Grace and Reva

	It was a rough life, most would agree. Being a part of a roving Adventurer's Guild never failed to drain the stamina right out of the little hobbit known as Gracella. She was young, of course. This was all before she'd settled down for a lavish life of relaxation. Her hips were more reasonable, and her hair was cut short to prevent too much grabbing in the midst of combat. She trekked along the winding forest trail with her company of comrades spread out all 'round her.  At the furthermost cart in the back was the corpse of a massive Griffon they had been contracted to kill. Arrows lining its hide, stab wounds to the chest, and a mighty hammer blow cracked over its skull as the final blow. A worthy kill, and one not possibly if their fearless, or perhaps reckless, leader weren't so quick on her feet.

	Reva was the leader of this band of mongrels. Reva's Raiders, they were called. A mountain of a woman seemed made from the earth itself. Wild, tangled tresses of red hair hung off her head with places caked in muck and ichor from the beast they'd slain. Each footfall of hers made the ground itself ask for mercy. She was indomitable, unstoppable, Unbreakable.  In fact, the only mark that she'd even been in combat was a thick linen cloth wrapped tightly 'round her right bicep, and it was soaked through with blood. She paid it no heed,  and soldiered on at the front of the company of money seeking wolves. She marched with purpose, but always seemed ready for a fight. Back sloped forward, a massive ax held in one hand with a man-sized shield in the other. None questioned her authority.

	The group marched through the forests and the clearings, Reva making short work of any shrubbery impeding their path.  For this, Gracella was grateful. It was bad enough she had to cover the same distance as the rest of the troupe while possessing half the stride. The halfling had never complained though. Not since she'd been brought into the company. She'd likely be flogged by Reva if she had spoken out against something as unimportant as undergrowth when there were dragons to slay and coin to earn.

	The caravan of wayward warriors came to a stop at Reva's word. None needed to be told whatto do from there. Some unpacked the wagons and began to set up camp, while others took up their bows and quivers and headed into the forests to fetch game.  It was entirely automated at this point. Mages conjured clean waters from the air, and yet others struck fetched logs aflame without needing tinder nor flint.  Tents rose in all shapes and sizes. Some adventurers were smart and packed for the long haul, and others  were less prepared, bringing only bedrolls and spare clothes. Reva's tent was a beacon at the front of the clearing. Positively massive in size, reaching halfway up some of the trees, and each wall was formed from animal hide. How many orphan animals had Reva created to create this tribal haven? Gracella numbered it in the low hundreds.

	The massive muscular woman pitched the tent in short order. She picked up the massive stakes and drove them to the ground, powerful biceps rippling and her abdomen gained an obvious sheen of sweat to it as she worked. She wore little on the trail.  She was raised in an arctic fjord, anything abode freezing was warm to her, and so summers in the temperate forests was boiling.
	Once finished with the tent, Reva peeled off what remained of her clothing. She yanked the chainmail bikini top up over her head, and swung it around her finger until she sent it flying into the tent's interior.  Heavy breasts hung free now, but only a few stray people were stopping to marvel at her  form. This was a daily affair to the barbarian, and she saw nothing sexual about undressing.  Those whose eyes lingered too longer would gain a bestial snarl from Reva, but not because of their supposed perversion. No, she simply wanted them to get back to work.  Her bikini bottoms came off next, and they too were slingshotted into the tent.  She only wore her robe now, and what little of her body was hidden, was now on display.

	She marched through the camp with her head held high. She showed no shame in her body, and nor should she. She was an immaculate example of power.  Toned stomach, but lined with muscle to prevent a true six pack from forming. Her thighs toned and strong, and perhaps might have denoted her as a good breeding wife had she not taken the life she had.  Everything about her oozed strength, even her eyes. Wild and piercing, they looked ahead, then down to Gracella when she finally found the woman setting up the pots and pans for their nightly meal.

