Oh, Yuria... My dear Yuria...

The tranquillity of the Shrine found itself disturbed once more, the Ashen One manifesting themselves once again. Yuria peeked from the corner of the alcove; her Lord of Hollows seemed extraordinarily peppy. From his sheath he pulled a blade much like her own. She gasped, clutching her own harness - it wasn't her beloved Darkdrift. Yuria felt a twinge of jealousy wash over her courtesy of the brilliant blade; she hadn't noticed that the Ashen One was within voice-shot, the top heavy man clad in his cloth-entombed metal armour as usual.

Her Lord looked upon her expectantly, the dark from within the slits of his helmets beckoning for her to inquire him. "Speak thy desire, honourable Lord of Hollows." Much to her surprise, he didn't utter a word, simply crouching down and baring the blade to her. Hesitantly, she let go of the harness surrounding her hip, gripping the handle tightly. As her fingers clutched the handle, she felt the blood in her hand surge as if the blade itself threatened to drink from her just through touch.

Dousing the parch of her mouth, she spoke as she weighed the blade in her gaunted hands. "Bearer of the dark sigil, this blade... It beckoneth for more than a keen wielder. What dost thou ask of me?" The man of ash placed his hand on her shoulder, a moment passing before gently nudging her shoulder. "My lord, art thou suggesting that I must feed the blade?"

Suddenly, with finesse and quick reflexes, he snatched the sword out of her hands by the blade. Yuria had barely registered what had happened before he knelt before once more, this time holding the weapon poised at his chest. Realizing that what he was asking for was something much more intimate, she couldn't help but giggle to herself. The Undead never ceased to impress.

"... We shall serve thee, honourable Lord."

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"Come hither, champion."

Having been ushered out of the alcove for a brief moment, the Ashen one spun on the spot before walking toward the sound of her voice. He needn't walk long, for as he turned the corner he found the woman perched on some of the rocks, her nude form reflecting off the water nearby. The eastern blade stood by her side, holstered between rock even as her hand held it steady. As he made his way over to her, he inquired to why she hadn't shed her helmet.

"My Lord, my form is for thou to do as thine wishes. However, prithee let us keep one piece of our faith."

She glistened, helmet or not. He nodded in assent, slowly undressing to match her. Her pose faltered slightly as he undid his leggings, her helmet fixating on his body as she sized him up. Now upon her, he crouched down in front of her, before resting his head in her lap. Her silky smooth fingers found themselves intertwining in his hair, letting go of the sword to let her hands frolick over his body. Her own breathing turned hot, she traced his cheeks, his chest, everything sculpted as a Lord would be.

Rescinding one hand to clutch the sword anew, she whispered to him. "A form fitting a Monarch. Is thine desire true? Art thou certain?"

With a single nod his only form of assent, she licked her lips. Best to carry forward, she thought. Cannot disappoint her Lord. Pulling the blade from its impromptu sheath, she held it up high above the Undead between her feet. Her breasts jiggled lightly, the sight from below eliciting a most expected response from his lower body. The sight brought the already heady air a notch up for the servant, her own breathing growing increasingly ragged as she hesitated.

Blowing through the barrier of doubt, she closed her eyes and stabbed as deep as she could. Cleanly it pierced the chest of her Lord, stopping only at the advent of rock underneath him. His previously calm breath took a sharp rise, followed by a blood-filled cough. Yet he did not falter, looking up at the helmet covering her face, as if he was looking through it. Letting go of the sword, she crept up beside him before cupping his face gently in her hands, her leg snaking its way around his in an attempt to get even closer.

"A true Lord of Hollows thou are... Art thou even phased by blade?" He shot her a smile, before rocking his head left and right. The light from outside the Shrine shone from a crack in the ceiling, her beady body glistening unlike the dark which she served. Shooting a glance down his body, sizing up the finely toned muscle on the way, she encountered a most unexpected result from the blood sacrifice; his member stood fiercer than ever, perhaps augmented by the presence of the blade in his chest.

Hesitatingly, she slowly inched her dainty fingers down his body, looking back and forth to make sure she overstepped no boundary. Soon her hand wrapped itself around his girth, a squeeze eliciting yet another sharp intake from her Lord. Easing up her grip, she found herself rubbing along his length, fingertips poised and pressured in an attempt to pleasure him best she could.

With every minute she found her own needs bringing her to quiver, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to stifle her crotch. As she felt the muscle between her fingers tighten, her pace rose quickly as she felt his release creep past her digits. His breathing heaved and sputtered as he edged closer and closer, the borderline mortal wound in him keeping him without the strength to hasten her. Her surprisingly skilled fingers clutched pleasurably around him, his testicles tightening up against his body in preparation.

