The Taste of Adventure Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the cover image.

NSFW Warning: Strong sexual content, nudity, and suggestive/coarse language.

With a start, she awakened, the tepid water sloshing about her as she was roused rudely from her slumber. Her hand reflexively falling upon the hilt of her sword, Kaldia cast her gaze about, finally focusing on a figure obscured by a dense cloud of mist surrounding a tub across the washroom from her. 

“You awake then?” The figure commented, and she relaxed, recognizing the voice to be that of the company’s mage, Melda. 

A half-elf, Melda stood about a head shorter than Kaldia, though she would stand out in any crowd due to her short, violently pink hair; a byproduct of a magical mishap from before she had joined the company. 

Resting a steadying hand upon her respectively ordained tub, the mage was slipping from her azure robes, allowing them to pool upon the tiled floors, before stepping nude into her bath. 

“You’re back early,” the warrioress remarked lamely, pulling herself from her own tub with pruny hands. “Get bored of the merriment?”

“Hardly,” Melda sighed contentedly, sinking beneath the surface of her bath. “It was actually quite lively, but I used many of my prepared spells upon those wretched goblins. I have to refresh lest you all be without my arcane might on our next excursion.”

Kaldia rolled her eyes as she toweled off. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Melda, as the only other woman in their party save their holier-than-thou cleric, Twani, it was with Melda that she felt most comfortable. Magic-users did, however, have a tendency to rub the fighter the wrong way, chiefly in that they saw themselves as “that-which-enabled-victory-to-be-grasped-from-defeat” in literally every engagement. A sentiment that was rarely shared by the rest of the company.

“Well, enjoy your soak,” the fighter offered, wrapping her towel about herself and striding from the chamber, her sword, nestled in its scabbard, clutched in her hand. 

The mage offered naught but a contented, “uhm,” in the way of a reply but Kaldia was already out of the room, padding her way down the carpeted hall towards her private chambers. 

Once the door was securely latched, the fighter turned to regard her modest quarters. Taking in the spartan furnishings with naught but a glance, she strode straight to her bed and collapsed appreciatively upon it, her towel coming loose as she did so that it draped across her in a skewed fashion, covering nothing but her lower back, her damp locks spreading about the cotton coverlet about her head like some kind of haphazard corona. 

Immediately, she felt herself drifting off, but a soft rapping upon the door to her chamber roused her just as quickly. Setting her blade safely beside her bed, she strode, naked, to the door and, leaning against its frame, called softly: “You had better be who I think you are lest you lose your head.”

“It is,” the muffled voice of Amaranth drifted from the other side, a note of mirth in her tone.

Unlatching the portal, Kaldia strode from it, returning to her bed as the maid shouldered her way in, a tray laden with olives, bread, cheese, and wine clutched to her ample chest. Seemingly unabashed by the fighter’s natural state, she set the tray down upon a plain, yet sturdy, chest of drawers, before closing and relatching the door behind herself.

“You kept your word, Pet,” the warrioress observed, lounging upon her bed, the entirety of her body on display as if challenging the maid to falter.

“It is not my wish to displease you, Mistress,” Amaranth replied without skipping a beat, inclining her head slightly. 

“Bring the tray here,” the fighter bade the younger woman, patting the coverlet beside her. 

“And where would you like me, Mistress?”

“On the floor..but you may partake if you you dined yet?”

The warrioress’ discomfort at potentially depriving her of sustenance seemed to please the maid rather than invite any type of scorn, or otherwise interrupt their dance as Kaldia had feared. Dipping her head once more, she clasped the tray and, crossing the breadth of the room in a few scant steps, no astronomical feat considering the fighter had opted for the smallest quarters, she laid the tray upon the bedspread at the fighter’s side, before sinking to the wooden floor obediently at Kaldia’s feet. 

“If Mistress wishes to feed me, I would not be opposed,” she said.

“I will not treat you as a dog, Amaranth, take what food you like.”

“My Mistress is too kind.”

Reaching up, the maid took an olive and popped it easily into her small mouth, though she did so without in any way lifting herself near to an equal level as the fighter.

This will take some getting used to, Kaldia thought, though, despite this sentiment, she could not deny that she was enjoying the younger woman’s subservience. 

“So, you hail from High Ethelwhere and you are trained in sword and bow,” she said, retracing their earlier conversation whilst pouring herself a glass of wine, a white that was cool upon her lips as she sipped. “How exactly did you find yourself in Aldabreech of all places?”

“To be completely honest, Mistress, it was because of you, or rather your company in general,” The maid said, taking another olive and graciously accepting the glass of wine from which Kalida had just sipped, the fighter moving to pour herself another. 

“I signed on with the caravan as a cook, though I was more a passenger considering the coin my parents paid to ensure my protection. We travelled first to the Neverfrost Plains, bound for its capital of Fent. There, I was offered the apprenticeship of a mage..”

