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BLAZING HEARTH By M.T. Magnum and Paul Lucas An Erotic Fantasy Short Story Quentin Hale looked over his shoulder to see the innkeeper Lorithra watching him as he sketched, wearing her usual carefully-blank expression. She averted her gaze as soon as he glanced over, pretending to have been wiping the bar top the whole time. Lorithra was tall for a dark elf at five and a half feet, with night-black skin and contrasting snow-white hair cut square just over her shoulders. Around her, four-inch tall grasslings pursued various tasks. Cleaning mugs, folding rags, stirring soup, and more. A brigade four across slowly swept the wooden floor with grassling-sized whisks. The enchanted creatures were a type of golem created from hay and straw woven into simple humanoid dolls. Quentin liked to think he could taste magic and its flavors, which was a fancy way of saying that he could sense the aura of some enchantments. The aura of Lorithra's magic sometimes made hairs stand on end on the back of his neck. Were the grasslings some nefarious creation in disguise, or was he just imagining things because of the grim reputation of dark elves? The innkeeper had worn that same deadpan expression a week ago when he had woven new grasslings for her to enchant. She had closely watched his hands through every move, expressing polite gratitude at his skill in making them. Apparently his were more ornate than she could manage, giving the female-style grasslings curled 'hair' and flared skirts, while the males received tiny straw hats. He himself had been grateful she hadn't thrown him out for all the surreptitious glances he'd given her obsidian cleavage that day. Quentin went back to sketching, working his charcoal pencil over his homespun canvas. His current client, a local merchant called Tollis Karr, held himself still with a frozen smile as he posed for the artist. Karr had been Quentin's only paying client for days. If he couldn't drum up any decent coin soon, this would be last night he'd be able to stay at the Blazing Hearth Inn. His impending poverty was hardly a secret. No wonder the innkeeper kept glaring at him. She was likely looking for any legitimate excuse to kick him out. The young man's hand slowed after a half hour of steady, intense effort. He used a spare cloth to brush away excess charcoal dust, then to wipe off his gray-coated hands. "It's done." The client nodded as Quentin displayed his work. "Excellent, young man. Well worth two copper crowns." "What? We agreed to ten!" "Yet I didn't see you doing more than two coppers' worth of work. Two is generous for a half hour's labor." "But this is highly skilled work!" The older man scoffed. "Is it? I've seen artists by the dozen in trading cities like Port Rechton or Lurrin Pass. Half of them are little better than beggars. If it takes so much skill, why are they so poor?" Quentin could rattle off dozens of reasons, including seedy merchants scamming them out of pay, but held his tongue. Like it or not, he needed the coin more than he wanted to chastise the older man. "Sir, I assure you..." The merchant was already on his feet and snatched the portrait from Quentin's hands. In the same motion he dropped the coins on the table. "Two coppers it is, then. But don't worry, I'll be sure to tell others about you. What you didn't make in cash, you'll make in exposure." "You can't do that!" The artist protested, but the trader was already out the door. Quentin was tempted to run after him and demand his full payment, but didn't see the point. What was he going to do, wrestle an old man for it on the open street, with everyone and the town guard watching? He took the two pitiful copper coins and buried his head in his hands. It really looked like he was going to be homeless in the morning. He jumped as a hand settled on crook of his neck. "Another problem customer?" came Lorithra's voice. She planted a wooden tray of salted meat and bread before him, along with a mug of short beer. "Some leftover scraps from the kitchen," she explained. Both the meat and the bread tasted too fresh for them to actually be scraps, but Quentin didn't question as he tore into the unexpected repast. He had been limiting himself to only one meal a day for the past week to save money. He didn't even notice that she had been gently rubbing his shoulder until after he slowed down to finally take a gulp from the watery ale. "Did that cheap merchant pay fairly?" she asked. So that's what this was about. He spared a glimpse over his shoulder. Lorithra frowned, looking down at him through her half-moon glasses. He tried not to get too distracted by her profoundly rounded bosom was just inches from his eyes. She had a thicker, more matronly build than most elves he'd seen. Which made sense, as she did have two adult children, apparently from an old defunct marriage, showing up most nights to help with the Inn. He held up his pitiful two-copper payment to answer her question. Her hand froze on his neck. "You should have gotten considerably more than that." "I agree. But a wandering bard like me can