Sunstruck

Like most Drow, Brizdia hated a great many things. She hated her mother for dispatching her to the miserable little port city of Blackrock. Though she had never met him, she hated the man she had been sent to kill,  purely on the basis that he had done something to interfere with her house's operations on the surface. Over the past few hours, Brizdia had developed a potent mixture of respect and hatred for his guards, who had pursued her with a great deal more determination than she had expected from human sell-swords. But as they had chased her through the maze of filthy back streets and stinking makeshift hovels that she had tried to lose them in, Brizdia had been reminded of her people's first, greatest hatred.

The sun. It made her eyes itch and her skin prickle in a way she found deeply uncomfortable. It banished her advantage of stealth and empowered the magics several of her opponents were attempting to turn on her. On a more abstract note, Brizdia had been taught that it represented everything the Drow had abandoned when they were banished underground. Not that it mattered. The sun gave her plenty of very real, physical reasons to earn her ire as it was.

Brizdia's lungs burned. She had been running for hours. In the distance, she could still hear the shouts of alarm as the sell-swords began to spread out, abandoning their direct chase in favour of a slower, more measured sweep of the streets. Brizdia let out a heavy sigh and collapsed against the wall of the latest hovel she had taken shelter in, thanking Lolth that this one at least was uninhabited. Whoever had once lived there was long gone. Dust covered everything. A cracked cooking pot hung over a cold, empty fire-pit. The walls were thick with damp and the floor was littered with moldering furs, turning the air rank and musty. It was little better than the pens in which her family kept their slaves, but it offered a moment to catch her breath and take stock.

Her weapons were gone. Most of her clothes were gone. The enchantments placed upon them had been powerful but self-destructive. Sunlight broke them down, unbinding the magic and dissolving whatever it had been bound into. The intent was to prevent them from falling into the hands of her family's enemies should she be killed or captured. Brizdia was a pragmatic woman, and she saw the advantages of employing such contingencies. Not that it offers me any comfort now, she thought, shooting a furious look at the hazy sunlight beaming through the hovel's cracked, dirty windows.

Her chainmail - the most heavily enchanted part of her ensemble - had rotted away first, and she had almost been thankful not to have it weighing her down during her flight. Then her knives had collapsed in her hands like dry charcoal as she cut down one of her pursuers. And from there, piece by piece, her clothing had begun to smoulder, blacken and curl. Even her undergarments, worked through with passive beguilement spells should seduction be necessary to reach her target, had turned to ash and flaked away as she ran. Brizdia grimaced at the memory and pulled the remains of her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Her last remaining garment was a recent acquisition, with far fewer enchantments placed upon it. For a time, it alone had resisted the sun's punishing rays, but now the hood and upper third were gone as well. It barely reached low enough to hide the curve of the Drow's hindquarters, and left her long, slender black legs entirely bare. Brizdia shifted uncomfortably, the damp stone cold and slick against her exposed backside. She suspected that, were it not for the natural hairlessness common to elves, a canny observer might have glimpsed a tuft of white exposed by the ragged hem.

The prospect of being seen naked was hardly one Brizdia found disconcerting. Though she retained the slight, athletic build of her people, Brizdia was more curvaceous than many elves, the generous swell of her bust and curve of her hips almost human in proportion. By contrast her face was sharp, fine-boned and haughty, her hair pulled back from her high cheekbones and long, pointed ears in a tight bun. Blackrock was a smuggler's port, one that had been abandoned to anarchy and vice decades ago. Drow could move openly there, but they were afforded no special privileges. No, Brizdia certainly felt no shame at the idea of having to walk back to her meeting point naked. It was only natural that the lesser species would wish to gaze upon her Lolth-given beauty, after all, and Drow had far fewer taboos about such things than humans did. But it would make her easy to identify. Worse, it would make her a target. Slavers worked openly in Blackrock, not to mention the undue attention a lone, unarmed elf would attract from the scum that filled the city's streets. To look was one thing. To touch was another entirely.

Squinting her red eyes into slits, Brizdia took another glance out of the window. She had been taught to read the time by the position of the moon, and it seemed reasonable that the same principles would apply to the sun. It was only a few seconds before her eyes began to water. Brizdia hissed in disgust and slumped backwards against the wall, rubbing them until the stinging abated. Late morning, she thought. An hour or so until noon. Her family kept a hideout and supply stash by the docks, but it would take time for her to find her way there. With her pursuers no doubt closing in behind her, and the dangers of the city in front, Brizdia began to feel the first pangs of despair gnawing at the edges of her mind.

Brizdia sighed heavily, closing her eyes and rolling her head backwards, resting it against the grimy wall. "Lolth," she whispered "Mistress of Chaos, Queen of Spiders, I beg of you. I have served you faithfully for many years, and wish only to serve you for many more. If your will is to see me dead or in shackles, so be it. But if not, please, send me aid. Let me live, so I might continue to do your will."

Silence. Brizdia's heart raced, thumping madly against her breastbone. She was no priestess, and her prayer was borne of desperation rather than any real belief it would be fulfilled. And yet she waited, tense with anticipation, desperately glancing back and forth for any sign of the miracle she needed.

Instead there were voices. Three of them. Men, she thought. A brief flicker of contempt blotted out her fear, but even that vanished as she heard them growing ever closer to her miserable hiding place. Their boots crunched on the ground as they traipsed into the alleyway she had so recently passed through.

"We need coin, Erron. Money. And your promises are about as empty as our purses." The first voice was thick and guttural. The words rumbled with frustration. "You both heard those messengers. We should go after that Drow who shanked old Tombody."

Brizdia choked down a low moan of despair. Not only had her prayer gone unanswered, she wasn't just going to die. She was going to have to suffer the indignity of being cut down by males as well. Her head fell forwards, stray locks of white hair dangling around her ears. What had she done to offend Lolth so much that this was to be how she met her end? The Drow's fingers groped blindly, raking through the dirt and dust around her feet, desperate for anything she might use as a weapon. If she was going to die, at least she could go down fighting, and not suffer the indignity of being violated first. The idea made her skin crawl.

