from — “The Wanderings of Dævara, Teller of Fate” [i]
In which Dævara learns a new appreciation for her mother’s other profession.
Two
Dævara lay on the disarrayed covers of the sleeping pallet, feeling the cold kisses of coinage on hip and thigh, just breathing. Her anus was a stabbing throb that kept a strobing wince on her face. Her pussy was throbbing too, pleasure streaking up her abdomen in syncopation with the fundamental pain. Energy for the comfort of either ache she had not.
She was saved the agony of indolent indecision by the arrival of Garie.
The enormous purple lizard-man moved surprisingly quietly for a creature of his bulk. The parting of the silk curtains to the bedroom made a whisper that cracked her eyes just a little to confirm it wasn’t Vald returning for more.
She saw him standing in the doorway as he straightened from his crouch. Almost nine feet of well-muscled physique that looked to be emerging from a shiny shattered egg. His front was a beautiful mauve colour. It looked and felt no different from her own flesh, save that it was warmer.
The back half of Garie (arms, legs, torso, both tails) was covered with large, polished, bright purple scales.
His skull drew her attention most, though. Hairless, it was, topped with scales. His eyes looked like they belonged on fleshy beings such as herself; his were even red like hers, though of a deeper shade. Likewise, his nose, aquiline and strong, would not have caused comment on a human or and elf. His mouth was something out of one of those nightmares where something nasty wants to eat you. A jagged line crossed the bottom quarter of his visage, extending almost to his ears.
When it opened, one might expect a horrible hiss or growl. Instead a well-modulated alto asked, “All right be you, Dæv?” His voice might have belonged to a human female. If one were paying attention, lips could just be seen inside the evil crack of his mouth.
“Sore, I am, luv. I fear I miscalculated a bit with me first client, I did.” She slowly rolled over and sat up.
“Hurt you, did he?” Garie’s voice rose at the end—he was genuinely concerned.
“My ignorance hurt me more, I think.” Dævara went on to describe the session just past.
Garie came and sat at the edge of the bed as she spoke, one great, clawed hand caressing her upper thigh as she spoke. It felt good.
When she was done, he said, “Where you went wrong I see, I think. You told him at the start that you were his _____.” Here he used another word she would never pronounce properly. On this world, Common (the language spoken throughout the Thirty Aions) contained many words native to the Ojvhkritt.
“What’s that mean?”
“A slave. Here it implies an appliance, rather than something living.”
“So, I told him I was a sex toy, did I?” She had to laugh. “I’ll have to have another talk with my fellow whores afore I try again, I think!” Again the laughter, this time accompanied by the staccato hiss that was Ojvhkritt merriment.
“Anything for your comfort can I do?” He was still massaging her legs.
“Well…” Dæv gave him a coy look. “He was rather rough with me bum, he was. I’ve a balm that should sooth it. Could you rub it on for me?”
It would take her months to learn to read Garie’s expressions. This one, apparently, was warm and flirty. “Certainly, dear.” The wink was easy to figure out, anyway. “Roll over, please.”
She did as instructed, pointing out the clear jar containing pink ointment on her nightstand. Lying face down, legs parted, she closed her eyes, sighing deeply.
Garie started by hoisting her middle up and bunching the bedding under her hips and lower torso. She felt gentle fingers ease her cheeks apart.
“Is it bad?” she asked.
“A bit bruised, it looks. Not too bad, though. A bit of your client leaking out is.”
“There’s tissue on the nightstand.”
Instead of reaching for it, Garie leaned toward her and she felt something warm, moist, and slightly rough along her crevasse and asshole. It was quite soothing. She looked around and saw the top of the lizard man’s head, eyes closed, busy at his task. She lay back down as Garie’s tongue dug for bits of Vald’s pleasure a few moments longer. Only when he was done did he reach for the tissue dispenser to dry her off.
“Mmmm! Thank you, Dear Heart. That felt wonderful. You’ve odd tastes, I must say.” She giggled.
He laughed with her, but said nothing.