	The hobbit's back was turned of course, but a shadow cast over her with a silhouette impossible to mistake.  The smallfolk  straightened up from her perhaps provocative bent over position. She wiped her hands on her linen pants, and turned around. As much as Gracella might deny it, this was perhaps the favorite part of her day. Beholding the sculpted masterpiece that made up her longtime ally. She even inhaled sharply through her  nose, and brought a hand up to her chest. It was simply delightful, espescially from such a low profile to see such a phenomenal body. Her eyes dragged upwards slowly. Though they did not linger on Reva's powerful legs or beautiful nethers, she did drink the sights in as if they were a glorious sunrise. She stared up between Reva's cleavage to make eye contact with the tallfolk

	“What is it, Reva?” Gracella asked, always happy to help

	“Food ready?” Reva responded, her voice gruff and always sounding as if she were upset.

	“Oh no no-” Gracella began. “This is just the preparations. We need to wait for the meat. I've just been getting the water boi-” the halfling was then easily plucked from the ground by Reva, and was  casually carried back to the tent as a few onlookers watched.

	Grace would never admit she liked behind manhandled, and perhaps she shouldn't admit it.  Her heart raced as the Wild-kin woman took her back to the tent, then cast her down upon the bedroll like she were an objected to be tossed about. She landed on the bed with a thump, and propped herself up onto her elbows to watch the barbarian's moves.

	Reva was like a predator now. Her movements were slow and calculated.  Footfalls once loud and domineering now quiet and precise. Only when the exact moment struck, did Reva lunge. Her feet left the ground and she crashed into the shapely, pint-sized woman like a bull. Calloused, strong hands found the beltloops of Gracella's pants and yanked upon them to bring them down, but the loops snapped between her fingers instead

	Reva muttered something about poor quality in her native tongue, and Gracella's hands moved down towards the button of her pants.  Those small hands were swatted to the side as they got in the way of Reva's prize, and the barbarian did only as barbarian's could.

She grabbed the button, and the fly, and uttery destroyed them with one powerful yank. The cloth tore unevenly, and the button went flying into a pile of Reva's clothing. With that boundary out of the way, and a momentarily mortified Margeth marveling at the loss of her favorite pair of traveling pants, the clothing came down

	She exposed Gracella's thighs, soft and supple, but hiding muscle beneath. Reva didn't even bother to pull the clothing all the way down Down to Grace's shins was enough. She manhandled the hobbit more, and boy was Gracella quite pleased at the turn of these events once she'd gotten over the loss of her clothing.
	She pulled Gracella up onto her lap as they sat on the bedroll, and Reva tore the panties off of the hobbit. Gracella was used to that, but still she gasped whenever she saw the ruined fabric flying off, never to be seen again. One calloused, strong hand reached up to Grace's face, and pushed her mouth open with two fingers. She stuck the calloused digits inside, and held them there. Already a line of spittle drooped from the fingers down to Reva's other hand, which was much more active.

	The wild woman knew how to please.

	Not in the way a kind lover might, touching every single intimate place with expert finesse.

	No. Reva was a different animal all together.

	She started off at the clit of course, and ran her thumb across the hood, and even garnered a little moan from Gracella. A moan the poor halfling couldn't even muzzle or hide due to the fingers in her mouth. The thumb rolled around in circles, and the halfling shivered against her barbaric lover, drooling all over the two fingers.

	Of course, Reva wasn't much for foreplay, and they both knew it.   She brought one knee up under one of Gracella's legs, and then moved to the side, to force Gracella's legs open.  Another groan of pained, strained pleasure rose from the hobbit, and people were starting to take notice in the camp, just as Reva wanted. She wanted people to know who Gracella belonged to in body and soul. Who was her kindred spirit, and who was it who made her shake and shiver and moan like a blasted bitch in heat.