"No, Mazdark. Bad idea. For me, at least. I've done business with the Matrons before, or some of their agents, at least. I don't want to think about what my contacts in Menzobaranzen will do if I hear I killed one of their daughters."

Brizdia's head snapped back up. Her eyes wide. Her mind raced, a spark of hope beginning to blossom. She was proud - all elves were, and Drow especially - and detested the idea of needing help from others. But this man, Erron, whatever his name was, had worked with her people before. She chewed at her lip, anxiously fiddling with the charred hem of her piwafwi. He needed money, apparently. And as much as she resented it, she needed assistance. Brizdia quickly weighed her option. The shouts and footsteps of her pursuers still echoed through the city air. Between attracting the newcomers' attention, taking her chances with the mob, or risking the trip to her safehouse alone, only one offered a chance of survival.

Outside, the three were still arguing, joined now by a younger, softer voice. Brizdia cleared her throat.

"Perhaps, gentlemen,  there is a solution to both our problems."

They fell silent for a second. Furtive whispers replaced their chatter. Brizdia strained her ears, making out a muffled "-zdark, check it out."

Brizdia leapt away from the wall as the first speaker grunted a reply and rattled the door handle. She tugged at her piwafwi, trying to arrange the ragged scrap of cloth so it offered her at least a modicum of decency. Eventually she snarled, balled it up and threw it aside in disgust. They were going to see most of me anyway, Brizdia thought, planting her hands on her hips and standing haughtily in front of the door. At least this way they can be sure I'm not trying to hide a weapon.

The door opened. A large, grey-skinned half-orc pushed through, stooping his great, ugly head to avoid hitting it on the frame. Small, red eyes swept back and forth, as if searching for an ambush, and he scratched at one of the small tusks that emerged from between his thick lips. Somehow the brute didn't seem to notice her. Idiot, Brizdia thought, sighing in irritation and snapping her fingers to get his attention. The half-orc's craggy face swung around. His mouth fell over in surprise. He stared at her in disbelief, as if unable to believe what he was saying.

"Come in, you idiot." Brizdia hissed. "Bring your friends. And close the wretched door behind you."

"Erron! Henks!" The half-orc grunted. "It's that Drow! She's right here!"

There was a chorus of surprise from the other two men, who hurried in to join their companion. All three were dressed similarly, wearing battered iron armour and cut-down furs and leathers. On any other occasion Brizdia might have taken their reactions, which differed very little from Mazdark's, as a compliment. They stared at her, confusion and desire written plainly across their faces as they took in the sight of her naked body. Brizdia rolled her eyes, allowing them a few seconds to indulge themselves before snapping her fingers again.

"Enough. Now that you've all had a good look, perhaps we can talk about why I called you in here? Or would you like me to turn around and bend over first?"

Brizdia kept her voice level, forcing down the sneer of contempt she could feel forming on her lips. One of the men stepped forwards. He wasn't unattractive, by human standards, she thought. His green eyes, framed by a mop of thick, greasy black hair glinted with amusement, and the lopsided half-smile that formed on his rugged, angular face was half hidden amidst a growth of bristly black stubble. Her attention wandered to his muscular, brawler's arms, criss-crossed with more thick thatches of hair. Brizdia wondered if the rest of him was similarly decorated, but forced the image out of her head with a small noise of irritation.

"Well I don't think any of us would object, but I won't push our luck. I take it you're the one who's got the place all up in arms?"

"Quite." Brizdia pursed her lips. From the sound of his voice and the conversation outside, she recognized this one was Erron. "And time is short, so I'll be blunt. I need an escort to lead me across the city, to a hidden supply cache where I can rest, resupply, and -" she glanced down at herself "-redress. You, from what I heard, need money. I can pay you each seventy-five gold pieces for that. A significant sum for no more than an hour or two's work."

"Not bad." The third man, younger and skinnier than the other two, spoke up. Hair the colour of corn fell loosely in front of his thin face. He was built like a duelist, with long limbs a narrow, athletic physique that reminded her of her own people. "The bounty on you is two hundred, but we'd have to split that three ways." He looked her up and down, then gave her a sly grin. "Then again, we don't have any guarantee you can pay us."

"Henks is right." Erron said. "And considering what danger you're in, I don't think you've got much room for negotiation." He gave her another grin. There was nothing especially suggestive about it, but Brizdia knew quite well what he meant; I'm interested, but sweeten the deal.

"Fine. The hideout has a few small, minor magical items stashed there. Rings, brooches. Once I have everything I need, you can help yourself to what's left."

Mazdark, the half-orc, looked her up and down. "We still ain't got any proof you got all this. Might be we it turns out you need is everything that's there and there's nothing left for us. Or once you got all your fancy magic swords and armour back, you just kill us."

Unlike the other two, it was very obvious what Mazdark wanted. Henks and Erron at least had the good grace to look her in the eye; the half-orc had barely lifted his eyes from her naked breasts. Brizdia looked him over. He would easily stand a head and shoulders taller than her if he rose from his stoop, and his long, lank hair was wildly unkempt.

"Maybe you wanna offer us something you got on you right now." Mazdark grunted. Erron nodded. "Mazdark is not the most subtle, but he does have a point. Taking you under our prospective wings might earn us quite a few enemies, if your pursuers see us together. We would need something to make the risk worthwhile."

The last word hung in the air, the implication unspoken but obvious. "Information, perhaps?" Erron added a second later, raising his eyebrows in good humour.

Brizdia sighed and rolled her eyes again. "Fine. When we reach our destination, you can all fuck me. One at a time or all together. Your choice."

Henk laughed, the sound light and breezy. "Well, that was easy. I imagined you might put up more resistance."

"I'm a pragmatic woman, human." Brizdia replied dryly, nailing the young man with a vicious stare "Unfortunately you're quite correct. I need help, but have little to offer in my current state, and no way of guaranteeing I can deliver it. So, once - " she stressed the word, holding up a finger for emphasis, "once I reach my safehouse, but before I arm myself, you can have your way with me. I'm sure three big, strong men like yourselves wouldn't have any reason to think a delicate, unarmed elf-maid like myself could fight them off if she tried to go back on her word."

