All A Hero Needs Is A Quest 7 (Patreon)

But Karne couldn’t help but think of Sonja. For all Vicca’s beauty, she was of a piece with the world, a thing of flesh and blood—Sonja was a goddess, unbelievable, maddening in her perfection. She was tall as a man, with toned muscle underlying every inch of bronze skin. Her musculature was easily the match of Karne’s, or near any farmer he had ever known, falling short only of the village blacksmith and the oxen themselves.

But there was no masculinity to her, despite that. Her face was lovely and pure as a bowl of warm cream, though her eyes and dark expression held all the ferocity of a storm cloud. Her opulent breasts and wide hips, with corresponding flesh filling out her backside, marked her as womanly as any farm wife or milkmaid. Somehow, her frame shimmied between broadness of muscle and of femininity, dimpling narrowly at the waist and underneath her ample thighs, putting a touch of dainty slenderness on her.

Sonja was not simply power or strength: she was loveliness, delicacy, seduction. Her chosen attire, ridiculous as it might sound, emphasized that merged contrast. She was all-warrior and all-woman. She could be no more warrior if she wore full plate mail. And she could be no more woman if she were stripped bare.

It made her a staggering sight—a vessel of almost religious awe—and Karne could well understand why she dressed as she did. Many must be the men who were stunned, struck dumb, by the sight of her… let alone in battle, slathered with blood and roaring with rage, as so many did before the corpse-rest was theirs.

Even her ruby-red hair was split nearly down the middle, as much vixen as violent. It was the red of blood and, with the light hitting it only slightly differently, it was the red of a warm hearth, as of the fires he and Vicca had shared so many times.

Karne did not feel guilty for thinking of Sonja at this moment. Vicca wanted to get back at the redheaded vixen, and she would do so by pushing Karne’s attraction to her to the zenith and then using it to its fullest. They had all their lives to make love with only thoughts of each other on their minds. But tonight, they would fuck as though to taunt Sonja with what was theirs and not hers.

He pushed Vicca into the pile of fresh hay that was theirs for a bed. She wiggled about to lie with her ass on the edge of its steep incline. Karne knelt down and made her legs drape over his shoulders. He looked up at her and smiled.

“I’d rather have your taste than ever know hers.”

Vicca grinned, compressing an armful of hay behind her head to pillow it so she could look down at Karne’s efforts comfortably. “Pretend it is her taste… and show her what she’ll be missing, what’s mine to enjoy long after our paths diverge.”

She felt the tremor of his lust for her, his desire to please her, animating his tongue as it thrust like liquid fire inside of her. Vicca moaned and shook her head left and right. Her legs ran down his back, the knees bent at his shoulders. Both his hands spreading aside her labia, Karne sucked on her juicy clit. He moved his lips from clitoris to opening, licking inside her and then bathing her clitoris in her own juices.

Vicca laughed richly, ripping handfuls of hay from her bed and hurling them into the air to rain down on their coupling bodies. And if she thought of Sonja with Karne’s tongue within her and his mouth on her clit, then it hardly mattered. It was just more lust to give her beloved.

***

Sonja drank little more after her run-in with Karne and Vicca. The mead had lost what little taste it possessed in the first place. She’d retired to her room with a pitcher of boiling hot water. She threw open the shutters, letting in the deepening chill, then stripped. With a rag and bar of soap, she washed herself—the suds she rinsed off disappearing into the floorboards to whatever was below her in this hell-spawned building.

Outside, the second-story window afforded her a full panorama of stars, slowly wheeling through the night sky. More stars than she could count and luminous celestial bodies beyond descriptions, with clouds of strange colors and dashing meteorites jockeying for position in the primordial sky. It would impress a cityborn how many facets of the heaven were on display—but all Sonja could think of was how much more there was to see in the mountains, where wheeling flames dueled with infinite blackness for supremacy in the world above man’s.

As she washed, Sonja let her eyes grow accustomed to the dark, scanning the unlit streets for any threat. If someone were to attempt her life while she slept, she doubted they’d have much patience—probably they would be nearby, already straining at the leash.

Sonja froze, hearing a noise. Heedless of modesty, she walked to the open window and leaned out, looking around. Was that an animal?

It had been too long since she’d tasted battle. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, remembering the sweet terror of it. Even this meager excitement tasted of that supreme thrill; like a souse convincing himself that a puddle of water at the bottom of a wagon rut held some of the taste of lager, so did her body hunger for war.

“OOOOOOOHH!” The noise swelled and went high. Sonja stepped backward, not knowing what to do. “Oh yes, Karne, do it, yes, do it, DO IT!” she heard the same voice speak, a full octave down from what it had been.

Sonja was shocked. The voice was that of Vicca’s and she had not sounded in the mood for love the last time Sonja had seen her.

The redhead stood there, rooted to the spot, now hearing what sounds vented into the night. Small sounds that were suggestive of far more.

Sonja shook her head and moved to close the shutters against such noise, figuring that how the two farmers dealt with their disappointment was literally no business of hers.

Then a deep cry from the stables stopped her in her tracks again. It could be that Vicca was in danger; that the words she was speaking were forced from her on pain of death. Karne didn’t strike her as the type to take out his frustration on a woman that way, and she doubted there were any malefactors about who would want to playact a loving rendezvous when they could simply take their rapine and have their fun. But then, so too was it unlikely that the farmers would consider her rejection something to celebrate thus.

Her brow wrinkled, worrying the prettiness that both her visitors had noted into a more customary frown of ill humor. She didn’t waste time seeking out wherever she’d dropped each and every last item of clothing she’d rid herself of at the tipsy beginning of her bathing. All she needed was her sword-belt, her boots, and her cloak.

Thus attired… or rather, not… she descended the stairs of the sleeping inn and departed its doors, moving through the streets of this small collection of huts and cabins as quietly as a fox stealing into a henhouse. Nothing moved in this glorified camp and there was no sound beyond what she’d already heard, save the lonely howl of a wolf out in the darkness. She came to the stables and, hand on her sword’s hilt, looked through a gap in the planks.

What she saw fully shocked her back to sobriety, or at least what felt like it. There was no mistaking what she was looking at, no pretending that she had any expectation of saving another woman from rapery. She looked down on Vicca, stark naked, lying immersed in hay like any number of lovers first toying with their own bodies as the farm animals did with each other.

Vicca was in ecstasy, her head thrown back, her lips far apart, her eyes shut, and her arms thrown up into her wild hair. Karne’s hands rhythmically molded her naked tits into the most pliant shapes he could make of them. His rough, working hands gave Vicca’s pale flesh a thrashing Sonja would not have thought her capable of enjoying.

Vicca’s legs reached from one side of the stall to the other, exposing all of her wetly glistening sex to her companion. Sonja couldn’t see his face, it was buried so deeply in the intersection of Vicca’s pale thighs, but he must’ve worn a grin every bit as jubilant as he’d looked forlorn when Sonja dismissed him. His tongue attacked Vicca’s slit like a starving beast and Vicca writhed, twisted, moaned with the abandon of the utterly pleasured.

She suddenly gritted her teeth and let out words of passion like a man might curse full-throatedly. “Eat it, eat it, yes, eat me up!”

And all Sonja could think was that if she’d taken up the two on their offer, how simple it would’ve been to seduce Karne into doing to her what he was now doing to Vicca.