"I'll make you a deal," she said as she got up onto her knees. "If you fuck me well, you can come in my mouth."

"And what do you know, I'm hard again. Take me."

"That's the idea," she said. "Hmm, but where to start."

"I know just the thing." Tobin scooted back until he was leaning against a stack of pillows at the head of the bed. "Come sit on my lap. I should be right up against you, not inside you. Yeah, just like that."

Gingerly, Brunhilde set herself down on the tiefling's leathery abdomen. Her cunt weighed down obliquely against his stubbornly upright shaft, so that rather than slipping inside, it pressed into her tender parts. "Ohhh. Okay."

Tobin leaned left to make eye contact. "I give you: my impression of a Matlani wardrummer." With some effort, he raised and lowered his legs just enough to tap out a gallup rhythm on the bed with his heels: dat, da-da dat, da-da dat. "March!" he barked in a high falsetto.

Then he started to beat out the same gallup rhythm against his dick with flattened hands, adding the requisite drumroll flourishes every other bar, exactly as the wardrummers did: dat, da-da dat, da-da dzzzzz dat! dat, da-da dat, da-da dzzzzz dat!

Brun smirked, then shuddered, then burst out laughing. This, of course, made it impossible to settle into what he was doing, so with each little concussive tap of hand against dick, she twitched as though she'd been tied up and tickled with a pikkuk feather.

"Ohohoho, wait, wait, stop a second!” she cried. “Ohohohoho… need to… breathe."

"That concludes the live comedy portion of our evening. Now, how about you play with that a little, while I play with these." Tobin's warm hands wrapped around her and gently massaged her areolas, while she got a hold of his shaft and began to stroke it. The foreskin slid pleasurably against her cunt, quickly taking on some of her slickness.

"Your responses are delightful," he intoned softly. "Would that I had you to play with for a weekend."

"I'm not usually one for such buttering up," she said with a broad grin, "but in your case, I'll take all the butter. Tell me. What would you do with me?" Of their own accord, her hips had begun to grind against him. His infernal curvature was such that the tip of him kept teasing her entrance.

He whispered in her ear. It was a long list, and his breath was palpably hot.

Brunhilde gasped loudly.

"Too far?"

"No! I just haven't been asked that in ages. The thought of it, with you..."

"We could, if you like."

She shook her head. "Another time. Right now, I'm gonna do what I came here to do. I don't have the stamina for much else."

She slid off his lap and turned to face him. He let her shove him down against the mattress, then held his dick steady so she could impale herself on it. The wetness dripping from her made it a nice easy glide.

For a long moment, she shut her eyes and rocked back and forth, savoring the sensations.

"Gods, you are a perfect fit. Hitting exactly the right places."

"Oh yeah?" asked Tobin. "You ready to ride me off into the plains?"

She reached behind her and gave Tobin's thigh a loud slap. "Hya!" And Gods bless him, he grabbed her hips and shoved, bouncing her like an unsaddled horseback while she did her best to keep time with him. The rhythm was hypnotic. In seemingly just moments, she could feel herself throbbing with tiny spasms, and her eyes slid closed briefly.

"How is it?" he asked.

"Good, good," she said, at a loss for intelligent commentary. It was only a modest little orgasm, but there was more where that came from. She was beginning to sweat like an ale fresh from the icebox.

"Touch yourself for me? I'd do it, but, ah..."

"Sure, sure." Usually that would've needed no prompting, where was her head at today? Brunhilde's mouth slowly fell open as she rubbed little ellipses around her clit. More fuel to the fire.

When they collided now, she could imagine sparks spraying, and heat rippling outward from the point of impact. Two feral hearts, a bower in a forest, smoldering, then suddenly aflame. Embers catching on grass, grass igniting leaves, branches, trees... a conflagration...

"You still with me, Brun?"

"Wh-what? Yes. It just... feels like I'm riding a horse, in a forest on fire. And the horse is on fire. And I'm on fire? But in a good way."

"We'd better finish this. Come here, you," said Tobin, and he reached out and pulled her face close to his. His tongue caught hers again as they locked lips. Together his quickened thrusts and heady kiss finished her off.

Brunhilde pulled back from the kiss, as warmth from her cunt surged out in all directions. "Ahh! Ahh!" Wetness gushed onto his legs and abdomen, and dribbled down onto the sheets. The dick slipped free and her body slid against it. Her legs jerked, and then trembled, as they slowly came to a halt. The room spun slowly about them.

