Chapter 5: The Courtship of Honeymuff
Everyone woke wearily and blearily the following morning, worn out by the feats, its depravities, and then the incessant harassment of Honeymuff by Dravion, which had only ceased after the delivery of the polite letter of rejection.
Some had more reason than others to be bleary-eyed, of course. Honeymuff had spent the entire night hidden in Polly's bra, not daring to sleep, continually slapping herself awake in case the creepy weasel tried to kidnap her during the night.
Tulip and Tanna evidently hadn't slept much, both their upper and lower lips looked swollen and sore through overuse.
As for Polly, you could tell how shattered she was by the fact she had simply flaked out and hadn't even tried to join in with the fun of the other two when she finally returned to their guest rooms. As she now flinched towards agonising wakefulness, she ruefully reflected that perhaps she should have drawn the line at their final game: strumming each others' clits with wire wool sure sounded like fun, and the orgasm had been unbelievable, but it was abso-bloody-lutely excruciating come the morning. She didn't dare peek yet to see how red raw her poor bean must look.
Wee Minnie was her usual cheerful self, of course, her tea urn performing its duty and dispensing cheer, and Brutehilde was as taciturn and grumpy as she was every morning.
As she looked around, Brutehilde's eyes narrowed as she spotted a piece of paper on the table. "What's this?" she growled. "Not another love note from that bloody Dravion, it is?" She stomped over and picked it up in her meaty fist, relaxing and grunting in satisfaction as she read it. "It's from Ulrika. She had to go out early and report on the scale of the eruptions with Jeremas. The City likes to keep its surface news up to date. She wamnts us to relx and keep a low profile as far as possible. She'll be tied up with official duties for three or four days, after which she'll be owed enough favours to secure supplies and assistance for our onward journey."
Brutehilde finished reading the note and tossed it onto the table with a grunt. "Well, that’s just fuckin’ perfect. Three days stuck in this spider-infested hellhole with nothin’ to do but twiddle our thumbs and try not to get eaten."
Polly groaned, rolling onto her side and wincing as her raw, wire-wool-abused clit pressed against the rough fabric of the pallet. "Fuck me sideways, my cunt feels like it’s been through a cheese grater," she muttered, her voice hoarse. "That wire wool was a fucking terrible idea."
Tulip, her golden skin still flushed from the previous night’s exertions, smirked. "You were the one who suggested it, love. And you *did* scream like a banshee when you came. We could hear it from here."
Polly groaned again, shifting her weight to relieve the pressure on her throbbing clit. "Yeah, well, I was drunk. And high. And horny as hell. And now I’m just sore as hell."
Tanna, still half-asleep, reached out blindly and groped Polly’s thigh. "Mmm… you do feel warm," she murmured, her fingers drifting higher. "And… oh. Very warm." She traced the swollen, tender folds of Polly’s cunt, her touch feather-light but deliberate. Polly hissed, her hips jerking involuntarily.
"Fucking hell, Tanna!" Polly gasped, her voice a ragged whisper. "That’s—fuck—that’s not helping!"
Tanna’s fingers stilled, but only for a moment. Then, with a slow, wicked grin, she pressed her thumb against Polly’s clit—right where the wire wool had left its cruel mark. Polly’s entire body jolted, a sharp, breathless cry tearing from her throat.
The pain was a white-hot spike, but beneath it, a dark, throbbing pulse of pleasure—twisted, perverse, and utterly undeniable. Tanna’s thumb pressed harder, grinding against the raw, wire-wool-abused flesh, her fingers spreading Polly’s lips apart to expose the glistening, inflamed clit.
"Oh, you fucking sadist," Polly gasped, her hips bucking against the pressure. "Don't stop - I think I love you!"
Polly sobbed as Tanna's thumb continued to grind against her clit, the pain and pleasure twisting together in a way that made her head spin. The knight's other hand slid down, two fingers pressing against Polly's entrance, teasing at the swollen, sensitive flesh. "Fuck, Tanna, you're gonna make me come again," Polly whimpered, her body trembling with the effort of holding back.
Tanna leaned in, her lips brushing against Polly's ear. "Good," she whispered, her voice thick with lust. "Because I want to watch you fall apart." She pushed her fingers inside Polly's cunt, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop them.
"If you two ladies don't mind, it's past time to get up!" boomed Brutehilde, who heartily disapproved of public displays of affection - unless they involved Falroch's rooster wattles getting tangled up in her own saddle-bag-sized labia.
"Polly, get your arse dressed and come help me with the tea urn," she continued. "Wee Minnie's got her hands full with pulling down all of the spider silk, and I'm not about to be caught dead drinking these Dark Elves' gross mushroom tea."