hardly call out a wealthy merchant like him in this kind of town." "Hmp. Just worry about playing well tonight, then." Lorithra abruptly let him go. She stalked silently back toward the bar, the small grasslings on the floor scrambling out of her way. Quentin suppressed a shudder at her chilly demeanor. Her meaning seemed clear. If he didn't earn enough tonight, he would have only a dirt road as a home in the morning. - - - Quentin frowned miserably at his near-empty cap on the table when his last song wound down. Last call had gone out a half hour before, and the Inn's tavern room at last closed for the night. He had not even a handful of coppers to show for hours of playing. Lorithra appeared behind the bar, relieving her oldest son Vhaerin, who had worked it for most of the night. He glanced disapprovingly at Quentin as he moved into the main room to clean up. The Innkeeper mumbled softly and gesticulated her hands about in intricate patterns to cast a spell. Quentin didn't understand much of the incantation, but he distinctly heard her call on a dark elf deity for power. More than two dozen grasslings suddenly sprang to life and emerged from behind the bar to help clean the premises. Working in small gangs, they uprighted downed stools, arranged tables back in place, and cleaned spills and stains with spare rags. He started as he felt hands descend on the crook of his neck once again, recognizing Lorithra's touch from this afternoon. The sparse earnings in his collection hat were clear for anyone to see. "Ah, you see, Lady Innkeeper, I swear I'll get coin if you'd just..." She rewarded him with a tight smile. "Never mind that now. Come with me, Quentin. I have something to show you." Her hand tightened ever so slightly on his shoulder. Was this the moment he was going to be kicked to the street? Instead, she took up his hand and led him to a backroom behind the bar. Her son spotted them, frowning in disapproval. "Mother..." "Hush," she admonished, keeping her expression carefully neutral. The small storeroom was filled with shelves full of bottles, casks, and amphora jugs, with a smattering of spare benches and cushions along one wall. In a corner sat a small makeshift altar, with unlit candles, incense sticks, and a stained flat stone laid out before a six-inch, abstract statue of a dark elf woman. Lorithra latched the door behind them, using a casual magical gesture to brighten a wall lantern for illumination. Grabbing the human's hand again, she led him toward the altar. "Come, we must make a sacrifice to the goddess..." "Wh-what?" he exclaimed, suddenly spotting a fancy sheathed dagger behind the obsidian statuette. He backed away frantically. "Wait!" Her wan smile gave way to confusion. "Quentin, what's wrong?" "I don't want to be sacrifi... Yow!" His heel bumped a small cask sticking out from the bottom shelf, and he tumbled backward. His hands grasped desperately for something to steady himself with, but all they found was the sash on Lorithra's shift. His weight pull her down with him, and they both crashed to the wooden floor. The bard thumped the back of his head on the cramped room's door, making him momentarily dizzy and disoriented. When he could focus again, an unexpected weight held him down. He blinked, and saw the inner curves of two glossy black globes just inches from his eyes. Lorithra was on top of him, her generous bosom halfway out of her loosened top. She shifted, and he was hit a new sensation as her stomach slid over the rapidly rising boner in his leggings. She saw his distress. "Are you all right?" "I'm... mmmf." Her warm body simply breathing on top of him was distracting enough, but as soon as she shifted even a little over his stiffness, his whole expression scrunched up. "Oh no, you must be in pain!" she said. She regained her feet and helped him sit up on a spare bench. He was indeed a little wobbly as she fetched a mug from the shelved stores and splashed short ale into it from a small cask. She fed it to his lips. "Are you okay?" He gratefully took the drink. "I... yeah. You weren't really going to sacrifice me, were you?" "What? Of course not!" She reached into her still-loose shift and pulled out a small coin pouch. "I found that merchant who stiffed you this afternoon and after some... persuasion..." She made a fist to show what kind "...I convinced him to give me the other eight coins he owed you. I was going to ask to use one to sacrifice to the goddess in thanks." Lorithra held out his hand and dropped the remaining seven coins into it. Quentin looked dully at the unexpected bounty. "But... why do that?" Her violet eyes slid to the side. "Because you deserve it. I've seen your art, heard your music... you have so much talent. But you also seem to have the worst luck in earning money from it." For the first time that day, he smirked. "True enough. Thank you." The elf's lips rounded into a worried 'o.' "Oh no, you still have that erection!" Quentin's face flushed red from hairline to shoulders. He'd thought for a moment that he'd gotten away without her noticing. "Uh..." "That can be a sign of serious injury!" she