With a final tug, he blew over the edge, sending his semen flying across the alcove. His breathing rasped as she refused to stop stroking, milking his member for all it were worth. When it finally shot no more, her hand was drenched in both sweat and ejaculate. She brought it up to her helmet, smelling the musky aroma of it. It must have pushed her own arousal over the edge, for soon she was straddling his hips, his prick at half mast against her mons. Her body radiated heat into him, and most importantly, primal desire.

Unexpectedly, she reached over and pulled roughly on the blade, unsheathing it from his flesh without any warning. The pain echoed through him, his head hitting the rock behind him as his body wanted him to cry out. At the display of discomfort, she reached toward him, yet he raised his own hand at her to stop her advance. With his other hand, he pulled forth the golden cask she had seen him use several times before. Upending the cork, he drew from the bottle, chugging the brilliant liquid into his form.

To her amusement, with every ounce of intake his wounds edged closer to one another, the final sip leaving his chest in its original pristine condition. Shooting her another look and smile, he nodded at her and then the blade, before splaying out once again. She smirked, heaving the blade up once more. "Peculiar taste, my Lord," she thought to herself, giving pause to her next action.

Yet again she thrust downwards, piercing him anew as blood splayed once again. This time her proximity to his crotch yielded another piece of stimulation; gone was the wiltingness of his member as it stood proud again. She couldn't tell if it had been the powers of the flask, or perhaps the masochistic properties of the blade. Either way, her loins pulsated with a primal need, one she intended to satisfy as she rose up above him, gently lining up his prick with her warm entrance.

Struck by sudden poor footing, her legs slipped forwards as she was forced to sit, speared fully through as the tip poked something inside her. She cried out, the surprising width and stimulation of her inner walls causing her to pause. With every breath she clenched around him, the pressure almost driving him over the edge right then and there. Content to let her get used to his member, he let her sit and calm herself before calling upon her to continue.

Licking her lips once more, she supported herself on his chest before letting her hips rise, his dick feeling every texture of her walls on the way out. She held it there, before letting the weight of her body drag her back down, crying out as she pierced herself fully once again. As she impacted his body, blood rose out of the wound in his chest, the sword covering itself in a red haze. Rising once again, she settled herself into a slow rhythm, enjoying the slight curve of his penis as it fully hilted her over and over again.

Unsatisfied by her current pace, she sat up all the way, using the handle of the sword for balance. With every slap of her thighs against his pelvis, the blade moved in tandem with her, pain and pleasure mixing together for her Ashen Lord. Perhaps they didn't care, but the moans, cries of pain and loud slapping of flesh rung out loudly throughout the entire shrine; Karla had snuck next to a corner, yet what she saw had her blushing and rushing back to her spot, telling any else that went near not to look.

As the thrusts from Yuria rose in frequency and need, he found himself lingering briefly on the edge of life itself. He gestured for her to withdraw the sword, which she dutifully granted him, before drinking up. The cycle of pleasure and pain had been set in stone as she thrust the sword in him anew, her breasts jiggling as she continued to milk him for all the pleasure he was worth. Her home of Londor had taught her many things, specifically the ability to hide her emotional state; the Ashen One knew not how many times he'd made her orgasm.

Finally he felt his release creeping to a new high, and so must Yuria, for her thrusting increased in fervor, the desperation for his seed heard even louder throughout the shrine. The place sounded more like a brothel with every wet slap, and to commemorate her Lord's release, she grasped the blade and forced it even deeper into his chest, riding him as if she was nothing short of a concubine.

A coughing fit fell over his already rough breathing, and soon he found the pressure in his prick grow to unbearable levels. She sensed his neediness within her walls, clenching up and thrusting herself down with all of her weight, pushing the sword in his chest as far as it'll go, the handle almost meeting his chest as she speared herself equally on him. His orgasm came roaring, filling her up to the brim, the discharge spilling large amounts of the warm, sticky liquid into her womb.

She found herself quivering in silent orgasm as every rivulet filled her up, her crotch leaking lubricant and ejaculate all the same around his prick as she rocked her hips gently, squeezing as much as she could from him. Resting herself upon the hilt, she continued to confine him within her walls until she felt him finally wilting; as she rose to let his prick free, large globs of semen followed in its wake, tainting the water that had been underneath them.

Leaning down to rest herself on the sword, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. As she woke from her short nap, her Lord was nowhere to be seen. In his place sat a large, writhing mass of green, hovering softly above the ground. As she reached a hand outward to touch it, a familiar armourclad gauntlet snatched it right in front of her. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw the familiar sight of her monarch walking away, a single arm extended toward the right, his fist closing in a finishing gesture.

Most peculiar taste, indeed.