Dæv rested her head on her folded arms again, now quite relaxed. She felt Garie’s fat fingers hold her ass cheeks apart then the cool sensation as the balm spread over the tender ring of muscle her client had so cavalierly abused. A wide padded finger firmly pressed and made little circles, calming the throbbing ache.
The cooling sensation slowly became a warming one. Garie’s fingers were too wide to penetrate to the inner sphincter without making the bruising worse; she’d have to deal with that herself later. Another throbbing was getting worse, or better. The elf realized she was quite close to the orgasm she’d been denied for the last hour.
“Garie…” She didn’t have to finish the thought. Her breathy tone must have communicated her desire. Well…that and the scent of her arousal, which he certainly couldn’t have missed.
A wide, flat finger slid along her taint and—gasp!—down her pussy lips, brushing her clit at last. She let out a shuddering breath and “—Again!”—in a desperate whisper.
Garie obligingly backtracked, giving her anus a brief swirl, and slid back toward her clitoris again. This time, though, he barely grazed it, which nearly drove her mad. A plaintive whimper bubbled past her lips.
Again the round-trip rub, feather light brush against her love button and all.
Again.
Again.
By the fifth or sixth one, she was squirming and pushing her ass toward that finger that refused her the pleasure she needed as much as air. “Oh…Garie, please. Please, luv.”
Before she knew it, Dævara was in the air and turning as strong hands gripped her waist, covering her like a corset from boobs to hips. When she landed, the elf was on her back on the lizard-man’s stomach. Her knees were on either side of his head.
He looked at her over the neat blue fur of her Venus Mount, deep red eyes penetrating. Those frightening purple jaws opened as if he was going to rip out and swallow her pelvis whole.
Two long, black tongues emerged instead.
They were vaguely cone-shaped, ending in very fine points. Some questions about his earlier ablutions were now resolved as Dæv watched them wriggle like snakes as they extended, and kept extending! They both hit her cunt at the same time and began their dance.
They traced the crease separating leg and crotch and leg. Back up, following the same course. Down again, this time just outside her fleshy outer lips. Flushed, Dæv was; her breathing began to shorten and quicken. Her abdomen began to shudder as her clenched diaphragm strove to hold the air in her lungs. Two serpents dripping venom crawled along her hypersensitive inner labia; shivers of pleasure from navel to knees. Dævara began to writhe, pushing herself down closer to the source of all pleasure.
Garie’s arms came up around her legs, one lay across her torso, his large, hot hand coming to rest on her right boob; the other reaching around and pressing on the triangle of her pubic mound, pushing down firmly to keep her pinned in place. Again, the whimper of pleasure delayed; the elf placed both small hands on the one close to her face, clutching the smooth scaled backs of fat fingers.
Her comrade continued to tease her mercilessly, running up and down her slit, never quite reaching her clit, until she was mad with desire, calling out to him, “Please, Garie! Oh, gods, pleeease…!”
The serpents struck.
One slid smoothly into her vagina, stopping just inside her entrance and wriggling ’round and ’round, hitting every sensitive spot, especially the one on the upper surface where it paused to press harder every time. Her stomach clenched with every press of that button; pleasure threatening to erase her consciousness. The other tongue hit her clitoris, dancing expertly over the head and managing to caress the hidden shaft.
The fantasies caused by the rough treatment of Vald had control of her mind now. She imagined being commanded, bound, even beaten; in her mind the workings of the lizard man’s tongues was the slap of a leather whip over her pussy again and again. The arms holding her were rough hempen ropes, restraining her, abrading her tender flesh.
Her arms! Her arms were free! How had her master let that happen? She began flailing them, reaching for something, anything to free herself from this exquisite torture/pleasure.
To her shock, Dæv’s questing hands found something to hold above her head—two somethings, in fact. They were just too large to get her hands around and were fleshy, but firm—and getting firmer. Long, tubes with soft barbs that resisted her movement to find their ends.
Lifting her head to look down at the giver of pleasure, she realized what they were at the same moment she saw Garie’s eyes close and a peculiar mewling escape his mouth. “You’ve got two o’ those, as well?” she just managed to say, hoping her lust hadn’t mangled too much.
