My name is Sorren Greyclaw. I am a warrior from a faraway land known as Aeloa. I hail from a small, secluded stronghold called Wynterr, hidden far away in the Wynterreach mountains.
Wynterr is a village steeped in mystery and myths, rumors and tales. We do well to hide ourselves from wanderers and trophy hunters, yet even I could not hide from
her
.
I do not know her name but she came to me one night. A beautiful, raven-haired goddess. She has a body round and full, ripe like a summer peach. Her hips are voluptuous, her thighs are thick, her breasts are milky white, supple, and plump like freshly kneaded pillows of bread dough. She is clothed in sheer, shimmering gowns, dripping with jewels. Her skin smells sweetly of amber oil, her hair is long and luscious and smells like freesia blossoms. Her mouth tastes like spiced wine; I can still taste her lingering kiss on my starving lips.
I remember the night she came to me. I had just retired for the evening to my sleeping chamber in the
Wolf's Den
, the Jarl's palace. We had just been troll hunting and returned to an evening of feasting and merriment. The ale ran without end and big-bosomed ladies were paraded before us for our pleasure, courtesy of the Jarl.
Sloshing copper tankards clanked together in toasts, platters of roasted pigs, whole chickens, sausages, and meat pies were brought in and laid before us. Bare chested damsels laughed as they hand-fed me and my comrades. I ate and drank my fill, then stood to leave the great hall.
I didn't feel particularly in the mood to have giggling, little fillies grinding on my lap, their bright, pink nipples in my face. Even the Jarl indulged and sucked the tits of one girl while another knelt before him and sucked his cock.
Normally I partook in these grand feasts after a night of ravenous hunting. I was no stranger to women and their delicious cunnies, but tonight, I just wanted to be alone. I had drunk far too much ale and sought sleep for my weary soul.
I laid my sheathed sword on the bedside table and undressed. The roaring fireplace in my chambers kept me warm enough so I could sleep fully nude. Most people would choose to sleep bundled in furs beneath several quilts in a land where it snows even in the summer, but not I. I am a hotblooded beast and the snow and ice doesn't really bother me, in fact I quite welcome its chill.
My armor and furs dropped with a loud, heavy thud at my feet, I cast aside my boots and walked, cock in hand, to my bed. The mattress was lumpy and crude, stuffed with hay and downy feathers, but it welcomed my aching muscles all the same. I didn't bother to pull the quilt up around me, I was content to lay there naked, basking in the toasty glow of the fire's dancing flames.
Like any other night, my hand was glued to my cock, stroking slowly. The night seemed perfect and cozy other than the fact that I was alone.
Alone.
Why had I not married yet? The Jarl offered me plenty of peach-cunnied ladies, eager and ready to take my name and bear my sons, each one more beautiful than the next. But I refused them all and there I lay, alone, trying to coax some fantasy into my mind to stiffen my cock. I called to memory every beautiful face I had ever seen, the blossoming bosoms of noble women and servants alike. I even tried to imagine the Jarl's radiant, fire-haired wife before me; I pictured her often, naked with her rosy nipples and blazing red cunny hair, hungry to suck my cock and ride me into Oblivion. But even the fantasy of Jarl Beyogruf's wife, Brigga, did not erect me that night.
I fondled my flaccid cock, raised it and let it fall again and again and sighed in frustration. I should have taken one of the harlots to bed so I could at least
feel
a woman on my cock.
I contemplated forgetting the matter altogether and just sleeping. Tomorrow was sure to be a busy day with many arduous tasks ahead of me. There would be other nights to shoot my load into my hand.
Then, I heard a noise. It sounded like the bristling of feathered wings accompanied by the tinkling of jewels. My eyes snapped open and I saw
her
standing at the foot of my bed. She wore a sheer white gown, I could see her ample breasts through the material, her dark nipples poking against the gown, begging to be free. Her raven black hair fell in loose curls down her back to her wide, round hips and loose curls fell around her neck curling around her breasts. She had gold jewels in her hair, dangling from her ears, draped around her neck, bracelets on both arms, and even around her ankles. Her eyes were the color of sapphires and reminded me of the Jade Sea in southern Aeloa. Her lips were red but not painted, they were just naturally pouty, full, and red as Aeloan apples.
She stood there, staring at my flaccid cock and her lips curled into a delicious smile. I didn't scramble to hide my nakedness, but I was rather curious to who this woman was and how she got into my locked chambers.
"Who are you?" I asked quietly, still grasping my cock. I couldn't peel my hand off it as I gazed at her creamy tits that stared back at me through the sheer veil that covered them.
