My hips pulled back and I slid back home harder, faster. Soft, gasping pants left my mate as she started to lose her rhythm. A grin stole over my face and I did it again, and again, until she was grinding down on my shaft, her thick thighs squeezing my hips demandingly. Pressing her upper back into the thick base of a fat, mossy green tree, I adjusted my hold, shifting my hips, and proceeded to pound my Queen’s sweet cunt until she was squeezing me so tight I thought my dick might burst.
A sudden noise, right as my Queen’s orgasm overtook her, attempting to take me along with her as a long, drawn out growl tore from my throat, had me glancing up, angling our bodies away, to find the plant man, looking like he’d stumbled upon us, blinking over at us owlishly.
My lips pulled back in warning as I stared at him for a moment from over my shoulder. I didn’t slow down, didn’t say anything. I hadn’t the need to. The Man of the Marsh whose territory we were currently tupping in, shifted, his towering plant based frame more than a size and a half of me. My runes sparked, lit, crackling. Vines wrapping around him writhing as if to shudder at what it had just witnessed, a Troll fucking his sweet maiden with abandon, he lifted a green hand to shield his odd colored eyes, shaking his head, and quickly disappeared into the muck.
My Queen, none the wiser as to the interloper, reached around me, her hand cracking down across my ass hard enough I groaned and jerked, a hissed out moan spilling from my lips as my body finally gave over. Even as I came hard, giving my female what her body, milking me for every drop it felt like I possessed, demanded, neither of us stopped.
It was a long while before we were fit to move beyond this spot. My limbs were feeling a little weak, trembling in a pleasant memory of our romp as we finally dragged ourselves apart and began the trek back to our sanctuary.
“You know… you could just poof us home, via dirt-a-portation,” she mused, brushing a mud crusted blond lock from her face. Her lips were swollen, face a pretty pink from exertion from our lovemaking. She shifted so seamlessly at times I wondered if she was even aware. My queen was beautiful in every form.
“I can transport from a property to within another point in that boundary. Seam ripping is Ogre business.”
“And seam ripping would be… poofing to other places?” she murmured curiously, watching her step as she placed her hand on my shoulder for balance. My skin rippled, runes flickering, at her touch.
“To other places, yes,” I replied without explaining further. She’d thought she’d known enough of this realm, realizing quickly she did not. I worried my Queen would grow stressed and more overwhelmed than I was sensing she already was if she was made aware of all that she didn’t know too fast.
“Have you thought of contacting your Penny?” I reminded.
She thought to protect her younger sibling, but she was no harm to her loved one. My sunshine needed her sister, perhaps now more than ever.
“I will. I will…” she mumbled, voice lowering. “As soon as I’m not so scared of myself.”
As soon as we returned to our cottage, I fed my Queen and rested alongside her when she began to yawn and rub at her eyes. We were slowly bettering her Earth magicks, but her powers of Water were greater than I knew beyond my own, which were Ornthren based to her Mordenne, Death-Bringer-Kelpy-Guardian-ancient-magicks elements.
Once I was assured she was sleeping, I placed a call.
Surprisingly, an Ogre picked up.
“La Faeii’s desk. Speak,” the brusque voice demanded.
“Thees!” a feminine voice scolded in the background. “Don’t pick up the phone if you can’t say it like you’re supposed to! Oh, what am I going to do with you! Would you-”
“This is the making of matches business the Hellhound plunders under that the Manclops used to woo his Fair Penny?” I muttered, not entirely surprised yet feeling a little incredulous.
“Hold, Troll King,” this Thees said simply. “For you,” he told the woman quietly cursing a blue streak.
“Hello, Morgan La Faeii of Made to Match,” the woman began smoothly, her voice restrained and polite, “how may I-”
“My female’s powers are unbound. She is of an older Kelpy line. Not the watered down Selkie Kelpies of now. Her enchantments are proving hard to control. We seek refuge with learned Merfolk.”
“When you say ancient Kelpie,” she murmured.
“Guardian. Demon water horse.Kelpy,”I said simply.
“Funny that you should call,” she started to say, her tone taking on a cajoling hint I didn’t care for.
“No dick pulling, matchmaking female,” I cut in bluntly, “I will help if I am able, if assistance is forthcoming for my mate. No sweet talkings to me from you are needed. I am aware of the lies you told to bring the Cyclops and his female together. Do not put the bull’s shit on me.”
“Oh, Theseus, you would love this guy. He sounds just like you,” this Morgan La Faeii of making matches muttered wryly to her companion. “Listen, uh…”
“Segrid, the Troll you were trying to match with my sunshine, who you assumed was Human, with your odd intermatings schemings, and found your hired hound entangled with a Dhamphir.”
“A Vampire?!” she squawked. “Rez said he came across some trouble, he never said-” Her words cut off abruptly and she cleared her throat. Much cooler, she replied, “I have a contact, Mer, she’s been meaning to talk with someone who knows something of curses. I believe you could help each other. Let me get you the number to The Fin. You’ll want to talk to Birnepholous Aquetori, he’s aware of the situation and can fill you in… I-”
“He is not Ogre, but the Troll is blunt. I like this,” Theseus said on a grunt, as I snorted, but then an idea niggled its way into my brain.
“Hellish Ogre’s know of Earth magicks…” I let the thought sit there. The Ogres of The Helm were mainly Gardesh and Dreshin, their dialects subtly different than the Hellish beast I found myself on the line with. Gardesh were fire Ogres and Dreshin were passion mongers, emotion eaters, a type of siphoner, typically cannibalizing themselves with their constant feedings off their pursuit of their own passions, like Dagmar and her love of the tedious silk spinnings and weavings.
