Hello all! New commission coming in. Hope you enjoy!
PREVIEW:
A calm, resonant voice answers from the other side of the door. “Pardon me my good sir, I am but a knight seeking shelter for the night.”
Altan sets the blanket aside, his hands trembling slightly as he pulls the heavy wooden door open. The hinges sigh, the sound echoing through the small room like a sigh of relief. The night air rushes in, cold and sharp, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and iron. Standing on the porch is a woman who could only be described as a living embodiment of a battlefield’s majesty.
She is tall, 6'3 of pure, pale skin that seems almost luminous in the dim glow of the twilight. Muscles ripple beneath her armor like the surface of a still lake disturbed by a gentle wind. Her armor is a masterpiece of blackened steel, each plate polished to a mirror sheen, catching the faint light and reflecting it back in a dazzling display. The breastplate bears the emblem of a silver lion, its mane intricately etched, its eyes set with tiny rubies that glint like blood. The helmet, held under one arm, is adorned with a white plume that seems to float in the night air.
Her eyes are a striking shade of jade, sharp and observant, taking in Altan’s modest cottage, his simple clothes, the way his hair falls in soft waves across his forehead. There is a hint of curiosity in them, a softness that belies the hardened warrior. Her hair, the color of midnight, is pulled back into a tight braid that falls just past her shoulder blades, the strands interwoven with thin, silver threads that catch the moonlight.
Her face is both beautiful and fierce, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a mouth that hints at a smile, though it remains unsaid. A faint scar runs across her left cheek, a reminder of battles fought and survived.
She shifts her weight, the heavy plates of her armor grinding with a familiar, weary sound as she stands on his threshold. "I did not mean to startle you. The cold has teeth tonight, and the inn at the crossroads is... less than hospitable." Her voice is is steady but carries a layer of grit, the kind earned from a long day’s relentless march, tempered by fatigue and the quiet of the night. "I seek only a corner by your fire and a roof to keep the frost from my bones. I can offer coin for your trouble, or my blade to ensure your safety in return." Her green eyes hold the young man's with honest need.
Altan hesitates for a moment. He takes in the full sight of her, the intricate, mud-spattered greaves, the way her ornate breastplate rises and falls with her steady breathing, the vibrant blond of her hair, dark and damp with melted snow at the ends. Though he knows she could simply force her way in and demand he takes her in, she makes no such move to enter without your leave. "Very well. You may come in." He finally says, stepping aside to let her come inside.
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“Is the fire too hot? Or perhaps the stew is spicier than I realized.” She keeps her tone light, curious, but the green of her eyes sharpens, missing nothing. She lets the question hang, a simple, innocent inquiry, but her gaze doesn’t waver from the boy.
"Y-yes, I mean.... No, but..." The young man tries to stammer something then, a jumble of words, a half-assed excuse but all trips over itself and falls into the quiet.
Elara's expression remains neutral, but she understands. It clicks into place with perfect, crystalline clarity: the lingering glances at her body, the fidgeting hands, the way his breath hitched when she stretched. "I see..." She quietly says, a slow, knowing smirk stretching her lips, transforming her tired features into something predatory and pleased. A deeply confident expression, the look of a hunter who has just identified the trail she meant to find. She leans back against the wall, the movement deliberately languid, and lets her booted feet slide just a bit further apart. The thick padding of her gambeson does little to hide the powerful lines of her thighs or the heavy bulge of her cock resting against them now that the constricting armor is gone. She raises her arms above her head in a long, sinuous stretch, her back arching off the wall. The movement pulls the damp gambeson taut across her chest, outlining the full, heavy meat of her tits, the hard points of her nipples pressing visibly against the fabric. A soft, groaning sigh escapes her, one of pure physical release, as she lets her head loll to the side, her eyes sliding half-closed as she watches the young man from beneath her lashes.
