A Goddess in Blue
A Goddess in Blue
by Korpse_Infested_Karnival
(KIK)
_(Author's Note: Once again, I let judgment get the best of me. Sometimes I don't understand and am very confused. I took this down to see what was wrong, but I can't fix the way I've written things. I suppose it really is that bad of a piece.
But a blemish is a blemish. Should be a reminder to do much better down the road; comfort is not something I aim for.
-KIK)_
Shadows were alive in his mind. Spirits howling their profane songs echoed throughout the corridors of his troubled subconscious. His thoughts, his dreams, they were painted with black rivers and dead faces, leery, soulless eyes in the distance gazing at him hungrily. For naught but two weeks, Geist had been assailed by bizarre visions and whispers, figures lingering in the twilight when his eyelids snapped shut. While it was not uncommon for someone of his mastery of mind and metal to have a powerful connection to the supernatural elements, it was when they in fact bore nothing but poison ilk and ill intent.
Sometime after his service in the Hadaras region, the kingdom of Vallen had called forth several knights-for-hire to lay waste to troubling battalions of unidentified foes plaguing their outer villages. It was soon realized that these vague killers were in fact the butchering marauders only held back by treaty, the Orok. The dissident collection of empires had long ago made a fragile peace with the spider-taming brutes, yet now, abruptly, they erupted from their hives and sought to maim the local populace with a newly invigorated sense of hate.
When Vallen had contracted Geist to defend their home from siege, he became more and more troubled the longer he stayed. He recalled the Orok to be a broken, haphazard cluster of tribes and clans, each dying over the other, a new chief or leader assassinated as quickly as he came to power. Now they were organized, contemplative, and striking with intense ingenuity, operating as the perfect military machine. The Knight of Blood had always been taught that the best army is one that is unionized like an armed clock. And now the Orok were operating on such a level.
Was it now possible that they were under command of a new leader, with enough ferocity and intelligence to sack each kingdom one by one? It did not seem likely, but the stars burned red and the horizon was ablaze with fire, ominous icons that the human temple did not take lightly. There were words, as well, invisible text etched into the forefront of his metallic skull, crying from the north in a dull, funeral monotony.
And all shall swim in the corpses water. . .
What this meant constantly evaded the mercenary templar. It had him troubled, the fact that he could not see this supposed foe for what it was aggravated Geist, and could easily spark conflagrations of fear for those who could not defend themselves.
During his time in the Vallen halls, he had asked some of the other warriors for hire if they had any debilitating spasms of painful precognition, yet they all declined to such nightmares. It appeared that the gray-haired knight was the only one burdened with this psychic curse, mayhaps the gods toying with him in the sense that only he should heft this baggage.
Of course, Geist showed no sign of falter or weakness. Undying hopes and glorious sonnets were sung in the name of one wrought forth out of iron crypts, the Knight of Blood no exception. He was challenged, yet again, to remain strong and steady in the wake of unknown perils, smile at the guise of an assassin, chuckle when the ugly facade of the Devil himself dared prod the livelihood of a common citizen. Even when he was not certain of the will of his own spirit.
A type of mental peace, an aura of seclusion was needed. The scribes from his home had tomes scripted in blood, and each word spoke of a way to find a perfected trance, morphing into the axis of the earth, with all things moving through the catalyst in question. To accommodate Geist and many other paladins of his metal city, the union of kingdoms had built special environments for the purpose of giving an ax-wielding monk a moment of passive calm. They were, in some regards, artificial, only to the point where they naturally could not grow within man-made masonry.
In other words, fabricated forests of nearly every flower and trim, insect and plant, were manifested within several chambers of each respective empire. From cool dappling streams to rosy colored flora, the physical realm was altered as a pseudo-shrine for the sacrosanct warrior in query, and of which Geist was about to take full advantage of.
Especially now. Taking stride down Vallen's richly decorated inner halls, the outside light was slowly dimming, and the curtain of night lifted by crow's wings was at near approach. The reason for the human-temple's unabated haste was that the tapestry of darkness had more virulent effect on him than when the sun burned bright. Voices and visions were at full force at the recede of the sky's golden eye, and the gray-crowned soldier of honor could not protect a city when his psyche was left in disarray.
It took him a rather durable gap of time to make his way towards the shrine. In fact, the stonework garden itself was a sub level in Vallen's capital citadel, done so in a manner so that locals, guards, nobles, or any other such intrusions could not deter the lords in question during their focus. Along the way, he was studiously reminded of what he was trying to protect, that similar a shepherd to his flock he would keep safe the dwellers of Vallen.
Not to mention, he fought for his maidens with vigor and force.
Indeed, Geist held his color and flag with pride, the pearly sinewy vines of emerald and white meshed seamlessly into his ornate armor, but his body was but another testament to the valiance he released in battle. A masterwork of inked markings, complex tattoos and arcane designs woven together with colorful patterns of golds, reds, silvers, blues and greens forested over his flesh that symbolized his eternal bond with the maidens in his harem. The Keep, the spiritual swordsman's home, was apt to provide the gathering of mercenary knights with an array of things, with no exception to exotic delights of the earthly nature. As such, Geist had committed an eternal oath to those who served him by marking a metaphorical artistry into his body.
