Chapter 11: Chapter 11 – Antilorwe – Induction

In between the receding pitch blackness of the night and the slowly slipping dimness of the dawn, a magnificent willowy shape encircled the girl Cyrene, pulling her tightly into her grip. Sheer essence of purity permeated their sensual kiss. Erosion started beneath their feet, joining together into a glistening fusion. Then Cyrene tasted nectar and melted caramel under her tongue. It was pure magical sweetness, the taste of which she had never experienced before; flowing deeper into her entrails, absorbing all the devious darkness that haunted her. Like a flash of searing bright light, it dispersed those malicious whispers and the dark shadows that gave birth to such dreary thoughts.

Cyrene could scarcely believe that a feeling so intense and so fulfilling could flow through her very self. Straining every fibre of her being, every beat of her heart. No part of the act lacked passion or innocence. The sweet pleasure coursing through her veins and flooding her thoroughly. More vividly. Unrestrained, forgiving kisses erased all previous anxiety, guilt and loneliness. The probing tongue of Antilorwe only promised a precious glimpse of security. A future when Cyrene will not be tormented by worry or remorse. Every nightmare seemed as if it vanished with the first blissful kiss from the Elven woman. Solely absorbed in their sinful mingle, mouth open, panting, desperate to take and to offer. Open, giving, a loving willingness for warm affection.

Cyrene's heart ebbed when Antilorwe broke the kiss. She shook uncontrollably and clutched the graceful, pale limbs of the Elven Lady. So delicate and yet bubbling with latent strength; white as snow, covered with soft pink petals of rose perfume. Cyrene's knees gave out, sighing deeply and grasping tightly to those slender fingers. The sting she experienced in her heart dissipated in a moment's notice as she felt Antilorwe's arm wrap around her waist and her palms on her shoulder blade, supporting her failing frame. Drawing her closer.

Antilorwe looked at her with those intoxicating hazel eyes, looking deeper into the longing soul of the lonely battered girl. Those penetrating emerald orbs were glittering in allurement, almost luminous that they blind Antilorwe with hypnotising light. Dazzled, Antilorwe closed her eyes, opened her senses instead and experienced those gossamer feelings of enchantment. Every vivid emotion that roamed behind the exquisite face of the girl, Antilorwe felt. Cyrene was both blessed and broken at the same time. As Antilorwe tightened her grip on Cyrene, holding the girl upright, she shuddered weakly. Blushing lightly, she saw Cyrene's face glowing as if touched by rays of sunlight.

"Sugarplum, I know not enough of your past, to know what makes you guarded, defensive and untrusting. But you are the most special and delightful girl. But would you allow me -- even if it were for a short while -- trust me?" rasped Antilorwe, hollowing every nuance of her intimate moods.

The delectable hot breath brushed Cyrene's jawline. Melting her cheekbones; spreading her wings, freeing them from the hooked chains of anxiety. Sensing those warm feelings for comfort, scattering through her, quivering her abdomen. A gentle feel, like the fluttering of a million butterflies sweeping along Cyrene's forearms. Thin tendrils of opaline white light coalesced, disseminating the festering darkness and her whole world condensed in the ethereal form of Antilorwe before her.

Only a tiny noise, somewhat between a whimper and a stifle escaped the awe-thralled Cyrene. With the embrace of Antilorwe, the gentle heady euphoria tumbled in her head. Cyrene drowned in clouds of beauty, surrendering herself to the sensations that left no space for further thought. Allowing the experience generously laced with a promise of all-encompassing warmth to wash over her. Closing her eyes, she found herself in a cognitive of momentary calmness with Antilorwe in the centre. Glowing in the serenity that soon turned cold, leaving Cyrene shivering from the rush of emotions. Eyes blinking, wishing there was still a chance, hoping to see those intoxicating hazel eyes peering through her again.

For a brief precarious moment, Cyrene took a few sharp inhales. Trying to catch some sense of reality. The logic of her mage brain reared and warred against her emotions. Both seeking to protect her -- in their own ways. Shivering with joy and fright, shuddering from feelings of ecstasy and terror. Stomach bloated with desire and fear. Legs trembled uncontrollably. Nausea consumed the remaining sweetness of their kiss. Regretfulness tore inside her, blunting her senses. Trepidation filled her eyes. Grinding her teeth, biting her lips; wanting to reject Antilorwe and run away but this was her manor. There was no place else to go.

In the intervening period of ambivalent silence, Antilorwe's eyes trailed along the shining locks cascading down the girl's shoulders. Silky strands tangled from her lonely wails, yet pristine with those pearly hair pins, interwoven, melting, beautifully. Breathtaking, glowing. Antilorwe grabbed a few loose tendrils, knotted them together tightly, tucking them up under those opalescent hairpins on her head. Completing the adorable array, accentuating Cyrene's beauty. Languidly, her slender naked arms wrapped around as she pressed her tender lips, resting them on the exquisite forehead of the heartbroken girl.

At that tender gesture, a deeper reverence encompassed Cyrene, but this time with a reason. Instead of leaving as easily, she now definitely knew, with no hesitation lurking in the deep recess of her mind, that she wanted to stay. To stay. Forever. With Antilorwe.

Mouth dry, her throat parched; moistening her mouth, she stumbled over some incoherent response. Eventually, after swallowing hard, she tried to find her bearings. She stood helplessly, watching as a veil suddenly lifted off her wounded soul.

Warmth. A sense of sweetness enveloped her and drained from her cheeks, to sink gently back into her tummy, filling Cyrene with luxurious delight. Her eyelids, well invaded with exhaustion, cries and anxieties, now fluttered slowly. A faint tremor, barely audible, swept through her fingertips. Wavering to every movement of the Elven Lady, waiting eagerly for those divine kisses. Delightfully muffled moans slipped, and her lips quivered. Nothing bothered Cyrene anymore. Only the warmth of Antilorwe's arms tightening around her.

Overwhelmed by the sudden fleeting rush of sentiments, Cyrene broke down. Crushed from the intensity of those nourishing, enchanting and intoxicating aurae from Antilorwe. Like a rabid stream cutting through a lust-verdant forest, tears leaked from the corners of her emerald eyes. Leaning in, sagging her neck, Cyrene pressed her face onto Antilorwe's inviting frame. Her face found refugee in the smooth exquisite valley between the Elven Woman's breasts. Pressing with utmost desperation, pushing every drop, immersing herself, delving into the delicious embrace, Cyrene sobbed. Slowly.

