Lord of the Forest Read online

  Hella was here. His favorite.

  Vane propped his head on one hand and watched her play in the flame. The fireplace was so high that a full-grown mortal could stand upright in it. Hella, beautiful Hella, had all the room she wanted.

  She was naked, of course. Her fiery blue breasts were tipped with red, and a juicy slash of red showed between her legs every time she bent over and spread her legs.

  He could watch her for hours.

  Right now she was straddling the giant log and pressing her cunt to it with lascivious little cries. No matter how hot it got, Hella wanted it hotter.

  A smooth branch had escaped the devouring intensity of the flames and she grabbed it to keep her balance. Then she looked over her shoulder wickedly at her one-man audience.

  They had the same idea. The branch was rounded on top, broken off so long ago that the weather or waves had smoothed to the size and shape of a cock’s head. As for its length—he looked down at his lap—his rod was comparable. “Go ahead, Hella.”

  The fire nymph laughed and rose up from the log, sticking a slender blue finger into her scarlet labia. The fire within her made them pulse color that was deeper still. Extending her leg high in the air to give him a good show, she lay back on the log and spread her cunny apart.

  Look your fill.

  He did. He noted with more than passing interest that her clitoris was an incandescent blue amidst the scarlet of her innermost lips. The contrast was enchanting. Her blue finger parting those pretty petals, exciting herself as she thrust it dreamily in and out—my, my. The fire nymph was sin-scorchingly hot.

  “The branch,” Lord Vane said to her encouragingly. “Smooth and shapely, is it not? As if it was made to penetrate your hot cunt. Move up on the log.”

  Hella obeyed. She turned her bottom to him, swaying and dipping.

  She was maddeningly delicious. Her new pose was even better. Lord Vane undid his breeches and pulled out his cock. “Spread for me, my dear. Show me everything.”

  The fire nymph reached around and clasped her beautiful buttocks, pulling the shapely blue globes apart for his delectation. She gave him an impertinent grin over her shoulder again.

  Wanton as she wanted to be. Like a temple whore, she danced in place, showing off what the gods had given her: a tightly folded pussy framed by a sweetly curved ass that was punctuated with a barely visible anus in deeper blue. Her flawless skin shimmered as her own arousal increased.

  He wanted to bury his face in her, have her push back, back, back. She liked to enfold his face with her buttocks, and allow him to take a taste of her fiery pussy, slipping in his tongue whenever she stopped. Knowing what was coming, Hella sang to herself, her voice flickering in pitch, changeable as the flames she’d stepped out of. Then she rose and positioned herself over the round tip of the branch.

  This was going to be hotter than…Hella. Lord Vane straightened on his throne.

  Hella put the tip between her labia, its unburned whiteness a startling contrast to the scarlet flesh that would soon take it deep. With erotic slowness, she eased her body down upon it, twisting and turning, riding the thick prong that seemed to have been made for her alone.

  He got up and came closer, standing by the fire, much taller than Hella, who stayed inside the blackened frame, looking up at him as if she too were glad to have company.

  Then he saw the reason she seemed to be experiencing even more pleasure this time. The round-tipped branch had a bump at its base, just as smooth. The perfect thing for clitoral pressure.

  Rubbing, rubbing, she was shameless. Gripping the top of the burning log, her slender fingers started new little blue fires all over it. The log itself creaked and moaned, coming to a final burst of life under her.

  Indeed, his Hella could raise a dead demon with what she was doing. She let go with one hand and reached between her legs, fingering the incandescent blue bud as she pleasured herself on the white wood branch.

  What magic kept it from bursting into flame inside her, he knew not. But the fire nymph would not have minded. She twisted and bounced, boneless and utterly free to move however she wanted.

  In her ephemeral way, she was an immortal. Yes, she vanished when the fire burned down to gray ashes, but she reappeared when the next one was lit. If she wanted to.

  What few visitors he had seemed to suffer from the heat of the constant blazes, but that was just too bad for them. Lord Vane preferred to be alone. Hella was worth waiting for.

  He stroked his heated shaft, moving his hand around and down and up again. The increasing length of his cock made the fire nymph’s eyes spark with lust.

  “Do you want that in your pretty mouth?” he asked her in a low growl.

  Every inch.

  She turned halfway around so that her face was turned up, and smiled wantonly, licking her lips, waiting for a taste of him. Like her labia, the inside of her mouth was pulsing scarlet. Her tongue was pure fire, flicking, changing color.

  He knew only too well how eagerly it licked. The narrow tip could lengthen and wrap around his aching cock, pulling the head more deeply into the scorching recesses of her mouth, setting him on fire, swallowing every inch just how she’d said.

  And that tongue of hers could soften and lap him tenderly until he cried out her name and begged to be sucked to orgasm.

  Yes, the great lord of the Isle of Fire knew how to beg. She seemed to take a particular pleasure in seeing him do it. She’d had him on his knees more than once, his craving for her was so strong. But not tonight.