She holds the pose for a moment longer than necessary, every muscle in her torso and arms defined and tight, before relaxing back onto the bench with a soft sigh. “The road leaves its knots in a person.” She says casually, as if the display was purely innocent. She reaches down and begin to untie the heavy leather laces of one boot, her fingers working with slow, deliberate care. As she does, she retrieves the short dagger she hides there in case of emergencies. She stabs it into the bench with a loud Thud the resumes removing her boots. Once both are off, she lets one hand fall to her thigh, her fingers drumming a slow, idle rhythm on the dense padding. Her thumb brushes perilously close to the inner seam, near the heat and weight of her bulge. “You have a very quiet home, Altan.” She observes, her voice a low hum. “A man could get… restless, with so much silence.” She lets her gaze travel slowly around the room before returning to him, her smirk deepening. “Or perhaps a man finds other things to occupy his thoughts.”
Altan's throat bobs up and down as he swallows with a gulp, his mind going wild before the show playing before his eyes. Though the young man has seen a naked woman before, when he used to spy on the ladies bathing in the village's lake when he was younger, he has never seen one this close, let alone with this perfect of a body. "I... I-I find ways to keep b-busy." He blurts out, eyes locked onto her hands, playing on her thighs.
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The knight holds herself there for a moment, letting Altan adjust, letting the pain and pleasure war within him until they become an indistinguishable, intoxicating haze. Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, she pulls back until just the tip of her boy-breaker remains inside her new toy. "Good, good. Now..." She leans in to whisper, her breasts pressing against the sweat-damp fabric on his back. "... What's my name?"
"Wha-ARGHGH!!" The boy is interrupted midsentence as he feels the powerful woman push forward again, this time sinking half of her monstrous length into his clenching shitter. The wet, sucking sound of his body accepting her is utterly obscene, a lewd visceral SCHLURP filling the small home. Altan's moan is higher this time, a desperate, whimpering sound, as tremors run through his thighs, straining to hold him up against the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.
"I gave you a command, whore. What's. My. NAME!" She insists, her fingers digging into the soft meat of his hips, as with a powerful, decisive thrust, she emphasizes her command by burying herself to the hilt. Her hips slam against the soft, doughy, fat globes of his ass with a resounding PLAP the impact a solid, fleshy slap that echoes in the quiet room. Altan feels the coarse, tickling brush of her pubic hair against his cheeks as his head hangs slack. Elara is all the way inside him, a thick, hot, living column of girl-meat that is rearranging his guts, branding him from the inside out. The poor fucker is panting, his body a taut, quivering mess of sensation, his body not knowing what to do with all this overwhelming, new stimulus. To Elara, however, the feeling of Altan's tight, velvety walls clenching desperately around her throbbing cock is pure, heavenly bliss.
With a predatory smirk, the futa shifts slightly, leaning in once more, her chin resting on his shaking shoulder so her face is right beside his, their cheeks almost touching, her breath hot and slow against his ear. Her formidable cock remains buried deep inside him. His walls fluttering with faint, involuntary spasms around the foreign invader. "What's my name?" She gently whispers.
"E-Ela-AHARGhHG!!" Altan's whips his head back suddenly, his effort to obey the knight's command and utter her name morphs into a whorish, surprised moan. A sharp, high-pitched yelp that tears from his lips, his entire body tensing violently beneath her as she deliberately clenches the deep muscles of her groin in a slow, concentrated flex that makes her powerful fuck-log throb and swell deep within his belly.
“What's my name?” She murmurs again, her voice a low, teasing purr right against his earlobe. Then, she does it again, another flex, savoring the twitch of the boy's entire body, the way his hands clench into fists against the wall.
"E-Elar-Oohh FUCK!!" He tries again but breaks before the last syllable of her name as she makes her cock jump in his bowels once more.
"So close. Come, I know you can do it~" She mockingly coos, resting her forehead against his sweaty temple. She is playing with her new favorite toy, admiring the intricate details of its destruction. Enjoying how his yelps soften into breathy, whimperey moans, his body going pliant and soft underneath hers, no longer fighting the overwhelming sensations, just accepting them.