A slight movement of his head—a nod.
She would have laughed, had she the breath. She did manage an open-mouthed grin from which a call of ecstasy escaped as Garie hit both sensitive pleasure centers at once.
Exactly how to give pleasure to Garie, Dæv didn’t know. There were bound to be differences between his cocks and those of elves—besides the ones she already knew—pointed and barbed.
As an experiment, she tried moving her fingers up the shafts toward the heads, bending the fleshy barbs until they snapped back as she went. She was rewarded with a sound from her friend she’d never heard before: a moan that modulated between high and low several times. In a move that caused her to gasp, both tongues lost contact with her cunt and “—Yes! Just like that!”—before returning to their duty.
Dæv quickly moved her left hand to the base of the prick close to her head and, gripping it with her fingers as far apart as she could, ran it up toward the head. Just as she reached it, she used her right hand to do the same to one further away. Soon she had a rhythm going—left, right; then left, right again, again, again.
All this while, one fat, prehensile tongue was moving in and out of her snatch, wriggling and twisting as it went, sparking pleasure in a dozen places at once, it seemed. The other licked and flicked over her clit and inner labia with the deftness of a torturer who knows every tender spot. Her cries of pleasure sounded no different from sounds of agony.
Her fingers were becoming bruised by the slap of rebounding barbs as she continued to pump Garie’s two shafts. In her mind, it was the flaying of whips across her knuckles as she lay strapped helpless to a rack. Another sadist lashed her cunt mercilessly. In the fantasy that had firm hold of Dævara’s soul, she was covered in sweat and welts with the dried cum of a hundred men already sticky and burning in fresh abrasions.
Another two, big, stinking, and hairy, stoked their cocks over her face, cords in their necks straining as they neared orgasm.
Porcine grunts turned to gorilla roars as, in sync, blast after blast of hot, creamy spend splattered over her face, neck and sweat soaked hair.
Another identical pair and there was fresh semen drying on her stomach and teats.
Another two followed…two more…and two more.
Her fingers were agony; the scourging of her cunt unbearable.
Finally, the elf broke under the torture.
Both tiny fists clamped down hard on the heads of Garie’s cocks, her thighs, clamped around his head so tightly that she bruised the inner sides.
From her abraided throat came a sound deeper and more resonant than most would have thought her capable: a broken roar that lasted all of her breath and, after a gasp, came again.
From Garie came a trilling squeal and Dæv found the sensation of cum splashing on her body and face return from her fantasy to the reality of the room.
The world went away for a bit.
* * *
Warm, tingly darkness faded slowly. She opened her eyes to a sweet odour—and the buzz saw sound coming from Garie’s chest that made her back and bum vibrate.
“Hey!” she said softly, nudging his skull with a knee.
“Whuzziz?” the snoring stopped. After a minute, “Dæv?”
“That’s me,” a low laugh. She raised her head at the same time he did. An impressing quantity of thick tan-coloured lines covered her from knees to—she felt her forehead—hairline. She felt her wicked grin on her face. A pulling sensation on her forehead and left cheek: dried semen. “That’s all yours, is it?”
“Yep!”
Remembering the smell, she scooped a bit of spend with her finger. It had the consistency of cake frosting. She stuck her finger in her mouth. “Mmm! Tastes like almonds, it does.” Another grin.
“Better now do you feel?” he asked.
“Much. Help me up, will you?”
Large hands gently lifted her and placed her on her feet as easily as they had onto his stomach.
They showered and dined together, laughing at the events of the day.
* * *
For three years, Dævara worked on Cabgorymn and spent another dozen wandering from system to system in AL93. For all this time, she went with Garie as friend and occasional lover.
‘Nefastus Venereæ’ — Wicked Loves
[i] ‘The Wanderings of Dævara, Teller of Fate,’ — a chronicle of the adventures of Dævara Teller after her departure from the Elven Convocation Aion of Ælfen until her first meeting with Brandær. Further stories can be found at the Bookshoppe.
—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, October 2026
© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved
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