  Come over me, my lord.

  Her extraordinary flexibility made fellatio effortless. Arching her back, she met him halfway but stayed within the blackened walls of the enormous fireplace. He leaned, impervious to the flames. The pulsing mouth that took his cock had learned the art of fellatio well. She never, ever gagged, and she sucked hard, even if she was as insubstantial as air.

  Ah, the heat…Lord Vane felt a sensation of melting mindlessness that was equaled only by the stiffness of his member. Naughty bitch that she was, Hella played with his balls, showing him no mercy, spanking the swollen sac between his legs, knowing it was filled to bursting with her favorite treat: lava.

  She loved the blazing spurts he produced without fail, reveled in leaning back when he wanted to cover her blue breasts with shot after shot of fiery ejaculate, putting out her tongue to catch any wayward drops that missed her body.

  Tonight he wanted to come in her mouth. She craved that too, voraciously swallowing the urgent scarlet rush as it pulsed from his cock hole, milking him with flame-fingers to get more and more.

  His fire girl. How he loved her.

  Hella wrapped her lips around the base of his excruciatingly sensitive member and fluttered her tongue against the underside of it.

  He was damned if he would give in so quickly. But damnation was exactly what he wanted. Her fingers explored farther, pressing on the ridge of flesh in back of his scrotum, forcing him faster and faster to an explosive new high.

  He groaned and shuddered, letting his cock disappear into her mouth and down her snug throat. She had no need to breathe—the only air she required came through her bare, blue skin.

  His excitement reached fever pitch. Tiny new flames, delicate as jewelry, sprang up here and there on her nude body. She was infinitely combustible, she was his, he was hers—oh! By the gods of all that was unholy!

  She stopped what she was doing and used her tongue to ease out his cock.

  Controlling himself and knowing she played the trick to make the pleasure last, he methodically pumped his agonizingly hot rod while she smiled in an enchantingly wicked way. He had forgotten that the smooth, round-tipped branch was still inside her, in part because she’d twisted at the waist as no mortal female could ever do. She rode it for a while, gripping the log as before without looking at him.

  I like to make you wait.

  “But am I not your lord? Do I not command you, Hella?”

  When I want you to.<
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  She began to press her clitoris against the bud at the bottom and he noticed burn marks upon its whiteness each time she pulled away. Hella enjoyed more intense stimulation in the moments before her climax and she was giving it to herself now, ignoring him.

  It was not to be endured.

  Lord Vane reached into the fire and hauled his blue lady out. His masterful action brought out the bitch in her again and she tried to get away, but he was too fast for her. There was no need to hold her prisoner. None whatsoever.

  All he had to do was clasp each of her nipples and he did, employing finger and thumb in a slow, firm roll that melted her for a change. Writhing with erotic joy, Hella surrendered, raising her breasts in her flaming hands, offering her nipples up for his teasing, highly sensual control.

  Ahhh, my lord. You know exactly what I like.

  “Then why do you make it difficult for me to give it to you?”

  Harder!

  More firm rolls of tight nipples, standing out scarlet from her hot blue breasts. More moans. How he loved to see her like this, at his command, at least for a minute or two.

  To his surprise, Hella cried out his name. Once, then twice. She leaned against, twining her arms around his neck and murmuring in his ear.

  That was good…so good.

  “Did I make you come?”

  Yes.

  Well, then. She was in for the ride of her flaming life. He turned her around, bent her over, and penetrated her to the hilt. Hella moaned with the echoing pleasure of her own stealthy orgasm as his hit him full force. He pounded against her soft bottom, increasing the sensitivity of his over hard cock with ever deeper thrusts, craving her heat, excited to new heights by the intensity of their lovemaking, something only Hella truly inspired in him.

  He came in gigantic spurts, the lava in his balls filling up a quim already so tight and lusciously hot that he wanted to scream.

  She knew it, took him higher still with sensual undulations of her hips and buttocks, making him moan. He was weak, but he was in heaven. With her.

  “Hella…”

  She didn’t speak, enjoying the last reverberations of his mighty climax more than her own, until finally he heard her one-word reply.

  Yes?

  “I think I—”

  No, you don’t. Besides, I don’t really exist. You can’t love a woman made of fire.

  “Why not?” His question came too late. She slipped out of his grasp and went back into her element, indistinguishable from the other flames that leapt and danced and made men dream.

  Several nights later, sprawled in his black-sheeted bed, the Lord of Fire could not sleep for wanting her. She hadn’t come back. His restlessness was new and it upset him. Why did he feel this way? They’d had incandescent sex before—many times. Hella knew a thousand variations on the theme of a truly hot night.

  It was true that sometimes he dallied with another nymph of lesser talent—come to think of it, a naughty cousin of hers had been carrying a torch for him for a while and begged him to satisfy her curiosity about him as a lover. They had parted on good terms. Had Hella heard of it? She prided herself on not being jealous.