He thought fondly of them as he neared a pair of massive double doors in the roots of Vallen's capital. The gray crowned warrior had been told a great many details about each girl. Some was a mixture of tired preachings, such as the Deacons saying it was both prophecy and the will of the gods. Some also said it was a matter of choice, that the maiden actually chose her master knight be it based on attraction or other itemizations. Whether it was by fate or chance, however, the human temple paid was never certain, nor was he concerned of its actual origin. They comforted, protected, and soothed him when the need was dire, and in return, he offered his life for theirs, for no creature with this trust of power should use it with advantage.
Upon reaching the sub hall's main doorway, the luminosity had shifted considerably, and not by the waxing of the outside time. Replacing the flickering, amber orange glow of torch and firelight was a serene, bluish aura emitting from the sturdy garnished frame of oak. Puddles of night-scape shades danced vividly over the granular walls, and an abrupt, jarring calm could be felt at the pulse of the door, a sign of the shrine's spiritual acuteness.
As he pried open the massive framework, the whites of Geist's tunic became throbbing violets, and the jade greens transcended into a mixture of magenta and emerald, the sheer force of this forged dimensional oasis reflecting over the warrior monk in strobes of phantasmic essences. And how appropriate such a cascade of hues met his eyes upon entering the pseudo-forest.
Indeed, it was such, though created in a manner that both suited the vigilant fighter and wrought the icons of Vallen itself. Trees of a twisted spiral bark were administered throughout the mossy ground like wood soldiers, shepherding the mass variety of flora skittered across the tilled earth. To show meaningful respect for the shrine, Geist removed his leather strap boots and placed them at the base of a nearby willow, patches of grass tickling his bare feet.
Other such wondrous anomalies were present as well, such as a center-most fountain that was a combination of vine and stonework, gurgling with chuckles of crystal, shimmering water. Above the warrior's head were a sparkling dazzle of blinking lights, starry candles hung above in what was almost that of a witching hour, only missing the wily grin of the moon itself. Lastly, overlooked by a set of jagged, symmetrical rocks, was an opaque pool of silent water that appeared as tranquil as blind mountains in the far north. It seemed to register a peace of mock supremacy to any attempt to best it, no doubt a subtle refection at what should be achieved whilst meditating in the forged woods.
Needless to say, Geist found it as quite the achievement, this domain as a whole. Temple architecture designed for battalions of The Keep were among the hardest to materialize; the fact that Vallen had accomplished the feat reassured him that he could in fact acquire the tranquility he'd longed for these past days.
With sudden ruptures of a content state setting over him, the metal monk made his way toward the dagger edged stones, kneeling before them at the rim of the crystalline water.
"What is this that plagues me?" he queried allowed, to no one in particular. Going to his knees, he inhaled a great sweep of crisp air to cleanse his lungs, refresh his mind.
Rivers of white light cracked through the ponds of black shadow crippling his focus, and the voiceless enunciations inhabiting the shrine were able to take hold of the living nightmare thriving outside Vallen. With each deep breath were the foes removed, vaporous clouds lifting from Geist's conscious.
"What is it that harms these lands, poisons the rivers and burns the crops, slaughters the cattle and eats the child?" he continued to mutter, recollecting the downpour of death the Orok had caused.
He was staring at the motionless chasm of water intently, so much in fact that he was not aware of an approaching set of footsteps. All the worries and weights of the realm had anchored his senses heavily, to the point where even hearing the nearest of sounds became a laborious task.
"What indeed?"
Perhaps, should this voice have been something of severe anonymity, Geist would have reacted in a rather defensive nature, if not violent. But, like the passive nature of gentle rivers, the tone was immediately recognizable, a gifted craft of melodies and practiced soothsayer songs washing over the Knight of Blood.
Her name was Acrea. She was yet another maiden in Geist's prized harem, a rare song-seer dragoness from across continents in the far west. Two years after the human temple's exodus from The Keep, the migrating knight had received a gift, a token of utmost appreciation by an ailing queen in the Sowdale region. The queen of Sowdale was slowly passing away by an incurable disease, and needed a powerful vanguard to retain order whilst another heir came to power. All at the same time, she deemed it unnecessary to retain her trusted hand servant, Acrea, as a muse of song and lore, and relinquished service to Geist in humble thanks.
From that day, the gray haired metal monk swore to honor Acrea in the same manner as all his ladies, thus engraving a landscape of blank ink into his arm to signify his devotion.
With a familiarity now about him, Geist rounded his head to gaze at her once again, recalling how he lost her beauty every time to obscurity.
Acrea appeared to have been kissed by the sky itself, the gods painting her with a winding, delightful azure that pulsed like the beating heart of the mother ocean. A sinewy scaly forest of hybrid ceruleans and glimmering sapphires complimented the makeup of her supple, gentle flesh, a treasure trove of powerful colors that danced with ease at the shrine's playful illumination. Some even rumored that many shades of blue found upon Acrea's entrancing frame were held sacred by divine guard, impossible to replicate in the world of men.
Unlike most of her sisters from the far corners of the planet, she was also gifted with a twining river of white, silver speckled hair, wrapped in a knotted ponytail with grace and precision. A set of rich, ebony black horns, talons, and nail tips contrasted well with the bright slivers of lunar shade, whilst her marvelous iris' bore the rapturous hue of pensive jade, a vortex of emerald that saw beyond even the soul.
