Shadow and Shade [part 1] [mf] [fiction]

The night swept in and wrapped the vagabond in a cool cloak of darkness as he silently wove his way through the city streets. His hood obscured his vision, but his knowledge of the roads and rooftops coupled with his enviable hearing and sense perception guided him expertly as the clatter of the city watch started up. Four whole minutes, that was a new record for them. He was almost proud of the fools, normally they didn’t know he had been there until the following morning. The steady weight of the pouch on his hip brought a smile to his lips. He was going to be so rich after this.

The thief wound his way left and right, taking backstreets and scaling walls to get onto the rooftops. He was no safer up here than he had been on the street, in fact he was probably in more danger. Up here he couldn’t hide, he couldn’t blend in. But he could move faster, and there was still enough distance between him and The Watch that the risk was worth it. With the silence of a spectre, he glided along under the pale moon. The moon gloated and glared at him, aiding The Watch in their fool’s errand. He always preferred to work on a moonless night, preferably in a storm. It was always darker, louder, made his life easier. He didn’t have to try as hard and could take larger risks. This time, though, this time he just couldn’t wait. When it had entered the city, he knew he wanted it, he knew he had to have it. After all, there were many people who would pay very dearly for the Eye of Vermithrax itself. A jewel of such beguiling beauty, flickering gold and orange flames seemed to dance within its very core. Many said it held mighty magical properties, but the thief didn’t really care about that. What mattered was, this was the Eye of Vermithrax, and that was enough for him.

An arrow clattered along the roof tiles, causing the vagabond to jump. The archers had caught up with him far too quickly. There was no way that they should have managed to find out what route he had taken, get up on the roof and be within range already. For the first time in a very long time, the vagabond felt a bead of sweat break from his skin. THe City Watch had always been comically bad at following him. They weren’t incompetent, the number of corpses dangling from the city walls was enough to prove that, but he’d always been better than them. He’d been one step ahead of the game, two moves away from the cage. How had they caught him so quickly? The only real explanation he could think of was that they had been ready for him. They must have known that word would get out about the Eye of Vermithrax, and that he would invariably try to steal it. He’d managed to get in and out without too much difficulty, but The Watch had managed to catch on far more quickly than usual. The thief cursed himself for not seeing it before. No wonder this job had gone so well.

The thief leapt down from his roof and into the streets, riding the open awning of a merchants stall to land neatly on his feet, never breaking pace. He had to get out of the city, and he had to do it soon. He had a bit of a lead on The Watch, but not enough for it to remain safe for long. There were far more of them than there were of him. A wall of metal rounded the corner ahead of him, forcing him to dive into a narrow side street. He knew their tactic immediately. In fact, he was all but counting on it. They were trying to force him against the inner wall of the city, reduce the number of possible routes he could take. He ducked behind a number of buildings, making sure to keep the clatter of armour out of sight. Against a typical thief, this might have been the end for them. The City Watch would encircle him, pin him down and arrest him, ready to be executed. However, Domingo was no ordinary thief. And what looked like a solid wall was often anything but.

He found the stone, differentiated from its neighbours only by a slight difference in hue. THe average eye would miss it, but once again, Domingo had no ordinary eyes. He pulled the stone out, quietly as he could and slipped into the new opening in the wall. WIth haste, he reinserted the stone and pulled it all the way in. He waited for a moment before he heard the steady metaling clink of the CIty Watch marching past his hidden passage. They hadn’t even stopped. Domingo scrambled backwards through the tunnel, emerging on the other side virtually unharmed. He turned, checked his prize was still hanging from his belt and ran into the forest. He refused to stop until he was safely among the trees. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he laughed. At last, the greatest robbery in history had been accomplished. The Eye of Vermithrax, sacred enchanted stone, former treasure of a mighty dragon, was now his.  And it was going to make one potential buyer very happy indeed.

It wouldn’t be long before The Watch worked out where he had gone. Sooner or later they would figure it out, that he had managed to escape from the city and had probably gone for the forest. It was the only adequate cover for miles around. Domingo needed to find somewhere to lay low, to get deep enough into the forest that the City Watch would just give up on him. No one spent long in these trees anyway. Far too many stories, too many tales of people wandering in and never wandering out again, old magic and fearsome monsters abound in the leaves.