said, looking into his eyes to make sure there were no ready signs of a concussion. "We have to make sure there isn't anything bruised or broken." "I don't feel..." "One of the symptoms can be numbness. Hold still, you poor thing!" Before he could stop her, she expertly uncinched his rope belt and pulled down his leggings, revealing his stiff and throbbing cock. She bent low to get a closer look, inspecting it closely from all angles. "I don't anything broken, nor see any bruising." She reached out to run her fingers gingerly over its tip. Quentin groaned deeply. Lorithra immediately withdrew her hand. "Did that hurt?" He shook his head. "N-no. You almost made me... do a male thing." She blinked. "I did?" For the first time, she looked down and noticed how loose her own blouse had become, and that most of her bosom was hanging out. "You mean this might be because of me? But I'm just an old piece of leather, really." "No. You're beautiful." He'd blurted out the words before he realized what he was saying, but did not regret them. They were true. Her worried frown brightened into a winsome smile. "It's been so many years since anyone called me that." She leaned closer, once again fluting her fingers on the stiff organ before gripping firmly around its base. "If this is my fault, I suppose I should be the one take care of it, hm?" The dark elf slid the shift off her rounded shoulders until her onyx tits and night-dark nipples were fully exposed in the lantern light. Quentin couldn't help but stare hungrily. She began stroking his tool, working her tapering fingers from root to mushroom head and back again, over and over and over. The human bard gasped, his whole body trembling from pleasure. She cupped his balls with her free hand, cooing in delight as they churned in her fingers. "You know, perhaps I wouldn't mind if you wanted to do your 'male thing' right here." The twinkling naughtiness in her dark eyes was all it took to send him over the edge. The next thing he knew he thrust involuntarily into her hold, crying out. A jet of thick whitish cum shot high into the air, completely arcing over the elf's ashen hair. The next spurt splatted squarely into her face, which elicited a delighted giggle. Lorithra moved quickly to place her lips over his spasming tip and caught every successive load in her mouth, holding all she could on her tongue. When he finally emptied out, she swallowed down all of his warm seed in one smooth gulp, yumming happily the whole time. - - - The innkeeper stood up, using a quick incantation to clean the streak of white still on her face. After his orgasm, Quentin no longer felt shy or nervous around her at all. He boldly seized twin handfuls of the soft firmament before him, tweaking hard nipples between his fingers. The older woman gasped and arched her back, eagerly pushing more of her bosom into grip. "More, Quentin. Please! I've been so fascinated watching you work these past weeks. Especially your hands! Do you have any idea how much I've wanted your fingers to sculpt me the way you did those grasslings?" The young man chuckled, bringing a rubbery nipple to his lips to suckle. He lifted her long skirt. The innkeeer's low moans tripled in volume as his digits found her naked, snow-furred pussy. He plucked delicately at her swollen outer lips, spreading her trickle of juices until his touch was slippery as butter. He explored every crevice and bump of her sex. Fingers slid back and forth along the shallow grooves separating her dark labia majora from her meatier cleft. She squealed softly as they slipped inside, diving to her deepest depths. Then they pulled back slightly, rubbing up softly against the small bump of her g-spot. She gripped his shoulders tightly to support suddenly shivery knees. When he pressed the heel of his thumb lightly against her soft clitoral mound, her throaty moan echoed through the small room. He was so into plucking her sexual strings that he was startled when she suddenly pulled off his fingers. "Wh-why don't we make this a true piece of art?" she asked in a husky voice. Lorithra spread her legs on either side of the sitting bard and hitched her skirt up even higher. With a precise swivel of her hips, she made sure everything was aligned properly. Quentin could feel her hot pussy oil dripping onto his aching tool. He chuffed as her honeypot fully sank on him to his root all in one swift, smooth motion. The older woman began gyrating her hips, slowly at first, then with swifter swirls and bounces. At first the movements seemed random to Quentin, but it quickly became clear that she actually was cycling through a complex rhythm, like a dancer. One that seemed to enhance both penetration and sensation for them both. She grabbed his hands and pressed them roughly to her breasts. His thumbs flipped roughly at her pebble-hard nipples, sparking throaty groans. She suddenly pressed her chest tight against his, trapping his hands between them. Her hips bucked wildly, rubbing her now very slick pubic mound against his. Lorithra screamed out her orgasm, every outer muscle going still. Quentin felt her inner pussy