Ethra was the first curvaceous dragoness to become part of Geist's travels, and it was in those days that the steel-spine warrior concluded there could be no other like her. Indeed, he was right, but in only context that his scarlet love was one in her own. He never dreamed that bountiful bodies alike existed beyond The Keep's findings, proven quite sternly with the addition of Acrea.
Her figure, oft recompiled in Geist's many tomes of musings and poetry, was quite motherly, beset with caring, gentle palms that traced coarse body and troubled bone. Her curves were a mature, hourglass format with dancing grooves that swaggered in the distance, juicy hips motioning in sweet, pendulum swings. Her ample buttocks and firm, strong thighs whispered little nothings of superior, erotic knowledge, able to coerce and drive primal desires with the seething suckling of her tempered nether region.
And of course, budding, silky soft mounds had a many times caught the templar's curious gaze. A thing most unexpected, the azure maiden's pink tented bosoms were in fact larger than Ethra's, as though she knew his cravings to nurse her required a plump, chesty fountain of milk and honey. To his shyness, Geist had long wondered what it would be like to nibble at her pert, womanly mantle, a thought which provoked him to salivate and try to slay his desires through meditation.
The gray haired youth was taken aback at her arrival, and even more so at her exotic, lithe bareness, the beauty of her nude form something he could never quite adjust to. The only tether was but a cream white cloth wrapped around her waist, a sagging pocket holding a vial of liquid that smelled of herb and spice.
She took his silence as a compliment, knowing Geist's attempt at modesty all too well.
"I see you've decided to suffer alone, my master knight," Acrea implied coolly, sauntering forward a few steps with long tail swaying in sync.
Sighing, the Knight of Blood returned to his previous stance of hands on knees, uninterested in allowing another to bear the weight of his own trials. He had all ready told Ethra to take the day off and had left the other members of his harem to do as they pleased, while he tried to sort out the cryptic paradox by himself. He wouldn't dare fatigue any of the girls with those grave, virulent visions, their beauty something he cherished and wished to preserve, both emotionally and physically.
"The suffering was mine when I was born from the hearth of steel coffins. I will not inflict my pains on others," he muttered calmly. Acrea chuckled lightly, a harmonized tone that was like gentle drops of water splashing upon Geist's frame.
"I've noted this to be a common attribute, my love," Acrea replied daintily. "You seem to enjoy caging yourself in walls of misery,"
Again, the metal monk sighed, but said nothing. The cerulean-scape dragoness smiled, and strode to her lord with a wise confidence. In the past, it was normally Ethra whom had slowly picked away at his dichotomous troubles, but she was away, leaving the task up to the more motherly serpentine.
"Your maidens were born to serve you, master. Through all trials and tribulations. Why is this time so different?" she queried softly, taking a hand and lightly roaming it over the gray crowned knight-for-hire's neck.
"You. . . don't understand. . ." he grunted quickly, grinding his teeth a few times. Clearly, his voice was turbulent and assailed by something far more severe than just the mental block or lack of inspiration, and the azure dragon femme was swift to pick up on it.
Her brows flagged and features tilted, retracing her palm and gracing the iron-marrowed man's shoulder with a subtle squeeze. She could feel a strong tenseness in his muscles, and began to realize that his state of being was hindered by more than the troubles of valiant duty.
"Geist?" she cooed in worry. It was in fact a vocal gesture not taken lightly, as the warrior's harem very rarely used his name. And though he despised the concept of releasing the peril of his own dreams to others, perhaps he was unwise to try and conceal them from one who knew him quite well, intimately and otherwise.
"They are visions," he spoke somberly, admitting his personal abyss. "Visions and nightmares. I see.. dead eyes... dead faces. Bodies swimming silently in cold, black water. Ever since we arrived at the threshold of Vallen, I have been tainted by things unknown and reasons secret,"
There, in her gentle grasp, was the elixir of seasoned, warm oil, specially extracted from rare White-Rose plants and mixed, spiced herbs that could only be grown in certain parts of the world. Even from the vial it had a trembling, pulsing tingle that delighted the senses when rubbed upon skin or scale alike, heating simultaneously to calm even the most wily of beasts. It was quite appropriate that Acrea had brought it on her person.
"Perhaps not all things can be resolved by words, my love," gently suggested the azure draconic femme, caressing Geist's cheek with her free hand.
The touch sent shrill spasms of excitement through the master templar's body, almost instantly dispensing with the nerve wracking troubles clutching him seconds ago. He breathed out in profuse gusts of relief, all to soon forgetting the miraculous abilities his maidens possessed when it came to the art of the body.
Satisfied that she had soothed him, Acrea pursued to remove the cream-hued cloth wrapped around her delectable waist, giving exposure to those immaculate thighs and dancers hips. Her puckered entrance of a deeper, navy blue teased Geist's color shifting eyes as the pubic mound shimmered with the nectar of her womanhood, all too eager for his 'explorations.' As he was still kneeling, the ax-bearing knight-for-hire all ready began to swim in the ambrosia of Acrea's musk (positioned perfectly in conjunction with her loins), not to mention the oil's fragrance further setting fire to his primordial drive.
