by Cebelius
"Why not do it here first?" she asked.
"Because I don't half-ass things. If you want to sex me up in my dreams that's something we can try, but I figured you'd want it to be real the first time given you don't want to fake it here."
Isthil pondered him for a moment, then her eyes widened in surprise. "That's a genuine offer!"
He lifted an eyebrow as he asked, "What, you're reading my mind?"
"Course I am, you nit. I'm in yer dreams. More t' the point, I suppose guilt has its uses, aye? What Mila said really did get under yer skin."
"Yeah ... a bit. I can't promise I'll be able to do ... well, much of anything, with your lower half, but you did tell me once you had one in front and one in back," Terry said, rubbing at the back of his neck as he forced himself to speak through his embarrassment. "You said you didn't know why all centaurs were built that way. Call me crazy but ..."
He shrugged and pointed at himself. "Maybe templates are why."
"Hah! The world does no' revolve around you, Terry," Isthil said, folding her arms across her chest.
"Yeah? Prove it," he said, grinning.
She tipped her head back and laughed, and he laughed with her.
"So you're reading my mind, right?"
"Aye?"
His grin turned sly as he asked, "What number am I thinking of?"
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him a moment, then her lips pursed in an effort to suppress a smile.
"You've a filthy mind."
"Wake me up."
"Aye, I'd better."
Terry opened his eyes to find himself couched in Prada's substance, all save for his head, which hung off the edge a bit. He was looking at an upside down Isthil as she gazed down at him with those blazing eyes. Her skin was so dark that were it not for the her silver hair floating in a corona around her head, she would have blended right into the night, leaving him with only her eyes and teeth.
Her breasts were small and pert, and her nipples stood out as points, black on black.
She was smiling as she said quietly, "Prada was eager to facilitate this, as ye may imagine. I hope ye dinnae mind me skipping the whole, takin' me clothes off all sexy like."
"Nah, though at some point you'll have to show me that, you've made me curious," he said quietly, letting his eyes trace down her bared mid-riff.
Aside from her breasts, she had very little fat and her abs stood out, pointing the way down to a ruff of silver hair trimmed in a neat triangle that pointed the way to her sex, the details of which he could make out because her inner lips were not as dark as the rest of her.
He reached out, hesitated, then set his hands on the flare of her hips. Her body was entirely humanoid above them, but Isthil's hips flared out into the shoulders of her lower half. Her sex was nestled in between the powerful chest muscles that drove her legs. Her physique was alien, but strangely beautiful and well put-together. It looked natural, despite being completely outside his experience.
It was easy for him to concentrate just on what he saw of her, the beautiful ebon-skinned woman with the silver eyes and hair ... with the very inviting looking set of lower lips at just the right height.
"See?" she asked, setting her own hand atop his on her hip as she looked down at him. He met her gaze and she arched an eyebrow. "I'm no' so bad."
"Never said you were ... I just wasn't giving you a fair chance."
"Hah, you still havena done that. But you will. Backin' out now is no' an option, Terry Mack. Yer dirty thinkin' has me thinkin' dirty, and I'll no' forgive you if'n ye dinnae deliver."
He grinned easily. "Well, if you're taking my dirty thoughts as a guide, start following instructions, woman."
She chuckled at him, then bent forward. With her lower body settled next to Prada and his own cushioned upon the sanguine devil, he was at the perfect height. As her body lowered over his, her sex came right to him.
His hands slid up over her hips to the small of her back and he practically hung from her as he kissed her outer petals.
He'd expected her to smell of horse and had prepared to put it from his mind. Instead, she smelled of ... the fresh air after a hard rain. The smell was rich, but clean in a way he couldn't quite describe, but that definitely motivated his exploration.
As his tongue flickered out, teasing her labia, he felt her body settle over his, felt her fingertips drift over his half-hard flesh and bring it rapidly to a full stand.
She kissed his lower abs, and he felt her tongue flick over his skin as she worked her way lower. As he tightened a bit at the sensual feel of her, he sent Prada a bit of quiet appreciation for keeping him clean.
Her response was immediate, but limited to a feeling. He got the impression the blood devil was very focused on the sensations flowing through him, and that drew his own attention back to them as Isthil lifted her head, kissed the crown of his shaft, and then began to take him in without much preamble as she leaned back just a bit to change the angle, and then slid forward, forcing a groan from him as he felt her throat give in to him.
Realizing he now had to play catch-up, he resumed his own attentions on her, his tongue easing around her and then dipping inside.
She really does taste like ... rain. That is so weird.
He dropped a hand around her hip to give himself more options, and slid first one finger, then two into her as he shifted his lingual attentions to her pearl.
Her body tightened almost in a mirror of his own reaction to her earlier, and her lazy movements began to pick up. She wasn't giving him head so much as fucking him with her mouth, and despite his myriad sexual escapades both before and since coming to Celestine, the sensation was new ... and felt really good.
The fact that her body didn't split into legs below her sex, but instead presented a solid wall of muscle meant he was left in a somewhat awkward position as he used both his hand and mouth to please her, but he made it work, soon discovering that she seemed to really like it when he sucked her clit in and caught it with his teeth.
