Hazarael

Hazarael's Infinitely Intimate and Plurally Perverse Cockrod

Sundered from the waking world by illimitable gulfs of memory and time, the strange world of Erothanos shines dimly at the end of its age.

I. Two sought treasure, and one found a trick

The trade routes that gird Erothanos and keep her spices, silver, steel, and flesh flowing from shore to shore and continent to continent run in generally logical routes laid by tradition and fortune in the ages now long gone by. The curious heart of those routes, Gyx, is settled high in the mountain valleys of Blacktooth Range, far from the sea, the mines, or the battlefields of the world.

To Gyx come the rare beauties of the desert sands, the curious fruit of the deepest jungles, and the richly fashioned jewels of the Northern kingdoms.

To Gyx, seeking the soft beauties of the desert sands, the succulent fruit of the deepest jungles, and the most valued jewels of the North came Kula and Kura, vagabonds extraordinaire.

They came in low style, couched amid the bagged grain of the dark central plains destined for malting and fermenting into the palate searing liquor favored in the cold climes of the Amber Sea. The rich, earthy smell of the grain lulled the twain into a dreamy slumber.

Laid beside one another in the stillness of sleep the two showed as a study in contrasts. Kula with her tall, broad build of forest-toughened muscles and the milk-pale skin of one who spent her childhood among the endless branches of the the Ironwood under a head of hair red as fresh blood. Where Kula was tall, strong, and pale, Kura was small, lean, and dark, with a mop of bowl-cut black hair and a pair of thick steel spectacles dangling from a chain between her breasts.

How such a pair came to meet, travel, and challenge the world is a tale for a more skilled scribe in another age. As to how they kept together, this was made clear as Kula stretched, arching her back towards the heavy canvas canopy over the grain wagon. Long-lashed eyes opened in the dark of the wagon, the feel of her velveteen cloak mingling with the cashmere of Kura's black coat bringing a smile to the tall Forest Woman's face. The twain customarily slept in the nude, and no number of gawking fellow travelers would change that. In fact...

"Eh, Kura... tis time to wake, for we've a show to make and our take to rake," the redhead purred in her small companions ear, the alliteration brushed in warm waves over her tiny lobes. Kura rolled toward her companion, a blushing smile spreading from the corners of her mouth to stain her cheeks, then neck, then bosom crimson.

"You don't say, my dear?" purred the dark skinned girl, drawing up on her knees. She reached past Kula, pressing her small, hard-nippled breasts against her companion's full softness, her delicate fingers tangling in the pull rope against the wagon's wall.

"Then we'd better let in some light!" Kura giggled, giving the cord a pull that drew up the canvas and admitted a sea wind that soon hardened Kula's pale pink nips to match her friend's.

From the wagon train, wherever there were men or boys (and many places there were women) came almost immediately the catcalls and whistles. This was the third night of the journey and by now the whole assemblage knew what was in store.

Gilabad, master of the caravan, turned from his seat at the head of the grain wagon to cast the time-seasoned eye of an elder salesman over his most unusual cargo in years.

"How many nights do you two think you can keep this up?" he called, laughing. "I fear the fear there isn't a coin left on this caravan that isn't yours or mine."

"Not to worry, Master," answered Kula, rising with a long dry stem of grain to touch a match from the caravan master's lantern. "We take more than coin, and even what isn't will be easily enough made so in Gyx." The burning straw caught in the small lamps Kura hung on the six posts of the wagon, shedding the warm light of oilfire on the twain's bodies.

"Alright, you lot!" bellowed little Kura, bracing a foot on a sack of spage oats, her leg cannily cocked to leave her groin in shadow. "By now you know how this works, but in case any of you have sobered up just for little old us, I'll explain again."

She set out a small scale, such as any merchant or book keeper might have. Beside one scale she placed a small placard covered in crude pictoglyphs. At the bottom of the placard were a pair of lips, while at the top was illustated what one might presume to be a knot of limbs, hair, and juices seen only in the halls of the Sultana of Kesh.

