Spiriting of the Flower Court III

Spiriting of the Flower Court
III: Derrin tries to shag a ghost

Derrin was naked. She wasn't entirely sure when this had happened, but it was probably because she'd gotten herself sod-ass drunk. Again. Trying to drown her relentless lust for Princess Raina in barmaids and beer and...she vaguely remembered something about a sword. Some noblewoman, perhaps? It was all a blur.

She tried to get her bearings. It was quite dark and her vision was cloudy, and all she could feel was the soft texture of the bedsheets against her skin, and a pillow. The pillow was pretty warm, though. Quite a bit warmer than the sheets. She reached for it and tried to flip it over – the nights were warm enough as it was this time of year. It didn't work. It was firmly stuck to the bed and didn't budge more than an inch. Derrin groaned loudly, but ultimately decided she didn't care enough and wasn't awake enough to do anything about it. She turned over, laid back down and buried her head into the pillow.

It took a second or two for her to notice that it actually wasn't a pillow. It was decidedly too hairy to be a pillow, and decidedly too fleshy as well. And it smelled salty. Sweaty. Not like her own sweat or Winifred's sweat (a sharp pain went through her heart as the name crossed her thoughts) or the Princess's sweat (she probably didn't sweat at all). It was a decidedly manly smell. She raised her head, rubbed her red eyes and looked at it – and once her eyes adapted to the darkness, she came to a realization.

She had just tried to bury her face in a man's...genitals. And prior to that she had spent possibly several hours using the man's lap as a pillow. And prior to that, she had done SOMETHING together with this man that involved them getting naked together in bed, and then her falling asleep on his crotch.
Derrin let out a long, raspy groan, somewhere along the lines of, “Grueeehunggegeeuuuuuuuuuh,” as she felt the urgent need to relieve her stomach of its contents. Of course, the noise along with the fact that she'd just tried to muzzle the man's balls, led to the other naked person in the bed waking up. “Nnnnnnnh...lemme sleep, emps...” He had a distinctly uncultured accent, much unlike the city folk – more similar to the farmers Derrin had grown up around. And as he rose up, she also realized he was quite a powerful specimen – despite the darkness she could clearly see his body was BIG and ripped with muscles, more than anyone she'd ever seen. She merely sat dumbstruck as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and slowly realized that a naked woman was sharing his bed with him. “Oh, yer' sleepin' here tonight? Sorry 'bout it if it's a bit...cramped,” he half-mumbled, half-yawned. “Ah know I'm sorta on the big side, an' these beds aren't a lot to write home 'bout. Still, wouldya mind keepin' it down a bit? Mah head's still a bit fuzzy from the drink.”

When she finally managed to stop being dumbfounded, Derrin groaned again – though a bit quieter this time. “Who are you, and why am I here,” she managed after a bit. “Last I remember I was talking up some refined noblewoman, hoping I'd get something to keep me...distracted. Noble. Woman. Not farm boy.” She briefly thought about trying to cover herself up, but realized that was an exercise in futility; it was too dark to see anything more than what he'd already seen anyway. Instead she did the complete opposite, and splayed herself out on the sheets best she could; her bedmate, even after scooching a bit, still took up most of the available space. It must've looked quite silly to an onlooker; a man and woman, buck naked and in the same bed, yet as far separated from each other as possible.

“Oh, I'm jus' Alexander. Ya must've been talkin' to Emps, then. She tends to take over if I get too drunk.”

Derrin blinked in confusion. “Take over? What sort of...are you some kind of...” Her paladin instincts hadn't quite woken up yet, but they were well on the way to doing so – until the man let out a massive yawn, crackling bones and creaking the bed underneath them. “It's probably her you want to speak to, anyway. I'll just wake her up.” She felt a slight gust of wind as the darkness swirled in front of her, before forming into what she could clearly make out was a sword. Before she could react to her bedmate drawing sword on her literally out of thin air, he put it down beside the bed – and it spoke, in a disembodied voice that could only possibly have belonged to a pure maiden beholden of the most sacred beauty. “Well, I must say you look just as gorgeous under your garments as I thought you would. It is lamentable that I'm stuck in this form, or I could have...enjoyed you most exquisitely.”

Derrin drew a quick gasp, as some of the memories from last night began rushing back to her. She HAD been talking to some noblewoman in the bar, or at least the voice of one. Several hours, in fact, she'd spent in a drunken haze, venting her problems to the lady, and she'd listened and comforted her. And possibly invited her to bed. She just hadn't realized that the lady's voice had been attached to this hulking bear of a man – or more correctly, his sword.

She laid there dumbfounded on her end of the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of it all. And quite promptly, she decided there wasn't any point in doing so – and neither was there any point in just remaining like this. She sat up, clambered out of the bed, and looked around the room for her stuff – there, a careless bundle of clothes, tossed aside into a corner along with her pack. She plodded over, and rubbed her eyes a little. Peered at her clothes, peered at the pack. “Oh, what the hell,” she finally said, and crouched down to reach her pack, opening it and retrieving a large bottle from inside of it. She swung it up and downed a hefty swig of it, as she was marching back towards the bed, before jumping back in – evidently quite carelessly so, considering the dangerous sounds the bed was making. She didn't care about the bed. She walked over to the other end of the bed – with a considerable sway to her step – before planting herself astride Alexander's chest like he was a saddle, and thrusting the bottle at his face. “Well then, I guess I'll just have to get you smashed enough to make 'Emps' take over again, don't I.”