Brizdia's voice dripped with sarcasm. She would not normally have chosen to sleep with either of the three men, but neither did the idea fill her with disgust. None of the three were hideously ugly, deformed, or monstrous, though she felt a pre-emptive twinge of discomfort at the thought of the half-orc squeezing himself inside her slender body. Her eyes flitted to Erron again. One of her sisters managed the family's slave chattel. Apparently, according to the other woman, humans had hair all over their bodies. Brizdia tried to imagine how the man would look naked, with his chest and groin covered in the same wiry hair that sprouted from his chin and arms. It was strange, so unlike her own people. But not entirely unappealing.

She snorted and shook her head. That bridge would be crossed when she reached it. "Well? Are we agreed?" Brizdia said.

Erron nodded and swept into a bow so low Brizdia couldn't be sure whether or not she was being mocked. "It would be my honour, and I assure you my utmost pleasure, my dear, dark lady."

"Save the titles. Brizdia will do fine." She replied, snatching what was left of her Piwafwi from the floor and tossing it to him. "Hold on to that and keep it out of the sun. As you can see, I'm rather short on pockets right now."

Without another word, Brizdia strode imperiously past the three men, flung open the door, and marched out into the sunlit street.

---

"Are you sure you don't want to stop and find something to wear, ma'am?" Henk said. The young man trotted along on her left, with Erron on her other flank and Mazdark lumbering in front to dissuade anyone who might try and bar their path. "You are attracting rather a lot of stares."

"So?" Brizdia didn't bother to turn around as she addressed the man. "Let them look. I have nothing to hide."

The sun felt strange on her bare skin. The Underdark was cool and the air always slightly damp, like walking outside at night after rain. The feeling was familiar, comforting. But as she walked Blackrock's streets, the uncomfortable prickle on the sun's rays slowly melted into a warm, pleasant tingle that reminded her of sinking into a hot bath. Though her haughty expression remained unchanged, Brizdia was forced to admit to herself that it felt particularly nice on her breasts. It made her think of a lover's touch, the soft heat of skin on skin.

She glanced sideways at Erron. The man met her eyes and gave her another small, lopsided grin, as if he had read her mind. Brizdia shivered and turned away. After telling him the address of her safehouse, the drow had allowed him to put his rough, calloused hand on the small of her back, so he could gently guide her through the twisting streets. Brizdia found it much preferable to the idea of being constantly issued directions by a male.

Still, for all their licentious self-interest, her three chaperons performed admirably. At first they had tried to shield her from the prying eyes of the crowds, waving people back like guards preparing the way for a queen. Brizdia had put a stop to that, though. The spectacle of seeing so many people scurrying away in confusion had brought a small smile to her dark lips, but it wasted time. So instead they simply ploughed forwards, using Mazdark's imposing bulk to cut a path through the milling dross of humanity while Erron and Henk warned off anyone who persisted in trying to get too close.

Not that it stopped them from looking. Brizdia was well aware of the murmurs from the crowd of onlookers as she passed. Slavers operated openly in Blackrock, so the sight of naked women being paraded through the streets was far from uncommon. But where they shuffled along, backs bent in misery and shame, Brizdia strode past the onlookers like a priestess amidst her flock. Where a slave would stare at her feet, the drow met each and every pair of eyes in turn, her silence and cold, distant expression at once both a threat and a challenge. Most wilted and turned away, turning back to their business or retreating into their homes. Those who held her eye were rewarded; a tiny upwards quirk of the lip, a flitting wink. The unspoken permission to indulge themselves gazing at her lithe, black body until it passed out of sight, and the right to daydream of it as an invitation into her mouth or between her legs.

Brizdia did not possess the sneering contempt or utter, murderous disregard for men that many of the Drow sisterhood shared. They were her lessers, yes, all the more so for being males of another species. But they had their uses. Teasing them in such a way amused her and fed her ego. Whenever one flinched and averted his eyes, he proved his weakness and her superiority. And those who did not? The handful who locked eyes with her, then devoured the sight of her? For a moment Brizdia's heart would leap, and a flush of heat would sweep through her naked body. Had they been drow, and if it were not for her agreement, she might have selected one from the crowd and given him the honour of a more intimate show.

She laughed at that. Foolishness. The men who had the spine to ogle her openly were the ones who would be first to force her into an alleyway at knifepoint if she had been alone. If anything, the thought of dangling herself in front of them only excited the drow further. Catching the attention of one man, a towering, shaven-headed brute with a pair of cleavers strapped over his chest, Brizdia wetted her lips and drew a hand up the tight muscles of her belly, gently squeezing one of her breasts. Look at me, she thought, and look well. For no matter how much you desire it, this is the very closest you will ever come.

Erron's hand shifted, wrapping around her narrow waist and pulling her closer to him. He smelled like good, expensive whiskey, the sort that Menzobaranzen imported from the surface. Brizdia could feel her cheeks flushing a deep purple.

"I'm not sure encouraging them like that is a good idea, lady Brizdia." He said. Brizdia smirked and turned to him, favouring the man with a sickly-sweet smile.

"Do you fear for my safety? That you cannot complete your side of our agreement?" She grinned. "Surely not. I can hear gulls, so the port cannot be far. Of course, if you wish to bow out, I'm sure I can find a few others eager to reach the same terms."

"Nah." Mazdark grunted. "I reckon we'll be just fine. Ain't far to go anyway."

"I just thought - " Erron began, then trailed off and shrugged. "Word of this'll get back to your pursuers, you know. But I suppose you know best."

"Good. Remember, human, for the time being you are here to serve me." Brizdia's expression didn't change. She turned away, looking out over the crowds once more, arrogantly flaunting herself with the same selfish egotism of her goddess. "You'll have a chance to turn the tables soon enough."

