NSFW Warning: Strong sexual content
Disclaimer: I do not own the cover image.
Dusk was falling swiftly when a lone rider wound their way down a twisting backwoods road towards a long, squat Inn with worn log walls and a thatched roof. A low palisade surrounded the structure, the gate of which was open and welcoming, as was the small trail of smoke rising from the building’s chimney. A faded sign at the palisade’s gate identified the place as the Weeping Willow Inn, aptly named as the namesake trees lined the roadside leading to its entrance, as well as about the palisade’s exterior. The soft gurgling of a nearby brook, as well as the multitude of chirping insects, lent the locale a sleepy facade and was a pleasing image to the weary traveller.
Pulling up just within the palisade’s enclosing walls, the newcomer slid gracefully from the saddle, their lithe form wrapped in soft yet sturdy leather, as well as a thick cloak of woodland hues, making nary a sound as they landed upon the hard-packed earth of the inn’s courtyard. Despite this, their arrival was noted as, from the small stable built alongside the inn, stepped a strapping youth, stripped to the waist, his body marked by sweat and soil.
Pushing back the cowl of their cloak, the traveller identified themselves to be a young woman with short-cropped, white-blond hair, as well as slim, finely chiseled, exotic features. From behind tousled locks, her emerald-green eyes gazed upon the youth appreciatively as he approached her, resting her forearms upon the hilts of the twin shortswords she wore at her hips as she did.
The lad spoke not a word to her as he came to stand before her but smiled in a disarming, refreshing fashion whilst pushing his own sandy-hued, rogue locks from his lightly freckled face.
Unoffended by his lack of words as she knew him to be mute, the woman held his gaze until he looked away, his cheeks reddening beneath the layer of grit that dusted them. Smiling approvingly, with just a hint of wickedness, she brushed past him, her fingertips lightly brushing his knuckles as she did, before making her way towards the inn’s front door, leaving him to guide her horse towards the stables.
On protesting hinges, the door opened to emit her to the inn’s taproom, a long, wide space with a low ceiling against which clung a thick layer of haze fed by the pipes of its dozen or so occupants, farmers and farmhands all, from the surrounding homesteads and pastures. The far wall was dominated by a long, rough-hewn bar, behind which rose a tall shelf laden with dusty bottles that reflected dully the light of the crackling fire, as well as the few candles the inn-keep had scattered about. Between the bar and the shelves stood the inn-keep himself, a tall, slightly built man with rough-shorn brown hair and a scratchy beard. Beneath this weathered exterior, however, was a handsome man, though one who cared not at all to flaunt it.
Few looked up from their drinks at the woman’s entrance, and none allowed their gaze to linger long upon her beyond the offerance of a single nod of recognition. The barkeep, however, upon catching sight of her, cracked a broad grin and lifted a hand in a welcome wave. Thusly summoned, she strode towards the barstool he indicated, a contented smile playing across her own lips.
“Ah, Leeria, it’s been too long,” he beamed as she slid her shapely ass upon the stool’s uneven surface. “Where have you been all season?”
“Up north,” she replied, her voice surprisingly deep and strong despite her slim frame. “They have been experiencing a lot of problems with goblins in Fallowths Dair of late so I lingered longer than I had originally planned to aid them in ridding themselves of the beasts.”
“A Ranger’s work is never done eh?” He winked at her. “Howabout some mead to wash the dust from your throat?”
“I never turn down a glass of your mead, you know that, Drugan,” she smiled in reply. “Pour yourself one as well and tell me of how your season has transpired.”
He did just that, pouring each of them a hefty glass of the thick, amber liquid, and then another as he filled her in on the local gossip, and she him of the happenings of the wider world. Slowly, the taproom emptied around them until only they remained, as well as a singular farmer who snoozed lightly in the corner, his drink having gotten the better of him some hours prior.
“Ah, a pleasure as ever, Drugan,” she sighed, pushing the plate of cooked rabbit he had placed before her earlier in the night, and she had subsequently picked clean, away from her whilst licking the last bit of grease clean of her fingers. Her cheeks had grown rosy from the ample amount of mead she had imbibed and she waived away his offer of one more glass. She always enjoyed visiting with the barkeep but knew that, if she allowed it, he would continue chewing her ear off well into the morn. A former adventurer himself, Drugan’s career as a sellsword had been cut short but a gruesome leg wound that had led him to have to wear a brace to this day. As such, she felt that he often lived vicariously through her, as well as any other wanderer who crossed his threshold.
“I couldn’t,” she protested. “I have ridden long this day and am in need of rest. If you would grant me your loft and a bottle of my own for a nightcap, I would forever be in your debt.”