Antilorwe's hands gently stoked along the skin of Cyrene's temple, attempting to wipe away the damp tears.

"It is alright to let out your sorrows. Crying is soul healing. Please, allow yourself the luxury to weep. Let those bitter tears drain away the pain," cooed Antilorwe softly, "I will hold you as long as those tears persist."

Despite her words of comfort and a promise to hold the weeping girl, Antilorwe was not certain of the resilience of her own will -- to hold the tender beauty. The warm salty tears that flew, trickle at a moment, at first, till a steady stream of clear liquid ran down the luscious curve of her curvy mound, toward her sensitive nipples, taunting them innocently. Her own treacherous body pleading to become enraptured at the naive actions of the girl. Lavished by the sweet caresses and savoured sensual joy from the tears of Cyrene, Antilorwe felt a potent and minuscule quantity of guilt roaming inside her.

Yet, Antilorwe continued her affectionate caress on Cyrene, rubbing her temples soothingly. The Elven woman became vaguely aware of the last traces of painful tears dripping down the girl's face but her face held glued, wantonly basking in the comfort that her twin mounds offered. Lush pink blooms restored in her cheeks, the girl edged dangerously close, to those engorged nipples straining through the satin fabric.

Biting her own arousal and her lips seductively, Antilorwe watched those adorable coral pink curvy lips advance slowly towards her demanding nip. The captivating awkwardness of Cyrene only added to the charm and allure of the act. The hot pink lips of the inept girl, darting cautiously out of her mouth, only to retreat with lightning reflexes made a spellbinding delight flow through Antilorwe. The Elven Lady could only stare deep into those wide green curious pools of longing, reaching out, almost gyrating towards her own arousal.

Cyrene slowly laid her hands against the swelling orbs of Antilorwe's breasts. Impatiently circling the erect buds of pleasure, playing with each point through the fabric. Reaching out, testing, stroking, exploring each tiny detail, till a rosy red flush clouded over the area. No longer content with being solely held closer, Cyrene rubbed her face across Antilorwe's breast, soaking in their silken milky sweetness.

Cyrene raised her tear-drenched gaze, her emerald eyes now filled with a heavy tinge of apprehension as she apologetically looked at Antilorwe. A silent plea; their meaning evident in the girl's eyes. Surrendering her senses completely, that hungry mouth of the heaving girl wanted to caress her delectable bosom.

Giving birth to a trembling voice, Cyrene asked, "Is it awkward that my full being aches to feel that heat from your flesh?" Her dark long eyelashes nervously roamed in every direction of Antilorwe's exquisitely gorgeous face. Those soft emerald green eyes awaited eagerly an answer.

Antilorwe simply watched. Those honey-glistening lips of Cyrene twitched lightly, burying the elven woman in melodious words falling from them. The bright verdant pools of her eyes drew her in; drowning her in. The way the girl opened her lips as those inquisitive brows descended slightly -- indecision and invitation dancing on her exquisite features. Drinking in all those heartfelt scents, savouring every needy touch, only raw desire swarmed inside her and it made her tremble. Antilorwe did not respond. She could not respond.

Cyrene, slightly disappointed but deterred by the inept response, spoke with more desperate passion in her tone; her words further tempting Antilorwe's precarious molten core.

"It is inappropriate of me to not deny my curiosity in seeing more of you."

The seemingly sulking comment of the girl ignited all those pent-up passions of Antilorwe. With burning need, wanting only to ravish and debauch, Antilorwe eagerly clasped Cyrene, kissing her passionately. Her tongue tracing the curve of the girl's lush lips, dipped and swayed hungrily inside Cyrene's receptive mouth, roaming farther, bathing Cyrene's bottom lips with its generous flicks. Hot pink tongue and bright crimson tongue duelled one another, stroking the valleys of soft female flesh.

The creamy sweet taste within Cyrene's mouth, incited the heady raw emotions inside Antilorwe, churning her inner core. Sucking those succulent luscious lips of the heaving girl. Rubbing the outer edge of Cyrene's upper lip and moving inward. Inflaming the more primal desires -- shackled deep inside Antilorwe. Bending further lower to nibble the honey-sweet lips, caressing the warm pink gums, those feathery feather-tipped row of perfect teeth, rushing down to dip into the smooth valley of those firm slippery inner lips. Both girl and woman felt their insides crawl with forbidden desire, tempting them to release the raging torrent.

Meanwhile, Cyrene's inexperienced hands slowly slid up, grasping the satin-covered exterior of Antilorwe's wondrous breasts. Under her hungry fervent touch, those stiff white hills impaled her delicate palms. Their feel under her virgin hands, felt both exhilarating and marvellous, beckoning her to shed all inhibitions, to yield to the wanton desires to possess. Cupping, moulding those shapely, soft breasts. To twist them enticingly around those warm ivory creases, twirling the firm plump breasts like enchanting artefacts, hypnotising both girl and Lady alike. Cyrene recoiled, unable to control any more flooding desire, while Antilorwe herself, gave no sign of restraint or of intention to halt, only leaning even further forward, encouraging Cyrene to continue.

Tilting her head slightly, looking down to the delicate hand that had been tracing the magnificent curvature of her tits -- the Elven Lady now desperately and wantonly craved every trace of sensual coquetry. Her heightened state of sexual excitement, urging her to wish for the tender attention of more than one person -- to touch the beautiful features of her tantalizing globes. Shamelessly, she craved that Urganza was not asleep, but rather partaking in the lecherous act with Cyrene. Helping Cyrene, tutoring the chaste girl.

Antilorwe finally broke from her trance of erotic intimacy, sensing the inexperienced novice, that Cyrene is, in dire need of a teacher. The willowy Elven Lady, who was in desperate need of those illicit pleasures and despite wanting to push forward, realised that left to her own devices, Cyrene who never experienced intimacy before, would fumble like a ship without a sail in a stormy ocean. With a cruel smirk, she donned the mantle of the corruptor of innocence.

