León, Zaina, and Dorn are intertwined in a game of dominance and pleasure in the forest. The dark elf and the adventurer Ayla compete to satisfy the soldier, while León watches, excited by the spectacle.
The sun barely rises over the canopy of beeches and oaks when León settles onto his throne: a gigantic fallen log covered in tanned furs that smells of resin and sex. He is bare-chested; the morning breeze caresses his weathered skin as he spreads his thighs, slapping his crotch hard enough to feel the blood rush there. His eyes, brown and calculating, are fixed on the scene he himself has orchestrated.
In front of him, the dark elf Zaina kneels on the damp leaves. Her copper skin contrasts with her silvery-white hair that cascades down to her waist. Her black leather corset barely contains her generous breasts; her dark, thick nipples point against the fabric. She takes a deep breath and, without being told twice, undoes the front clasp. Her breasts spill out into the open air, heavy and turgid, glistening with the pink cream she had previously prepared.
The subordinate, a brawny human named Dorn, steps forward. His broad fists tense as he lowers the fly of his tanned leather pants and releases his cock. His rod thrusts forward, thick, veiny, the tip wet with desire. He speaks no word; troop discipline forces him to wait for León's voice, but his breathing quickens as Zaina catches him between her tits.
She squeezes hard, bringing her breasts together with both hands to form a warm tunnel. The phallus slides between the elf's soft flesh; a shudder runs through Dorn's body and his eyelids snap shut. The rough wood of the throne creaks as León leans forward, following the elf's swaying rhythm. Each thrust causes a wet friction, a barely audible smack that mixes with the chirping of the birds.
Zaina establishes a steady pace: up, down, a twist of the wrists to squeeze with more pressure. Her pointed tongue flickers out to graze the head every time it emerges. The scent of iodine and soldier's soap mingles with the sweetness of the scented cream, filling the air with an animal atmosphere.
"Open your mouth," León orders without raising his voice; the playful yet sharp tone is enough to make the heat seem to intensify.
Zaina obeys instantly. Parting her lips, she lets the cock slide between them. The contact with the moisture of her tongue causes a stifled gasp from Dorn; his hips thrust forward, burying several inches of flesh into the heat of her throat. Zaina controls the urge to cough, flexes her jaw, and applies constant suction, while her tongue curls around the shaft.
León pats his own belly, savoring the vision: the morning light bathes the elf's face, where a mixture of resignation and servile pleasure is drawn, while the soldier thrusts with increasing gentleness. His testicles thud against her chin; the sound is dull, deliciously obscene.
Suddenly, Dorn grunts, pulls out his cock, and squirts a string of pre-cum over the gap between her still-pressed breasts. Zaina wastes no time: she cleans the tip with her tongue and fits the rod back in, moving faster, anxious to provoke the still-contained climax.
León stands up, brushes the dirt off his thighs, and walks slowly around the two of them. The leather of his boots creaks over the dry branches. Without touching them, he leans down to whisper into Zaina's ear:
"Don't let him come yet. Soon I want to see how his milk drips from your lips while you breathe."
The elf nods with glistening eyes and prolongs the session, varying the rhythm, switching from suction to breast-fucking to allow Dorn to lower the volume of pleasure without exploding. The subordinate bites his lip, sweating, but does not protest. Here, León's desire is law.
When the sun climbs high in the sky, the scene moves to the nearby village. The dirt road crosses the forest; the fireflies still sleep among the ivy as Dorn heads down the slope. Zaina walks a few steps ahead; her clothes barely hide her curves, and the same opaque corset slides over her glutes every time she flexes her hips.
Dorn moves forward without ceremony. He leans down, wraps an arm around the elf's waist, and slaps her backside energetically. The dry sound echoes through the trees. Zaina stops, pushing her pelvis forward, offering better access. Her buttocks bounce under the fabric, and the flesh molds to the male hand.
León follows them from ten meters away. He stops behind a thick hawthorn and watches. The delegated control of the camp is also part of the entertainment: silent supervision that ignites his own blood.
Dorn caresses thoroughly: his index finger traces the intergluteal cleft, pushing the fabric inward; then he pinches the skin and murmurs something barely intelligible. León doesn't need to hear: he knows the elf is already releasing a faint moan from the contact and the contained dominance.
A moment later, Dorn pushes her behind a massive oak. The leaves crunch; the man lowers his pants to his knees. Zaina clings to the moss on the trunk, lifts her skirt to reveal her buttocks brushed by the shadows, and exposes her wet, glistening sex. Dorn positions himself behind her, guides himself with his hand, and penetrates her in a single thrust. The silence of the forest is broken by the slap of hip against hip and the elf's gasp.
"Harder," Zaina whispers, "make me feel the commander, feel that you're using me."
Dorn grabs the elf's waist, shaking her with savagery. His cock stabs in again and again; a toy of flesh that crosses the abundant moisture with obscene sounds, smacks, and wet squelches. León watches as the soldier, on the verge of coming, changes the angle, spreads her thighs wider, and slides his thumb toward the back ring, pressing the closed leather. Zaina moans, lubricating even more, but Dorn allows no further exploration: her vagina contracts and they both collapse in pleasure, him burying the final thrust and releasing a stream of semen inside the slender body.
