The manor lord, Sir Aldric, lay battered from battle, his broad chest heaving as the servant ushered in Backdoor. The elf knelt on the small bed, stomach down, her lithe form bare, short black hair framing crimson eyes that gleamed with ageless mischief. Her youthful allure belied her ancient power. The servant had fled, leaving them alone in the flickering candlelight.
Aldric, though wounded, burned with vigor. His rough hands tugged her panties down, revealing her glistening, perfect pussy. He stared, entranced, his breath catching at the sight. Backdoor glanced over her shoulder, her voice a sultry purr. “Do you not trust in my healing powers, my lord?”
He swallowed hard, arousal warring with pain. “I… I’ve never seen such a remedy,” he rasped, fingers brushing her slick folds. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Then let me mend you,” she whispered, her elven magic pulsing through her core. “Take me, and be whole.”
Aldric groaned, his need overtaking doubt. He pressed himself against her, marveling as her warmth enveloped him, her power seeping into his wounds. “Gods, elf,” he growled, lost in her enticing depths, “heal me… body and soul.”
Esteban Seijo
2025-05-11 07:02:41 +0000 UTCSPARK352
2025-03-28 22:30:50 +0000 UTC