---

As they reached the docks, the mad, electric thrill that had taken hold began to abate somewhat. It was imperative that they were not seen entering Brizdia's safehouse, so the drow accepted Henk's cloak and wrapped herself tightly within the dirty, scratchy wool. The young man was sent on ahead while Erron hung back, ensuring they were not followed as they moved through the messy scattering of warehouses, fish gutteries, and shipwrights. Brizdia inspected each in turn before, after the fifth, placing a hand on Mazdark's huge, trunk-like arms and instructing him to call his companions.

"Is this the one?" Erron asked, looking up at the building. It was a miserable, dilapidated heap of bricks and timber on the verge of collapse. Most of the windows had been boarded up, and the dull, olive-green paint that had once decorated the entryway had begun to peel in long strips.

"Obviously." Brizdia nodded. A number of angular symbols had been scratched into the brickwork. "We don't exactly advertise our presence. The traps take care of anyone stupid enough to march inside. On which note," she shot a look back at her companions as she pushed the door open. "Watch where I step and do exactly what I do."

More than one body lay around the inside of the warehouse. Some were bloated from poison, others were disfigured by puncture wounds and lacerations. Brizdia moved past them with the same confidence she had displayed in the streets, murmuring to herself as she dredged the safe route through the maze of traps from the depths of her memory. They passed through two small rooms, the sorts that clerks might have used to process deliveries or deal with the public, each caked in dust and rotting with neglect. The corpses of vagrants desperate for shelter and attempted thieves lay abandoned in both, drawing small noises of disgust from Henk. As Brizdia passed through the third doorway, she let out a short laugh of triumph and beckoned the other three to follow.

"It is done. We - I - am safe, and your side of the task is complete."

The main chamber wasn't nearly as wretched as the first two. It was clean and tidy, stocked with neat piles of wooden shipping crates. The light was dim, though enough filtered through the boarded and curtained windows to see by. Armour and weapon racks stood off to one side, and behind a thick, half-drawn curtain, Brizdia could see a number of simple cot beds. Her shoulders sagged in relief. Part of her wanted nothing more than to collapse into one of them and sleep through until the moon rose and she could return to the underdark. She smirked, feeling three pairs of eyes burrowing into her back.

"Which I suppose means mine begins. If you'll excuse me for a second?" Brizdia said, casting off Henk's cloak. She picked up a crowbar from atop one of the nearby crates and set off, a slight flick to her hips that had not been there before. Her heart raced and, as soon as the three men could no longer see her, the drow let out a long, nervous breath. Her people had a reputation for what the surface races might call perversion or hedonism, and to an extent it was well-deserved. Brizdia's upbringing had been more sheltered. She'd had her share of lovers, men and women alike, but always other drow. And never more than one at once. The thought of quickly finding a weapon and turning it on the three men briefly entered her mind. She had no guarantee of being able to bring all three down. Her stomach clenched tight and she thought of Erron. Even if she did, would she even want to? She glanced around. A crate of magical wands lay to one side. The box she had been looking for sat before her.

A moment later, Brizdia reappeared. She had let her hair down, falling around her delicate face and narrow shoulders in a thick mass of white curls, and held a fluted bottle of wine in one hand. To her surprise, the three men had not undressed. She gave then a wide, sly smile and uncorked the wine, sitting down on the edge of one box and crossing her legs.

"We were just about to go looking for you." Erron admitted, returning her smile with a lopsided one of his own. He and the other two men took seats for themselves. "Mazdark thought you'd run out on us. Or gone to find a weapon."

"A reasonable assumption" she replied, uncorking the bottle and tipping it back, taking a long swallow of the crisp, sweet wine. "Drow are known for their duplicity. I don't blame you for doubting whether or not I'd honour my side of the deal."

"You are...taking this all rather in stride." Henk said. "I would have expected a bit more resistance at the idea of taking a tumble with three street knives like us."

"She's an elf, Henk, they're all sluts." Mazdark rumbled. Brizdia rolled her eyes and passed the bottle around. She could already feel the alcohol settling into her system, reigniting the warm buzz that had so recently sang through it. Lightweight, she thought to herself.

"Like I said, I'm a pragmatic woman." Brizdia said. "I don't have anywhere to run from here, and have no way of ensuring I could kill you all before being brought down. Which means I can go into this resentfully, hate it, hate you, and hate myself for having to do it," she shrugged. "So I might as well go in with an open mind and enjoy myself. Broadening one's horizons is rarely a bad thing."

"Oh, something's gonna get broadened all right." Mazdark laughed. The half-orc guzzled half the bottle of wine in a few great gulps, spilling thick, red rivulets down his neck before shoving it into Erron's arms. The other man took it, wiping the rim clean with his sleeve before raising it to his lips. Then, he paused. Brizdia watched him carefully, her red eyes gleaming, the slightest hint of a predatory smile on her dark lips as she toyed with a lock of her hair. For all their brash talk, not one of the three men had risen from their seats.

They wanted her, that much was obvious. And, Brizdia admitted, she wanted them. The memory of Erron's rough, calloused fingers sat starkly in her mind, firing her imagination and flushing her body with arousal. She wanted to know what they would feel like as as they traced the line of her curves, how it would feel to have so many pairs of hands digging into her thighs, her buttocks and her breasts all at once. Tension hung thick in the air as both sides watched one another, like predators waiting for an opening to strike. Perhaps, Brizdia thought, they expected her to come crawling to them on all fours? No, it was something else.

Realization came to her as Henk passed the bottle of wine back to her. Brizdia saw a flash of it in his face, and in the way he hurried back to his seat. Fear, she thought. Beneath all their bravado, behind their own physical needs - even despite their weapons and armour, they were afraid. Erron had worked with her people before. No doubt the other two had heard stories of dark, sadistic seductresses, of the torture, degradation and betrayal the Drow had become synonymous with. Now the three of them were sitting with a naked, defenseless, and apparently willing woman, and each had been struck by the same thought; what's the catch?

Brizdia held the bottle of wine up to the light and shook it back and forth, grimacing in annoyance at how little of it was left. Then she let out an exasperated sigh.