“A worthy tutelage,” Kaldia remarked. “Though I know you say you have no interest in the arcane arts.”

“I haven’t and, beyond that, I garnered the distinct impression that he was more interested in gaining me as another wife rather than a ward.”

“I had heard the men there take multiple wives.”

As she spoke, the fighter lounged back against her pillows, her taut muscled rippling beneath her flesh despite her relaxed posture, something Amaranth’s keen gaze was naught to miss.

“You have heard true,” the maid nodded. “And, as I had no interest in becoming a mage’s ward, let alone his wife, I deftly disentangled myself from the arrangement and continued on with the caravan as before.”

“How much did your parents pay to ensure your passage so thoroughly?”

“Enough,” was all the maid allowed. “Though, I remind you that the caravan master was an elven man of high birth. Since I had been bequeathed to him from a noble house, despite my human heritage, he looked after me as if I were his daughter.”

“I know elves to be honorable, but never a merchant,” Kaldia smirked. “Open your blouse and tell me why exactly he allowed you to rejoin the caravan without paying further.”

Amaranth smiled admiringly and dipped her head to the fighter’s insight. Reaching up, she began the pop the pearl buttons of the garment, that could only generously be called a blouse, that held her breasts, straining as they were, withheld.

“You are correct in your perceptions, Mistress,” she said, sipping her wine as, slowly but surely, her bosom crept from their confines. “He had his daughter with him..” Her breasts spilled forth, heavy orbs capped with dark-red areolas of ample diameter, tipped with small buds fast-hardening in the open air. 

“..She was a childhood friend of mine..,” the young woman continued without pause, though her eyes fixated upon Kaldia’s, as if gauging her reaction to the sight. 

“..She vouched for me, convinced her father to allow me to stay.”

“Were you lovers?”

“No, she was a good friend. There was a night, a cold night, when we huddled close, fumbled a bit, but nothing more.”

“Go on,” Kaldia bid her, running an errant finger down the length of her thigh, her gaze tracing the curvature of each of the woman’s heavy breasts. “Where did the caravan take you after Fent?”

“We travelled south,” Amaranth leaned back, awarding her Mistress a better view of her charms. “The road was long, cold, and barren. We met few other travelers. It was not a favorable time of year. Until we reached the first of the Merchant Cities.”


“Tor. We went the coastal route.”

“That’s the better way to go.”

“Yes, the sea air was bracing.”

“Spread your legs.”

Without hesitation, the maid obeyed, shifting slightly so that she might part her thighs, spreading them wide so that Kaldia might see the lace trim of her panties between, her frilled skirt riding up to bare more to the fighter’s eye.

“Are you wet?” The warrioress asked.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good Pet. Now, tell me, how found you Tor?”

“Flamboyant,” Amaranth smiled wistfully. “I have never known such a free-minded city.”

“You could say that again,” Kaldia chuckled. “Though I am afraid I do not hold it in so fond a memory as you.”

“Why not, Mistress?”

The Fighter waived the question away as though it were an irksome gnat.

“Perhaps I will tell you sometime, though it is inconsequential,” she said. “Tell me of your experience.”

“There was a festival on when we arrived, though I quickly got the feeling that the citizenry needed little prompting to be festive.”

Kaldia nodded to the truth of her words, her gaze travelling down the vale between the maid’s breasts, across her flat stomach upon which her navel curved, over the clustered ruffles of her skirt, to the crevice between her milky thighs, pink flesh teased through lace knickers.

“The streets were filled with folk of all races,” Amaranth continued. “Music played, food sizzled, and oh the colors! I had never seen so many colors crammed together in one place, Mistress. Banners, flags, streamers, and people cheered and laughed. I still do not know exactly what it was they celebrated but Meena, the merchant’s daughter, and I went arm in arm through the streets. Laughing, singing, and dancing with the rest. We returned to the caravan at nightfall and found that the merchant had not had so good a day. Apparently, a deal that he had been in the city to make had not gone to his liking. Meena went to calm him down, but I saw it in his eye when he cast his gaze towards me, he was desperate for coin.”

“He sought to sell you off?”

Amaranth shrugged, her gaze growing distant.

“Perhaps,” she said. “That was my fear in any case and so I decided that I wasn’t going to stick around to find out to whom. That very night, I stole away, slipping into the maze of alleyways and side-streets…I never saw either of them again.”

“I suppose elves aren’t as noble as you had thought.”

“Well,” the maid offered the fighter a sly look. “He was a merchant.”

Despite the sorrow in the woman’s tale, Kaldia found herself chuckling.

“You’ve got a quick wit, Pet,” she lauded. “And a skilled tongue to boot.”