Such stories were often started by thieves and assassins in the first place. Anywhere that could provide a reasonable amount of cover for an escaping rogue would often have the very rogues hoping to hide there spreading stories in the local taverns about whatever ghouls and goblins wherein there dwelled. Domingo thanked the vagabonds of ages past for having the good grace to curse this forest and leave it free for him to travel. Naturally, the stories wouldn’t keep everyone out, especially not squads of men in armour. But in the dead of night, when a cloud drifts over the moon and shrouds the entire place in shadow, even the most stalwart heart can grow frail. Panting slightly, he wove his way through the trees away from the city, both blessing and cursing the moon as it lit the path for him to tread.

The sounds of the city faded into the post midnight darkness. Domingo took a moment or two to rest on a particularly large branch, catching his breath. He was hungry, tired and a bit sore from all the jumping and running. He knew that he needed to find somewhere soon, somewhere to rest. He was far enough away from the city, the Watch shouldn’t come out this far, not at night anyway. All he needed was some kind of shelter to rest his weary bones. Heaving a sigh, he raised his eyes heavenward and gazed at the treacherous moon. The thief’s life was not an easy one. It was never an easy one. Very few people choose to live it, and many don’t make it to old age. However, there was one magnificent payoff to the thief’s life. The chance to make it big, to get that one big score, make enough money to establish yourself and live out the rest of your life in peace. Everyone wants to get out of the life of a rogue as soon as possible. Some choose to go for the life of an organised crime boss, controlling significant portions of the criminal underworld. Others want to make a legitimate business. Domingo hadn’t decided who he’d be yet, but there was time enough for that later. What he needed now was to rest, then find a fence to get a buyer for his ill gotten gain.

As he stared into the sky, he noticed something strange. The thief cocked his head and noticed a thin whisp of grey smoke rising, obscuring some of the stars slightly. There was a house nearby, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Who would build a house out here, in a forest that everyone thinks is haunted or cursed? The only possible explanation was that some old hermit had settled here, away from the eyes of people. He chose this place for the same reason Domingo had, no one else would ever come here. Still, the home of an old decrepit hermit would be a fine place to rest for the night. The old man might have a pot of soup or stew on the fire as well, so it could be an absolute godsend. As for the hermit, he wouldn’t be much of a problem. One puff of Ghostroot powder should take care of him for the night. Decided, the thief began to make his way toward the house.

It was a simple affair, just a standard one person cottage, well thatched roof and a well maintained and ornamented wooden door. There were two windows, one either side of the door, set with slightly faded glass. A small garden grew outside, and Domingo could make out wild garlic flowers, broom shoots and assorted herbs and vegetables growing. Whoever lived here took very good care of the place. One of the windows was slightly open and the smell of cooking meat spilled out into the night. Domingo started salivating, sniffing the sumptuous odour again and again. He could almost feel himself being pulled in, almost falling off the branch he was perched on. Domingo shook his head and resettled himself. If the old man was cooking meat, he’d be over by the fire, away from the door. He could easily just walk in, drug the hermit and be perfectly fine for the night. With a deep breath, Domingo jumped down from the branch.

Soundless as a shadow, Domingo slid right up to the door. He flicked the latch swiftly, lifting it only just enough to grant him entry, but not enough to give him away. He reached into a pouch on his hip, drawing out a fistful of his knock-out powder. Silent as the grave, he slipped through the door, closing it silently behind him. He took a second to get used to his surroundings before turning his attention to the figure by the fire. One movement and he’d have the place entirely to himself for the night.

Looking at the person tending the meat on the fire, Domingo hesitated. He had expected the twisted and broken body of an old man, long having been forsaken by society at large, forced to live alone, in a forgotten corner of the world. What he was seeing, however, did not in any way match that description. The first thing he noticed was the dress, simple yet elegant over the slender form of the woman within it. Her tied apron seemed to him a petticoat, delicate and beautiful, as opposed to her otherwise typical peasant appearance. Then came the hair, soft and wavy, a dark nutty brown colour, to contrast his own mousy blonde look. It tumbled down gently past her shoulders to the middle of her back, shimmering like a field of dark corn with the gentle summer breeze blowing through. Her feet were bare on the mud floor, dainty and small. Slender little sheets of pearly flesh that seemed as if they might start to dance at any moment. Before Domingo had a chance to act, the woman was turning around. Her hands folded delicately over her stomach, belying her obvious refinement. Her eyes shimmered with a beautiful green, the colour of fresh leaves in spring. As Domingo stared, he could swear he saw flecks of pink dancing across them, subtle and beautiful in the flickering firelight. She had rich, full lips, and a soft, innocent face. She could have passed for a girl, if not for the generous bulge protruding from her chest. She showed all the class of a gentle lady, yet retained the voluptuous figure of a country girl.