"By all the layers of the abyss, I never would have expected three grown men to be so coy!" She said. With a smooth, languid gesture, Brizdia leaned back and uncrossed her legs, baring up the soft, pale flesh of her entrance to the three men. She gestured towards herself incredulously. "Look! No spiders, no cobwebs! Now hurry up and get undressed, you damn fools. And decide whether you wish to take turns or go together."

They lept up in unison, awkwardly wrestling their way out of their clothes and armour. Brizdia smirked, swigging at the dregs of the wine as their garments began to hit the ground. Mazdark was fatter than she had expected, with a round potbelly that must have been hellish to cram into his armour. His dirty grey skin was pockmarked by thick, savage lines of tribal scarification. Henk certainly matched her expectations; the man's body was as narrow as his face, wrapped tight with smooth, well-cared for skin and lengths of athletic muscle. She laughed as he turned and dropped his trousers, admiring the tightness of his backside.

"You remind me of one of my old lovers, Henk." Brizdia called out, her voice mocking and sing-song. "His behind was similarly pleasing to look at. There isn't a little elf in you, is there?"

He coughed, going red, then rallied. "Not to my knowledge, no. But there'll be a lot of me inside a little elf soon enough."

"I don't know if there's enough of you to constitute 'a lot'." Erron cut in, discarding the last of his clothes and turning around. Brizdia did her best to hide her expression by downing the last of the wine, but the look Erron gave her made it quite clear he knew how she felt. While Mazdark was running to fat and Henk's physique was painstakingly sculpted, Erron's body was a roughly hewed, chiseled thing carved by years of hard labour and harder violence. He was broad and bulky, with wide shoulders and biceps the drow would have struggled to fit her hands around. The same hair on his arms that had first caught Brizdia's eyes sprouted from his chest in a black tangle, diminishing to a fine weave as it crept down over his bellybutton and rippling midsection, before erupting once more into a dark jungle around the man's groin. His cock rose from it like a fleshy monolith, already hard, the head swollen and red.

Brizdia's breath caught in her throat. He was, in many ways, nowhere near as attractive as the partners she had taken from amongst her own people. But there was a naked, uncomplicated solidity about him that took her breath away. He was strange, exotic, so different from her norm. They all were, but between Mazdark's course attitude and Henk's prissiness, it was Erron who most captured her attention. Heat bloomed inside her at the sight of him, followed by an aching need to touch and to be touched in return.

"Well." She said, taking one final, fortifying gulp of wine and tossing the empty bottle aside. "Have the three of you decided how you want to do this?"

Erron grinned. "I figured we'll start off together, and see how things go from there. Maz and me reckon it's time you put that mouth to some use other than giving us lip."

Brizdia's heart leapt as the three men formed up around her in a rough semicircle, their pricks jutting expectantly towards her. She smiled and wrapped her dark fingers around Erron's shaft, gently tugging him a step closer than the other two. He was achingly hot and throbbed in her palm as she stroked him, her other had running up and down his powerful thigh. The scent of him, all fresh sweat, whiskey and thick, male musk was overwhelming. She guided him into her mouth, gently closing her coal-black lips around the human's cock and working her way down his shaft until the thick curls of his hair tickled her nose and the his head lay at the very entrance to her throat.

It was dizzying. Erron was no larger than the males of her own people, but exploring his crude body opened the drow to a wealth of new sensations. She moved on him slowly, her tongue pressing gently against his underside as she sucked, savouring the taste of his precome as it bloomed in her mouth.

Brizdia squirmed uncomfortably, her hand leaving Erron's thigh and slipping down between her own. For a few seconds her fingers danced, every delicate stroke over her wet, tender lips sending a note of pleasure through her body, before Mazdark's paw-like hand closed around her wrist.

"Just makin' sure you ain't forgettin' about us, lady." He said, ignoring the drow's muffled cry of alarm as he wrapped her fingers around his own organ. The half-orc slid them up and down, as if she didn't already know what he wanted, before letting go. Brizdia shot the half-orc a furious look, but reluctantly allowed Erron's cock to slip from between her lips and turned to service the other man. Mazdark was larger, thicker. His cock was like a battering ram. The sheer size of his head was almost frightening as it jerked and twitched before her, eagerly drooling long strings of clear fluid.

"Believe me, I don't think I'll be forgetting that any time soon." Brizdia muttered, wrinkling her nose as she brushed her lips over Mazdark's shaft, trying to block out the stink of dirt and unwashed bodies. Despite all her talk of pragmatism, part of her resented the half-orc. Erron and Henk's company was tolerable, enjoyable even. Mazdark was loud, boorish and stupid even for a male, and the thought of him forcing his swollen organ into her body turned her stomach. But her word had been given to all three men. So she kissed him, lapping at his shaft like a cat, gathering the bitter gruel that oozed from his head up on her tongue and lathering his organ until it shone. And all the while she tried to ignore the urgings of her body, the desperate, aching heat in her stomach, the part of her that had seen Priestesses submitting to Yochlol and Tanar'i demons and whispered 'how hard can it be?'

Brizdia jaw ached as she finally wrestled him into her mouth, the shadow of his fat belly looming overhead while her hands blindly stroked the other pair. She held him for only a few moments, glaring defiantly up past the expanse of his gut as he throbbed and pulsed between her lips, before releasing him with a retch of disgust. Mazdark laughed and patted her head. She wanted to kill him.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, Maz." Erron said. His voice was light, but there was an undercurrent of threat there.  "Next time she might bite."

The half-orc grunted something in reply, but Brizdia didn't care. Henk came forwards, an apologetic smile half-hidden behind the fall of his blonde hair. Of all of them he was the most conventionally attractive; his body smooth and hairless, his muscles as sculpted as they were strong. He was the first of the three to touch her, gently caressing the sharp lines of her jaw as she sucked him, running his fingers through her hair and stroking the tips of the drow's fluted ears. Even those small points of contact were like a blessing, easing the cries of a body desperate for a share of the pleasure it was giving. Brizdia moaned around the cock in her mouth, writhing in place as the other two men took the hint and joined in. Mazdark's hands encircled her breasts, rolling the sensitive mounds back and forth in his spade-like palms, while Erron's fingers worked their way down to her entrance. Brizdia took a sharp, sudden breath as he brushed over her entrance, escalating to a long, drawn-out cry as he slipped into her heat.