She bent over slightly (oh, and how gravity toyed with her sumptuous breasts at even the tiniest motions) to better tug at the iron-spine soldier's tunic, easily able to slide it away as it was only buckled once in the back with a cotton notch. At his topmost bareness, the cerulean goddess smiled in admiration at how well kept his physique was, not to mention the forest of inked markings representing an honorable vow. Sometimes the vibrant matriarch oft forgot how his flesh and bone were a testament to protect and serve, the chords of his soul a living oath of compassion and love.
All the more why she so desired to comfort him in his time of need.
"Sometimes, it is the act that will ease your troubles," continued Acrea, now going to her knees to be at face point with the metal monk (or similar; she was somewhat larger than he).
Entranced and silent (as he normally was with these 'encounters'), Geist looked on in half-wonder half-arousal as the draconic femme's sleek, scaled fingers worked over the ampule of enchanting matter, popping the top open as the full front of the oil's smell swarmed about the two.
A somewhat viscous, translucent liquid pooled downward into a miniature puddle as Acrea rubbed the vial's secretions into her delicate palms, intent now quite clear to the temple-made-man. A moment after the scaley beauty's digits were lathered with the hot oil, no sooner did they press against Geist's shoulders and chest as a rush of warmth deluged his flesh and bone. Very carefully, the oil found itself applied to each crease that made up his muscular composition, the metal monk's breath catching as Acrea hummed during her 'work.'
"And you will find yourself refreshed, able to deal with the problems anew," continued the scaly femme, whilst Geist found his eyes misting over with an obscure euphoria veiling what torments he had previously faced.
Each touch from her hand was a physical heaven unto itself, the spiritual warrior's skin tingling at every grace and ploy, silky palms slowly roaming over his torso, then to his stomach, returning to his shoulders that manipulated all his physical tension to a dulled ease. Just as well, the pleasant, indistinct heat overtaking him relaxed Geist further, as well as setting ablaze to something more. . . animal about his character. He fidgeted with his fingers yearningly as the sensation of Acrea's digits neared the lower point of his abdomen, timid goosebumps flaring off at the lovely serpent's workings.
". . .Acrea. ." gasped the Knight of Blood, not entirely certain why, as if needing some form of assurance, some plea for pleasures even greater than what he felt.
An onyx talon rested sweetly over his lips.
"Shhhh. Better to say nothing and let yourself go, my lord," intoned the sapphire maiden, noting the growing heaviness of Geist's breathing. However, rather than follow her sanguine words, he stopped Acrea in mid rub, a firm ideal sprouting in his thoughts.
"I wouldn't dare. . . be so selfish. . ." said he through half grunts and breaths. "Please, let me return what. . . you're so happy to give,"
The master templar's pupils focused on his draconic lady with a loving intensity, absorbing through his vision every curve and bend her delicious body allowed. Reaching over with timid palms, one softly grasped her thick, powerful leg, the other cupping over the knuckle holding Acrea's ampule of hot body oil.
"This thing you bring, have you ever felt it before?" queried the ink-bearing youth, coming in better command of his breathing, though lit with sweat, body glistening from the liquid's tender application.
A wry smirk tugged at the cerulean serpent's muzzle, as well as a tiny flush of pink rising at her cheeks. A thing the draconic femme had noted about her lord knight was his inadvertent flirts guarded by the Keep's militaristic condition rampart in his behavior. Barely engaging in body language, but asking or requesting in polite, chivalrous tones placed in practice perhaps only for his serving girls.
Caressing his cheek in subtle method to continue, Acrea slowly shook her head.
"Why no, my master knight, not by your hands," replied the draconic femme sweetly, relinquishing the bottle of herbal matter to Geist.
He wasn't cautious or slow in his next actions, though careful not to spill any of the viscous matter. Acrea sat on her knees with a sublime expectancy, passively thoughtful jade eyes watching in bemusement as the gray-crowned soldier slathered the oil into his toughened hands, heart hammering inside his chest as he did.
The Knight of Blood could not help but salivate as his fingers found their mark on the dragoness' ample body, tightly locking on to her azure hips, just a hair short of her bountiful bosom constantly teasing him with her dewy milk-tipped nipples. He was all ready apt with vigor to begin exploring the dives and swerves of her silky scales, the only difference that she wasn't clothed. Slight throaty moans emanated from her her muzzle as Geist roamed over taut leg and hip, with squeezes applied to those sensitive areas, dappling in taunts with near misses at her highly sensitive regions.
The sleek, shimmering oil coated her with warm kisses, traveling fingers massaging her firm buttocks, sliding and palm licking as the steel-spine soldier's efforts were as effective as the dragoness' had been. Great efforts were taken to delve into every landscape of the azure serpent's body, Geist pulling himself even closer to rummage his ligaments over her soft back and slender neck, the heat circulating betwixt the two bodies sending their minds into a lusty disarray. The pressure of Acrea's honey bearing chest drove the youth on further, his frame nearly buried in her busty axis, continuing to ponder over her back, spine, and shoulders, the seething liquid making the two sparkle like courting stars.