She'd been getting more worked up, and the nub he had caged in his lips swelled for him as he flicked his tongue lightly across the crown. He curled the fingers inside her and began to stroke as he felt the stirrings of his own impending orgasm.
He thought to warn her, but she clearly sensed it on her own and picked up her pace, forcing him to match if he wanted any hope of getting her to the finish line first.
Her pleasures coated the back of his hand, slid over his palm and dripped away as she began to tighten, then abruptly to pulse. Her body shuddered over him, and the feeling of her climax finished him.
With a strangled gasp against her, he tensed and his shaft bucked, pouring the proofs of his pleasure down her throat.
He barely managed to keep hold of her hip as he let himself hang underneath her, groaning as his climax peaked, then faded into aftershocks.
She almost lazily drew back up and off of him, slurping noisily in an obviously deliberate display that did exactly what she no doubt intended. He grinned and murmured, "Fuck ... I've never had anyone do that to me before. That was ... damn."
She lifted herself, gripped his shoulders and pushed him away from her a bit. Prada shifted him obligingly, until she was able to lean over and look him in the eye as she rested her weight on her hands.
Her hair continued to drift above and around her head rather than falling down around them, and her glowing silver eyes and black-lipped smile were darkly beautiful as she gave him a sultry cat-that-got-the-canary look.
"Oral sex is pretty rare on Celestine, Terry, yer own remarkable experiences aside. Most creatures cannae do it more than just the once if y'take mah meanin'. That said, centaurs are known for it, an' I personally fuckin' love it. It's been a while since I had a partner t' practice on though."
She wrinkled her nose at him and waggled her eyebrows. "Good t' see I havena lost mah touch, aye?"
Terry nodded, wide-eyed as he breathed, "Aye ... ayeyaiyai."
Isthi
l grinned, clearly pleased. "Well, now that we've brok'n the ice ... ready f'round two?"
"How was yours?" he asked, genuinely curious, but also stalling to catch his breath even as he felt Prada quivering beneath him with barely suppressed excitement.
Isthil shrugged and smiled idly down at him as she said, "Oh, it was all right. Front cums are never as good, but I'm in no rush."
She bent down, kissed his forehead, and murmured, "I'll take it slow w' you, I promise ... let ye get used t' me. I'm truly happy ye were willin' t' give me a chance. I'm sure that, given time, ye'll learn to ride me proper."
12
Blank Space
Leaving the steppes behind without encountering any more tauren was both a relief and a surprise for Terry. Granted, he had used the eye-demon summoning spell each morning and sent the little creature scouting ahead to ensure a clear path, but that it worked without a hitch made him vaguely uneasy. He had come to expect disaster, and for the last week the worst thing they'd encountered had been a brief thunderstorm that had made for a miserable night.
A further two days brought them uneventfully through the foothills and over a saddle between two mountains to a beautiful valley. At the head of the valley stood a crumbling stone fortress.
Terry had thought Koschei's castle had been run down, but this place was truly worn. It looked to have been uninhabited for at least a few hundred years, and as they approached it looked like the only reason it was still standing was because the stones used in the walls had been so carefully selected to fit together. Most of whatever mortar had once bound one rock to another was long gone.
Mila had told him about this place, and the fact that her tribe had once called it home for a number of years, having come over the mountains and found it already abandoned. They had eventually descended onto the steppe to avoid starvation, for despite the apparently verdant valley the fortress oversaw, winters in the area were exceedingly brutal and unforgiving.
Isthil shoulder-checked him as they ambled toward the castle and said, "We're out in the open now. Care for a ride?"
Terry chuckled and said, "You really weren't kidding when you said you liked having someone in the saddle."
After their exchange of oral pleasure, Isthil had asked Prada to walk while she taught Terry how to ride. It had surprised him that his sanguine devil-wife agreed so readily, though in retrospect it shouldn't have. Increasing the number of bonds he had might not be at the very top of her list of priorities, but it was close. He and Isthil had stopped at oral sex, and that apparently wasn't enough to trigger a bond.
Prada resumed her guise as Charlie from Top Gun, but in order to carry the cocoons Isthil passed off to her, she allowed Halla's gift to fully manifest, which left her just over ten feet tall. Terry had to insist she manifest clothes before she did so, and she'd pouted mercilessly about it.
By the end of the week, Isthil had Terry comfortable riding, at least, riding her.
He rather suspected that riding a true horse would be a completely different experience. He'd asked if he should try at one point, only to give up the question immediately when she gave him a vaguely hurt look. It was painfully obvious she wanted to be his only mount.
He had humored her until they reached the end of the steppelands. Once they entered the forest that skirted the mountains, he had dismounted despite her protestations. While he'd grown to trust his sense of balance and felt confident the grade wouldn't prove difficult, he didn't want to face surprises on anything but his own two feet. Being on the open steppe meant anything they encountered wouldn't be without warning. The same couldn't be said once the trees kept them from seeing more than a few hundred feet ahead at most.
Now they were back in the open again, and Terry was conflicted. In truth, he preferred walking to riding her. He'd had time to think about it, and sitting on her back just felt a bit too much like riding bitch on a motorcycle. He wasn't driving, wasn't the one who decided where they were going.