Polly groaned, rolling onto her back and wincing as her raw clit scraped against the rough fabric of the pallet. "Alright, alright," she grumbled, pushing herself up. Her vest was still unbuttoned from the night before, the leather gaping open to reveal the swell of her breasts. As she reached for her fishnets, something small and furiously squirming tumbled out from between her tits.
"Och, for fuck's sake!" Honeymuff shrieked, flapping her tiny wings in a panic as she tried to right herself.
Polly groaned, rubbing her temples. "What the fuck is she doing in my bra?" she muttered, reaching down to pluck the pixie from the floor. Honeymuff squirmed in her grip, her tiny fists pounding against Polly's fingers as she tried to scramble back up the fabric.
"Let me go, ye great oaf!" the pixie shrieked, her wings beating furiously. "I wasnae hidin'! I was just... inspectin' yer nips for mites!"
Polly rolled her eyes, pinching the pixie between her thumb and forefinger. "Bullshit. You were hiding from that creepy elf, weren't you?" Honeymuff's face flushed a deep, guilty red.
"Weeell ... I'll play with your nips for you if you let me stay in there," said the pixie, fluttering her lashes beseechingly.
"Honeymuff, getting aroused is seriously the last thing on my mind at the moment," grumbled Polly. "I've got an anal piercing that will take months to heal ... and I can only imagine the torment when I next have to take a shit ... and a clit that complains when someone slams a door two miles away..."
"Aye, but your titties are just fine," beamed Honeymuff.
"All right, you can stay, I'm too tired to argue," groaned Polly. "But no touching the nipples or you're out!"
Honeymuff slipped back inside Polly's vest gratefully, and Polly fastened it up. "And no masturbating while you're in there!" she ordered. "I don't want any wet patches."
"I don't know what she's so worked up about anyway," grumbled Brutehilde. "We won't have any more trouble from that Dravion weirdo since Ulrika sent him that note. She understands the subtleties of Dark Elf etiquette.
But Brutehilde had hardly finished speaking when there came a tapping at the door.
It wasn't Ulrika's firm, familiar rap. This was a timid, scratching sound, like a rodent's nails on the obsidian. Everyone froze. Tanna's hand went to the hilt of her sword. Brutehilde jerked her head toward the door, her plaits swinging. "You. Knight. Get it."
Tanna crossed the room silently, her bare feet whispering on the stone. She eased the door open a crack, then wider, her body blocking the view. A reek of damp fungus and cheap perfume wafted in. "Can I help you?" Tanna asked, her voice carefully neutral.
The creature in the hallway was a female goblin, her skin the colour of a bruised plum. She was clad in ripped, frayed black lingerie that did little to cover her scrawny frame. Her hands, clutched to her chest, held a small velvet box and a scroll sealed with dripping red wax. She stared up at Tanna with wide, yellow eyes, trembling. "M-message for the pixie guest. From Lord Dravion. With his… his compliments."
Honeymuff let out a tiny squeak of terror from within Polly’s vest. Polly felt the pixie’s tiny body go rigid against her skin.
"Give it here," Brutehilde commanded, stomping forward. The goblin flinched but thrust the items into the massive woman's hands before skittering back down the corridor, her bare feet slapping the stone.
Brutehilde tossed the scroll to the table. It unfurled, revealing lines of spidery, obsessive script. Tulip leaned over and read aloud, her voice dripping with disdain. "‘Your fiery resistance is the bellows to the forge of my longing. I cherish this game, this precious chase. A token of my esteem, for when your own tiny fingers tire.’ The fuck is this?"
Polly pried open the velvet box. Nestled inside on a bed of black silk were two items. One was a polished obsidian dildo, meticulously carved, but no longer than Polly's pinky finger and thin as a twig. The other was a bottle of what smelled like sweet, cloying oil.
Honeymuff erupted from Polly’s neckline, her wings buzzing in furious panic. "He sent me a fuckin’ dildo! A wee one! Is he mad? I’ll no’ use that! I’d sooner shove a hot poker up my arse!"
"He thinks you're playing hard to get," Polly said, her voice flat. She poked the tiny toy with her fingernail. "This is his next move. He's romancing you."
"Romancing?" Honeymuff shrieked, zipping around the room in an agitated spiral. "That's no' romance, that's a threat! He wants to skull-fuck me with a pebble!"
Tanna closed the door, her face grim. "Ulrika said not to offend him directly. This… complicates that." She looked at the absurd, offensive gifts. "A polite refusal didn't work."
"We need a different strategy," Tulip said, picking up the scroll and scanning the horrific poetry. "Something unambiguous. Something even a tragic, penniless romantic can't misinterpret."
"Like a punch in the fuckin' face," Polly growled, her own discomfort forgotten in a surge of protective anger. She snatched the tiny dildo from the box. "I've got an idea."