Aroused by his attentions, Acrea tenderly took the knight-for-hire's wrist and asserted it to one of her lavishly large breasts, while the gray haired templar absentmindedly set down the ampule of herbal matter.. The mesmerizing pangs of heat nipping at her womanly mantle caused the lovely servant to whimper with greedy satisfaction, whilst the metal monk himself was somewhat taken aback. It was quite clear, however, what the cerulean dragoness wanted, and palms cupping supple sacs of bountiful bosom, the Knight of Blood could only happily oblige. Two rows of fingers, in fact, were gleeful to serve,roving slowly and sensually around the precise carving of Acrea's treasured fruits, handling them like precious stones as they bobbed and weaved with a roundabout of pressures and pulls.
A libido taking hold, the motherly draconic femme decided to press the moment further, as tingling with ecstatic bolts of grandiose sensations made her warrant the obligation to return such immaculate feelings. As was his tunic of pearl and green a simple thing to be rid of, so was the robe-like set of trousers that shielded the spiritual soldier's loins, and Acrea wanted the youth free of his earthly tethers. While Geist was occupied (more or less voraciously entranced) fondling and toying with her bust, the azure angel sank elegant talon-tipped extremity to the youth's waist, undoing the cloth-leather strap which held the fabric in place.
In effect, the two were then 'mushed' together, masculine torso pressed firmly against the blue, silky pillows tinted with hot pink nipples, something both were devilishly happy with, while Geist's tethers were swiftly done away with.
Breathing in rushed, feminine vowels of hungry passion, orbs of perceptive emerald glazed over the Knight of Blood's facade, which was squarely set upon Acrea's enticing, glistening teats. The pools of oil had made her fountains of sweet honey liquor gleam as though rare gems, yet all the more lactating and scintillating as a fresh June peach. The young ax-savvy warrior also had his maiden clenched tight at this point, one hand tenderly rubbing her back as the other was firmly locked on the draconic femme's taut buttocks.
Humming sing-songfully, the mistress licked her chops and lowered herself to whisper in Geist's ear, at the same time using one, pleasing finger to stroke the tip of his un-erect manhood.
"What are you thinking, my love?"
Soothing whispers of such nature sent rigid bolts of hormone flooded sparks through the metal monk, and Acrea's coaxing was stirring a hungry beast that had always slumbered within. His thoughts were mangled by passionate, wild concepts; how could Geist not salivate when his face was practically buried within the cleavage of the scale-adorned beauty's magnificent bust?
While one quite verbose and an accurate architect of the manufactured tongue, the young Knight of Blood could not resist to asphyxiate his mouth to one of the slender creature's steaming, ripe nipples, a quick gasp to meet the young man's action with nibbles and bites in progress. Even more delightful (to his stimulated surprise) was a fresh, cool puddle of liquid passing over the threshold of his jaw, sudden realization that being it of Acrea's womanly nectar. Indeed, he knew that one of his maidens, Ethra, a sunset rose of fire and amber, was "equipped" with the nurturing ability to nurse the knightly youth, but he was not under realization that the vibrant cerulean maiden could as well.
Or perhaps he did, but his memory was quelled and befuddled by the chaos of their current, rapturous union, even if it was merely by contact of scale and flesh.
To be so involved, so obsessed, Geist did not realize that such a thing could overcome him. Long past were those horrendous visions of death and black water, consumed by the blue fire of this maiden's tender love and sonnet-sung moans. Carefully he let his teeth make the tiniest of gnaws and nibbles, so as not to harm yet another love in his harem, though firm enough to suckle out more of her chesty wine, engorging himself on the honey-tang flavor of her goddess-esque elixir.
Ever persisting to quench his nearly insatiable thirst, the young human temple began to sense an abrupt array of new senses reigning upon the sensitive packets throughout his body. Gasping in great fields of delight, Acrea ushered her master closer, if not more comfortably tighter, with the slick muscular rope of velvet that was her tail, entwining about his back and neck. Catering to her love with an impressive degree of control (as lust was a difficult beast to tame), the use of the sublime hot oil was again put into play.
Tongue licking around each mantle of pink equally, switching budding breasts in succession, Geist grunted abruptly when a liquid heat accompanied by soft palm wrapped around his steadily hardening shaft, that being the succulent dragoness again with her masterful herbal liquid in use. He had to pull back a moment from her teardrop mounds, breath caught in his throat as hue shifting iris' met the eager smirk of the cerulean-scape draconic angel.
Utterly exquisite motions followed Acrea's grappling of the master knight's endowment, with the rapturous heat of indulging stimuli consuming his nether region in intense, unending waves of newborn fleshy sensations. Geist's face was even reddening with roads of sweat and blood, a seething fire of passion combined with Acrea's heavenly scent a passage into maddening, breaking sexual euphoria, an insanity of the greatest kind.
"How does it feel?" she queried in tender, feminine curiosity, more rhetoric than anything else as the azure beauty could easily understand how sex drunk her lord warrior was.
Instead, she merely stroked his pulsing manhood with a loving vigor, all the while kissing and licking his face, noting how his eyes dulled and mouth drooled with wave after wave of erotic intoxication. This had now gone far beyond anything than relieving him of demonic pressures or the cryptic warnings of decayed, arcane gods. Acrea desired to give and receive for her master knight, as any maiden in his harem. She longed for his seed, his warmth, his striking manhood, and all the fruitful serpentine would get by this day's end, of that she was certain.