Alexander gave her a friendly smile, and she felt his enormous hands grab her by the waist. “Ah welcome ya to try yer best, lady. What's your name, then? Feels like it's a good point to ask, in case you can't walk tomorrow and you need to spend another night here.”

A short sting of fear went through Derrin's mind, but the intoxication of adrenaline and alcohol washed it away as fast as it had come. “Derrin Kline. And we'll see which one of us it'll be who can't walk tomorrow, farmboy.” She took the bottle and thrust it into Alexander's mouth like an oversized pacifier, pouring its contents down his throat. He didn't protest, but he DID tighten his grip on her waist – and pushed her from his chest to a much lower position. She spilled some of the booze down on his ripped, hairy chest, and as she pulled the bottle away and placed it on the floor, she ran her tongue across his liquor-laden pecs.

She felt it as she was sliding down his body, her skin meeting his. His large, hot member was right under her rear, twitching under the weight of her body; but there was also another thing, of a decidedly stranger texture. “Do you have more surprises hidden away somewhere, besides that lovely talking sword?” Alexander chuckled, and to her surprise she could feel a second fleshy limb brush against her ass – this one decidedly rougher in texture than his cock. “Jus' this one. Ah did warn ya about walkin' tomorrow, no?” Before she could protest, she was lifted into the air, and then TWO thick shafts penetrated her – a girthy manhood in her womanhood, and SOMETHING ELSE right up her rear. Pain and pleasure reverberated through her body, and she let out something that was supposed to be a scream, but simply turned into a weak gasp because her lungs wouldn't obey.

Grimacing, she dug into his chest with one hand, and reached out for the bottle with the other. It took her a few seconds to find, fumbling in the darkness, but thankfully Alexander hadn't started moving much yet. She stared him down best she could – which wasn't very well, given the difference in height and the fact that he literally had her all but pinned and doubly penetrated – and thrust the bottle towards him. “You're drinking this. All of it. I don't want to see a single drop left in this bottle tomorrow, unless you've puked it back up because you were too much of a fucking SISSY to keep it all down.” Alexander clearly didn't like that accusation; what she thought was full depth was proven to be a lot less than that, pain lancing her body as he pushed his flesh further into her. Finally she felt her groin against his, and breathed a weak, shaky sigh of relief – she could still feel the limb in her ass squirming, pushing, looking for more. It reminded her of Winifred again – she'd done the exact same thing with her tail, stirring up her insides until she could barely see straight. Insight flared. “So you're a tiefling then, farmboy? Feeling fiendish enough to vanquish- ngh- a paladin!?” He'd started moving, now. The pain was sharp and pulsating, and kept her mind from working properly – but the pleasure came washing over her like waves of powerful magic whenever the pulse receded.

Alexander took the bottle out of her spasming hand, and started thrusting with his hips more than simply lifting her up and down. “Fiendish enough to vanquish your legs, at least,” he grunted. “So ya had tiefling tail up yer arse before, eh? Didn' take ya for the type, to be honest.” Derrin screamed as he rammed the fiendish appendage up her bottom just a little further, and responded with a lunge forward to bite into the arm holding the bottle. “MY- ASS- IS- NONE- OF- YOUR- BUSINESS!” She tore the bottle out of his hand and downed a lengthy swig, before thrusting it straight into his mouth again. “DRINK YOU- LITTLE PIG-TAILED SISSY WHORE!” Alexander drank and thrusted, Derrin drank and clawed and spat and bit; eventually the haze faded into a blur, and the darkness swallowed her again.

-/-/-/

The morning light came like daggers thrusting into her eyes – but as she woke up, Derrin still had a good foot of demon tail inside her, and that smarted quite a bit more. Her hips felt like she'd been struck by a warhammer too many times, but it wasn't anything she hadn't been through before – only Winifred had ever made her sore enough to stop her from walking. This guy hadn't been nearly as good, despite having twice as many members to thrust inside her. He'd been a good enough sport, she supposed – and she'd done what she'd told him to. Her pussy was still filled to the brim with his tainted seed, and plugged with his half-rigid cock; HE on the other hand was an absolute mess, unconscious and covered in bites, scratches, bloody gashes and puke. And the sword – with the wonderful, charming voice inside it – was nowhere to be seen.

Derrin slowly got to her feet, leaking semen onto both Alexander and the bedsheets as she rose. On an impulse, she reached down with her hand, smeared some of it on her fingertip, and tasted it. It was like a cocktail of peppers in her mouth, fiery and hot. She groaned slightly from the pain as she made her way over to her gear, and started to get dressed – trying her best not to wiggle her hips too much. Damn, it hurt. Her underpants were drenched the moment she put them on, but she didn't care. She just didn't want to be here when Alexander woke up; best of all would be if he didn't even remember her. Frankly, she wished she could forget it all herself, but she didn't see that one as very likely to happen unless she hired a wizard's services for the deed – and explained to him what the hell she'd been doing with half a meter of demon tail up her ass. “No, some bears are best left sleeping,” she mused as she slung her backpack on, and opened the door. “You were pretty good, kid. But not nearly good enough.” She strode out into the inn, determined to find herself some breakfast – and preferably, something that wasn't served with sausage. Tonight had filled her quota of meaty rods for a long time to come.