Sunday, April 8, 2018

Furs, Swords and Sorcery 1 - by FurCreamer

So I haven’t done much of anything lately, content-generation wise. Distractions abound. One of the more recent of which was falling down the “watch people play DnD online” rabbit hole. If you’re thinking… hey, I need to watch something where the average length of an episode is four hours and there’s thousands of them, then sure, I’d recommend it.

It’s shit for getting anything done, though.

Still, with minor, not-exactly-bardic, inspiration, I dashed off something quick in the whole “fantasy” genre. To be clear, despite the name-check in the intro paragraph, this isn’t any of the various and sundry planes of DnD existence. It’s just “Generic Fantasy Setting #37207647594875243543″… you know, orcs, elves, goblins, short people of a non-infringing variety… I’m not really trying to break new ground, setting wise.

And it’s short! Like, really short. It’s mostly just a cumshot. Because I wrote it, it still manages to be 675 words.

So, without further ado, the entirely truncated adventure of Moonshade Foxsinger, elf ranger, and her escape from an orc camp…

Moonshade Foxsinger in “Casting Sleep the Hard Way“, by FurCreamer

Moonshade squeezed her eyes shut harder when the orc grunts of pleasure crescendoed and thick, steaming jets of gray-white spunk fountained from the brackish green head of his big cock. Orc jizz sprayed up the side of the elf’s blue fox hooded cloak, starting where her hands clamped a generous section of it around the shaft and continued to pump. She could feel the beat of the powerful streams even through the thick fur. More importantly, she could smell the heavy musk as it set into the pelts near her cheek, streaking up the left side and looping over the huge fringe of the cloak’s hood.

The orc’s fur-fueled orgasm continued unabated for almost a full minute. The beast must not have emptied his foul green sac for months, Moonshade lamented.  She drew the soft, thick bottom edge of her fur cloak up and down the fat, veined shaft. By now the runoff from the jetting spunk soaked the clenched fur around the head of the orc cock, leaving it a wet mass from which the green head blossomed with each manual thrust.

Finally, the grunts of pleasure subsided from his open, smelly mouth. The upward thrust of his hips slowed until they came to rest on the decidedly far less refined pile of random skins upon which the pair rested. Judging from the crusted valleys and dried furrows in many of the random collection of furs, this particular beast regularly pleasured himself among them. Obviously, the chance to get his vile cock into her precious fae blue fox cloak had been too great to pass up.

Now it magnificent fur cloak was in far worse shape than the scattered pelts below them. A mass of orc cum clung like glue to the left side, loops and strings branching out from a central mass over the top of her hood. Only the sheer size of the fur hood and fluffy fringe saved her pale elfin features from the flow.

It did not save her nostrils from the stench of so much orc cum just inches from her face. Moonshade gagged as her grip on the green dick loosened. Bile rose in her throat, and she stood while the orc remained blissfully stationary on the messy pile of pelts. She fought a primal instinct to simply throw off her cum caked fox cloak and leave it among the furry ruins in front of her.

This was not an option.

A prized possession, the exceptionally voluminous fae fox fur could keep the wearer warm in any temperature, no matter how cold. A useful enchantment in north-lands, especially if she planned to walk out of this war camp and back to friendlier territory. A side effect of sorts, the fur was thicker and much softer than most any fox, or any fur, even the finest royal chinchillas. Moonshade tried breathing through her mouth but it hardly helped, the scent was too strong.

The cloak could be cleaned; simple work for even an apprentice enchanter. As an adventurer of some renown, Moonshade Foxsinger had it done many times before. Though in most cases, the fluids weren’t this color.

She grimaced, reached up, and scooped a wad of rancid orc spunk off the side of the cloak. Spidery lines clung to the clumpy fur then snapped as she pulled away, flinging it into the pile of old pelts beside the now sleeping, very satisfied orc. She reasoned he wouldn’t mind. She scooped off a few more handfuls of jizzum from the matted fox pelts and pitched down, leaving big splatters at her feet.

Moonshade grimaced, regarding her pale, sticky hand. She bent down, found a relatively dry red fox pelt from the pile and wiped a big wet stain across the long hairs. A few more wipes and she tossed it away like a used tissue, catching some lumpy mess she’d scooped off earlier. The smell subsided only slightly, but it was an improvement.

The tall elf moved to the hide tarp covering the hut entrance and slowly looked out.

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