"If you keep touching my breasts, you are going to turn me into mush," complained Antilorwe with contorted mirth, "And I am extremely fine to be eaten up by you, sugarplum!"

Cyrene stared at Antilorwe in awe and adoration -- bated breath and hot blood pulsing inside her veins. Those words only served to further consolidate the burgeoning urges swirling inside the girl. Her fingers, still kneading those hard masses of Antilorwe's feminine tits and relishing in fondling those creamy supple slopes, slowly froze. Like slow awakening snakes whose hot and hardened bodies would recoil if disturbed. Such a pleasant sensation; caused Antilorwe to relieve a surprised whimper, while her arms coiled around the bedazzling form of Cyrene tighter.

That unbridled and unrestrained request brought forth a moan of desire, arising from that suppressed part of Antilorwe's mind that craved untamed carnal lust. Sliding her slender hands gradually up, the Elven Lady held the girl's face in place, gently stroking her deep crimson blushing cheeks with fluttering fingertips. Her hand rose further above, tenderly caressing the plump trisected lobes of the girl's ears. Smoothing them with small firm strokes. There was passion -- the fiery passion that raised all hell in Cyrene's rigid sensitive nerves -- causing her spine to arch deliciously towards the Elven beauty.

Antilorwe severely wanted to hold onto the moment, to drink in the adorable struggle of Cyrene. The tiny sweet whimpers that her petty touches elicited, the heaving chest and the struggled breath of the girl under the tender ministrations of her hands, the way those brilliant emerald orbs longingly called out to her. Emboldened by her writhing of the wondrous creature in her hand and her unspoken wants, Antilorwe leaned, pulling the shy girl ever so closer and slowly blew a breath of jet of hot air at Cyrene's ears, eliciting powerful shudders from her.

The sense of entitlement and innate dominance of the one in possession made Cyrene gasp and pant breathlessly, edging her neck closer, creating a trail of innocent kisses along Antilorwe's stunning neckline. Her action became more and more restless, as she became entranced by the cyclone of overpowering lust and latent emotions in her -- Antilorwe's arched neck, non-callous yet strong hands, throbbing heart and that darting lustful gaze that she threw in her direction. Cyrene was fidgety. Frustrated and agitated, she knew she wanted to please Antilorwe without any inhibition, yet she knew not how.

That anxiously fleeting moment captured all the drama the experience willowy Maiden needed to know. Antilorwe was certain that she now needed to treat Cyrene in private. The tall Elven beauty used the sweetest tone possible when she spoke to Cyrene.

"My sweet sugarplum, come, let me make you forget all about your torment, in the comfort of a private room. A corridor is hardly an ideal place."

Cyrene looked up at the face that she has come to love so dearly within the span of a single evening. Inhaling the heady aroma that seemed to permeate everything, humbled and blushing furiously, Cyrene would only respond to that burning suggestion with fevered anticipation and eager willingness spilling from her verdant eyes.

Leaning back Antilorwe extracted herself from Cyrene. The Lady of the Manor placed her right index finger underneath the coy girl's chin and turned her face to look up. Gauging Cyrene's trembling frame, the slight quiver in her luscious lips, the trepidation despite the anticipation and the shallow torment leaving her body, Antilorwe became incongruently aware that deep down, the girl craved a practised manipulation to demand total obedience. A sparkling thought that brought a sudden warmth rush to her already overheated cheeks. Calming the torrent inside her, she uttered wordlessly to herself -- Corrupting Cyrene would be so, so-delightfully magnificent.

"The maid has been instructed to bring honey tarts to the breakfast table, but there are better kinds of treats that you can taste in bed, " tempted Antilorwe softly in a seductive voice, eyes almost glassy with lust. The Lady of the Manor moved her face closer to Cyrene's, "You could even let your heart's desire roam inhibition-free. Your warm hands can hold what they desperately wish."

Smiling tenderly at the naked lust-filled looks Cyrene shot at her; Antilorwe turned towards Cyrene's chamber. She held the girl's eager hands gingerly. The loving willingness of Cyrene following behind stirred the fire of desire burning inside her all over again. The delightful sounds from the pitter-pattered steps of Cyrene following her were almost a bewitchment deeply embedded firmly in the resolute core of her soul. As Cyrene's palms subtly tightened around her own warm fingers, slightly tugging her to slow her urgent pace, Antilorwe realised that only the adorable girl could tamper with her very foundations, coerce her to enjoy, and revel in something pure, true, unfettered and uncontrollable. With Antilorwe, Cyrene need not verbalise or demand, just indicate -- how she desired it -- without hesitation and she would cherish; entertain, and realise every precious fantasy of the girl.

As the doors to her private chambers closed with a gentle slam, filling the room with the heated presence of the Elven beauty who dragged her, Cyrene's senses were consumed with a delirious yearning. Gazing the devious glint in Antilorwe's cunning eyes -- lost in flames and whirlpools of glittering sparkles, the maddening pools of her own arousal, Cyrene's very thoughts were filled with the illicit acts, the writhing of their naked bodies and the vulgar sounds that the Elven woman would draw from her very lips. There was something more to the exquisite Lady that Cyrene found captivating. This majestic creature whom she had acquainted in the span of a mere night, was now craving to lay her claim upon her. Her demeanour, her proximity and her very aura; for the first time in her lonely life, her body sang out for its rightful owner.

The very notion that the tall willowy maiden, filled in all the right ways, so elegant and captivating would desire her, devoured Cyrene from within -- in a good way. To look beyond the incompleteness of her nature, to know that she was desired and desired specifically, drove her on the edge of insanity and had the maddening effect of arousing her dormant parts to stir -- again, a second time. The was a certain calming bliss, offering solace from the heavy darkening clouds, that all those refined caresses meant only for the most exquisite of feminine flesh were showered upon her. A single night at Antilorwe's Manor, Cyrene was treated well, respected, pampered, desired, caressed and passionately kissed. Everything Cyrene dreamt and more -- driving her closer to her perfection, fulfilment of her latent fantasies -- Antilorwe presented. Cyrene was a humble mortal before a divine being. She felt compelled to give her body to the goddess that had blessed her with such undeserved adoration.