	With Gracella's legs parted, Reva's hand stopped teasing the clit and moved down, rolling across every centimeter of Gracella's exposed nethers. Once down low, Reva  brought her index and middle fingers against the walls. Then of course, she claimed her prey.
	Fingers slammed home suddenly, and Gracella lurched forward and let out a sputtering cry of pure ecstasy. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Reva didn't let up. Those two fingers plowed Gracella's deepest depths, and moved like machines in their relentless pursuit of pleasure. They worked over everything, and moved furiously.  They assaulted her so powerfully that Gracella feared she might bruise. Small purple marks had already begun to form on one of her thighs from the sheer force behind Reva's hand.

	Gracella was a mess. Each time the fingers smashed knuckle deep into her, She'd bounce up and cry wordlessly in pleasure around the fingers, and then would inevitably fall right back down onto the fingers, and the cycle continued. Furious fingerbanging followed by brief periods of rest. Reva would bring Gracella to the precipice of orgasm, but would stop just before the payoff.  The poor hobbit wasn't even sure what to do with herself aside from helplessly seek the pleasure in hopes she might bring herself to orgasm. Her legs shook, her  fingers curled up into fists. Her legs tried to close themselves, but Reva wasn't about to let that happen. She just needed more. More, more more

 	Gracella even tried to reach down to pleasure herself, but was quickly reprimanded with a nice throat fucking via the fingers.Two digits punished her mouth, pounding deep against the back of her throat, making Gracella gag noisily, and also kicking off more pleasure, the poor orally fixated woman.  With Grace's head pressed between Reva's cleavage now, there was nowhere for  Grace to go as she was 'punished'.  Reva pulled the fingers from Grace's lips only long enough for her to lick them clean of Grace's own spittle before jamming them back in for another round of finger-face-fucking. Loud, noisy slurping accompanied the ramming of Reva's hand, Gracella treating the fingers like a king's cock in need of polishing now. Reva made sure to work her fingers deep, smacking up against her uvula to make the woman gag over and over, but only spittle ever flew out.  Whenever she moaned, it was through a drooling mouth, and she uttered only one coherent phrase like a mantra.

	“Oh... Reva”

	Over and over she chanted it. It started off as only being directed to the woman behind her, but soon it grew. It grew louder and louder until she was a proper porn-star with how she was crying out for her lover's pleasure, and Reva would finally provide.

	The wild barbarian picked up Grace with ease, and slid herself down onto her back.  Once situated, she  brought Gracella back down, this time using Reva's face as a seat. The redhead still held tightly to the small woman, and fingers still stay locked between Gracella's lips. She looked up at the beautiful halfling, and her eyes softened. Their eyes locked, and anyone could have heard the church bells... well they could have if it weren't overpowered by the obscene calls of pleasure from the rowdy hobbit.

	 Reva's tongue was so clumsy in conversation, yet so nimble here. She locked herself up against Gracella's nethers, which by now were dripping with sex fluids that ran down Reva's cheeks.  The tongue lashed inwards furiously,  frantically searching for whatever motion would make Gracella squeal. She finally found it as she  dragged her tongue backwards like she were licking a lollipop. Grace's shoulders slumped down, her mouth hung open. Small hands tangled into Reva's hair, and she pulled her head up, grinding needfully against her lover's face. She still moaned her mantra, the crowd outside hearing it clearly. Birds scared from their trees by the noise. Even the sun itself seemed to refuse to set as it listened to the sound of unfiltered pleasure.

	When the orgasm came, Grace's mind lost all sense of motor function and normalcy. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her entire body initially clenched up, and she rose up from her knees. It shook her to her very core.  She cried out for her lover, who worked so diligently down below, and then simply collapsed forward, ass in the air. Everything felt heavy, but she wore a bleary smile that painted a picture Reva couldn't describe. The redhead pulled herself up, and draped herself over her tiny lover, and whispered into her ear.

	“We are one.”

	“And we'll hide it from none.” Gracella responded.

	She rolled over slowly, and draped her arms around her kindred spirit, and they shared a long kiss. A soft, sweet mingling of lips.

	Grace's hand reached up –

	– and Reva took it, holding it to her chest.