Mossflower After Midnight: Russa
Written on a dare to myself. I write so much porn in other fandoms, might as well cross the line. I should point out in advance I am incredibly bad at finding appropriate genital words at the best of times and there just are no words that look right to me here, hence why the physical description's so vague. "Cock" and "pussy" just don't seem right to use in a world where one can hold conversations with cats and birds. Maybe I'm just too picky.
"Rrgh." Russa massaged her neck with one paw and scratched her back with her trusty stick held in the other. Useful thing, a stick. Her muscles relaxed as much as they ever did as she worked the pressure down from shoulder to tailbase, the warm sleepy feeling replacing the soreness of the day. She glanced around; the camp was out of sight and she saw and smelled no threats... She tucked the stick under her leg for safekeeping, pulled up her tunic hem, and cupped a paw between her thighs.
The warmth took a while to start building as she rubbed circles and ran her claws through her fur, but it was worth the time. Soon she started rocking against her paw in earnest, fingers still moving, eyes fluttering but never closing fully; the old campaigner slept with one eye open, this was far from enough to sacrifice her caution for. It was enough to make her gasp and mutter to herself "Ah... 'sbeen far too damn long."
She tried to work a claw inside, and sighed frustratedly and withdrew it; her fur rubbed uncomfortably and her clawtip scratched against the dry flesh. These days she never did get as wet as she used to, something about getting older. She never really had done this often enough to be certain, but she was fairly sure she had a more difficult time finishing too. She definitely was having trouble now. She groaned again in frustration as her paw cramped up, and stopped to massage it with her other paw. Yet another sign of getting old, her paws were weaker. Damn it. Time for desperate measures, or she'd be swollen and sore all night and she'd never get to bloody sleep.
From her haversack she took a long clean strip of rag and wrapped it around her stick; any splinters were worn away by daily use, but better be sure, and she'd rather keep it clean. Sitting open-legged, she braced the stick halfway up with her left paw and with the right she pushed the wrapped end down to press between her legs. It was far too wide to go in and long enough to be very unwieldy, but the pressure softened by the cloth was fine. More than fine; rhythmically she pressed and rolled the tip against herself, and stifled a more pleased groan than the last one.
"No, not now!" Russa hissed to herself as her wrist and fingers cramped again. "You're not gettin' the better of me that easy. Alright..." A quick glance around found a sturdy tree. Shifting the cloth wrap up to the middle of the stick, she braced it at an angle between the tree and the ground and straddled it. "Better! Ohh. Much better..."
As she ground down on the cloth and bit her lip, she thought of nobeast in particular. Never really had time for that. Talking to others was hard enough some days, touching them was often outright fur-crawling. They'd just get in the way, anyway. Who'd know better than her how to do this? All she needed to do was release the building tension, just a little more... There! Yes... Thighs trembling, she slid down to the ground, holding the stick in her lap.
The stick was spotless, her flesh not having touched it directly, and the cloth was only lightly sticky, easy enough to wash when she helps Pasque boil up bandages for re-use. Good thing about being old and dried up, cleaning up takes much less effort; Russa chuckled at the thought. Relaxed and contented, albeit still clear-headed and as alert as always, she got up, stretched some feeling back into her legs, and headed back to camp.