“Well,” spoke the woman. “This is unexpected. It’s not often I’d receive visitors, far less so that they should come at night. You should be wary sir and knock before you enter a woman’s home. It may be thought that your intentions were somewhat less than sincere, particularly if you are so clumsily clutching a portion of Ghostroot.”

The thief just stood there, uncertain of how to respond. The girl before him certainly didn’t appear to have many years behind her, yet she held herself with confidence that can only come from a lifetime of trial and success. Her manner was that of a woman far more advanced in years that the sweet flower she portrayed herself as. Were he to hazard a guess, Domingo would possibly have stated that her age was probably seventeen or eighteen, but certainly no more than twenty-one.

“Speak, sir, and perhaps tonight won’t end as badly for you as it appears to be right now.”

Domingo stopped for a moment. Beguiling and confident as this woman was, she was unarmed, and he had a dagger strapped to his back. Even if the Ghostroot wouldn’t work, he could still probably take her hostage. He wouldn’t actually hurt her, no, even he had that small semblance of honour left. But he could definitely tie her up, keep her quiet, that would probably work. He began reaching behind his back for his knife.

“Are you looking for this?” The woman held up the knife that should have been hanging on Domingo’s back. He slapped the empty sheath, wondering how on earth she had managed to get behind him and take it? When had she had the time for that? “You’re really not good at this are you? I mean, you do know the stories right? You must know that there’s an enchantress in this forest.”

The vagabond stammered. Had the stories of this place actually been true? It was common knowledge among the darker portions of society that these tales were merely an extra layer of cover for the criminals. There were, of course, exceptions to this rule where magic and mayhem did in fact take root in the world and cause problems for any unfortunate  mortals who happened to get caught in the crossfire. Perhaps this woman was in fact an enchantress, and Domingo had made a huge mistake in coming here. He couldn’t believe that when faced with a fabled enchantress, his first response had been to drug her, his second had been to threaten her with a knife. He cursed his mother for ever having brought him into the world just to suffer death so pathetically. He dropped to his knees begging for forgiveness.

“Well, this wasn’t particularly expected.” The enchantress frowned at the grovelling thief. “Oh come on, this is just embarrassing. I’m not going to do anything to you, I promise.” Domingo looked up into the now extremely confused face of the enchantress. She didn’t seem angry or vengeful, and she certainly wasn’t ugly as many witches are often reported to be. In fact, she seemed genuinely concerned about him. Had he not been so scared, he might have been touched. The enchantress stretched out her hand and helped the vagabond to his feet. She led him to a small table and sat him down.

“Ok, perhaps we just got off on the wrong foot. It’s obvious you’re not here to rob me, you’re possibly just some common garden thug who thought he’d hit pay dirt for a place to stay. And I’m not in the mood to turn you into anything particularly nasty just yet, so why don’t we just sit down, have a pleasant meal and try to get to know each other a little better, huh?”

Domingo just sat there, not really sure of what to do. The witch fixed up two bowls of the beef stew she’d been preparing, poured two glasses of wine and sat down opposite him. She looked at him awkwardly for  few moments as he sheepishly poked at the steaming bowl of food in front of him. She sighed deeply, rolled her eyes, took a gulp of wine and began to speak again.
“Let’s try this another way. Hi, I’m Helga. I’m the enchantress of this wood, I’m older than I look, but if you guess anything over twenty-five I’m going to turn you into an albino badger. Who are you?”

Domingo slurped down a spoonful of stew. “My name is Domingo Caveza, known as the Shade of Zula. I’m a thief by trade, but I swear to you, I did not come here to rob you, Lady.”