"But how would you like to try something. . . a little different?" whispered the lusty blue gal in coy suggestion, hinting at an idea she'd picked up from a hidden sect of books specializing in erotic actions. A stutter and befuddled, the knightly youth cocked his brow in curiosity, hardly imagining that there were heavenly pleasures beyond this.
"Lie back, my love," intoned Acrea melodically, releasing the metal monk from her comforting embrace, all the while nudging him softly to have his back rest on the cradle of lush grass. Geist was not certain what the draconic femme had in concept, but he was quite eager to find out, as the mystery of her sexual knowledge was growing to be vast indeed.
Here, at the mercy of the maiden's attentions, the sacrosanct soldier awaited what was in store for him, able to view her sumptuous form from an entirely new perspective. The ample bosom that were far more than a handful for his sturdy palms appeared to have become mountains of cobalt, still dripping with both Acrea's exquisite milk and the young man's saliva. All of her was more curvaceous and acute at this point, from onyx horns to river of pearly silver hair flowing down her back like a thin river. A silent gesture of Geist's mind opted to construct a poem about Acrea when all this was complete.
Erect manhood now in plain sight, Acrea supplanted the tip of the templar's shaft with a swift lick of soft tongue, to toy and taunt his demanding sex drive. Instead of engulfing his throbbing mast in delicate maw, however, Acrea swung herself over the master knight carefully and precisely, so that her pristine teardrop mounds were at the base of Geist's endowment. Slick and succulent with moist oil and tangy sweat alike, the ax-trained youth gasped, yet again, as Acrea's talon tipped extremities pushed her breasts together to squeeze his fleshy pike, a pressure like that of being caught in velvet cushions.
There was a satisfied and joyful smile etched upon the indigo servant's muzzle, a rather radical moment of control overtaking Acrea. She was aghast with love at finally being able to satisfy Geist to the extent she wanted, yet at the same time, the azure angel was now in the dominant position, able to manipulate the momentum of their erotic binding to her will. While at a thought it may have appeared detestable, yet it was actually a forging of trust and companionship, easily the ax-bearing warrior giving up himself to allow these actions be taken upon him.
And how so he was immensely grateful.
A resounding, incredible pressure overcame his nether region, Acrea trapping his shaft in her succulent bust, slippery and hot enough to rove about the length freely, her tongue once again made useful by jetting out and slipping under and over the grooves of Geist's manhood. To further entice herself, the sapphire serpentine also pinched and yanked at her nipples in the process, able to generate waves of electric spasms through her torso and keep the gasping youth in wiles of heaven as well.
Her tail flicked like a wicked baton inciting an orchestra of Eros, and Geist's mumbling, grunting, and heavy breathing were the instruments. Her guile was increasing with each passing second, as the indigo beauty did not allow his orgasm to come to quickly or too slowly, hastening the pace of her breast's friction, for instance, yet slowing down and taking tedious, timely strokes. The strength of the young knight was beginning to show with her vexing motions, his fingers digging roughly into the ground, tearing up earth and glade as this goddess savored his convulsions with immeasurable glee.
The maiden of foresting blues began to note a hinting taste of pre in the motions of her workings, her tongue lapping about so greedily at his manhood noting all fragments of his flesh's flavor. This encouraged her to then bring it out as methodically as possible, every massage of her womanly axis readying the gray-haired warrior's orgasm to a peak not perceived as achievable by his primordial drive's logic.
"Ohhh, enjoying this my lord Geist?"
Her angelic words fell upon him like a divine hammer, both encouraging and harmonic. To say that Geist was 'enjoying' the toying of Acrea's budding breast was a severe understatement, as the rapture intensified with every indulging motion. In fact, the knight felt like he was dashing down a long, dark path of dreamlike erotic corridors, and at the end was the desired orgasm his loins did so languish for. Yet the silky bosom mashing and grinding his genital was so teasing yet so perfect, not enough to push him over the edge yet immaculate enough to be perceived as such.
Somehow, with a leery sense of female draconic instinct, the indigo lass wrapped her moistened carpet fully about Geist's manhood, twisting and writhing around it like a drunken snake. She then plummeted her elegant muzzle over the length of the youth's seething mast, the legs and body of the Knight of Blood shaking erratically with his nethers bursting in glorious sexual conclusion. The piping hot seed of the metal monk's maturity erupted and filled Acrea's engorging mouth with pools of white, he groaning immensely and his azure maiden humming acceptingly with the flow of his nectar into her maw.
Geist had kept his eyelids snapped shut through most of the ordeal, but, with curiosity parading over him, he raised the skin-curtains with intrigue to view the lusty dragoness' motions. While yes, his hoarse breathing and fiery release of his seed had him in quite the disarray, he was still stimulated and aroused by how longingly and trance like Acrea pooled over his shaft, finishing up with his fleshy mast by lapping up the secretions to his endowment.
Grunts lingered in his panting, and he had to thank the stamina of his knightly conditioning for being so resilient... as the mediative youth wanted more. So much more. Though he had let forth a river of his nectar, he still remained erect and sturdy, able to last in such functions, a benefit from his enhanced durability from battlefield experience.