Honeymuff landed on the table, panting. "What? What're ye gonna do?"
Polly didn't answer. She marched to the hearth where a low, magical fire perpetually glowed. She held the obsidian carving over the flames. "If he likes gifts," she said, her voice low and vicious, "we'll send one back."
The stone began to heat. After a minute, she took it out. It wasn't red-hot, but it was painfully warm. She strode to the window, which overlooked a midden heap in a shadowy alcove far below. With a grunt of effort, she hurled the heated dildo out into the gloom. They heard a distant, wet plop.
"There," Polly said, dusting her hands. "His token of esteem is now steamin' in a pile of Dark Elf shite. That's unambiguous."
Honeymuff stared, then let out a hysterical giggle. "Oh, that's braw! That's perfect!"
"It is not perfect," Brutehilde rumbled, massaging her temples. "Now he'll just send another one, or something worse. We need to be smarter. We need to make him lose interest entirely." Her massive frame slumped onto a bench. "How do you make an obsessed, broke noble lose interest in a rare, beddable creature?"
A slow, wicked smile spread across Tulip's golden face. Her green hair seemed to shimmer. "You make her appear… common. You make her undesirable to his particular tastes." She looked at Honeymuff. "He likes you pure, and tiny, and tragically out of reach. What if you were neither?"
Honeymuff hovered, curious. "Go on."
"What if," Tulip said, her eyes glinting, "he were to see you… thoroughly corrupted? Not by him. By one of us. In a way his poetic soul would find crass and vulgar. An image he couldn't romanticize."
Understanding dawned on Polly. A feral grin split her face. "Oh, you are a deviant genius." She looked at Honeymuff. "You up for a performance, pixie? Something gritty. No poetry. Just filthy, obvious fucking."
Honeymuff's initial fear melted away, replaced by a gleeful, naughty spark. "Aye! I can do filthy! What's the plan?"
"We let him 'accidentally' see you," Polly said. "Not being chased. Not being coy. Being used. Being just another messy, greedy little thing getting her cunt stuffed." She glanced at Tulip. "We'll need a stage. Somewhere semi-public, but where he can lurk and watch."
"The balcony," Tanna suggested quietly. "The one down the hall. It overlooks a lesser courtyard. He could be in the shadows opposite."
Brutehilde sighed, a sound of profound resignation. "I'll not be a part of this depravity. But I will stand guard at the hall door and make sure no actual spiders interrupt." She pointed a thick finger at Honeymuff. "And you. After this, we tell him you're with child. That should end it."
The plan was set. The next evening, as the strange, bioluminescent fungi of the city began to glow with a stronger light, they put it into motion.
Polly and Tulip stood on the wide, cold balcony. Tanna was positioned just inside, her hand on her sword, watching the opposite ramparts. Brutehilde’s formidable silhouette blocked the hallway door. Honeymuff, on the balcony’s stone railing, stretched her tiny limbs.
"She's ready," Tulip murmured, her druidic senses extending. "I can feel his watching. It's like a greasy smudge on the air."
"Good," Polly said. She nodded to Honeymuff. "Let's give the pathetic fuck a show he'll never forget."
Polly leaned back against the balcony rail, the cold stone biting through her vest. She unlaced her leather trousers and shoved them down her hips, just past the curve of her arse. The new piercing ached, a constant, heated reminder. "Alright, pest. Get over here."
Honeymuff zipped down, landing on Polly's lower stomach. Her tiny hands gripped the coarse blonde hair of Polly's pubic mound. Before her was the full, swollen landscape of Polly's cunt, the lips still pink and puffy from the previous night's abuse, the wire-wool rawness just visible on her clit.
"This is for survival, remember," Honeymuff whispered, more to herself than anyone.
"Nah," Polly grunted, spreading her legs wider. "This is for fun. Now make it convincing."
Honeymuff didn't need more encouragement. She dropped to her knees in the thatch of hair, her tiny face inches from Polly's slit. She didn't start gentle. She leaned in and, with a loud, exaggerated noise, dragged her entire tiny tongue from Polly's perineum up through her soaked folds to her clit.
"Fuck!" Polly gasped, her hips jerking. The pixie's tongue was surprisingly rough, like a cat's, and impossibly precise.
Honeymuff ate her with a frantic, noisy gusto meant to be seen from a distance. She buried her face in Polly's cunt, her tiny mouth sucking at the outer lips, her tongue stabbing in and out of the opening. She made wet, slurping, obscene sounds, her wings fluttering with effort. "Yer taste is strong!" Honeymuff cried out, deliberately loud. "Like rust an' cheap gin! I love it!"
Across the courtyard, in a dark archway, a silhouette stirred.