“Only so long as you kill whatever mice you find up there during your stay,” he chortled, slamming a fresh bottle of mead on the bartop with a bit more force than he no doubt intended, he himself having kept pace with her throughout their carousing.
“Deal,” she said, casting a wink his way whilst snatching the bottle and sliding off the stool.
“I’ll send the boy up with fresh hay,” he called after her, a knowing note in his tone.
Ignoring the inferred nuance in his words, she merely waived back appreciatively as she sauntered towards the stairs that would lead her to the inn’s small attic space.
Climbing the stairs with surprisingly steady steps despite the amount of drink she had consumed, she was sure to duck at their zenith to avoid striking her head upon the low beam of the inn’s roof. Once she was clear of the beam, however, she was able to stand fully upright within the decidedly spacious loft. All about her were stacked piles of hay, and the only light came from cracks in the shutters to the room’s sole window which was by far the room’s best feature. Stepping to its wide frame now, she unlatched the shutters and opened them wide to allow the silver light of the full moon to fill the attic around her.
With a contented sight, she set the bottle of mead upon its sill as she unlatched her cloak, allowing the garment to pool, forgotten at her feet, her gaze on the massive celestial body, half hidden by flitting clouds above the expanse of woodland beyond the inn’s walls, stretching all the way to the distant mountains. Reaching up, she began to unfasten the buckles of her leather armor across her chest as movement below her caught her eye. Glancing away from the moon, she spied the strapping youth leaving the stable, a bushel of fresh straw lifted effortlessly upon his broad, bare shoulder, his breath misting in the chilly night air. The admiring smile coming softly once more to her lips, she popped the last buckle, allowing her jerkin to fall open and her full breasts to spill forth from their containment, her pert nipples atop her dusky areolas hardening quickly as they were kissed by a soft, cold breeze that carried with it the smells of the woodlands before her. Breathing deeply the fresh air, she sat herself upon the window’s sill, cradling the bottle of mead against her bare chest, its long neck nestled between her breasts, as she reclined against the window’s frame, her gaze once more drawn skyward as she awaiting the young man with her frash bedding.
She didn’t have long to wait and soon heard his heavy footfalls making their creaking ascent up the stairs towards her. She didn’t spare him a glance as he entered the loft, but rather kept her attentions on the beautiful scenery as she heard him busy himself with spreading the hay he had brought, making for them a comfortable pallet for the night.
When he was done, she heard him approach her, felt the heat radiating from his body as he stood beside her, patiently awaiting, as he ever did, her instructions for him. Without looking back at him, she arched her shoulders, slipping her leather armor from her, and baring the gentle curves of her neck, shoulders, breasts and stomach to him. It was a clear invitation and one he did not hesitate to accept.
Taking a knee beside her, he bent over her slim form, his hot mouth encircling one of her nipples as she had taught him to do so long ago. She gasped at the wet heat of his hungry lips, as well as the thirsty lapping of his tongue against her hardened peak, one of his large, rough-palmed hands coming up to cup her other breast, his surprisingly gentle digits kneading the soft flesh.
As her eyes closed and she moaned aloud, a sudden image invaded her mind. It was of a woman with hair made of flower’s petals and skin as smooth and green as a rose’s thick stem. Impossibly large, milk-heavy breasts rose from the woman’s chest and she lifted one with long, slim-fingered hands, offering the nipple to the Ranger’s parted lips.
Her eyes popping open, Leeria saw that with her was only the stablehand, and that he had, whilst she had been distracted by the image in her mind, managed to unbuckle her sword belt and loosen the armor upon her thighs so that his other hand might be given access to the dense mound of feverish curls between her smooth thighs.
Despite the strangeness of what she had just seen in her mind, she could not help but roll her head back once more as two of his thick, workman’s fingers forced their way inside of her, her pre-slickened lips offering him easy access to her deepest reaches.
As soon as her eyes closed, she saw the woman once more. This time, however, she was astride the Ranger, and, looking down, she saw that it was the other woman’s long, slim digits sliding effortlessly in and out of her vagina. She could see her own juices glistening upon the strange being’s fingers.
“Come for me,” the strange woman seemed to hum, though her lips did not move. It seemed rather that her voice reverberated from her as Leeria could feel her fingers vibrate within the heated walls of her pussy.
Overcome with desire, the Ranger twisted upon the windowsill so that she faced the stableboy. Pushing down her tight leggings, she grasped the back of his head roughly and forced his mouth down to her cunt. Though confusion at her sudden ferocity shone briefly in his eyes, he willingly followed her command and began to dutifully lap up the juices that were now flowing freely from her whilst she mewled and writhed in desperate need for more, squeezing her eyes shut so that the woman appeared before her once more, cradling her to her voluptuous bosom as her fingers pumped ever quicker into the Ranger’s sex.