"Thanks Isthil, but for now I'll walk," he said, smiling easily. "We're only a mile from where we're going, and we aren't in a rush."
Prada glanced down at him and asked, "Do you want to approach in a disguise?"
Terry shook his head and said, "No, I'm done hiding. I'll show my face, figure out if there's going to be a problem, and if there is I'll crush it."
Mila glanced back sharply at him as she said, "These are my people, Terry."
"Fine," he amended without missing a beat. "I'll show my face, figure out if there's going to be a problem, and if there is you'll crush it. Makes no difference to me so long as the end result is the same."
He lifted an eyebrow as she scowled at him, her lips curling up to expose a bit more of her saber. "What? Is there a way you'd prefer to handle it? I'm all ears, but I'm done hiding. I shouldn't have to. I should never have had to. Besides, it has never worked."
Prada grinned and said, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results."
Terry waved a hand up at his currently giant-sized wife and said, "There you have it. So what do you want me to do, Mila? You're right. These are your people, so call the play."
"Call the play?" she asked, one of her ears twisting sideways in confusion.
"Tell him what you want him to do," Prada said as she spared a sly smile for him.
Mila reined her horse in and Shy did likewise a step later. Terry and the rest all focused on her, and Mila seemed momentarily disconcerted.
Then she straightened in the saddle and said, "My transformation gives me a great deal of authority with my people. There should be no need for deception. We are who we are."
She scowled, then shrugged and turned her horse back toward the castle as she said peevishly, "If there is a problem, I will crush it."
Terry exchanged a look with the rest, then grinned as he followed along.
"Yes ma'am."
As they approached the crumbling edifice, Terry realized they must be quite the sight. Halla and Prada were each about ten feet tall. Halla wore a breastplate and a metal-studded leather skirt along with bracers and greaves. Over her shoulder she carried a studded metal club.
Prada looked like a blonde, blue-eyed bombshell pulled straight out of the eighties, complete with leather jacket over a white t-shirt and jeans, but she carried five sizable web cocoons that lined her back, two to a side with the smallest balanced on top behind her head.
Mila was a rakshasa, a saber-toothed tiger-kin with backward hands and an impressive physique for a female of her kind, wearing cream-colored robes edged in red. She had black hair growing in through the tiger-striped fur of her head, and piercing green eyes. Her magic staff was gnarled and capped by a rough-cut ruby the size of a grown man's fist.
Shy was sporting a full gown of fall foliage that did little to hide her curves, and her luminous green eyes and rich fall of leafy hair made for a sharp contrast with the purely business-like Rod of Arcs affixed to her back. It was a metal staff that looked like it had been pulled off a generator in Frankenstein's lab with green-tinged electricity humming around the ball at its head in a halo of power.
Then there was Isthil, a black-skinned nightmare centaur wearing black-enameled armor with blazing silver eyes and hair that floated behind her as though she were underwater.
Last, him. Human. Six feet even, gray-green eyes, bent nose, too many scars, and a rough-cut poet's shirt that hung off his shoulders to cover the top of his canvas pants.
He grinned.
He was easily the least impressive person in this motley crew. Were he not a template, he'd never get a second glance in this kind of company.
Man, what I wouldn't give to be just another guy for once.
As soon as he had that thought, another followed that set him on his mental heels.
If I were just another guy ... none of these women would have ever given two shits about me.
He frowned. It was sad really. He'd never lacked confidence around women, but with th
e possible exception of Mila, not one of those around him now would have ever considered him in a normal world.
Then again, none of them EXISTED in what I used to think was an ordinary world. I've got no way to know what kind of man I could have been if I were just ... normal here. What would I have been?
"What is it, Tee? What troubles you?"
He glanced up and noticed that Shy had dropped back from her place next to Mila in the lead and now rode at his right shoulder.
"Nothing. Just thinking."
Shy was silent, but he felt her attention as a sort of pressure on his mind and glanced up to see her staring down at him with a raised eyebrow.
"What? Really, just ... wondering what life here would be like without a magic dick, that's all."
"You would be dead," Shy said, smirking at him.
"Yeah, there's that."
"Oh, come now, Tee. Is it really so bad?"
He gave her 'the look.'
"And here I thought you had come to terms with this place," she said, her smile softening a bit.
"I have. I just wonder, that's all. I'm allowed to do that."
Shy tilted her head to meet his gaze, her expression one of playful curiosity as she said, "Well, you have seen much of this world now. If you born here, just an ordinary male, what do you think would have become of you?"
"Honestly? I think I'd have become a blacksmith."
"What?" Isthil broke in from his other side, chuckling richly. "Yer jokin'."
"No, not really. Something about it. Didn't get much of a chance to really watch the men work when I saw them in Florence ... but something about that appealed to me. Deep down, you know?"
"Ida thought you'd be a warrior," Isthil said, giving him a bold once-over. "I cannae imagine you chained t' a forge, hammerin' out horseshoes an' hinges day after day."
He shrugged. "Shy asked, I answered. I don't suppose that'd be likely anyway though. People here get born into what they do it seems like."
