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Admittedly, Haleth doesn’t know much about the customs of the Eldar. But she does know that they aren’t the same as her own, so she’s fully prepared to dive headfirst into the differences. And at this point, she can’t even be surprised by the situation she’s gotten herself into. A tall, dark elf-lord on his back before her, a polished wooden play-cock strapped to her waist, and a glistening pink elven cunt waiting for her.
It had been a joy to introduce Caranthir to the distinctly human concept of the one-night stand, to watch his wine-colored birthmark darken even further with blood, imagining where else that blood might rush to. It had come as somewhat unexpected, though, to finally divest him of his outrageous clothing and discover the exact opposite of what she was imagining beneath.
But she was nothing if not prepared. This wasn’t her first time in bed with another like her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Don’t worry, she’d told him, her hands already in his hair, your ancient tradition won’t pay heed to a fake cock.
On the bed in front of her, Caranthir writhes as her fingers play at the nub in between his folds. His dark hair spills in a silken waterfall down the sides of his satin pillow, mark of his absurd wealth. One long, pale leg draws up the bed, and Haleth pushes it aside to get a better angle. Her fingers slip down, and down, teasing him, circling the entrance slowly. He’s barely spoken a word to her the whole night, ever since in terse words he described the age-old elven custom that seemed to be meant to stop elven lords from taking greedy amounts of wives, and she promptly brushed it off and pushed him down onto the bed, to absolutely zero resistance. But now, his gray eyes flutter open, and he stares her down and says, “get on with it.”
“Very well,” she smiles, and with no more preamble lines her cock up with his hole. When she thrusts into him, it’s with nothing but ease, smooth and slow, and oh, it’s times like these she wishes she could feel the cling of his inner walls the way a man might. His head, which had been raised to watch her progress, falls back with a soft thud, and he speaks no more.
“That’s right,” she tells him, but nothing else. She’s never been talkative, and this handsome elven lord gives no reason to make exception. Gripping his hips tight enough to leave a mark, she doesn’t waste any more time.
That first snap of her hips forward has him biting down on his lip already, obviously doing everything in his power to be silent. Admirable control. By the end of this, she intends to smash it to pieces.
His head rolls to the side as she fucks him, black hair shimmering in the candlelight, as if it were satin itself. So luxurious. She can only imagine a life like his, and she fucks him nice and hard, fingernails digging brutally into his hips, so that he can imagine a rough, rude life like hers.
She doesn’t give him a break, either, changing the angle to keep him guessing, and at some point when she strikes a certain spot inside him, his whole body shudders and he huffs, but still he doesn’t cry out.
One of her hands drifts down, slowly at first, gently grazing the skin of his hips and stomach in sharp contrast to what her cock is dealing him, and slips between the folds of his cunt. Prying back the hood, her middle finger rubs a circle on his clit. It’s never failed on anyone in the past, and now it causes him to arch his back, pushing his hips up into her thrusts as his slender fingers clutch at the bedcovers. He huffs again, his breath coming in short little pants, and she knows he’s starting to get close.
At the sight of his dark brows drawn together, and his pale neck arching backward, mouth hanging open, the words spring unbidden to her lips, not passing through her brain first: “just look at you. You’re doing so well.”
It’s not unlike the way she’d talk to a particularly skilled hunting hound, and she’s never talked that way to a bed partner before now, but in that moment, Caranthir’s thighs jerk and his hands go from clutching the bedcovers to practically tearing into them and he moans aloud.
Perhaps this elf-lord does present reason for exception.
She does it again. It feels unwieldy and foreign in her mouth, but she does it again: “good boy. You take my cock so well.” And then: “are all elf-lords so good, or is it just you?”
All the while she keeps fucking him, and grinding her hand against his clit even though the angle is awkward, but she gets the sense the moans now spilling from his mouth have everything to do with the words spilling from hers.
So really, who cares if the sight and sound of this elf-lord is making her want to ride his face until they both scream? Maybe that has something to do with why, in an unthinking rash moment, she hilts herself inside him, grabs his face, and leans in to steal a kiss from him, before he won’t let her. He doesn’t protest, no, not at all. Rather, he arches and trembles all over, whining into her mouth, before collapsing, spent, to the bed, and looks up at her with just the perfect tilt to his glittering gray eyes, so that she can’t help but withdraw from inside him, and crawl up his long body to kneel above his face. His hands find her hips, their roles reversed for the moment, and after all that time spent watching him, it doesn’t take much for his tongue to bring her to her peak.
Afterward, she crawls down to lie next to him, unstrapping the fake cock and setting it down pointedly on his stomach.
“Not bad for a stuffy elven lord,” she tells him, and for once, he has no response. He just looks down at the fake cock lying on his stomach, then back at her, eyes a bit wide, like he’s seeing the whole world in a new light—and likes what he sees. In that moment, Haleth knows this will not be the last time she graces the bedchamber of Caranthir, lord of Thargelion.
And a good thing, too, because Haleth rather thinks she has just discovered something she likes, too.