“Well that’s obvious.” THe witch retorted. “Who’d rob a cottage in the middle of the woods when there’s a perfectly good city full of people with more money and looser morals less than a half days walk that way?” She delicately slurped another spoonful of the stew down and sighed contentedly. “So, were you going to or coming from?”
“I’m sorry?” The vagabond asked.
“Were you coming from some grand caper, or were you on your way to one. I may not have walked within the walls of mortal cities in a long time, but I still know what a thief looks like when they’re all geared up and ready to go. You’re wearing a rope, dark grey clothes, soft soled shoes so you can move quietly, to be honest, you’re almost a caricature of what I’d expect a thief to look like. You’re just missing the scarf over your mouth and the black mask surrounding your eyes. Everything else about you just screams ‘Thief Thief!’”
He frowned at her and Helga let out a laugh. It was like music, tinkling and gentle, like a summer breeze whistling through glass wind chimes. Domingo couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound of her laughter, even if it was entirely directed at him. Helga stopped after a while, breathing a deep sigh. She wiped a small tear from her eye and noticed her guest staring at her smiling. She enquired as to why he should gaze at her in such a gormless fashion, and suggested that perhaps he ought to start volunteering information, since so far she had done most of the talking, and this was her home, and he had been an intruder, and she was getting ever closer to just turning him into a three eyed weasel and being done with him.
“Apologies, my Lady.” She insisted that he stop with the ‘lady’ nonsense. She was a sorceress, a witch, not a lady, he was to call her Helga. “Helga. Sorry. In answer to your question earlier, I happen to be coming from a particularly impressive robbery, if I do say so myself.”
Helga seemed genuinely interested. She leaned in, pressing her chest against the table, accentuating the magnificent globes on her chest, pushing them slightly out of the top of her dress. Domingo stared for what was perhaps a second too long, but it didn’t seem that the witch much cared. Her eyes were fixed on him, the little magical pink flecks dancing across them intently. There was a subtle smile on her face as Domingo recounted the tale of how he had managed to sneak in past the guards, scaled the wall on the opposite side of the treasury, used his cunning and skill to navigate his way up onto the windowsill of the treasury, slip in and out again in less than ten seconds and make it all the way back down past the guards and three full streets away from the castle before the City Watch were even aware he’d been there. Helga regarded him with somewhat girlish glee as he finished his story.
“So, what was it?” She asked, with breathless eagerness.
“What was what?”
“The treasure. What did you steal that was so impressive?”
Domingo’s breath caught in his throat. He made a point of never telling anyone his prizes unless he was ready to sell to them, and even then, the deal must be already on the table, hands about to be shook. Helga had treated him very kindly, especially when she’d had no particular reason to. She had listened to his story and been genuinely impressed by the Shade of Zula, perhaps he did owe her a favour for her kindness. Then again, Helga was a witch, which was something that he should never ever forget. His prize, the Eye of Vermithrax was a renowned magical artefact, he didn’t want to think what could happen if she decided that she wanted it. Consequently, there wasn’t a whole lot he could really do about it if she decided that the Eye was now hers. If he tried to do anything, she would simply cast some dreadful curse on him, leaving him dead or worse. Domingo thought for a moment, trying to find the best solution to his conundrum.
“Well, it’s a very old and rare artefact, a jewel of matchless beauty and lustre. But, my dear Helga, I have a code, as many in my profession do. You can understand that I couldn’t just go around blurting out what my achievements were? There is no honour among thieves, anyone could be listening, anyone could choose to take my fairly stolen goods for their own foul purposes.”
The witch pouted at him. “Do you think me a thief, oh mighty Shade of Zula? Do you have so low an opinion of me, that I would desire another man’s hard earned reward? My Domingo, you wound me sir.” She smiled at him, winking slightly. “I suppose I could just hex you and force you to tell me, but there’s no fun in that.”
Domingo was scared, but not in the same way. It seemed to him that Helga wanted to play with him. If she had wanted to cast a spell on him, then she would have done it already. There’d be no reason for her to threaten him with it, she simply was using her wiles and talents to try and outwit him. It wasn’t a threat anymore as it once might have been, it was an intellectual challenge. She wanted him to step up and play his cards. Would he give in to the bewitching sorceress, or would he stand firm and try to outwit her with his roguish ways.