"A. . . Acrea. . ." he ushered out, again, without certainty as to why he beckoned her. Perhaps it was because Geist thought it all couldn't be real, that the sapphire serpent was but a lovely dream, and she could be shattered in an instant if handled too coarsely or harshly.
The glance of emerald and jade perked, and once again did that divine smile greet the Knight of Blood's gaze. There was understanding and knowing in her eyes, intelligence and perception a common discourse of the azure angel's intellectual prowess, and now she clung to Geist's words and decrypted them as though a simple riddle.
Raising from the base of young Geist's cock-shaft, he looked on in awe as the body of beautiful cerulean shades pulled back and went to her knees. At this point, the ax-bearing warrior was beginning to lose himself in seductive madness, consumed by his desire whilst Acrea kept herself in calm, collected control, though shimmering with his seed, hot oil, and sweat.
Finally, she gave way to a sight that the human temple's mind and eyes had longed to see when not in the practice of war and bloodshed. Swishing her tail methodically, as though a wagging finger, she turned round and spread her thighs agape and wide, resting arms on the grassy knoll ground with the entrance to her succulent lips driving the master knight onward.
The magnificent busty lass licked her chops in intense expectation, watching Geist with yearning, hungry eyes.
"Please Geist, I need you. . . any way you want me," whined the indigo serpentine, ablaze with the fascination of her own lust and the youth's prize.
He was not slow to deny her, but yet, was attracted to a far more enticing detail. Still panting with racketed breaths of heated sexual voracity, going to his knees as Acrea had, the spiritual soldier crawled toward the presenting draconic femme, whom had also used tantalizing digits to spread her chalice lips even wider. If that was not a more demanding, driving invitation to her inner moistened walls, then the metal monk certainly could not name it.
Acrea flicked her velvety tail to the side so as to keep it out of the way, soon expecting to be plunged with her lord knight's fleshy mast. However, much to the cobalt lady's surprise, no heated crown met her pubic mound, instead being replaced by the sensation of Geist's palms cupping her round buttocks. Given a moment further, the blue beauty may have queried what he was doing. . . until an abrupt mouthing of her sensitive lips encompassed her words in sudden harmony.
Geist had planted his mouth over the royal beryl maiden's exquisite, hot lips, able to rake his tongue to greater extent across her sensitive labia whilst exploring her silky tunnel by sending his muscular rug about her inner vaginal walls. In reaction, Acrea could only convulse, yelping in grandiose pangs of utter rapture while her back arched, ample bosoms bouncing in the process. Just as well, she could no longer keep herself spread for her master knight, having to use both hands for support as she dug onyx-tinted talons into the shrine's ground, whimpering and shuttering in ineffable waves of engrossing sensational paradise.
The gray haired youth did not let up, obliging to the draconic femme's need to support herself by widening her mature sex himself, though carefully and daintily so as not to cause the dragoness any pain. Using this time to his advantage, his mouth took deeper exploration to areas he'd never visited of Acrea before, savoring the sweet dripping tang of her womanly liquor which flowed and dappled his taste buds like a rich wine. In unison, the chesty lass also pushed her haunches further towards the warrior monk, aiding his actions by bobbing her tight rump upward and downward, wanting so dearly to indulge in these methods of transcending, erotic arts.
Geist did all things he possibly could to eat and drink of Acrea's demanding pussy. Using his tongue to lick and rove through and over her juicy nether region was one thing, but he also employed the use of teeth and lip, in the same sense taking gentle nibbles at whatever timid forest of pink he could, or kissing the draconic lady's heated entrance as lovingly and passionately as the ax-bearing warrior mustered. From her clitoral hood to her inner thighs, to the outer entrance of her swollen, navy snatch, the ink-detailed youth attempted to leave no area undone or unsatisfied, feeding from Acrea's bumps and convulsions as well as her high pitched moans and begging sighs.
". . .AH!"
It was but a small sound that signified she was unable to control herself any longer, the cerulean goddess letting go of her content prowess and falling to the wiles of Geist and orgasm. Not retracting, the metal monk indulged the azure angel's sudden thrusts of bouncing motions across his mouth to intensify her peak, and also to receive the full gush of her feminine nectar.
As such, the brimming, succulent sweet tang of the draconic goddess flowed in a river of opaque pearl, whilst the human temple took his fill of the magnificent elixir, lapping away at a subtle few drops, athirst to sate his appetite for Acrea's ineffably perfect body.
Yet there was still more to do. Acrea was in no way exhausted or fulfilled; still desperately wanted to feel her inner folds spread and speared by the warm, thick member that was Geist's manhood.
"Oooh. . . Geist, please. . . no more teasing. . . no more. . ." cooed the female dragon in such a harmonized, begging tone, of such that Geist was not willing to deny. She was right, the metal monk had toyed with her too much, and her seething, mature mounds cried out to be penetrated.
Slowly, strong hands slid across glistening, oiled back, caressing each nerve and muscle as they finally reached their destination to cup the sapphire lady's teardrop breasts. Positioned and ready, Geist rubbed his cock-shaft's tip on the outer region of smoldering, puckered snatch, quivering with ecstasy as an eruption of electronic glory bolted through the head. Kissing her one last time on the back, he whispered under his own guile and prepared to saturate his loins in those silky, heavenly walls.
