wenn snapped his fingers and she looked down at her now royal purple dress. "There," he said, grinning. "Let me know if anyone dispels it."
She giggled. "You'll hear them scream when I pinch them for taking my purple away," she said. "One more trick, please?" she begged.
Wenn thought a moment. "Mind something a little less obvious, but much more potent?" he asked.
She nodded. "Sure, I want to see real wizardry," said Shanelle, her eyes again sparkling and with a tiny tremble in her voice. She knew she was walking on the thin ice now, and it was thrilling her. He cast his most potent spell upon her.
Shanelle felt her knees go weak as he completed the last word of the incantation. She felt the cloth of her dress touching her, as if a thousand feathers were tickling her all over. A long step back caused her loincloth to slide over her privates with startling and arousing effect. A small moan escaped her lips. "Wow," she said, "this is amazing."
She reached up to touch her throat, where the vibration of her speaking caused a slight tickle. When her fingertips contacted the bare skin of her neck, it was as if she were being kissed by angles in four spots on her throat. Her breath was coming in gasps as she ran her fingertips down her neck and over part of her chest, down to the cloth of her tunic. It was almost as if she had forgotten Wenn was standing there and was alone with her own touch to stimulate her.
Her eyes, opened and she closed her mouth. "Wenn, what have you done now?" she asked, again tickling her throat with her own words. A soft gust of breeze blew in off the river and moved over her body and she felt her knees go weak. "One protect," she said, gasping for air.
He smiled. "I've enhanced your sense of touch," he explained. "Amplified it manyfold."
"I'll say you did," she said, finally removing her fingertips from her neck. She smiled coyly. "What would a kiss feel like in this state?" she asked.
Wenn shrugged. "I only learned this spell last week, so I don't know."
"Kiss me and I'll tell you," offered Shanelle.
Wenn stepped closer to the petite brunette and put his arms around her. As his hands touched the small of her back, she sighed and then moaned as he kneaded the flesh under her dress gently. He pressed to her, she felt a thousand separate, unique contacts in that single embrace, each screamed for attention, and each wanted to tell her how wonderful it felt.
Their lips brushed slightly and she let out a long shuddering moan as they contacted firmly to one another. It was good that he was holding her, else her knees would have failed, and she would have fallen. As her pretty, dark eyes fluttered open she smiled weakly. "I believe I know how good it feels now," she said. "Kiss me again, and you shall have to carry me home."
He kissed her again. A second orgasm ripped through her petite frame and this time he felt her groan deep inside as he maintained the kiss. When he stopped and pulled his head back, she was nearly unconscious. "One save me, Wenn," she whispered, "but I want another kiss."
He obliged her request with pleasure. This time she did faint dead away. Wenn gently carried her to a nearby bench and sat her upon it, with her head in his lap. He quietly stroked her hair, to the tune of her sighs with each slow motion of his hand. When she awoke, he would make love to her, and cast that same spell halfway through the act. It would either make them ecstatic with pleasure or kill them both. But what a way to go, thought Wenn.