“My humblest and sincerest of apologies, sweet Helga,” Domingo sang with overly exaggerated sarcasm. “But I have to stand by my principles. Without them, after all, what would a man be? How can I show my face in the thieves’ guilds, in the villain bars and dives? How could I possibly call myself a true thief if I don’t hold to my code?” He pulled a face, wracked with false tragedy. “Now, were you to be in a position to possibly make me an offer, I would be able to consider you a potential buyer, and then I might just be in a position to give you some more specific details about it.”
Helga let out a slight offended gasp. “Sir, if I didn’t know any better, a girl could feel like she was being taken advantage of. I’d watch your step if I were you, and choose your next words very carefully. Men who try their wicked tricks with my kind don’t tend to do particularly well out of the exchange.” The witch smiled at him wickedly, and Domingo couldn’t work out whether she was just challenging him further, or if this threat was genuine. He hadn’t been trying to take advantage of her, of that he was sure. Lovely as she was, even a scoundrel like Domingo had some lines that he wouldn’t cross. Chief among them was the reasoning that he would never take any woman without her express permission. He would never stoop to rape and exploitation. Even men of few morals have their boundaries.
Almost as if she were reading his mind, Helga loosened up. It occurred to Domingo that perhaps she HAD BEEN reading his mind, because she immediately softened her approach and leant back down in her chair. “I’m sorry, that was cruel of me. I like to pride myself on being reasonably observant, and I know that was not what you were thinking. You had more honourable intentions in mind. Please accept my humblest apologies, I go too far sometimes.”
Domingo smiled at her and told her that it was quite alright. He finished the last mouthful of stew and sipped at his wine. Everything had been utterly delicious, far better food than he had really had in a very long time. Helga stood, taking the bowls away to be washed. Domingo offered to help, some way of repaying his host for being so kind to him, but the witch would hear none of it. As far as she was concerned, he was now her guest and he would be treated as such. She made it abundantly clear that he was to stay the night, and that he should receive a hearty breakfast in the morning. Domingo didn’t quite know what to say, but he felt it best not to refuse the sorceress.
Ultimately, Helga retook her seat, this time sitting right next to Domingo rather than opposite him. She leaned against him and took another drink of her wine. Domingo went a bright shade of red as Helga’s body pressed up against him. She sighed, but it wasn’t a contented sigh this time, it was more mournful, wistful. Domingo instinctively wrapped an arm around the girl and pulled her in close. She made no move to pull away.
“I miss people.” She said, sorrow tinging her every word. “I’ve lived out here for so long, been away from them for years. No one ever wants a witch around. We’re monsters, villains, things to be feared and slain. It doesn’t matter how much we do for those around us, no matter what good we try to accomplish, a witch is a witch, and that is all that people see. And these nights are so dark and lonely, it’s nigh unbearable.”
Domingo squeezed her slightly. “I understand. I’ve seen the bodies of many of my friends dangling from the city walls, a warning to other thieves and rogues of what would happen to them should they continue their thieving and roguery. Unknown and you’re less than no one. Famous and you’re reviled by society. No one loves a thief. No one relies on a thief. No one cares about a thief.”
The thief and the witch looked at each other for a moment, eyes heavy and unmoving. Helga leaned towards her guest slightly and whispered, just barely audibly “I think I could…” And the two of them embraced tightly, lips locked in a kiss of utter passion. Two lonely souls, united in solitude, met at last. The enchantress’ tongue danced inside Domingo’s mouth. Her kiss tasted sweet, like autumn wine. Her body surrendered entirely to his touch, the powerful enchantress nought but a lonely girl tonight, being held not by a devious vagabond, but by a lonely and loving man. They remained that way for some time, before eventually Helga broke the kiss.
“Domingo,” she said, sheepishly, a strange change from the way she had spoken to him all night so far. “Would…would you lie with me tonight? It’s just been so long, so long since I last felt the warmth of another person against my flesh. Since I last knew the intimacy of being with a man in the most natural of ways. Please, Domingo, make love to me tonight?”