Tulip played her part. She moved behind Polly, kissing her neck, her hands groping Polly's small breasts through the vest. She pinched Polly's nipples hard, twisting them. "Is the little bugger making you wet?" Tulip breathed into her ear.
"She's a fucking hungry little thing," Polly moaned, the performance blending with genuine, ragged sensation. Her raw clit was screaming under the assault, a pain so sharp it tipped into a brutal, unwanted pleasure.
Honeymuff pulled back, her face glistening. "I want more," she announced theatrically. She then turned, presenting her own tiny, round arse to the courtyard view.
the courtyard view. "Who's gonna fuck this greedy pixie arse?" she yelled, wiggling her minuscule hips.
"Me." Tanna's voice was calm, flat. She stepped onto the balcony. She had removed her dress. A leather harness was strapped around her hips and thighs, holding a slender, polished dildo made of darkwood. It was still too large for Honeymuff, but the knight had coated it thickly with the sweet oil from Dravion's own gift.
Honeymuff glanced over her shoulder, grinning wildly. "Make it hurt good, knight! Let him hear me!"
Tanna positioned herself behind the pixie. She took Honeymuff's tiny hips in her hands, her grip firm enough to lift the little creature. She angled the oil-slick tip against Honeymuff's tiny, tight entrance. "Breathe out," Tanna murmured, a dark parody of Lady Araksia's command during the piercing.
Honeymuff exhaled. Tanna pushed.
The pixie’s whole body went rigid, a strangled squeak tearing from her throat as the invading tip began to stretch her impossibly wide. Tanna did not stop. She applied steady, unrelenting pressure, the darkwood plugging into the tiny, resisting hole. Honeymuff’s wings beat in a frantic blur, her tiny fingers clawing at Polly’s pubic bone. A high, sharp cry was ripped from her as the widest part of the shaft forced its way past her ring of muscle with a wet, obscene pop.
"Fuck! Fuck, it's huge!" Honeymuff shrieked, but she shoved her face back between Polly's legs, muffling her screams in Polly's cunt.
Tanna began to move. Short, brutal strokes that rocked Honeymuff’s entire frame. The pixie was utterly impaled, her squeals vibrating directly against Polly’s throbbing clit. Polly groaned, the dual sensation of the rough tongue and the violent vibrations short-circuiting her pain into a wave of harsh, grinding pleasure. She could feel each of Tanna’s thrusts translate through Honeymuff’s tiny body.
"Yeah, take it, you desperate little slag," Polly grunted, tangling her fingers in Honeymuff’s hair and holding the pixie’s face hard against her. "Let him see what you really are."
Tanna fucked her with a soldier’s rhythm, efficient and powerful. The slick, rhythmic sound of the strap-on pumping into the pixie’s impossibly stretched arsehole mixed with Honeymuff’s gagging, pleasured moans. The pixie’s own cunt was dripping, a tiny cascade of arousal dripping down onto Polly’s thigh. Tanna’s expression was focused, almost serene, her muscles coiling and releasing with each deep drive of her hips.
"Her arse is taking every inch," Tanna reported coolly, her voice low. "She’s clenching around the shaft. Greedy, like she said."
Across the courtyard, a faint, anguished cry echoed—a sound of profound, poetic horror. It was immediately followed by the sound of retching.
Honeymuff heard it. She lifted her soaked, triumphant face from Polly’s mound, a wild, filthy grin on her features. "That’s right, ye daft prick!" she screamed into the gloom. "Watch me get my tiny hole ruined! It’s better than any fuck you could ever give!"
Tanna chose that moment to drive in especially deep, bending the pixie almost double. Honeymuff’s boast dissolved into a guttural, choking wail of pleasure as the darkwood hilt pressed against her. Her tiny body convulsed, a shower of her own release spattering Polly’s skin. Polly’s own climax followed, a raw, punishing wave that radiated from her tortured clit through her guts, making her knees buckle against the rail.
Tanna held still for a moment, then slowly withdrew the glistening strap-on. Honeymuff collapsed, a spent, trembling heap on Polly’s stomach.
Silence hung over the balcony, broken only by ragged breathing. Then, from the dark archway opposite, came the unmistakable sound of running footsteps, retreating in frantic, stumbling haste.
Tulip let out a long, slow breath. "I do believe our performance was a success."
Brutehilde’s voice rumbled from the doorway. "Aye. I think ye’ve cured him. Now get dressed, for pity’s sake. The smell out here is atrocious."
Honeymuff extracted her head from Polly's pussy, giggling as she rubbed the sticky juice into her scalp. Tanna unbuckled the strap-on and tossed it over the balcony into the courtyard below. Then they went back indoors, slamming the doors behind them.