"Nine hells, Tobin." She kissed him again. "I am exhausted. Did you come? I'm still game if..."

"There's no time. I need you to sit up, and wait here a moment."

***

The room was starting to show in doubles. With leaden hands Brunhilde wiped sweat from her brow.

Then, quite unannounced, the door was thrown open and Tobin stormed in with a tall clay pitcher. Trailing behind him was a beautiful young woman, a head taller than he and with a slender, fey look to her. Her confused eyes were violet, and her skin, incredibly pale.

Tobin and the girl were speaking heatedly in some kind of argot, a mix of infernal and Matlani unless Brun missed her guess. She pulled the bedsheet tightly to her breast and said,

"What's going on?"

"Darling, this is Rowena. She's going to give you a quick magical check-up. And then I need you to drink some water, okay? Thanks."

Rowena held out a hand, 10 cm or so from Brun's forehead. A soft, cool sensation, like fingers made of water, washed slowly over her from head to toes. The room came into sharper focus, and she realized she wasn't just sweating. She was drenched with sweat.

The elf smiled warmly. "Like I was telling Tob, you're okay. Just a little dehydration."

Brunhilde frowned. "It must be the beer. Sorry to worry you, kiddo."

"No," said Tobin. "I should be sorry! It's my job to make sure you have a good experience. I got a little freaked out, had to make sure there wasn't some hellish nonsense going on. Now darling, you need to drink water. Here." He passed the carafe, and she drank greedily. "I'll stay and keep you company until the whole liter's been drunk. And then Greenleaf and I are going to have a few words. G'night, Rowena."

"Wait!" said Brun. The elf turned to her from the doorway. "Rowena, I just have to know. The story about him servicing the three pirate women, is it true?"

Rowena smiled placidly. "Oh yes. Entirely true. Although for some reason, he never mentions there was a fourth: he mistook a random crewman delivering his meal for an officer, and sucked the guy's soul out through his dick."

"Love you too sis. Now get lost."

...

It was a slow Monday at the smithy, and Brunhilde was taking her lunch break out back, when Grigor's pimpled face appeared in the door with a curious grin. "Boss! Something came for you. I think it's from a suitor?"

At the front desk, right by the double door leading back to the forge, was a bouquet of 13 gorgeous yellow jonquils and a single orange elvenhammer. Gold-colored string bound the flowers, and from it, there hung a tiny ampoule. There was also a little cream colored envelope with a hand-written letter.

"Well, I'll be."

She reached for her reading glasses.

Yellow jonquils for good health, good fortune, and benevolent intent. Orange elvenhammer for fondness, fucking, and of course, forging.

I hope this note finds you well, darling. It's been brought to my attention that dehydration is a rare but serious side effect of sex with tiefling fire mages. Not dangerous if treated promptly, but it sure can put a damper on a lady's fun. In the name of hospitable dealings, and of my huge crush on you, The Crossed Swords invites you to enjoy another night with me, gratis, on the condition that you take one drop of this flame-bane potion with a full glass of water before leaving home. Be well, be blessed.

T.H.

P.S. Rowena says that getting sucked off by someone with flame-bane protection would feel like ice! We'd be doing only what you wish, of course. I just thought you might find that little fact interesting.

...

"Package for you, little brother." Rowena entered the inn's little staff kitchen with a devious smirk, and casually deposited the long twine-wrapped parcel at the dining table in front of Tobin.

On it was just his name, Tobin Hammertoss, in a businesslike script.

"Do you suppose it's her?"

"How in the hells should I know? Open it!"

Tobin was suddenly aware of the whole room watching. Smudge, Rowena—even Madame Greenleaf had somehow appeared in the doorway just in time for the reveal. "Sheesh, guys." He slowly pulled the knot, discarded the cord, and tore the wrapper away to reveal a plain black box. It was rather heavy.

"Now what could this be?"

Inside was a gorgeous Vale-steel stiletto, with delicately worked black hilt and low profile cross-guard, proportioned just right for a tiefling. The infernal glyph for 'fire' was burned onto its leather grip. He turned the weapon over slowly and reverently, grinning broadly as its unearthly blue-black metal caught the light.

A hush had fallen over the room. Only the Madame seemed unaffected by its spell of silence: "Oh, wow," she said.

There was something else in the box, Tobin realized. A small hand-written note on a slip of white paper. It read,

I accept. See you tonight.P.S. better get hydrated yourself, kiddo.

B.B.