When she left her study in Sarenthill to journey towards Antilorwe's Manor, had some Oracle informed her that she would feel fulfilled, desired and wantonly craved, Cyrene would have dismissed, even scoffed at that notion. And were she told that she would receive the careful affection of Antilorwe, that idea was preposterous, a blasphemy and a cruel mockery just like how her life had been before. But the tender attention of the tall beauty that she received was every bit as real as the blood pulsing through her throbbing veins.

Yet, for some inexplainable reason, something in the depths of Cyrene's heart nagged her that her lust for Antilorwe was flawed. Not for the reasons of a girl carnally craving another, but her own precarious and fragile self-esteem, tearing through her self-worth. Antilorwe is the epitome of feminine charms and delights. Born perfectly, without any blemish or flaws and filled naturally with all the allure and tempest that a Maiden can invoke, subtly oscillating between inciting carnal flames and nurturing warmth. The lovely presence only enhanced all her fears and apprehensions about intimacy and relationships. Cornered by her own crumbling self-esteem, she finally acknowledged that she wanted a lover. Someone who didn't fear her immoral soul. Someone, to whom she can unconditionally surrender her body to the vagaries of lust.

But can it be Antilorwe? No, it can't be. After all, the Elven beauty is too perfect. Beyond her reach.

And in a surreptitiously exciting moment, all those trepidatious thoughts of self-destruction, shattered when Antilorwe's gentle hands gingerly pulled the lacy straps snaking over her shoulders. Did Antilorwe possess an enhanced perception receptor or was she a consummate clairvoyant, Cyrene could not tell, but the tall willowy beauty before her was unrelenting, even managing to gather her from the brink of a second ruin, engaging her by her fingertips with an overpowering reverence, casting soft expressions and compassionate smiles, capturing her, bringing her back from the realm of dread with nothing but sensual whispers; words that she never believed that would ever touch her ears. Then came the scorching wave of carnal heat, making her feel so cherished, so desired and -- safe. Cyrene quivered, her very bones screaming for more.

After experiencing the minor episode of an emotional crisis of inadequacy, where she would rather risk dying than endure any more pain, Cyrene rejected all dark rational thoughts and submitted fully to her lust. She vowed to only rejoice in sweet craving amalgamated with sheer delirium. She choose to trust Antilorwe.

It didn't take long for the experienced Antilorwe to unveil the naked skin, carefully massaging into the shoulders and back, giving little back rubs as if kissing her creamy skin.

Skillfully working her fingers, Antilorwe fondled Cyrene's breasts. Gathering enough of the small budding swells in her expert palms to cup her tits, eliciting a tantalizing moan from the trembling lips of Cyrene. With well-practised grace, the Lady of the Manor collected both nipples between her thumb and forefinger, drawing them lightly together until they stood firm and erect.

Flattening her palms on the girl's tits, Antilorwe tilted her head slightly. Tenderly peering into those vivid clear pools of her eyes with sultry mischief in her, "Do you mind?" enquired the Elven Lady huskily.

With a mischievous whisper, she added, "I won't bite."

At those words, Cyrene lightly nudged closer, thrusting her small bosom closer to the crafty hands of her caring lover, all the while hiding a hint of disappointment that momentarily flashed in her eyes. She wanted Antilorwe to bite. To feel the slightly sharp, painful and yet pleasurable sting of her pearly white teeth sinking into her succulent flesh -- drinking in the most decadent form of pleasures. Subtle domination, leaving a mark on her body -- her body, marked by the sensual yet cruel love of Antilorwe.

Cyrene craved that form of love. A love that would swiftly dissipate all forms of darkness haunting inside her, leaving only devotion to settle in. And all extracted by an unexpected romantic meeting, an introduction, leading to uninhibited passion -- all led to fruition under the mellifluousness of that delectable mouth of Antilorwe. Yes, none other than the divine Antilorwe.

The willowy Elven woman glided her palms on the tiny cups, gathering the girl's breast to her face -- all of it -- a display of artistic appreciation, gently moulding each succulent swell closer to those sensuous seeking lips. With practised skill, Antilorwe encased each inviting tit with one hand and fed them with precise pleasure from her mouth. Stifling her own sighs of satisfaction, she suckled both the swelling orbs, raising the flavour to a realm of sheer sweetness. Mesmerized, Cyrene felt almost transported by the sensuous movements of Antilorwe's plump lips. She could only stare, anticipating more of the delicious rhapsody that the Elven beauty was generously gifting her.

Following behind, Antilorwe paused between each suckle, leisurely caressing the budding breasts with tender thumbs, barely grazing across her stiffening nipples before sucking each tiny bud into her enchanting mouth, languorously rubbing the twitching pink tip between her teeth. Those gentle light nips upon the sensitive not-yet-ripe red buds produced goosebumps across the girl's alabaster pale skin. Licking them up and down, fawning over that sugary succulent treat. Antilorwe's mouth meticulously followed the contours, all the way up to the shimmering mound. Running the tip of her finger along the outer edge of the reddened pink protuberance, gently teasing, pinching. Suckling each puffy bundle between her agile tongue and the inner walls of her palate, licking in smooth circular motions, taking advantage of the undulations rippling in response through the girl's supple body.

Cyrene, through sheer force of will, subdued the sounds of bliss -- that sweet echo reverberating against the roof of her throat, vibrating achingly inside her and in a muffled tone pleaded.

"Antilorwe....more....please.....can you bite? please," uttered Cyrene with a soundless moan, while arching her back, pleading for more; offering herself to the taking of pleasure.

The sultry whisper-like voice of Cyrene echoed softly, urging Antilorwe to open her eyes wider; her rosy inner core trembling. Those words, pleading and taunting at the same time, were uttered between each lick, each suckling and descended on her inner core like an assortment of kisses. The Lady of the Manor relished every morsel, overwhelmed with ecstasy. The exhilarating rush of erotic delight coursed through her blood, tickling the small fibres of her entrails, rushing and filling the cracks of her marrow -- melting away the sinews binding her to her bones, setting fire to empty places, a sensation that transcended everything she had experienced before. Powerlessly, she fell victim to the pure divine ecstasy oozing from the girl.