“What the fuck,” Leeria moaned hysterically, not in the least understanding what it was she was experiencing and yet somehow needing more of it.
“Come for me, daughter of the forest,” the woman hummed anew, driving her crazy with desire. “Your mother needs you to come, needs your pleasure.”
A wretched cry ripping from her throat, the Ranger came hard, her juices running down the stablehand’s chin, as well as down the hand of the woman in her mind as she desperately clung to both the back of his head as well as the smooth, cool flesh of the other woman’s back.
“Good girl,” the woman cooed as Leeria fell back against the windowsill, gasping for breath, attempting to support herself on shaking limbs. “Find me in the depths of the forest, come and find your mother for she needs your assistance.”
The Ranger felt the woman’s cool touch, slickened by her own cum, upon her cheek and she looked up into eyes that were like deep pools of clear water. She wanted to dive into those eyes, immerse herself within their depths. A warm, motherly smile curved the woman’s full lips before the image suddenly evaporated and she was left gasping, clutching the windowsill in the loft of the Weeping Willow Inn, a very concerned-looking stableboy crouched amidst the strewn hay before her.
Staring at him through heavy-lidded eyes, her chest heaving as she yet reeled from her earth-shattering orgasm, she felt her gaze inadvertently slip to his crotch where the outline of his very hard cock could be seen clearly through his trousers. A fresh wave of overpowering desire welling up within her, she nodded at his pants, barely managing to croak, “take those off,” before lurching against him and riding atop him down into the mounds of hay.
Barely had he managed to push his trousers past his knees before the Ranger had grasped his cock and guided him into her. Stiffening as she slid down his satisfyingly thick member, she planted a firm hand upon his broad chest, making it abundantly clear that he wasn’t to move, that it was she riding him and that it would be she who would dictate the tempo of their lovemaking. Ever obedient, the stableboy lay completely still as she began to slowly grind her hips, moving him in and out of her, ensuring that his length hit all the right spots as she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to summon the image of the Forest Mother in every detail as she climbed ever closer to her second orgasm.
Her fingernails dug into the lad’s chest as she came for a second time that night, imagining the hard nipple of the other woman’s large breast filling her mouth. Soon after the waves of pleasure, less intense as they had been the first time and yet no less pleasurable, crashed over her, she felt the young man begin to pulsate within her. Lifting herself quickly off of him, she slid down his sweat-slick body so that she might wrap her lips about the head of his cock, just as it began to twitch and his back arched and he filled her mouth twice over with spurt after spurt of thick, heady semen.
As the boy lay upon the hay, his chest heaving, the Ranger rose unsteadily to her feet, swallowing what remained of his load in her mouth and wiping the excesses from her chin. Stumbling back towards the window, she snatched the discarded bottle of mead from where it had miraculously remained upright upon the sill and took a deep draught. As she lowered the bottle, attempting to focus her thoughts through the haze of lust that still befuddled her, she caught sight of a dull glinting amongst the heap of her discarded clothing. Bending low, she snatched up that which had emitted the glow, discovering it to be her medallion that she ever wore about her neck.
‘Odd,’ she thought, looking down at the pendent that depicted a pair of interlocking rings behind an image of a moon rising from behind an obscuring cloud. It was the image of her guild, The Sisterhood of the Rising Moon, a loose alliance of like-minded women, most of whom were Rangers like herself, bent upon the defense of good in the world.
How the necklace had been discarded she didn’t know, and was disturbed that she hadn’t noticed its absence until now. Lifting it, she slipped the chain back over her head so that the pendant rested once more comfortably between her naked, sweat-slickened breasts.
Immediately the lust that had threatened to consume her subsided and she exhaled slowly, focusing her mind and attempting to decipher what exactly had transpired whilst she and the stableboy had fucked.
As if on cue, the boy stirred behind her, reminding her of his presence. Half-turning, she saw that he had risen to his feet and seemed intent on approaching her.
“Forgive me,” she murmured, pausing him midstep. “I did not mean to be so demanding with you…I do not seem to be myself this night.”
He offered her a small smile, reassuring her of his enjoyment all the same.
Matching his gesture with a similar one of her own, she nevertheless held up a hand when he once more made a move to approach her.
“Please,” she entreated. “I wish to be alone…I have some thoughts through which I must puzzle.”
A momentary disappointment flickered across his visage. No doubt he had hoped for a continuation of their coupling. He always had been an exceedingly virile young man. The emotion passed though like a cloud across the moon and he smiled at her anew, assuring her of his understanding, before he bent to begin collecting his clothes. She spared him not a glance as he left, too wrapped up was she in her own thoughts, her gaze staring sightlessly at the moon.