"You pass your coins, baubles, gems, and suchlike up here. Where the scale points, we play. If we like what you send, my companion Kula here will add a few extra weights -" and here the Forest Woman held a pair of heavy lead pendulums up against her erect nipples -"and if we really don't like you send, then its show over. Got it?" the dark girl asked.

Murmurs ran up and down the caravan, and then out came the hats, scarves, and baskets. Fights broke out on more than one wagon over who would run between the carts to deliver the goods. While the evening's patronage sorted itself out, Kura leaned back against Kula's strong body.

Idly, the city girl let her fingers trail down her belly to the smooth skin between her legs where two nights against ago had been her silken pubic hair. The one always got a good turnout, for her bare pussy was plump and ripe as a fruit on the branch, begging to be plucked.

The Scales Game was one of their favorites - each night of a journey after the first they put out the scales and a different placard. Each night Kura gaffed the scales more and more out of balance, and each placard held more and more tantalizing promises. In her moist slit of slits, Kura hoped the caravaners at least got up to the paddled rump on the card, though she wasn't beyond cheating herself to get there.

Kula bounced her small companion against her thigh. "Ahoy there, wet one, what has you so worked already? We haven't even begun." she whispered.

"Just thinking of your warm hands, that heavy, wet rag, the hot suds," shivered Kura in memory,"and that wicked edge of your dagger between my legs."

"Hah! You little slut. Did you bathe every night in that city of yours with windows wide and seats comfortably nailed in the trees beyond?"

"No... but remember my childhood that way for me, won't you. Its far more alluring than the one I led."

"Hush, here come the coins!"

Smiling, sunset and lamplight playing along their bare and warm bodies, the two collected the payments of the caravan. Two small silver knuckle bones edged the scale up level with the pair of lips. An emerald cunningly carved into a dodecahedron didn't budge the instrument an inch, but Kula dropped the first lead weight in, drawing it past the lips to the next tantalizing picture.

On this went for several minutes, though once Kura nearly fell from the cart when a playful merchant's wife teased the offering tray just beyond her fingertips so that she could watch the young woman's small breasts jiggle to and fro reaching for it.

In the end, Kura was to be disappointed, for the paddle pictogram was passed for a simple drawing of a straight, thick line intersecting two small curves.

"Oh no..." she moaned, sinking to her knees in the cart as Kula crowed her crimson haired victory. Desperately, the dark little gamesmistress searched for her weights, but alas! All that were hers had been tipped in already. This was their side of the game, a playful duel stretching back through long years to the Slippery Mollusc in shady Ulmarth of their first acquaintance.

It would be hard to say if the men of the caravan or the women cheered more loudly, but Gilabad was glad of it all the same, for the caravan's noise would keep the worst of the Near-men from falling on the traveling group, and those who did were as like to be entranced by the two women as anything else.

Silently, with a feigned resignation, Kura spilled forward onto a bed of grain sacks. Behind her Kula rummaged in the fur wrapped packs they bore from Ulmarth for her favorite treasure, crafted by a back alley sculptor and a wizardess who owed her more than a little favor.

Pursing her full lips, Kula cooed at the sight of the cockrod. Supple and faintly tanned, it was like nothing other than two human cocks, joined at the hilt seamlessly and faintly warm even in the darkness of the pack. Asleep, it coiled in her hand like a soft, silken snake, the cockheads covered by hoods of foreskin.

This was the treasure, the jewel that the caravan women had whispered of for the last long miles, when the nature of the twain's game had come clear. The men, for their part, grumbled at the delay in what they knew would come, but more than a few found their own cocks cupped by wifely hands as Kula began her show.

The red-haired Forest Woman lifted the coiled cockrod to her lips, pressing the heads to her pursed, moist mouth one at a time. They were sensitive, these heads, and each had its own proclivities. The wizardess who gave the rod life had said sommat of two cheating husbands whose wives had paid handsomely to have their lust drained out... ah, but what did she care for the witch's spiel when the thing smelled like a real cock.