Afterward, the soldier adjusts his fly and sets Zaina back on her feet with an almost sweet care. He lends her a handkerchief to wipe away the cream flowing down her thigh; the elf fixes her neckline and smiles at him like someone receiving a consolation prize.
The afternoon turns fiery when León returns to the camp with a human adventurer with a long blonde braid, worn leather armor, and a mischievous look. Her name is Ayla, and she confesses to seeking strong thrills. León leads her directly to Dorn's pavilion, where pine logs and camphor oils are sprayed.
As soon as the tent's veil falls, Ayla pats the hilt of her sword and starts laughing at some joke of León's. The music of cups outside barely overshadows the tension. Dorn watches her, sliding his gaze over her firm bust, her waist of clean curves. León steps back to the weapon rack, sits down, and crosses his arms: a luxury spectator.
Dorn doesn't take long to circle the woman, stroking her back, discovering the side clasp of the leather with the practice of someone who undresses armor in combat. The adventurer's skin turns a light pink; she feels the male breath on her neck and the pressure of a cock already hardening against the hem of her tunic.
"What if you try something your blade cannot cut?" Dorn mutters.
Ayla's blush speaks for itself: she lets herself be guided to the cot, lying on her back with her legs dangling. Her skirt is pulled up above her knee; Dorn leans over, kisses her forearm, and moves up the inside of her thigh, leaving a trail of heat. When he pats her pubis, he finds the fabric already wet. He kneels, kisses her crotch over her clothes, and inhales the scent.
Ayla grabs the headboard, spreading her thighs even wider. Dorn pulls the skirt up to her waist, sees the soaked cleft, and sinks his tongue in with longing. The salty and sweet taste intoxicates him; he licks from bottom to top, digs into the wet clitoris, then sucks with a steady pulse. Ayla exhales a moan that turns into a cascade as her hips rise, asking for more depth.
León, outside, feels his own desire skyrocket. He smells his fingertips as if gathering the scent of the scene. His eyes do not leave the vision of the tongue penetrating rosy folds, fingers twisting against thighs, Ayla clinging to the blanket with the contorted expression of someone surrendering.
Dorn stands up, lowers his fly, and lets his cock play along the open fold. He rubs against the vulva saturated with saliva and juices; with a twist of his hip, he penetrates. The hollow shock of flesh reverberates in the canvas. He squeezes Ayla's neck to immobilize her for a second and then pushes in long, rhythmic journeys, each time deeper.
Ayla moans, still dressed from the waist up, her tits shaking to the beat of the thrusts. Dorn removes his hand from her neck, sliding it under her tunic to squeeze her nipple. The girl shrinks with pleasure and the internal muscle of her pussy tightens around the rod. Dorn accelerates, pounding his hips toward her cunt, filling the cot with an incessant creaking.
He comes violently, burying his cock to the hilt and firing bursts of hot milk that drench the adventurer's interior. He remains motionless for a second, gasping for breath; his knees tremble. Ayla exhales a broken laugh, her forehead wet with sweat.
Later, at night, León leads both women—Zaina and Ayla—to the clearing where the moon filters silver onto the moss. Dorn waits for them naked from the waist down; his cock has regained its firmness after the rest and shines with the pre-cum that surfaces.
The women look at each other: blind desire, curiosity. There are no orders; it is the invisible line of vice that they already share. They kneel in unison. Zaina catches the rod with her large tits; Ayla receives it between her lips. The scene becomes a counterpoint of caresses: the elf squeezes and rubs, the blonde sucks and swirls her tongue, alternating the depth. Dorn's moans drift toward the trees, a mix of gratitude and pleading.
León watches from a distance, leaning against a tree. He strokes his fly without taking it out, capturing the spectacle like someone savoring an expensive wine. Zaina firms her nipples, allowing the cock to be driven through her cleavage; Ayla, for her part, slides her tongue fully around the tip, swallowing the whole head and twisting her throat to provoke spasms of pleasure in the man.
Dorn grabs two handfuls of hair, using the heads like puppets that strike from both sides: mouth and tits receive the rhythmic blow. His hips become a fury, unrestrained. The first climax explodes inside Ayla's mouth, filling her with hot semen that escapes the corner of her lips; he twists his hip without losing speed and continues between Zaina's tits, ejecting the second stream over the dark, glistening skin.
When he finishes, the moonlight illuminates the two women kneeling, face to face. Their lips glisten with the same thick milk; they look at each other, panting, sharing a dirty and complicit spark. The silence of the forest is filled with their ragged breathing and the smell of freshly spilled sex.
León steps away from the tree, crossing the clearing at a calm pace until he stops beside them. His eyes trace the white trails on their skin, the wet breasts, the open mouths that still throb. His smile widens; he doesn't utter a word, but the certainty floats among the branches like a dense perfume: this game of pleasure is only just beginning, and it has no end.