Brizdia shook in ecstacy, grinding her hips fowards as Erron pushed deeper, sliding another knuckle inside her aching body. His fingers twisted and curled, seeking out her most tender places. Erron's eyes never left Brizdia's face. A small smile creased his lips as he watched the drow squirm under his touch. Her sleek, black body twisted this way and that, every part of her touched and stroked by what felt like a thousand hands all at once. Henk's fingers sent sharp, singing notes through her as the rolled the tips of her ears back and forth, while Mazdark's great paws squeezed around her breasts in a mass of ecstatic warmth. And all the while her lips and her hands worked, kissing, sucking, caressing, feeling the three men twitch and shudder even as Erron pushed her towards her own climax. Dimly, Brizdia heard the half-orc say something, his voice guttural and urgent. She turned to see his glistening organ protruding out from under his belly, one hand frantically pumping the thing while he aimed the fat, swollen head straight at her face.

"Open your mouth," he grunted. Brizdia scowled, wiping her chin clean of spittle and precome with the back of her hand. She was close, so close to coming. Her body felt tight, drawn out, Erron's fingers twisting and rubbing against her inner walls yet always falling still whenever her muffled cries grew too urgent. No matter how often she reached for it, the man kept her hanging, the hollow, yearning pit in her belly growing deeper and deeper every time he relented in his ministrations.

"What do think - think - " the drow's scolding trailed off as Erron's fingers dug deeper, sending another wave of pleasure crackling through her body. "Think I've been doing?"

"I'd do what he says, love." Henk laughed. He placed his hands on the sides of Brizdia's head, ignoring her muffled cry of alarm as he gently tipping it backwards and eased her mouth open. "Maz comes like a hose at the best of times, and he hasn't had the coin for a whore in weeks."

The first spurt of Mazdark's seed splattered over her just as Brizdia reached the cusp of her orgasm. She melted into it, a great wave of warmth spreading through her from the point of their union, setting her aching nerves aflame with sensation. Brizdia shuddered and cried out as she clenched tight around Erron's fingers, her own hands groping blindly at the man's hairy, muscular body. And all the while Mazdark stood firm, like a statue of old Gruumsh himself, his fist rhythmically pumping ropes of thick, hot come over the drow's face. Brizdia felt it splash along her nose and pool between her lips, filling her mouth with the bitter, musky gruel. Drips of it spilled from her chin and dripped onto the swell of her bust, painting her sleek, black body with pearly strings of white.

Brizdia had no idea what was happening. The idea of taking a man's load on her face was alien to her. She coughed and spluttered, choking down what had fallen into her mouth as she wriggled free from Henk's grip. "What - what - what in Lolth's name was that?" She said, looking around at the three men as they roared in laughter. "You people have the nerve to call us perverse? Is this normal for humans?"

She looked down at herself, at the drops of sweat and come that made her skin glisten like the night sky. It wasn't bad, really, she thought. Just strange. A short snort of laughter bubbled up from inside her. Everything about this was strange. Agreeing to fuck three men in exchange for their protection was strange. Walking naked through a human city was strange. Hells, even screwing up her mission in the first place was strange. She had left the comforting balm of normalcy hours ago. The more Brizdia thought about it, the funnier - or at least the more absurd - it seemed, and the harder it became to stifle her own laughter. Eventually, she just gave up. At this point, why should allowing a man to ejaculate over her face come as a surprise?

"Gods, why have your women not murdered you all in your sleep by now?" Brizdia laughed. She pushed the three men aside and stood, wobbling for a second and staggering over to where Erron had left the ruins of her piwafwi. She was about to wipe herself clean when the man caught her around the arm and spun her around, pulling her into his embrace. His body pushed tightly against hers, the thick, wiry hair rasping gently against her smooth skin. She could feel the brutish, muscular strength in his arms and core wrapped around her, his eyes lit with amusement. Brizdia's breath caught in her throat. She could feel wetness clinging to the inside of her thighs. Every instinct she possessed screamed out her need for him. For all of them.

"Leave it. You look good like that." Erron said, before releasing her and taking a step backwards. Brizdia glanced at the other two, who had moved to form a circle around her. Mazdark was still hard. They all were, their own need for her every bit as potent. Brizdia dropped the piwafwi and sketched a sarcastic bow.

"As you wish," she said. "So, I assume you're ready to claim your reward proper? Have you decided how you would like me?"

Brizdia's voice came out in a mocking drawl, but she felt a kick of excitement as the words left her mouth. The good work done by Erron's fingers had only stoked her arousal, wetting her palate like the starter before a banquet. She grinned out at them from behind the white curtain of her hair, biting her lip and brushing her fingers over their organs.

"Maz did give you a bit of a surprise back there." Henk said. "Why don't you decide?"

There was no doubt in Brizdia's mind, no last minute moments of hesitation. She had set foot on this path out of necessity, carried on down it out of curiosity, and now fully intended on ending it with debauchery. Perhaps the three men sensed that; perhaps they just saw the wide, predatory grin on the drow's face and came to the same understanding she had. No words were needed. She would take them all, together, using them for her satisfaction just as they had originally planned to use her. Mazdark sidled up behind the drow, wrapping his massive hands around Brizdia's hips and sliding his thick, burning shaft up to rest between her buttocks. As the half-orc cradled her, Brizdia caught hold of Erron and Henk by their manhoods and pulled them in closer. She placed her hand on the older man's chest, sliding her fingers over his hard, knotted muscles and bushes of wiry hair, then pushed him down to his knees before her.

For a moment he tried to rise, only to fall still as Brizdia raised a slender leg and placed her foot on his shoulder. "Leave it," she smirked, slowly forcing him down to the ground and moving to straddle him. "You look good like that."