  Or…this thought was truly alarming…had she taken a different lover? Someone more potent than the Lord of Fire?

  He scowled and flung back the covers, too troubled to bother with masturbating himself to sleep. He would only think of her and become more agitated.

  He rose from the bed, tying back the black hair that fell to his waist with a piece of silk. Red, of course. A souvenir of his first encounter with Hella and something he kept always by his bed. She’d taken the ends of it, stepped between them, and pulled up the taut, soft silk into her swollen labia, soaking it just for him after he had given her a magnificent fucking with only his long, hot tongue. The material was still supple and it still smelled of her.

  Where was she? Beautiful blue bitch that she was, he missed her dreadfully.

  He went to his personal scrying pool, a smallish one he’d had installed in his bedchamber. It was filled with volatile oil that sometimes caught fire when a spark got that far. Tonight it seemed sluggish and dull. He saw nothing and moved away from it toward the window that looked out onto the other Arcan islands in the archipelago.

  The full moon was brilliant in the clear dark sky, and it was possible to discern fires along the shorelines of the Forest Isle. Had the revelers attending the Midsummer solstice stayed on?

  The event always caused trouble for Marius of one kind or another. But Vane knew better than to go over. The Lord of the Forest’s talking trees had fainting fits the second the Lord of Fire stepped foot onto the island. In any case, he had not been summoned.

  He looked elsewhere, to Gideon’s island, the Island of Mists. The lair of the Lord of the Dark was shrouded in it. Vane supposed that the winged one was safe inside his labyrinth of caverns, lying with his love, Rhiannon.

  How nice for them both, he thought bitterly.

  His heated blood raced in his veins. Late as it was, he could do with a dip. Would Marius mind if he swam over through the subterranean tunnels that connected one isle to the next?

  The shady pools in which the tunnels ended were delightful places to loll and there was always a chance of a tryst with a naked naiad. Of course, a water spirit could never set him on fire like the incomparable Hella, but they were fun to catch, squirming deliciously and pretending to protest as they took full advantage of his famously long shaft. All he had to do was sit down naked, spread his muscular thighs, and beckon. They were happy to sit down right on his lap, their sinuously curved backs and napes presented for his kisses. His shaft filled the smaller ones to the limits of their tight cunnies. Feeling cool, moist buttocks against his thighs while abundant breasts filled his enormous hands would assuredly calm him down.

  He would pull the excited naiad off before the hot lava in his balls shot out, letting her wriggle in the air and marvel as his scarlet, scorching ejaculate arced over the water of the pool and formed pretty drops of volcanic glass in its depths for her to dive for.

  His own arid domain afforded him no such amusements.

  Vane resolved to swim over then and there.

  Deep underwater, his fire banked by his leathery skin, he counted the twists and turns, figuring out where he was and popping up in a pool that seemed familiar. An aged willow draped its feathery leaves over one side of it, murmuring to itself in Treeish. Vane couldn’t make it out and didn’t care.

  The moon hung above, heavy and full and glowing white. Vane dipped back down again when he heard a rustle but saw nothing. It was even more fun to get a naiad by her slender ankles and make her fall upon his naked, dripping body. He knew and they knew that they came to the pools for the same reason, especially during a full moon: to indulge their sensual appetites.

  He rose again, squeezing the cool water out of his long black hair, and realized he’d lost the scrap of silk from Hella.

  Somehow it seemed like a bad omen. He began to walk out of the water, not making a single splash as he did. He saw not a soul, female or male. A sense of fiery frustration made his body steam faintly in the moonlight. Had the lusty female spirits of the forest all moved to a vestal nunnery? The thought was infinitely depressing.

  Bah. His long swim had been a waste of time.

  And then he saw her. She was a glow of white that he had at first assumed was moonlight on a wet rock, so still did she lie. She took no notice of his presence, paying homage with her naked body to the heavenly sphere that hung in the night sky.

  The most beautiful naiad he had ever seen was about to mate with the moon. Its shimmering reflection in the water pointed directly between her opened legs. In a little while, when it had reached the highest point of its rise in the sky, its changeable light would penetrate her to her core.

  Her orgasm would be as changeable and subtle. How eagerly she must be anticipating the moment. Thighs of pure white parted as he watched—no, they were pressed apart by her
hands, spread wide and welcoming. She touched a fingertip to pink labia fringed with jet curls, as black as the wealth of wet hair that straggled over the rock underneath her.

  Then she touched her clitoris and a shudder ran through her entire body. Demurely she withdrew her exploring finger and moved her hands to her breasts. Above her plump quim was a rounded belly that begged to be squeezed, and, instantly erect, he watched avidly as she strained upward, playing with her pink, high nipples. The solitary naiad was as round and full as the moon itself. All in all, a succulent offering.

  He would not dream of disturbing her. He had only been looking for some slap-and-tickle, and an uncomplicated mutual release. This unknown naiad was a vision of unearthly sexuality. Vane had heard of moon-mating but never seen it.