Domingo didn’t really know what to do. He had shared a number of beds with an almost equal number of women in his time, but this precise scenario was a first for him. Had Helga been this desperate, this lonely all this time? He briefly considered the possibility that this whole thing was some foul trap she was setting for him. But he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be. She was so vulnerable right now, no longer the powerful witch, enchantress of the forest and terror of the city, she was but a woman. Helga the lonely woman. It was a loneliness he had known only too well himself. He had shared the bed of many a bought woman, simply to feel a little bit less alone for the night. Here before him, he saw a sweet, beautiful woman who’s circumstance of birth had left her alone in this world. As alone as he had been. Perhaps, just perhaps, tonight the two of them could be less alone. Domingo stepped to Helga, used his knuckle to tilt her head up to look into his eyes, and he kissed her. No words were needed, his action was assent enough. He wrapped his arms around the tender sorceress and held her for a moment, letting her feel protected, safe.

Domingo stepped away and bid his lady to show him where the bed was. She unfolded a panel in the wall, revealing a sizable enough bed, certainly large enough for two to fit with a measure of comfort. Perhaps she hadn’t always been here alone. That thought only made everything Domingo was seeing in her even worse. She dressed the bed, sliding a blanket from under a seat by the window over the bed and delicately placing two pillows at the head of it. She shuffled awkwardly, indicating she was done. Domingo smiled at her and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Domingo closed his eyes and looked away from Helga as the grey cloak he had been wearing fell from his shoulders, joined by the dark shirt. His body was lean and athletic. Muscle tone was definitely there, but he retained his slim appearance, it was far more practical that way. His slightly tanned skin bore the scars that marked him as having trained hard in the only school a thief really has. A thief without scars is a thief who’s never had to fight their way out of a corner. You tend to find scarless thieves hanging from walls. He took the pin out of his hair, letting the full length of it fall. Black locks drifted down slightly past his shoulders, tickling him slightly. He unbuttoned his trousers, letting them pool around his ankles. He wore no undergarments, and his manhood swayed freely in the cottage of the witch. His mess of wiry black pubic hair was far more full than he’d have liked for such a situation, but there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it now. Dangling, semi-erect, was 5 inches of his flaccid penis. This was a skill he was particularly proud of, his ability to keep himself comparatively soft until the moment he wanted to impress her. He moved over to Helga, his firm, mediterranean body beautiful in the flickering firelight.

A subtle red blush came to the face of Helga. It was obvious to anyone who might have been looking that she was very much pleased by the spectacle put before her. Domingo wrapped his arms around her, pulling at the strings on the back of her dress. The fabric fell away from her body easily, showing off her beautiful white skin. She was perfect, smooth and gentle, her skin felt wonderfully warm on Domingo’s hand. Her breasts pressed softly against him, the nipples growing hard, digging deliciously into his skin. He looked down at her, a well maintained puff of pubic hair, the same shade of brown as the hair on her head, clung to the top of her slim entrance. Her legs were crossed slightly her gorgeous slender legs leading down to the pretty feet that positioned themselves between the thief’s own. He smiled at her as she pulled him over to the bed. He sat down, and she stood before him.

“As it would happen, all of the stories that they told me of witches as a child appear to be very very wrong.” The thief smiled, his roguish behaviour still showing as he admired the work of art standing nervously before him. Helga brushed the hair out of her face and dropped to her knees. Her breasts hung sweetly, bouncing most exquisitely as she sat on her heels. She stretched out a hand and caressed the top of his still mostly softened cock.
“And what stories would they be, sir?”

“Well, that witches are old, ugly hags, with shriveled up bodies, wrinkly skin, long noses, yellow teeth and an overall unpleasant odour. I must say, I am very grateful to have been lied to all this time.” Helga leant forward, blowing gently across the length of his shaft, suddenly twitching and coming to life.
“Oh, not all of that was a lie, Domingo.” She whispered from between his knees. “I am rather old, though I should hope I’m not a shriveled up, wrinkly hag. Now you’d best be careful how you talk to me from this point on,” she said, leaning closer to plant a kiss on the now solid eight inches of manhood standing proudly before her. “Otherwise this could get rather uncomfortable for you.”

She ran her tongue softly from the very base of his penis all the way up to the bulbous purple head, taking her time, making sure that she was dragging every possible moment of sensation out of him. Domingo was utterly astounded. This woman had managed to break through his favourite trick. She had seduced him so well that he had completely involuntarily gotten completely erect, and now she was just playing with him, raking her tongue up and down his dick like she owned it. And by god did he ever want her to keep going. It was exquisite, the care and attention she was putting into making sure that he was having he best time he could possibly have asked for. She was so gentle, so sweet, yet she moved with a practiced certainty that betrayed her otherwise completely innocent features. He was not the first man who had received such delectable service, but in the moment he didn’t really care. Right now, he felt as if he had died and gone to absolute paradise. Helga stared up at him with her big, round, green eyes, the pink flickering still dancing entrancingly as she licked his thickness up and down.