Antilorwe did not hesitate, not even for a single fleeting moment. Pulling back her head, sliding her lush lips towards the small erect nipples presented, biting them down softly, at first. Encouraged by the demanding response from Cyrene, and her begging pleas, lacking the will to resist the alluring girl's whimpering request, the mature Elven Lady's teeth bit hard, hard enough to produce piercing moans of gratification and joy. Flipping her thumb on Cyrene's twitching nipple, coating in golden gleaming saliva of her lewd act, pulling at it, teasing its sensitivity.

As Cyrene started shuddering, the wild pleasure building up inside her -- deep within, reaching an ever-rising crescendo, her body jerked sharply with her reactions, throwing herself onto Antilorwe's body with gusto, wiggling excitedly to smooch her neck. Sopping wet with drenched sweat, clinging close to the strong, willowy frame of the Lady of the Manor, Cyrene was rocked again by urgent shudders transmitted all through her body, producing further moans, driving her farther and farther into the depths of carnal depravity. Those feelings that surged inside were strangely new, unknown. Cyrene could only attribute them to almost a feeling akin to writhing and twisting on top of a mattress while attempting to vault into space. Fluttering emotions stirred inside the defiled young girl, tossing about frantically within her ribcage, where there was no place for rational thoughts. Exquisite desire gave birth to a voluptuous ache, pounding relentlessly against the delicate ribs of the now completely submissive girl.

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"Remove my robe, Sugarplum. Get me naked!" ordered Antilorwe, losing a tiny bit of control of her natural sweetness to a polished roughness.

The unconcealed steel edge to Antilorwe's voice had taken possession of Cyrene, rendering the innocent girl into a vile form, willingly enslaved to those deep captivating tones. Basking in the glow of lust, Cyrene's eager and untrained hands took the knots of the silken robe hastily, untying it rapidly. Rushing towards the tall commanding Elven woman, relinquishing in her graceful feature as she pulled off the rest of the robe, leaving Antilorwe covering her body with bare flesh. Cyrene gulped down the last of her inhibitions, at the sight of the naked mature Elf before her. One swift look at Antilorwe, whose tender flesh still carried the marks of Urganza's fervent ardour from the previous session, who held her eyes intently and feasted on her lusty emerald eyes with burning need -- her lips slightly parted -- her sizzling trails of moist breath across her lips -- revealing how aroused she was. How aroused she was -- for Cyrene.

Cyrene could only gaze in wonder at the mature Elven beauty, a dream beyond a fantasy, as she slowly parted her thighs, to taunt her with a swift view of her pink slit. The folds of Antilorwe gleamed with a slick layer of lascivious slime, another artefact from Urganza's ravenous lips and the attention they delivered to her pretty quim. Brushing profusely at the bold and near exposure of Antilorwe, the girl blushed hotly. Cyrene was filled with shock, awash with intense arousal. She attempted to avert her gaze and did not succeed, not even in the slightest.

"You wore no undergarments," was all Cyrene's depravity-addled mind could push from her coral lips.

"It is my Manor. Can't a Lady not indulge in a bit of novelty and freedom in her own home?" said Antilorwe with a seductive wink.

"But maidens are expected to hold dignity always and you are a councilwoman, a respected diplomat...." stammered Cyrene.

"Honeydew, what I am now, is....." A peal of hearty laughter issued from Antilorwe. The gorgeous Elven made a face as if struggling for the correct expression and finally settled on a word, "....teacher or better, your instructor and you are not the illustrious mage, or professor Cyrene, but my pupil"

"My pupil. You are mine," repeated Antilorwe, authoritatively. "What do you say?"

Inhaling deeply, as if holding a shuddering breath, calming the rising euphoria in her heart, Cyrene dared to respond, "I'm yours."

Hearing those words, Antilorwe flashed a grin, exposing a gaunt set of teeth, reddened by a blush. Vermillion saliva dripped from her sinful open mouth, as she slowly acknowledged to herself that Cyrene was well on her way to madness. Bereft of any indoctrinated inhibitions or sense of shame, and basking in the sanctuary offered within the threshold of the manor's safety, Cyrene felt more liberated than ever in her life. And Antilorwe, far more experienced with carnal dalliances, resolved to ease the girl into such pleasures -- gradually, to protect her from being drowned in a sudden surging wave of sexual freedom.

"There is so much delight in here," sighed Antilorwe, placing her hand on the hem of the evening dress, that still loyally managed to cling to Cyrene's waist. With a slight yank, Antilorwe liberated the girl of the modesty of the evening gown, letting only the borrowed string panties offer her the only modicum of privacy. Under her deeply examining gaze, Antilorwe acknowledged and even slightly smirked at the tenacious struggle of Cyrene’s own damsel stalk wagging, rebelling against her.

Sashaying with the sway of royalty in her hips, Antilorwe dominantly approached the barely-clad girl. Her very aura owning the space surrounding them, the Elven beauty's eyes darted across Cyrene’s lithe body. Up and down. Up and down, measuring, drinking, revelling in the exposed skin -- and the barely covered parts. Antilorwe placed a hand on Cyrene's silken ass covered by satin panties, squeezing them, forcing her fingers to trace the luscious slit of those hemispherical mounds, pushing those ass cheeks slightly apart. Giving a squeeze of her palm, she drew a squeal of excitement from the excited girl.

"Remove those panties."

That command -- its authority and persuasive nature were impossible to ignore. Remove. Your. Panties.

Despite her obvious arousal at the current demeanour of Antilorwe, Cyrene held petrified. Her carnal core fought against her primal belief. Shame against lust. Tears against blissful intoxication. Submission against emancipation.

"Go ahead," growled Antilorwe. Fiercely urging the little virgin forward. Nudging her thigh impatiently, to comply with the edict.

The fluttering in her chest went silent. Something died within her, drowning the wild pleasure burning in her blood moments ago. Like a violent gale extinguishing a raging forest fire. The resistance she felt was not born of the thick cloud of apprehension that usually shackles a virgin for the first time. Nor was it the fear of failing to meet the experienced gorgeous Elven Lady's expectations. It was a more primal fear -- wrought out of previous wounds inflicted, overwhelming fear of being judged and humiliated. To be mocked, to be decided whether she was worthy of affection or not. Finally, to become an amusement for the cruel curiosity of others.

With a steely resolve, Cyrene did the impossible. She refused. "No. Never. Please don't ask this of me."