"Funny." He shot back, the lopsided half-grin never leaving his face. Brizdia felt his eyes crawling up the expanse of her legs and lingering on the pale slit of flesh that lay between them. The same folds that would soon part for him, the final barrier between the human and her sculpted temple of a body. "Can't say I mind the view from down here though."

Brizdia leaned back, raising her arms and throwing them backwards around Mazdark's head, letting the human's eyes wander further up her body. "Enjoy it, human. I've certainly enjoyed the sight of yours."

Mazdark laughed, the low rumble sending vibrations shuddering through Brizdia's body. "Remind me who's paying who here?"

Erron reached up, his calloused palms gripping the drow's thighs. Together, he and Mazdark eased her down, with her hands on Erron's broad chest and her knees resting on the discarded ruin of her piwafwi. She could feel their organs pressing insistently against her body; Mazdark's trapped between her buttocks, the shaft of Erron's flat between her lips. She slid forwards, drawing a groan of pleasure for the man and a hot spark as he dragged at her tender flesh. Just the smallest taste, she thought, of what was to come for them both. Henk stepped forwards to take his own position, his cock dancing in front of Brizda's face. She held it at the base, gently kissing the head with lips still stained by Mazdark's cooling seed.

The half-orc leaned backwards a fraction, pulling the drow upwards. Brizdia let out a small hiss as she felt the fat tip of his organ push against the tight ring of her ass. Her stomach fluttered nervously. The thing felt immense, and she knew there would be more than a little pain at first. And then Erron reached beneath them, grasping the base of his shaft and positioning it ready for her to impale herself on, and the sudden spark of unease sputtered and died.

He was as light as she was dark. His body as bulky, lumpen and hairy as hers was smooth and sculpted. But they shared the same need. The same heat flowed through them both, the same desperate urge to savage one another's bodies. For a moment Brizdia paused, savouring the feeling of his head as it trailed back and forth through her slickness and butted against her lips, every tiny mote of sensation that flowed through her stoking the monstrous pulse of her desire to fever pitch.

It was only then, when she could bear the wait no longer, that Brizdia allowed herself to sink onto him. His shaft slipped easily into the drow, and she let out a long moan as a great, warm wave of gentle pressure flowed through her. Wiry hair scratched and tickled the inside of her thighs as she came to rest atop him. Brizida shifted her weight, experimentally sliding back and forth. The bushy thatch that flourished around his groin plucked at her clit with, sending a sizzle of hot sparks through her body with every rhythmic movement. The drow laughed and leaned forwards, grinning as her hard, sensitive nipples dragged through the same stiff hair on his broad chest. For a moment she placed her hands either side of Erron's face, her forehead resting on his and their eyes boring into one another's. It was the closest they would come to a kiss; no sign of intimacy, no declaration of hidden feelings, but an acknowledgement of their shared passion.

And then Mazdark slapped her across the backside. Brizdia yelped, as much from surprise as from pain. She jerked bolt upright and turning around, the moment - if it could even be called that - she had shared with Erron broken.

"Yes, fine, go ahead." She snapped, waving dismissively at the half-orc. "Just go slowly feeding that monster into me."

Brizdia leaned forwards once more, screwing her eyes shut and raising her hindquarters for the other man. Her heart raced, pounding frantically against her breastbone. She tried to force herself to relax, knowing that it would only hurt more if she clenched up. Erron took one of her hands, lacing his fingers through hers. She felt the back of Henk's hand on her narrow cheek.

She felt the slow pressure against her ring begin. It was nothing at first, a small, hot bead, pressing deeper and deeper into her. But it just didn't stop. It grew and grew beyond what felt like all rational proportions, spreading her open, forcing inexorably deeper into her rear passage. And it hurt. Brizdia bit down on her lip, trying to remain stoically silent as Madark fed inch after inch of his swollen organ into her tight backside. She let out a small gasp, then a whimper. The pain was crushing, overwhelming, sweeping through her body in a raging tide. In the back of her mind, Brizdia remembered hearing the screams of her sisters as they went into labour. She wondered if it felt anything similar.

"Oh - oh, l-lolth that's -" Her voice shook. Brizdia's fingers clenched, clawing at Erron and Henk for stability. She could hear the half-orc chuckling to himself, muttering inane comments about how tight she was. And yet...there was something there, behind the pain, like the euphoric high after a nightmarish drug-induced trip. Something every bit as overwhelming. Brizdia grasped for it, trying to focus her mind on that feeling - that sweet, mind-bending pressure, a feeling of taut fullness she could never had imagined. It seemed to spread through her whole body, as if the sheer mass of throbbing meat had pushed straight through to fill the aching hollow in her core.

And then it was over. Brizdia could feel Mazdark's pot-belly spilling over the small of her back and his testicles resting between her thighs. She let out a slow, shuddering breath.

"Hah! Keep yer chin up, girl, you took it like a champ!" Mazdark let out another thunderous gust of laughter. "Last whore I had up the backside screamed so much, the madam thought I was killin' her!"

"I know how she felt." Brizdia growled through gritted teeth. Her chest heaved with exertion. "This is what I get for spending all my time practicing swordplay instead of laying around toying with slaves and Outsiders."

Any second thoughts she might have had quickly ceased to matter. As soon as it looked like she had caught her breath, Erron and Madark began to fuck her in earnest. The first few thrusts were agony. The motion of Mazdark's brutal organ slowly pistoning in and out of her bowels sent sharp lances of searing pain through her hindquarters. But after a few awkward movements, the two men began to find their pace. Three pairs of hands roamed over her, grasping the curve of her hips, guiding her movements. As one man left, the other entered, their organs gliding over one another inside the hot, tight prison of Brizdia's body. The sensation was immense, all-consuming, a mixture on ecstasy and agony that played across her nerves like lightning. Brizdia locked her hands around Henk's tight buttocks and clung to him, his cock jerking erratically between her lips as his friends bounced her back and forth.

