Chapter 3: Morning routine
Malkin slumped forward, coughing, strings of saliva and seed dripping from her chin to spatter on the cold stone between her knees. Her entire body trembled, a raw, used emptiness settling in her core. She wiped her mouth with the back of her ragged sleeve, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Jarrah watched, her own breath coming in quick, excited pants. The sight of the powerful hunter using the little sorceress had sent a jolt of pure heat through her. She’d been rubbing herself through her clothes, the rough fabric a delicious friction against her swollen clit. She wanted that force turned on her. She needed to prove she could take it better.
“She’s a good little cocksucker, isn’t she?” Jarrah breathed, her voice husky.
Rastin grunted, tucking his still-damp cock back into his leathers. He looked from the trembling Malkin to the fiercely eager Jarrah, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his grimy face. "Yeah, she does," Rastin said. "But she isn't my only bitch, is she?" He leaned back against the weathered pillar, the firelight carving deep shadows into the lines of his face. "Let's give our Elementalist a rest. C'mon, warrior-- ride me."
A triumphant thrill shot through Jarrah. This was it. Not just a fuck, but an audition. She made quick work of the leather ties on her breeches, pushing them down her strong thighs along with her smallclothes. The cool night air kissed her wetness, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside her. She straddled him, her bone armor clicking softly as she settled over his lean hips. He didn’t bother to undress fully, just freeing his cock again, thick and ruddy in the flickering light.
She guided him to her entrance, notching the head against her slick folds. She looked him directly in the eye as she sank down, a slow, deliberate descent that made her gasp. He filled her utterly, a stretching, burning fullness that was exactly what she’d craved.
“That’s it,” Rastin growled, his hands moving to her body. One calloused, dirty hand gripped her breast through her tunic and armor, squeezing roughly, his thumb finding her nipple and pinching it hard through the layers. The other hand palmed the firm globe of her ass, fingers digging into the muscle, controlling her rhythm, urging her to move faster.
Jarrah obeyed, riding him with a powerful, piston-like motion of her hips. Her long black hair came loose from its tie, cascading around her shoulders as she threw her head back. “Fuck… yes…,” she moaned, the crude word feeling right in this ruined place. She was a warrior, taking her pleasure, proving her strength. Each downward slam of her hips was a claim. She was better than the timid witch. She could take everything he had.
Rastin watched her, his eyes dark and intense beneath his heavy brows. His hips bucked up to meet her thrusts, the rough stone at his back grinding against his hides. The smell of him—sweat, smoke, and male musk—filled her senses. His grip on her ass tightened, his fingers pressing so hard she knew she’d bruise, and she welcomed the mark.
“You like that, you strong bitch?” he grunted, his breath hot against her neck.
“Gods, yes,” Jarrah cried out, her movements becoming more frantic, less controlled. The pleasure was a tight coil winding in her belly, ready to snap. She could feel him thickening inside her, his rhythm becoming jagged. He was close.
With a final, brutal thrust upwards, he buried himself to the hilt and held her there. A raw, guttural roar tore from his throat as he came, pumping his hot release deep inside her in thick, pulsing jets. Jarrah clenched around him, her own climax crashing over her in a wave of shuddering, blinding white heat, milking him for every last drop.
She collapsed forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders, feeling the dampness of his ragged tunic against her palms. They stayed like that for a long moment, joined and breathing heavily in the firelit silence, the only sound the crackle of the flames and Malkin’s soft, ragged breathing from the shadows.
They stayed like that for a long moment, joined and breathing heavily in the firelit silence, the only sound the crackle of the flames and Malkin’s soft, ragged breathing from the shadows. Jarrah slowly pushed herself up, Rastin’s seed already leaking down her inner thigh as she dismounted from his lap. The cold air bit at her damp skin, a stark reminder of where they were.
Suddenly, Malkin emerged from the darkness, her movements unnervingly quiet. Her hood had fallen back, revealing eyes that glinted with a strange, desperate intensity. "Let me clean it," she said, her voice firmer than they had ever heard it. "You like it clean, Master, don't you?"
Before anyone could react, she dropped to her knees between them. Her small, cool hands pressed against Jarrah’s stomach, guiding her back onto the ground beside Rastin. She leaned in first towards Rastin, her tongue snaking out to lap at the spend that glistened on his softening cock. She cleaned him with a slow, meticulous thoroughness, her lips and tongue working over every inch until he was spotless.
Then she turned to Jarrah, her gaze unwavering. She pushed Jarrah’s thighs apart, burying her face between them without hesitation. Her tongue was a hot, insistent pressure, licking and sucking Rastin’s cum from Jarrah’s folds and her own wetness. Jarrah gasped, her back arching off the cold stone as Malkin’s mouth found her clit.
Malkin’s fingers dug into Jarrah’s hips, holding her in place as she ate her out with a fierce, hungry rhythm. “Come for me again,” Malkin murmured against her, the words vibrating through Jarrah’s entire body. The sorceress’s tongue circled and flicked, a relentless, expert assault that built a new, shocking wave of pleasure.
Jarrah’s hands fisted in Malkin’s dull brown hair, not to push her away, but to grind herself harder against that mouth. “Oh, fuck… yes…,” she moaned, her earlier confidence melting into pure, raw sensation. The orgasm ripped through her, a violent, trembling release that left her shuddering and spent on the dusty ground.