Page 39 of Vines of the Underworld

But not her.

Fragile and mortal, she dared defy the order of the mightiest mage in all Faëheim.

She is precious to me, not only because she is the most powerful magical artifact of her world. Humming with a power she is unaware of, her eyes are haunted by distant pain. There is sharpness in her, that fascinating resilience so typical for her people, but more intense. She is wrapped in secrets, and I am curious.

I feel alive. Infected by the human, primitive passion for life, all my senses are on painful alert as if I haven’t slept for nights, and my mind cannot tell reality from hallucination anymore.

I dwell in the deserted halls in an odd state of daydreaming, and somehow my scattered thoughts always return to her.

The fascination and awe I feel shouldn’t hinder my quest to save my lands. So, I did what was expected of a Prince of the Underworld. I tried to pry her shell open to study her abilities.

Oh, the bitter irony of the Serpent, to place the might to destroy and remake whole worlds in the tender body of a beautiful female. When she was bent over before me, locked in that pillory, her backside exposed, I had to strain all my self-control to resist the temptation, to not succumb to the longing born of ages of loneliness. That tender pink flesh, inviting me to bury myself in it! Dark desires took possession of me, and I had to interrupt the experiment for her and my sake.

My mother told me that no human could survive mating with a Fae. I believe this perpetuated lie serves only to discourage our males from hunting human females into extinction. This little one has endured many matings, with more than one of us, and from what I perceive, she has enjoyed it. It has made her stronger, smoothened that inexplicable sadness in her otherworldly eyes.

So, I sit back on my throne and indulge in the spectacle, ready to step in as soon as I feel a shift in the arcane vibration around her. I am prepared to protect her should the dark elf gets some bad ideas.

Cyrell instinctively emits his pheromones, enthralled by my spell, and I am mesmerized by her body’s response. The dark elf wraps himself around her, aligning his massive warrior frame with her back. She looks so tiny in his arms. His right hand tightens around her neck, and he brushes his lips along the sateen skin of her jaw. I’m already panting, and when his extended claws slice her dress open and her heavy breasts spill out, I need to adjust myself. My length is pressing painfully against my leggings.

Celeste initially seems perplexed and scared, and then the pheromones kick in. I lick my lips, and my fingers dig in the carved armrests of my throne. His hands are full of her breasts, his clawed fingers digging into the supple flesh, leaving tiny ruby drops behind. He hungrily grinds his hips against her rear.

Celeste leans into him, responding to his slow thrusts. The fangs of the dark elf warrior extend when his fingers disappear between her legs. The scents of their need intertwine and intoxicate me. I stalk toward them.

The chemistry between them hypnotizes me; their heat hits me like a matured wine, and I justify my actions with the necessity to get closer to sense any magic.

Cyrell releases his thick shaft and rubs it against her perfectly rounded backside. I’m close now and see his dangerous claws trail her soaked folds, my nostrils flaring, catching her delicious flavor. I ignore the desire to kneel and feast on her. Instead, I watch, feeling the throbbing ache of my longing. The elven warrior grabs her left thigh and lifts it, leaving her drenched sex bare and open before me. I curse softly; there is only so much a male can take.

I wave my hand, and they freeze, my spell warping time around the couple. Like that, I can explore this exquisite otherness.

Now I can succumb to my dark curiosity, and I bend a knee, inspecting her pussy from up close. Her pink, dewy flesh is open, swollen, begging for a touch, her opening glistening, promising divine delights. I slowly plunge my finger into her, and despite the glove and the time-warping spell, I feel her clench around my digit, pulling it in. So wet, so tight, so tempting. Her pulsating nub catches my attention. I’m salivating, and against my better judgment, my lips close around it. I gently suck on the sensitive flesh, savoring her earthy, eerie flavor—unlike anything I have tasted before.

I open my breeches and release my heavy cock, and I start pleasing myself with rough, slow strokes while exploring her folds with my tongue. Eager to try more, to discover another taste, I loosen my grip on time and watch closely as Cyrell’s cock slowly plunges into her, his thick, massive erection disappearing in her soft, pink, welcoming flesh.

The frantic moves of the elf appear slow and deliberate to me, and I pump my length aggressively—this is all too much to take.

I’ve had my share of pleasures of the flesh. My mother believed that every young prince should be experienced, so she gave me a harem, which I disbanded after she got lost in the dark. Yet this mortal heat, eagerness and passion, and this rounded, mouth-watering flesh is an experience I have never had before.

And novelty is a rare treat valued above all when you have lived for several centuries.

I feel the sting of jealousy at the pleasure the dark elf experiences while he takes her, his cock buried to the hilt now, and I jump to my feet.

What is this bitter-sweet pain ripping through my chest? Is this just desire? Can someone destined to an eternity of loneliness among the darkness of the Underworld feel something like this? Or is this confusion caused by the way she is? So fragile yet powerful. So simple yet surprisingly hard to figure out. I see her squirm in the strong arms of Cyrell; I sense her release building up.

“Enough!” I roar, and a flick of my wrist sends him flying across the hall, and he crashes against a pillar with a painful gasp. I catch her slender frame before she slumps to the floor, her mind hazy, her eyes black pits of need. Gravity presses her against me: her luscious breasts to my chest, her sex against my aching arousal. I feel her pulsating nub sliding along my length, and spasms shake her body. The sight of her coming apart, the feeling of her against my cock—it’s all too much. I climax, and powerful jets of my seed spill against her. She mumbles something, and her eyes roll back.

A shattering wave of arcane energy sweeps the hall, whirling the dust in the farthest corners of my palace. She shudders, and I still hold her, my arms wrapped tightly around her, unsure what to do. I revel in her warmth and the stolen intimacy of the moment, yet wince at the realization that I have let someone that close to me.

My hesitation lingers only momentarily; I remember my duty as a prince of these lands.

“Come here!” I growl and grab her by the hair. Then I drag her to the stairs at the eastern side of the hall, and I can swear my heart has never been darker and emptier.

My caress brings only suffering. My touch eternal curse. Until I figure out how to deal with these disturbing emotions stirring inside me, until I sort myself out, the woman should remain hidden, safely locked away, but not in that wretched dungeon.

An exquisite treat like her should be treated with care. A divine body like hers should sleep in the softest sheets.

A smirk curls my lips while I drag her up the stairs. I have many ideas about my future experiments.

Celeste – The Anchor

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