They were so unlike her own people. There were no reservations, no pretensions; as the sound of flesh striking flesh filled the air and Brizdia's hoarse, muffled moans grew louder and louder, the three men simply fucked her harder and harder. Gone was the toadying servility and cringing fearfulness that the drow had come to expect from her partners. In its place there was simple, animal pleasure, brute and unsophisticated, a tangle of four bucking, writhing bodies locked together in search of release. Brizdia didn't know if she truly enjoyed it or not. Her mind spun and her body responded to their ministrations in spectacular fashion, wracking her with waves of beautiful, crushing pain and agonizing lances of pleasure. Hands plucked and pawed, running over her breasts, her belly, her face and the tips of her ears. Hair scratched and tickled, rubbing at her thighs, clawing at her engorged lips and stiff, sensitive clit.

And yet there was a feeling of...not submission, not degradation, but having lowered herself to this. Allowing these three creatures, inferior in race and in gender, to treat her as their equal. It was as if she had crossed a line somewhere, though Brizdia could not tell what.

A test, Brizdia thought, the words passing through the roiling fog that had fallen across her mind. Or a sign. A lesson from Lolth. That the superiority of her people was something that had to be earned. She had failed by misjudging her target so badly, and this was her goddess' way of reminding her that even humans were not to be underestimated. A punishment, Brizdia wondered? And then a particularly strong lance of pleasure shot through her, crushing her dreamy thoughts beneath a white haze as both Erron and Mazdark hammered into her together. The pain was gone now, or so mixed in with the ecstacy that she could no longer tell where one started and the other began. Henk slipped from between her lips and she cried out, throwing her head back and screaming in pleasure.

No, certainly not a punishment. But a very potent reminder.

It couldn't last. Every pulse and throb of the two men inside her spoke of their own mounting climaxes, and drove Brizdia further on towards her own. She gazed up Henk's narrow, sculpted torso, watching the young man's chest heave with exertion. One of her hands cradled his smooth testicles, feeling the slight swell that spoke of his impending release. This time she was ready; the first rush of his seed flowed into her mouth, the second and third landed atop her heaving breasts as she whipped her head back in a spray of lank, white hair. Then she heaved forwards, her hands landing upon Erron's shoulders, nails biting into his leathery skin. Her eyes bored into his. Her face was split by a wide, mad grin, her teeth stark between her black lips. She could feel the pair of them losing their pace, their rythum faltering, becoming awkward and erratic as their own peaks drew close. She didn't care. Her own orgasm was building, swelling, a great mass of feverish heat that blossomed inside her with every thrust, spreading out to nurse her tired body through the last moments of its ordeal.

Mazdark climaxed with one last mighty thrust that forced the air from Brizdia's lungs, bellowing in triumph as he emptied himself into the drow's bowels.  Erron looked up at her, matching her grin, sweat hanging from his greasy mop of hair. For a few seconds they hung there, at the very edges of release, each trying to force the other to come first. It was a contest Brizdia refused to lose. Even now, at the very end, her pride remained undimmed. She tossed her hair, sneered, and pounced forwards, pressing her lips down upon the human's. Erron jerked in surprise as Brizdia forced her tongue into his mouth, his eyes flashing wide. The man's composure slipped. He tensed, jerked again, and came, his seed rushing into Brizdia's body in a liquid tide. And then with a grin, and a soft laugh, the drow relaxed, letting the stubborn barriers she had thrown up collapse in the wake of her own orgasm. Her peak was thunderous, a split-second whipcrack of unadulterated sensation that slaughtered restraint and rational thought alike, before fading into a warm, soothing glow that seeped through her exhausting body like a sweet narcotic.

She, Mazdark, and Erron collapsed. Henk had already taken a seat nearby and watched the final theatrics with an amused smirk on his face. Brizdia allowed herself a few minutes of respite, lying tangled up in the pair of men and wallowing in the heady afterglow. Then, with a low groan of effort, she withdrew from the two and staggered to her feet, limping back behind the pile of supplies she had originally come to retrieve. A wand imbued with cleansing magic, originally designed for destroying evidence, was selected. Brizdia pressed it against her forehead and ran her thumb over the activation rune, shuddering as the magic washed through her, wiping away the sweat and fluids that clung to her. Next a potion was uncovered and drunk, to ensure no bastard hybrid took root within her. And finally a long, purple robe and three pouches of gold.

When Brizdia re-emerged, she was transformed. The drow stood tall and composed once more, with only her tangled hair testament to what had just happened. She smirked and tossed a purse to each of the three men as they began to recover.

"And there's the other half of your payment." She said. "Which means our buisness is now concluded."

"I almost forgot about the money." Erron laughed. He rolled his shoulders and winced, trying to work the cramp out of them. He pulled his trousers on and turned to the drow. "So, not to sound sentimental or anything...what's the phrase? 'will we ever see you again?'"

Brizdia laughed. "Lolth's brood, I hope not. At least not under the same circumstances." She drummed her fingers against one of the crates then shrugged. "Well, in truth, perhaps. There may be occasions where I'm sent back to this horrid little sore of a city, and it isn't impossible I need to hire extra hands. I'll keep your names in mind."

"Well, you can usually find us at the Pickled Priest inn," Henk said. "I don't suppose we can expect payment like this again, can we?"

Despite the effects of the wand, Brizdia's backside still ached. It reminded her of the brutal paddlings she'd recieved from her mother as a young girl. "No. Most certainly not." She said with a wince.

Erron caught her eye and raised his brows questioningly. The unspoken message hung in the air; Oh, really?

The edge of the drow's mouth quirked up for a moment, then she turned away. "In which case, gentlemen, as I said our buisness is now concluded. I have a journey to plan and a few hours of daylight left to sleep through. There's a one-way passage at the other end of the room, so you won't have to bypass the traps again. I trust you'll see yourselves out?"

"Not even a goodbye?" Erron shot back. Brizdia couldn't tell if he was just poking fun or not. She sighed and turned back.

"Goodbye." She said, rolling her eyes and making a shooing guesture with her hands. Still, her gaze lingered on Erron's back for a moment, and it wasn't until he had passed out of sight that she turned to begin gathering a new set of belongings.