Without warning, she slipped his dick into her mouth, and he had to fight harder than he had ever known he could not to groan out loud. She felt incredible, her lips sliding deftly along his meat, pumping him with her hand as she bobbed her head forward and backward. She was being very gentle with him, teasing as much as anything else. She wanted to make sure that this was a night the two of them would remember for a long time indeed. Domingo sat there, propped up on his hands, just enjoying the feeling of her mouth around him. He loved the tender stroke of her tongue as it passed over the head of his cock on each motion, her mouth conjuring a vacuum around his member. His eyes rolled back into his head slightly as she pushed herself without warning forcefully onto his cock, her lips making tentative contact with the unkempt bush of pubic hair on his torso. He could feel the soft flesh of her throat squeezing him delicately, but she was not gagging. It was remarkable, she was able to just open her throat and engulf him completely without any particular problems for her it appeared. Helga pushed her face as far as she could against his body, letting him writhe and twitch inside her throat. In all his years, in every brothel and dive he had ever frequented, he had never experienced anything quite like this.

Ultimately, Helga withdrew his cock from her throat and breathed a heavy gulp of air. Her eyes were watering, and she had saliva all over her face, but she seemed genuinely content with how she had performed. She wiped the excess fluid from her face and pushed the thief backwards onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before she leaned over him. She lightly planted a kiss on his cheek before turning around and straddling his face, one knee next to each ear. She dripped onto him, her womanhood moist and engorged. Domingo gasped as he felt her descend upon his skyward pointing penis like a hawk upon a rabbit. Instinctively he grabbed her hips and forced her onto his face, his tongue invading her wetness voraciously.

Helga moaned delightfully, sending shudders through the vagabond’s penis. His tongue slipped into her sodden entrance, her body shuddering slightly as she yelped in pleasure and surprise. Her fluids were warm and sweet, not an altogether pleasant flavour, but one that Domingo could not get enough of right now. He craved it, hungered for it, lusted after it. Her scent, her flavour, everything, he had to have all of her. He forced his face as deep into her as he could, his tongue moving as though he were trying to dig a path through her. All the while, the enchantress kept moaning on his cock, barely even capable of sucking anymore. She let her head move with his motions, jerking lightly up and down on the bulbous purple head. Domingo flickered his tongue on her bright pink clitoris, a trick he knew well enough, and smiled slightly to himself as he felt her thighs tighten around his head. She slumped forward, swallowing his cock as her body shook with wave upon wave of pleasure as the first orgasm in years that could be accredited to another person pulsated through her body. The intense feeling of her tender lips having edged him for so long before her throat engulfed his cock had proved too much for Domingo to handle as well. He groaned, unable to do much more with his mouth currently being occupied. He grabbed hold of her perfect rear and squeezed tightly as his testicles bunched up and his cock grew totally solid. He held on tight, his eyes rolling back into his head as he fired blast after blast of hot semen into the witch’s throat. Helga instinctively swallowed down each blast, not really giving herself a chance to ruminate in the bitter, salty flavour of his seed. Gasping, she pulled her head off of his cock and managed to turn herself around before collapsing onto his chest.

“You know,” she panted at the thief. “It’s only polite to inform a lady when you’re about to do something like that.” She playfully slapped him on the chest as he started to catch his breath. Domingo smiled at the enchantress, kissing her deeply, tasting his own bitterness in her mouth and passing on the subtle sweetness of her own womanhood onto her.
“Well, perhaps I would have said something if my tongue hadn’t been otherwise detained. I should think that would be sufficient recompense for a simple mistiming of climax, don’t you?”

The witch gaped at her now seemingly exhausted lover and playfully slapped his chest again. She draped her arm over him as he pulled her slender body against his own and they just lay there for a short while. Neither said another word, both just took pleasure in sharing the company of another human being, one who connected with them and wanted them, not someone they had had to acquire. Everything tonight was real, genuine. No smiles were bought with gold, no moans a simple act. Each caresse was one of adoration and admiration, not of business and clientele. There was something pure about this, something natural. And that was all that truly mattered.

Helga let her magic slide from her fingers, permeating Domingo’s skin and fuelling his lust more and more. Despite having just reached climax, he could feel himself getting hard again, desperate to continue making love to the beguiling sorceress. He leaned over, kissing her softly on the mouth. “I get the ever so subtle impression that you aren’t finished with me yet”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/b2z8u1/shadow_and_shade_part_1_mf_fiction