Her tongue flicked under the hood of the smaller of the two heads, teasing a gap between head and hood and lapping up the light sweat that lay thereon. She felt the head pulse, blood flowing from some otherwordly space to engorge it. Her thumb she slipped under the other hood, drawing it back perhaps too roughly. In the damp heat between her legs she felt her own nail rake against her left pussy lip, for that was the other magic of the cockrod - that any who had tasted of it might become attuned, so that it were an extension of themselves.

Her tongue continued to minister to Kura's head, and the dark girl shuddered and ground her thigh's together at her friend's teasing, though she held strong enough to give no sound.

Flattening her tongue and opening her mouth wide, Kula slipping the quickly thickening cockhead into her mouth, sucking forcefully. The magic of the rod translated the sensation of four inches of skin down onto two, and the little nip of Kula's teeth at the base of the full head from two inches down onto the quarter inch of Kura's clitoral hood.

Wetness ran freely down the smaller girl's thighs, and finally she gasped to the settling twilight, "Enough, you teasing bitch. Fuck me, or I'll fuck myself!"

At that, Kula's cock began to awaken. "That's my girl. You know it doesn't do me a thing unless you beg. Here, let me reward you," she laughed, slipping Kura's attuned cock into her wet and ready pussy, stuffing it up and gripping down tightly with rider's muscles. Kula gasped pleasantly at the fullness of the fully erect cockrod within her, just that little bit too full for comfort, but plently full enough to hold in place while she gave the good audience what they had paid for.

"Now, my dear, what is it our scales say we should be doing?" the pale woman asked, loud enough to be heard at the edge the lamplight's glow.

"Fuckbitch!" groaned the twain's bookie, inventor of her own trap. "Our honorable patrons want you to fuck my ass." At this, the slower of the caravaners took note of the shallowness of the pictogram's curves. Indeed, what they had taken to be the dark girl's smooth pussy was something else entirely.

"And indeed I am going to fuck your ass, but I've a twist of my own I think they'll love, eh?" Kula said to her friend, pressing the small girl down into the grain her with her foot and trailing her fingernails along her powerful thighs to caress her full, muscled rump. "Tell me, shall I fuck her with my cock... or hers?"

At this, the caravaners let out a whooping cheer that left little doubt as to their decision. Kura's eyes shot open - this was a new game, even for them, a twist she should have guessed at, but still seemed diabolically perverse. This, of course, coming from a girl who once lay with an animate skeleton to buy the location of a buried family treasure.

With a slick plopping noise Kula pulled the cockrod from her pussy and reversed it, sinking her own attuned cock into herself. This wasn't the first time she'd used the rod this way. On long journeys it was sometimes best to let her friend sleep, but no toy or hand in the world could match the sensation of being within and being filled at once. She'd wanted for months to coax Kura into trying it, but the city-bred prude had seemed to think it just as bad as laying down with the dogs. As far as Kula was concerned, by the time you got a magically attuned wizard penis in the mix, any sense of perversity or propriety was out the window.

Kula took a few experimental smacks at Kura's ass, her broad hand covering nearly the entirety of each cheek. Kura's cock was coated in Kula's thick honey, and the thumb the taller woman used to spread the slickness over her companion's asshole was nearly as thick as the dark girl's cock.

For her part, Kura leaned into the smacks, and tried to sort out the confusing sensations coming from her delicate pucker, sizzling in the wet heat between her thighs, and teasing her phantasmally from the phantom sensations of the cockrod. It wasn't that she was an anal virgin, but she'd barely had more than a few fingers. Still, something about the depravity of it threw her back to her early years in St. Yithbert's convent, when she still had something like shame and shock at notions of a man and woman doing something like [i]that[/i]. To think she once thought only of a man and a woman... but here her thoughts were cut sharply off, her friend driving her thick thumb into her ass, stretching the delicate ring of muscle and stroking gently at the silken-soft wall within.

"Oh fuck... that isn't me yet, is it?" she asked, gasping against the grain, the heady smell of soil and seed filling her mind with bestial thoughts.