"Sugarplum, if a chastity belt is your thing. We can involve it later. When you are far experienced and relieved of inhibitions," cooed Antilorwe as her fingers gently cupped Cyrene's face, drawing them closer to her, close enough to make out the individual pores on her succulent cheeks -- close enough for Cyrene to notice the deep care roaming behind her eyes despite her authoritative voice.

"Moreover, it is your first time. This is not learning to swim by diving head first from the cliff. Your first time should be more sensually tender, encouragingly gentle and reassuringly intimate," said Antilorwe. Kindly. Not demanding, not dictating. Just leading the game the way Cyrene drifts.

Wary, yet overwhelmed by arousal, Cyrene tentatively reached her palms above, while a faint tremble ran up and down her spine. But despite her protests, her body betrayed her. As her fingertips touched the Elven woman, she felt compelled to touch her face, to relish in the feel of the soft skin below her wide hazel eyes.

"No, Please," pleaded Cyrene. Her plea was fierce, almost harsh. Tears fell freely from her emerald eyes. While Cyrene did not doubt the veracity of the affection she received from Antilorwe, nor would the Lady of the Manor withhold any as a barter, to force her into submission; far in the infinite depth of her own consciousness, the very act felt rather disgusting.

Tremblingly holding herself to Antilorwe, more for support to her weak limbs, Cyrene articulated between her sobs, "Antilorwe, I love you. With all that I have, all that I am. To let you take me in full, to have your warm hands explore me; every part of me is an honour. A joyous experience. But please, I beg you, not to go there. Not that part."

Eyes glazing, drowned in tears, -- Antilorwe found it laborious and helpless as she held and stared into the grief-stricken face of Cyrene. There was something else deeply buried beneath those green eyes, an inner strength, far deeper and more profound than what a wounded girl can summon. It somehow stirred feelings within Antilorwe's chest, causing waves of sensation, to grow and swell. Sensations, born not out of sheer lust or salacious cravings. A feeling that is far more primal, potent and all-encompassing. A feeling that Antilorwe did not want to give her word of acknowledgement by naming.

"Sweet Cyrene, you are special and beautiful beyond comparison and I cannot resist wanting to feel you in all licentious ways. You are every bit desirable and more, but if you do not wish, then I will not involve it. I promise, trust me, and I will never broach your boundaries," said Antilorwe comforting the teary-eyed girl, all the while her own head felt dizzy from the intensity of her confession. Beyond all, the Elven woman was more surprised by how easily that inner tranquillity flowed out from within. She already knew that her attraction to Cyrene and Urganza was not fleeting but rather more intense, but the profoundness of sentiment befuddled her.

"Hearing you say this makes me want to give myself; inhibitionless to your care." Saying those words, Cyrene quickly wiped her tears -- vibrant blush returning to her cheeks -- she winked mischievously and removed her panties, releasing her maiden pole from its confinement. As Cyrene bent over to gingerly place the discarded garment, Antilorwe, taking advantage of the situation, placed a deep warm kiss on the widening gap between Cyrene's ass cheeks; her lips lingering precariously close to the pink starlet hole of the girl.

She pressed her tongue softly inside the girl's tight hole, before blowing air across it, lubricating it with honey drops of her own saliva. Wiggling her lips around the hazy hole, teasing it with feather-light touches the girl opened wider to receive her mouth. As the girl’s lips parted slightly, she inhaled the subtle amalgamated scent to sweat from Cyrene's girl sack mingled with the slightly pungent odour of the hole. Despite her upbringing and life experiences, Cyrene did maintain high feminine standards of hygiene -- not that Antilorwe would mind. Taking that scent, sweet with arousing muskiness, and blended with the woodsy aroma of her perfume, the sultry Elven woman tasted it, savouring it, feeling its flavour exploding within her senses. Her fervent urge summoned from the depths of the carnal abyss, Antilorwe ferociously continued her assault, while holding the panting girl strongly by her hips. Tongue twirling in tantalizing swipes, feasting each other on a buffet of carnal delights.

Antilorwe flicked her tongue again and again along Cyrene's ass, tracing her groove -- promising herself the pleasures her eager and submissive partner ached for. Yet, despite the seductive treatment and the salacious ass of the girl, spread wide open and receptive for anything that the willowy Elf wished to shove, she wanted it faster. She wanted to devour her eagerly. She pushed her palm flat against Cyrene's firm bum cheeks, arching them further apart, craving to open the girl's moist treasure.

Pulling away -- enjoying the sight of the vulnerable girl, spread and trapped under her clutches -- Antilorwe gave it some semblance of admiring attention, drinking in the wondrous sight of her lifted ass, spread, exposing her exploitable hole, a heaving warm breath escaping her lips, the melodious whimper from her throat; everything served to arouse Antilorwe further, stroking her own molten core with demands. Not quite reciprocating the comprehension for the emotional connection that led her to treasure the girl -- still, Antilorwe craved Cyrene, from the core of her soul.

Reaching down, she lightly stroked the voluptuous hemispherical cheeks, from back to front, returning with soft caresses over her desperately twitching hole. Upon continuing, while firmly gripping the fanny, the mature Elven woman was exhilarated by the sounds elicited from the tender girl; sounds of moaning in rapture at the new sensation that the girl experienced under her hands and tongue.

Gaining firmer control of her enthusiasm, she planted three fingers inside, deepening the penetration and exerting pressure upon her, until the girl's body quivered in bliss. Placing her left hand hard behind Cyrene’s back, she grabbed her long raven-dark hair. Tugging it lightly, Antilorwe's ears were melodiously assaulted by the tintinnabulations of deep moans vibrating from Cyrene's throat; emitting vibrations into the very air.

The long stimulation caused waves of intense tingling throughout Cyrene's body -- feeling overwhelming pleasure and excruciating pain simultaneously. Not having had much experience, Cyrene could only instinctively shut her eyes tightly, trying to stem her emotions -- covering up a tortured scream of her pleasure. Another hard thrust in combination with a powerful yank, triggered a reaction deep inside, fire leaping wildly in Cyrene's nethercunt, waiting impatiently to plunge. After enduring attentively to Antilorwe's teasing and toying of her, it seemed unfair that she needed such torturous solicitations, just because she had only one sensitive little hole. Cyrene cursed her lower parts. She craved a cunt, a pink slit, with a cute nestled clitoris on top, and a white canal running up her midsection. To sit without feeling a numb tumour, to cross her legs and not crush anything and to own a lascivious thigh gap. Cyrene wanted it all.