"No more then. . ." he muttered, the sacrosanct mediator reassuring his love that he would fulfill her plea.
Finally, what the both had teased and toyed for came to pass. The youthful warrior steadily sank his heated pike into the warm, dripping depths of Acrea's inner thighs, both moaning in a loud, unified chorus of compassion and lust. It was difficult to not want to merely drive himself into the sapphire lady with a rough stream of primordial thrusts, the Knight of Blood mentally thanking his training as it became so useful in this compilation of fleshy bliss (the same train of thinking taking root when the youth had courted Ethra).
When the young man's full length was buried within Acrea's suckling, tender walls, there was a moment of aghast, frozen discourse, like being trapped in molten potent erotic aura that beckoned forth the most extreme of Eros. Both could not speak or breathe. . . only bask in the explicit paradise now consuming their nether regions as well as reveling in the other's company.
"Nnnnh!" Acrea exclaimed, tongue hanging out of her maw while droplets of drool accompanied her brow of sweat. ".G. . . GO!"
The master knight did not respond, at least not in any vernacular form. Merely, he retracted his sweltering erection, indulged in every passive prism of delight that railed his throbbing shaft, the same said for Acrea, her round rump wiggling and inner thighs tightening its grip about his endowment.
It was almost overwhelming, hence the gray haired knight-for-hire plummeting his spear back into the curvaceous creature, the satisfaction of both their senses so divine it was nearly painful. Painfully pleasureful, yes, but they had barely unlocked the whims of their tender sex as human genital thrushed against giving female draconic womanhood.
Every gasp and grace echoed throughout the nearly endless vortex of the surrounding shrine, Geist holding his lover closely as his animal hunger urged him to delve madly into Acrea's tunnel of pink silk. All the while he kept his hands firmly on her breasts, in control enough to massage and fondle them, coaxing even greater measures of exotic sensations upon the lovely blue's bust. Together, they were trapped into the other, no focus on any other element of the terrestrial world but sating their partner's hunger and lust, Acrea returning Geist's motions by stimulating him further with a tighter, more pressured wrapping of his impressive length, whilst the youthful mercenary monk made sure his maiden's body was accounted for, rolling forth finger and digit to taunt those oh-so sensitive pockets of nerves in her sides and breasts.
Every thrust was but a momentum testament to his love for Acrea, in fact, for all his maidens. Geist had long cherished their company and degree of inspiration they offered him many a times, and to finally be able to give the beautiful serpentine his thanks by way of gushing pleasure, he was happy. The knight was happy to hear her moans of joy, her hot, heavy breaths and throaty murrs, vibrating throughout the gentle frame of her sensual form. He was happy to give her an act most sacred and trusted.
The ebb and flow of their sex drive then went into overhaul. It had slowly picked up in the slightest of paces, but was now racing rampart against the other, appetites more voracious than ever before, heated pike of flesh driving into the pink river that was Acrea's sex. Geist, in attempt to further gratify his own desires, left Acrea's succulent womanly mounds and placed palm to her firm haunches, pressing inward to her all ready tightening inner thighs. Seeming to understand this, the azure angel arched herself again and thrust as hard as she could muster into her lover's searing loins, both yelping in such claims of ecstasy it was hard to believe the entire kingdom was def to them.
With finality, such coerced passion and care, Geist gave one last grunt and spewed forth his seed in volcanic manner, the jetting, hot white semen coating the chesty lass' vaginal walls in copious degree. Seconds later, the draconic femme's legs shook and her body convulsed, as she too took hold of her peak, once again her delicious juices flowing from her pussy in heavenly waves of orgasmic bliss.
He collapsed. Nay, not by himself, but with her, with Acrea. Pulling loose of his shaft, the azure dragoness' breath was rushing with great pains to return to normalcy, though the afterglow felt of immeasurable emotional bonding, as well as a physical high, too.
She dared not let him fall by himself, embracing the youth once again, wrapping his sweaty, exhausted body in her caring arms, the buxom beauty laying to her back with a fresh tint of rose dappling her indigo cheeks.
The blue goddess kissed her lord Geist, stroking his hair and caressing the metal monk in loving demeanor. He had done for her that of which dreams consisted of, and now was the time for rest and company.
Only a few words were crackled out by the knight's tired frame.
"I hope. . . Ethra. . . enjoyed. . . her time off. . ."
Those pensive, jade iris' mixed with luscious emerald groped the iron-boned human's physique fondly, smiling with that intellectual perceptiveness Acrea possessed.
"I have a feeling she did. . ."
And so the dark twisted nightmares were abated, washed away. No longer did dead faces and corpse-ridden rivers suffocate Geist, but passed to some other unseen realm away from his spirit. Acrea had cured him of that, and his love for her was increased ten-fold, as his the Three Maidens meant the world to him.
As sleep set, so did the sky, all reaching twilight. The tapestry of midnight was painted with a distinct, cyan beryl, as though inked by a queen, a goddess in blue.
= END =
(KIK)
_-United in Unhallowed Grace, Dimmu Borgir-
-Morphogenesis, Scar Symmetry-_