"Shush now, this is going to be fun. Two cherries at once, eh?" teased Kula, her free hand stroking Kura to firmness, the pain of the smaller girl's penetration hardening her the last few degrees.

Lowering the head of the cockrod to her friend's ass, Kula braced herself against one post of the wagon. Trusting the backstop of the grain sacks, she let gravity drag her forward, putting pound after pound of her body weight against the frail protection of Kura's pucker. The poor girl tried to squirm away, but found her hips hemmed in on one side by Kula's mighty thigh and a fifty pound sack of oatwheat on the other.

"Fuck. Fuck! Fu-gods!" Kura groaned into the burlap as her defenses gave way, sinking into her own ass in one slow, steady stroke. Shutting her eyes tight, she tried to sort out the sensations. That there was the feeling of her asshole being stretched around a foreign invader. That other feeling was a tight ring squeezing around her shaft, a feeling like but unlike being buried in Kula's pussy, but where she was almost used to the firm ridges of Kula's g-spot, here that was only a shifting silken warmth surrounding her. Steadying her breathing, she felt Kula pull her out, then plunge slowly back in. The penetrating/squeezing sensation became the root of her whole world. Filling and being filled, Kura could orient herself only by that join, where her worlds met herself.

What she couldn't control or care about were the sounds of her voice - deep, throaty moans that echoed over the caravan, the kind of toe curling sensation that made the old wives wistful and the young ones damply eager. Hands found buckles and skirts slipped up and over thighs as couples and trios and even a few solos imagined themselves somewhere in the knot of sensation happing aboard the lead card.

Lamplight caught and glittered on Kula's full breasts as she began to fuck her friend in earnest, fleshy pillows swaying over her friend's back and occasionally grazing the slim girl with her pebble hard nipples. She was nearly used to the sensation of being in herself by now, but the feeling of her friend beneath her, completely overwhelmed and lost in her own world gave her the deep satisfaction that only a professional cocksman may know.

Kula sped up, driving the cockrod back against her service and deep within Kura's ass. The dark girl's small hands groped at the burlap sacks, her moans gutterally animalistic. As Kura began to tense, her oncoming orgasm rumbling her pussy like a shore before the tsunami, her moans turned into a squeal.

Kula's muscled arms gripped her companion around the waist and crushed her small breasts flat as the taller woman hefted Kura into the air, then dropped her down onto the cockrod. Inches disappeared within her already-strained ass and she screamed her orgasm from mountain to lakeshore. Her bare, wet pussy gaped and gasped at the crowd and thick cream began to run from both women's pussies as the magical rod came thick and amply within them, a harmless enchantment that would soothe whatever damage they might cause themselves and leave them more than able to put on this show each night.

Slowly, achingly, the cockrod softened, then slipped from Kula's pussy to dangle from Kura's ass. The Forest woman laid her companion across the sacks and lowered her cum-filled pussy to her friend's bleary eyed face. She pressed her sopping lips to Kura's thin dark ones and almost automatically the other girl began to lap and suckle at her swollen and sore pussy. For her part, Kula teased the still half-erect cockrod in her friend's ass, stirring her passions cruelly as shiver after shiver of aftershock wracked the dark body.

With a flourish Kula pulled the cockrod free with a pop that sent a spark of arousal straight to the clits of every woman riding in the neighboring carts. By now only half the crowd was really paying attention - the other half lost up each other's skirts and down each other's trousers.

Gilabad, on the other hand, was paying full attention to the spreading of magical semen and entirely natural honey staining his sacks of grain.

As Kura blinked her way back to sanity, she met the caravan master's eyes. She smiled at him dreamily, lost in her own pleasure and performance, until she caught the glint in his look.

"Now, ladies, how do you propose to compensate me for those two sacks you've just spoilt?" he asked cooly, with the even town of the salesman making the kill.

The twain exchange an upside-down-and-over-the-shoulder look to each other, then to the infamous placard and its spectrum of depravity.

"W-well, we've a few more nights, eh?" offered Kura, fearing for the shape they'd be in when they reached Gyx, though not at all fearing for their accounts.

The End

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