Page 81 of The Orc Warrioress and the Elf Lord

The first night, they camped outside, as they had been doing. She knew he’d made that comment about not wanting to prod into her on the ground under horse blankets, but they had more blankets now. They’d taken all manner of things from the dragon’s lair—with Tafnir’s permission, of course. They were well stocked in their saddle bags with anything they might need.

As they were making camp, she asked if they should have separate bedrolls, and he gave her an impish sort of grin and said he had no objection to sleeping close to her, so she made up one space for them both, with blankets beneath them and blankets above.

But she still didn’t know how to bring the subject up.

They ate—food they’d brought from the lair, since they’d run out of their rations they’d brought from her farm. And then they were kissing again. Sometime in the middle of eating and cleaning up, that simply started happening. Stolen kisses here and there, and then they were kissing in earnest.

She started to unbutton his trousers, and he didn’t stop her, so then she had him out to toy with and look at. She tucked him into her mouth again. She wasn’t sure why. It was an impulse. His cock looked like something she wanted to taste, wanted to feel slippery and silky against her tongue. She had no reason to do it, but she could not stop herself, and so she did.

He pulled her off and said that he had done positively nothing for her yet, and she had to own this was true, so, she let him feel around between her legs and then—when he was hopelessly lost—she guided his fingers to the right spot, and she helped him and… and it took her a longer time than the night before, and she started to feel a bit worried about it, a bit concerned, and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him not to worry over it, after all, that he might as well just fuck her, because that was what this was about, and that was what they hadn’t done yet, and they needed to do that. They were building to that.

But then she had a moment where it struck her that this beautiful elf was lying half-clothed next to the fire they’d built, with his positively glorious hard cock sticking out for her to look at and stroke and suck, and that he had his fingers on her gray-green little quim, and that he was trying like anything to bring her, and something about the whole situation—his servicing her, their being equals here, the sheer strangeness of it—or maybe it was just that she really was really looking at his cock, and his cock was beautiful.

But anyway, she was climbing and cresting soon afterward, panting as she burst against his fingers, and he was kissing her and she seized his cock and guided it towards her opening.

He wheezed about the sheath, and she said, fine, was it close, and he had it in his pocket.

There was a little fumbling to put it on, but then he pressed into her there, next to the fire, and his cock felt… nice.

He worked himself into her. She was wet from her climax, very wet, and he slipped easily in and out of her, and it was nice.

He touched her tunic and bemoaned that they hadn’t uncovered her breasts.

“Next time,” she promised, because maybe that was what had been missing here, maybe that was the difference, the fact he’d been at her breasts for so long that first time. Because it was different than last time, different in a number of ways, and maybe it was only that they were outside, and they were not entirely undressed, or that she was a bit worried because they were out in the open.

But it was also the same, truly.

That was the disappointing part.

It was just like every other man she’d ever done this with. It felt good, but not spectacular. It certainly wasn’t going to make her have an orgasm, though there could be deep ripples of goodness if she surrendered herself to it, and really tried to like it, which she’d done a number of times, really tried very hard, because she was supposed to like this more than she did, wasn’t she?

It was the same, and she somehow thought, after that explosive first experience with Iahir, that it wasn’t going to be the same, that Iahir was going to be special in some way—maybe because he was an elf, one with a positively huge cock—that was going to mean that he made this act abundantly pleasurable for her.

“Are you with me, warrioress?” he breathed in her ear.

“I’m right here,” she said.

“You seem… it’s odd, because we’re quite close, but you seem far away.”

She bit down on her lip.

“I’m going to stop,” he said and slipped out of her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, reaching for him, even as he moved away from her. “I don’t want you to stop.” She sat up. “You can’t always keep giving me a release and then forgoing your own. It’s maddening.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to be able to, anyway,” he said, stretching, yawning, his cock flagging under his own tunic. “It’s strange. I’ve never quite felt this before, but you…” He gazed at her. “I feel, erm, attuned to you, and it’s hard to enjoy myself if you’re not seemingly enjoying yourself as well. And it’s rather peculiar, because you’re very obviously not attuned to me—”

“I am,” she protested. “That is, I was earlier. It was only that we started doing that, and it was ever so disappointing.”

He flinched. “Right. Well, I think I did say we should not do it outside like this—”

“That’s not why, and it’s not your fault,” she said. “I don’t think it is, anyway. It’s always like this, with everyone, it’s always just, you know, nice enough, I suppose, but it’s not… it was much better with your fingers on me.”

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, furrowing his brow. “Hmm.”

“Oh, never mind. I should not have said anything. There is something wrong with me, I think, that I do not find the act to be whatever it is everyone else finds it.” She went looking for her breeches. She lay on her back and wriggled into them.

Iahir was pulling on his trousers, still thoughtful. “I need to think about that. I’m going to get my pipe.”