“Mistress has but to ask to find just how skilled my tongue can be,” Amaranth said, her voice growing husky, her gaze sliding to the bed of curls between Kaldia’s well-toned thighs.

“Come,” the fighter replied, shifting so that her bare feet touched the wooden floors, her legs spread wide, the bed of curls between glistening invitingly.

Needing no further prompting, Amaranth slid easily across the floor, settling comfortably between Kaldia’s thighs as though she had always dwelt there. The height of the fighter’s bed was perfect, requiring not a craning of neck nor any further shifting of position. As the maid had moved, so her lips came to the warrioress’ sex, and she wasted no time in lowering them to their task. 

Sighing blissfully at the first touch of the younger woman’s tongue, Kaldia leaned back, her spine slightly arched, her hair cascading upon the sheets beneath her. The maid had certainly done this before, and was indeed quite skilled at the task. Within moments, the fighter moaned aloud, tensing. She felt Amaranth smile against her clit and responded by squeezing her thighs shut, locking her legs behind the maid’s head, pulling her tighter against her, urging her darting tongue to enter her.

“Fuuuuucking hell,” Kaldia moaned, cognition fleeing closely upon the heels of reason as she collapsed upon the bed, one of her fists balling sheets whilst the other gripped tightly the maid’s bun, a powerful orgasm ripping through her. 

As her legs loosened their encirclement, Amaranth pulled back slightly, enough for the fighter to see her satisfied smile above the quivering coils of her pubic mound. Though still reeling from her orgasm, the maid’s self-satisfied look brought lust roaring back to the fore of her mind and, lurching forward, she grasped the younger woman in a tight embrace. As easily as though she were a rag doll, she lifted the maid bodily and slammed her upon the bed, bearing down atop her with the fullness of her weight, her lips crushing against those of the smaller woman. Amaranth’s surprised look quickly turning to one of excitement as she felt the larger woman’s hands upon her waist, tearing her skirt from her hips as her tongue invaded her mouth.

Tossing the ruined garment aside, Kaldia pulled back, looming above the smaller woman lying helpless beneath her. The sight of her alabaster flesh marred by red welts where her skirt had so recently hugged her, combined with her flushed cheeks and lips swollen from their feverish kiss, drove the fighter over the edge. Her hand flashing out, she grabbed Amaranth by her throat, her fingers tightening just enough to restrict the younger woman’s breathing, rather than cut it off completely. The maid’s eyes opened wide in shock at the sudden attack, though she soon offered a wheezing moan as two of Kaldia’s long fingers slipped within her, easily brushing aside the edge of her panties in their invasion, the fighter’s thumb flicking across her clit through the barrier of thin fabric that yet held.

“By the gods, you’re as smooth as a river stone,” the fighter crooned, obviously savoring the feel of her digits burying themselves in the young woman’s pussy. “And as wet as an autumn rain!”

“All for you, Mistress,” Amaranth gasped.

The feel of the warrioress within her was sublime, and the way she worked her fingers showed that she too was no stranger to the manipulations of a woman’s sex. Beneath the pumping of her fingers, combined with the slow clenching and releasing of pressure upon the maid’s throat, Amaranth was puddy in her palm.

Savoring the young woman’s writhing pleasure, Kaldia bent low over her victim, her tongue teasing the woman’s lips before she ducked lower, encircling a nipple, tracing rotations around its wide areola, her teeth grazing the nub’s tip before biting down, ever so gently, as she squeezed harder the woman’s windpipe. 

“Yes! Mistress! Please!” Amaranth begged, her eyes rolling beneath the waves of pleasure washing over her.

“Tell me what you want,” Kaldia demanded, smiling self-satisfactorily as the younger woman’s small hands clawed at her shoulders and hips before clutching again at the sheets under her.

“I want to cum, Mistress! Please!”

“If I make you cum will you serve me?”


“Will you be my personal Pet?”

“Yes! Mistress, please!”

Smiling anew, her eyes alight with raw, sexual hunger, Kaldia began to thrust her fingers in and out of the young woman’s dripping crevice harder and harder, faster and faster. Amaranth’s cries of pleasure rose as the tempo quickened, reaching a crescendo as the fighter inserted a third digit into the tight embrace of her ass. Its rim slickened by her dripping juices, the finger entered her with ease, and drove her over the edge of her orgasm with the force of an avalanche.

As the echos of the young woman’s finale reverberated through her, Kaldia removed her fingers, collapsing beside her on the bed with a satisfied sigh. Still panting, Amaranth nestled against her, laying her head upon her breast, her wet lips hot beside her nipple. Wrapping an arm about the maid, the fighter idly stroked her hair. 

Soon they were both fast asleep, their soft breathing melding in the otherwise silent keep.

3 thoughts on “The Taste of Adventure Part 2

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