And that meant submitting to Antilorwe's mouth, to let the lovely elf ravage her, no place forbidden. Who knows, perhaps would even get the right toy for her bedside cabinet -- an elf wand, a slender strap-on, an enchanted throbbing ring; the possibilities she could conjure were endless. Maybe she could also kneel and enjoy spitting and sucking on the toy organ, just like how Antilorwe administered the previous night. She could submit fully, without any bars to Antilorwe. Even allowing her to take her, and assume the same position as Antilorwe was with Urganza. The gruesome etched image became vivid -- except the roles were reversed.

Gone was Urganza, and in her place stood Antilorwe while Cyrene rested with her back on the same table; her legs spread, her throbbing vagina exposed. Antilorwe, herself held a strap-on far more intricate and smooth than the one Urganza wore. Held in position by beige-coloured satin ribbons that almost blended transparently with those creamy thighs and curvy hips of Antilorwe, making it appear as if the gorgeous Elven beauty had grown her own feminine shaft. The erect pole arising from her Elven cunt was exquisitely made. Resembling nothing like a real organ would Antilorwe boasted a stiff pole, that was slender and elegantly carved with detailed throbbing blood-filled veins running across them in a beautiful pattern. Unlike the brutal Orc, her Elven partner would be gentle; slowly cooing and coaxing her while Cyrene gently took the whole thing inside her trembling quim. For every painful whimper, Antilorwe would stop, and apply loving kisses along her petals -- smoothing her palm over them, using the hemispherical ends to grip, kissing every crease of her skin. And when the elven fuck-stick embedded fully inside her; Cyrene would lunge at Antilorwe, arms wrapping around her tall supple neck. Antilorwe's slender hands would manifest subtle strength and hold the girl's plump luscious ass; her long finger, prodding and penetrating her receptive butt hole. While Cyrene's arms and thighs were wrapped around Antilorwe, she loved being simultaneously fucked in both holes; violently churning the toy organ in her birth chamber while being finger fucked in the other hole.

Surreptitiously summoned, more fantasies rolled in. Lady Cyrene would rush in, through the main hall, to where her Lord awaited. Antilorwe, still very much in her epitome of female beauty, except clad in the traditional male attire of a High-Elven aristocrat, her Lord, would demand her servitude -- What is rightfully a wife's duty to her Lord, in the shameless presence of all their attendants. In the main hall, seated on the Lord's chair, Antilorwe exposing her girly stiffness; Cyrene shamefully dropping her stained undergarments, gathering the folds of her brocade skirt to lavishly spreading her legs and impaling herself on Antilorwe's lady sceptre. Plunging it deep into her shameful quim, forcing the delicate part to stretch her cunt, pleasing her with her ignoble carnal act. As the lust gets heated between them, her Lord Antilorwe, would raise the hem of the gathered folds of the skirt, revealing her gaping rear hole now widened from the undulating motion and her slick soaking, consuming cunt; the modesty of her wife; of Lady Cyrene for all her handmaiden to see.

The dreamscape of her vicious sexual fantasies still caught her in its macabre jaws. Cyrene was back at her family's mansion, delighting in the company of her sisters, under the care of their mother. All tender talks and petty giggles. Antilorwe gallantly striding in, defeating her brothers, forcing her mother and father with her indomitable will, her fierce eyes locking with Cyrene, demanding what was hers -- the hand of fair Cyrene. Dressed in luxurious bridal attire, with petals raining down her path, her mother leading her gently to the same sensually decorated room, where the elegant and amorphous form of Antilorwe stood waiting for her. Slamming the door shut impatiently and with untamed carnal lust turning the blood in her veins to molten lava, Antilorwe ripping the front of her bridal gown, admonishing Cyrene for the unsightly arousal of her damsel erection during the ceremony. Tearing, sliding the front of the elegant gown to reveal the already aroused girly stalk; inflamed bright crimson for the Lady Knight. Forcefully, binding her wrist, bending her. A thunderous slap, eliciting a painful pleasured moan from her lips. Antilorwe's hands, slapping her bare naked ass, till the soft creamy skin turned bright crimson. Her Lady Knight demanding her to stand before her, shamefully presenting her unsightly erect feminine pole, while commanding her to shamelessly relieve herself with her own hands.

Swirling, the privacy of their room, replaced by a filled audience chamber. Cyrene still bound, dressed in the most chaste outfit in all the lands, except for the slit revealing her shamefulness, the red throbbing part, almost bursting with burning blood pumped in, a stark contrast to the pristinely pure white of her dress. It was supposed to be her bedding ceremony, arranged at the reckoning of her family -- organised to witness and sanctify the consummation of their union. Eyes of all the gathered, curiously peering at her wanton naked form writhing under Antilorwe's administration. Cyrene herself, lowering her eyes shyly, admiring the glow of Antilorwe while accepting the formal collar; chains soon placed around her raised breasts -- allowing her chained ankles to spread apart -- forcing her, the helpless girl to surrender. With the compulsion of an indomitable will, Antilorwe's thin fingers trailing lazily across her body, slowly creeping towards the treasure space nestled between her legs. Her warm fingers slowly traversing along the stiff organ, rubbing them loving along its length. Her strange womanhood, awash in fresh throbbing release and yet yearning for more. Slick with the slimy coating of her own love.

Encouraged, Antilorwe's slender finger driving deep inside her body, parting her moist slippery wall, and sinking deeper -- searching out Cyrene's arousal spot. Thumb trailing her clit, kneading and stroking it as it tried to escape from the invader's fingertips. Keeping pace with Antilorwe's ministration, Cyrene's lecherous moans reverberating through all who gathered. Antilorwe presenting the polished curves of her sceptre to Cyrene's lush lubricated cunt. In throngs of erotic stimulation, the addled mind of Cyrene could no longer distinguish her own body. Whether she had a vagina or not, the clarity eluded her. All that remained was the repeated pounding -- an implosion and explosion -- of lust fuelled pleasure throbbing inside her head.