churn on his cock again and again and again. He held out as best he could, but as soon as her body calmed down, his went into overdrive. He grunted in ecstasy wildly like a boar, hands clutching spasmodically at her soft tits. The human's cock abruptly exploded deep within the dark elf, jetting a tsunami of sticky seed deep into her eager womb. - - - As their labored breathing slowed, Lorithra gingerly pulled off him. "Want to go back to my room?" she asked. Quentin nodded enthusiastically. After they got dressed again, Lorithra turned to the altar in the corner and placed a coin on the stone slab. She closed her eyes and mouthed a quick incantation. The coin before the tiny statue vanished in a puff of smoke. "What was that?" Quentin asked as he tucked the last of his shirt tail into his trousers. "Just completing a sacrifice ritual to the goddess. I asked her for a special boon on your behalf." "A boon?" "I asked that the luck of the coin's previous owner be transferred to you. Don't worry, it will only last a few days." "But what will that do?" She shrugged. "That will be up to the goddess." She smirked and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the room. On the way to her quarters in the back of the Inn, the pair passed Lorithra's son, who was trying to clean an unfortunate stain on the ceiling with a mop. "I'm retiring to my room for the night," she said to him in passing. The young half-elf frowned at his mother and her newfound partner. He clicked his tongue in distaste before he went back to his task. - - - The next morning Quentin woke in Lorithra's bed feeling both more rested and more sore than he had for months. He also woke up alone. A pair of grasslings, appropriate male and female, busily straightened up the room. He washed with the table basin of fresh water left to him, went to his room to gather his belongings, then headed down to main tavern room to say his good-byes. Halfway down the stairs he stopped as he noticed a commotion by the Inn's main entrance. Lorithra's son Vhaerin was escorting Tollis Karr, the merchant who had cheated him, out the door. The older man looked haggard like he hadn't a wink of sleep, and his skin had broken out with terrible-looking sores. "Sorry, we aren't letting you back in," the half-elf told the would-be patron. "Got word that you cheat our guests, so you're banned." "Come on, just for a little bit!" the merchant complained. He pulled out the portrait Quentin had done for him the day before. It was badly smeared and spattered with dirt. "See, look? I dropped it in the mud. I've had the most cursed luck this morning! Anyway, if you let me back in, I can have that artist do another one for practically nothing, as long as your mother doesn't see. I can give you an extra copper..." Vhaerin let out an exasperated sigh and roughly pushed the merchant outside once and for all. Quentin came to the bottom stair and Lorithra, already behind the bar, spotted him immediately. "Quentin!" Her son noticed and rolled his eyes. But he was also wise enough to retreat to the back room, giving his mother and her new acquaintance some privacy in the empty tavern room. "What's all this?" she asked, eyeing the bard's meager belongings. Quentin dropped his last remaining coins on the counter. "I have just enough to pay you what I owe. But after this, I simply can't afford to stay here any longer." The older woman looked distressed. "But after last night..." She shook her head. "Look, you can stay, if you want. Maybe... maybe I want to commission some artwork from you. Paintings or something that will really liven up this old dump." "Lorithra, you've been amazing, but I really can't take that kind of charity." "It won't be charity! This is more of an... investment. I'm sure someone of your talent will eventually land some fat patrons and fatter commissions. I just want to help make that happen." "And you won't use me as just some pet boytoy?" She sucked her lip. "Not unless you want me to." He looked at her askew, not quite believing it. She sighed heavily. "To be honest... I'm decades older than you, Quentin. I'm not sure if I want any kind of long-term relationship any more. But I still like waking up to a warm body in my bed every morning. So, for however long things work out, I certainly wouldn't mind if that warm body was you." "And he'll work off his room and board as needed!" came her son's booming voice from beyond the door to the back room. Bard and Innkeeper looked at each other, and chuckled. "That's fair enough," Quentin said. "I'll play the lute at night and work on your paintings, and try to help out around here." She grinned. "Sounds good. But do you think you can stand being with an old mare like me, instead of young ladies your age? I've noticed many making goo-goo eyes at you when you play your lute." He shrugged. "Why should I settle for young wine that sours easily, when I can have the sweetest bottle in town, aged to perfection?" He was about to smirk at his own cleverness when the Innkeeper grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the deepest, most passionate kiss of his life. END