Despite her delirious state of peaking arousal, one pair of eyes stood acutely fixated on her. Those deep sunken eyes, smouldering amber orbs, their intense gaze, an expression of utter horror pasted on those tusked face. Urganza! While the rest of the onlookers were transient beings fluttering ephemerally between the ethereal and material, the sharp feature of Urganza stood well-defined. Enough to make out the individual clenching of orc's muscles upon witnessing her humiliation.

Those craziest, wickedest, stupidest yet still sublimely joyous thoughts roamed around Cyrene. Antilorwe's finger, with her insatiable hunger for carnal activity, finally found the arcane spot, hidden, protected by her pulsating sphincter muscles. Pleasure, like a liquid fire razed through her spinal columns as the caressing fingers of the Elven beauty fluttered over. At the hazy gossamer touch on her inner clit, Cyrene's thoughts became unintelligible. Her maelstrom of intangible and fleeting fantasies became incoherent. Or rather, Cyrene could no longer perceive their individual projections.

Cyrene plunged into the bottomless abyss of her own carnal world. An amalgamation of passion and pleasure possessed her, surrounding her like sweet whispering Lillies, pushing her up the cliff of no return. Her virgin journey, wrought in the caring hands of tender Antilorwe. Her presence accompanied Cyrene while the girl inwardly descended into oblivion, leaving the sordid place of her chastity. Ecstasy rivalled pain. Anguished screams of aroused pleasure stumbled from her coral lips. An ecstasy so satisfying, so deliciously horrifying, enveloped her in a lethal snare. Her senses soared but not on her own accord. She was all but a traveller in her own body, enjoying all the sensuous delights that her body offered. No longer in control. No longer did she recognize herself. The surging tidal wave carried her exhilarated form, higher and higher, till she ascended the tower of peak arousal. Climax. Heaven-splitting climax ripped through her. Her dormant senses awakened to its true potential. Unparalleled, unmatched and feral. Every throbbing sensation from the vicious carnality of Antilorwe's tendril fingers disappeared in the twilight haze of euphoria. Her mind rose with the ascent of light. Like uncurling of a bud blooming, every rummaging thought released retreated back. Her mind melded gradually with her corporeal being. All she knew was one singular incandescent blast of joy. And with a final thud, Cyrene collapsed.

Twisting in the afterglow, Cyrene knew that she was not the same girl anymore. She was new. Moulded by Antilorwe. By her Antilorwe. Possessed beyond a measure. That singular untouchable line of separation from her primordial childhood self vanished. Erased by the caring hands of Antilorwe. Swooning in the quivering bliss, sweet words suddenly whispered in her ears and pulled her back. The last expunge of demanding lust, ebbed out of her like a receding tide, leaving only untainted affection behind. Gentle kisses of Antilorwe fluttered on her cheek -- the smooth embrace of the mature Elven woman wrapping her like a warm blanket on a winter night.

"Come my sweet honeydew, let me hold you tight," whispered Antilorwe.

Those charismatic words tugged her heartstrings and pulled her closer. Both Elven Maiden and Human girl rested in each other's arms. Melting together as they drifted away, quietly; almost as if they understood what it meant to hold each other. Like precious snow flowers blooming amidst harsh gales -- delicate yet resilient in nature.

An unspoken silence guarded their solace, encasing them in its hypnotic cocoon. Finally, a smile contorted itself on Antilorwe's peachy lips, serenaded by the peaceful cuddling form of Cyrene. Meltingly pulling the girl into a tender hug, she eventually shattered the silence.

"Sugarplum, you had a powerful orgasm. Is it your first time?" There was no judging. No scorn. No condemnation. Only acceptance. Warmth spread from one heart to another.

"Yes," came the soft reply, subconsciously pulling Antilorwe into the brilliant pool of her eyes, dazzling with vivid vibrancy, "And I am glad, something so wonderful happened with someone I deeply love."

Antilorwe noticed the girl's immaculate cheek -- flushed red with her adorable declaration of love. In spite of the golden afterglow, Cyrene looked battered, terribly rocked by her climax. In passionate throes of her peak, her lips bit hard enough to leave a bruise; so hard she looked like someone's chew toy -- like a piece of meat proffered to an orc wench. To a certain orc wench.

Nuzzling her nose, in the nook of the Elven beauty's neck, drawing in her calming scent, Cyrene added, "Do you know how much I adore you? How my heart aches when I watch you? Without you here, I would have still been a degenerate of nature. I love you so much, Antilorwe."

The absolute tenderness of Cyrene's words shocked Antilorwe. How easy is it, to be young, naive and innocent? And Antilorwe was neither too young nor naive and her innocence; she never had one, to begin with. The dark recesses of her unconscious soul hid many a truth. Shielding her from suffering.

How many times was it that she declared her love? That was the second. First, was during their passionate act. Even though Cyrene's feelings were only superficial, she still relished in the adorable awkwardness of the girl's ephemeral first crush. Antilorwe was convinced that Cyrene's words were anything but a willful childish fancy. Not genuine. Something to fade with time. It was just a careless misguided word given birth by the magical moment and the mounting lust.

She wrapped an arm, cradling the girl's lithe form, Antilorwe softly replied, "My little sugarplum, rest now. We have enough tasks before us."

Pliant arms tightly clutched the supple frame of Antilorwe. Fondness cloaked their beautiful features. Drowsy eyelid closed in a slow serene blink, as Cyrene uttered happily, "It was a beautiful experience. Thank you for treating me like a person, for putting up with my weird situation."

As Cyrene slowly drifted to a peaceful slumber, Antilorwe's thoughts were anything but turbulent.

Boundaries. She needed to draw them. Urganza, the Overlord of the Orcs, might be unchallenged in her decisions. Cyrene, sweet, captivating and bedazzling as she might be, is a recluse; a social outcast and a reject; respected but spoken behind her back, and not with many good intentions. But she had a lot to lose. A respectable position with the Sarenthill City council, her status; especially her hard-earned status, her clients from the upper echelons of society, the ladder of successful ascension within Leyandur and associates, she would lose all.

Finally, a distant memory of her talk with Professor Vitalia reaved through her. The words of the whip-tongued fae still stung as if she were physically nearby.

"Sleeping with your enemies will rarely look good on your prospective profile, Antilorwe."

With those, Antilorwe was fully drenched in sweat.

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