by J. J. Lore
“We aimed to help you, mistress, only that.” Garrin knew that wasn’t quite the whole truth but better to reassure her than reveal he and his mate harbored lustful thoughts toward her. To ease her stress he invoked a small glamour over her, a mere shadow of reassurance and charm.
“But…but…what are you? You aren’t like any men I’ve seen before. Are you from one of the northern kingdoms?” Hanna blinked and attempted to sit up, somehow managing to position herself on Garrin’s lap. His thickened prong approved of the soft buttocks pressed to it. Her expression was sleep softened and gentle, not tense and frightened like before.
“In a manner of speaking,” Lear agreed with her but went still as she reached out one work-worn hand to almost touch the flared point of his ear.
“Was that an injury? How could that be? You both have them.” Her tone went from speculative to confused. Her whole body flinched against his, and Garrin longed for her to move like that when he had his thick prong pressed tight inside her body. However, it seemed there were quite a few impediments to overcome before that scenario would come to pass.
“You aren’t human, are you?” Now she did pull away in earnest, somehow able to overcome the little spell he’d sent her way.
Lear reached out to her cheek and whispered something under his breath and she quieted again, gently shaking her head even as she subsided against Garrin’s shoulder.
“We’re elves.” Garrin believed direct was best, especially when she was somewhat impaired by magic. She moaned low in her throat and Lear again reached for her, smoothing his fingers along her wrists.
“But you don’t exist. The old stories are mere fables and tales. The devil has pointed ears like yours. Or a demon. The cleric says minions of hell can come to steal us away underground where you use us cruelly.”
Garrin wondered what the cleric’s reaction would be if an orc shambled through his church in the middle of a service, or dwarves tunneled out of the vestry floor. As always, the legends and tales of humans cast magical folk as the enemy and blamed them for all the troubles that befell them.
“We aren’t devils or even particularly mean.” Lear smiled at her and she tentatively returned it. How much of her agreeability was due to genuine feeling or the glamour, Garrin couldn’t guess, but the main point was she was calm. “Merely different.”
Hanna raised her hands in the air and shifted her legs, clearly attempting to rise, but Garrin wanted to hold her fast. She might stumble and he would not care to see her injure herself.
“You need to let me go. You need to leave my home,” she declared as she wrenched herself free and tottered between them. Her gaze fell on the boots gleaming like night, and her eyes widened again. “What…are those for me?”
“Yes, Mistress Hanna.” Lear stood from his crouch and reached for the boots, holding them out as the silken laces trailed down.
“This defies all explanation. Mythical creatures in my shop, making me beautiful things.” Hanna’s voice trailed off as she accepted the boots and ran her fingertips along the stitched seams, her hair loosening from the plait down her back. “I should be afraid, screaming for the constable, but I’m not. Why?”
Garrin cleared his throat, sure he didn’t want to tell her the reason.
“We mean you no harm, so there’s no need to be afraid.” Lear nodded encouragingly at her. “Would you care to try them on?”
He knelt at her feet, a supplicant searching for her approval. Abandoning all pretense of aloofness, Garrin joined him, needing to touch her again. He no longer cared about the potentially grave consequences of interacting with her. He craved this sweet-smelling human as he craved wooded glens and waterfalls.
****
Hanna fought the dizziness that circled her like a teasing breeze. Her heart should have been thudding in her chest with terror, but instead, as she looked at the two handsome elves kneeling at her feet, she was simply overcome with how attractive they were. Most men of Arlentown were either prosperously portly and sweaty from too many tankards of lager, or thin and desperate as they eked out a living in the shadows. These elves were altogether different; muscular, tall, and courtly. Their faces featured strong cheekbones, slanted eyebrows, and cleft chins. The points of their ears were barely visible through the thick strands of their deep brown hair. Different but not strikingly so. A warning from one of the old fables her mother had liked to tell threaded through her mind.
“Have you put a spell on me? Did you use magic?”
The two elves glanced at each other. “I did, Mistress Hanna, a small one to calm you when you first saw us,” the burlier one admitted even as a slight blush colored his cheekbones.
“But I removed it soon after,” the other one said, his eyes alight with something she couldn’t make out.
Hanna let out a huff of air as she considered this. They both looked at her expectantly. “But you are magical creatures? Spells and enchantments and making mischief with people?”
“Those are only a few aspects to our way of life,” the serious one said.
“We happen to like humans. Most humans. Humans like you.” The leaner one smiled winningly up at her and Hanna was again struck by the incredible strangeness of the scene.
“Is that why you made me some new shoes?”
They both nodded, their silky-looking hair sliding over their shoulders. They were clad in close fitting suede tunics and pants highlighted with tiny silver studs, and she marveled at the fine workmanship. The garments accentuated the masculine forms beneath and a tightness grew between her legs. The same sensation she’d experienced the summer before when she’d allowed Edwin to take liberties on their walks along the riverbank. Her breath came up short at the recollection. Both men’s eyes narrowed and they studied her intently.
“Please, let us try them on you, to see if we made them correctly.”
She wanted to shake her head but something kept her still. “The others fit well.”
They glanced at each other as if bewildered and she suddenly wanted to make them feel better. Curiosity about them and their kind assailed her. The idea that magical creatures were crouching at her feet, offering her luxurious footgear, made her stomach swoop with excitement and nervous energy. “What are your names? Or is that a secret?”
“I am Lear Seleph and this is my mate Garrin Eandru,” the smiling one said, slowly reaching toward her foot. She should back up, retreat up the stairs and shut her door until they disappeared into the night, but she didn’t. Something about them kept her rooted to the spot. When Lear’s slim but strong fingers met her skin, she shivered from her scalp to her toes in an unstoppable wave. Had they bewitched her? He trailed his fingers from her ankle around to her heel and before she realized what was happening, she raised her foot and he was measuring the sole with gentle prods. Garrin leaned close and stared as if evaluating her bone structure.
In an effort to distract herself from the ticklish but pleasant sensation, Hanna decided to talk. “You are mates? What does that mean?”
“We are lovers, delicate human,” Garrin rumbled, then glanced up, catching her gaze with his. Her mouth gaped open as her mind tried to come to grips with what he’d just said. She’d heard a few whispers, but had never known such an arrangement to exist. Then again, she’d just learned elves were real only moments before.
“So you two…ah…” She couldn’t even think of the correct phrase to use. Not only were such things not commonly discussed regarding more conventional couples, she was simply flummoxed by the mechanics of the thing.
“We enjoy free use of each other and bring much pleasure to our couplings. Mouths meeting mouths, fingers touching flesh, it all brings joy.” Lear seemed to have finished his survey of her foot and as he removed his hand, she shivered again, this time with a chill of loss. He fitted the boot to her foot and to her delight she found it was lined with the softest of suedes as it glided over her skin. Her heel set in the cup perfectly and her toes were safely encased in a pointed toe
. As he lifted the pliant shaft over her ankle and calf, she couldn’t hold back a sigh of pleasure.
“The fit seems to be good, but I really should adjust the laces,” Lear said as he encouraged her to put her weight on it. She balanced uneasily, this heel much higher than the previous pair. As she tottered, Garrin grasped her unshod foot and she leaned forward, instinctively pressing her hands to their broad shoulders for support. The strangely intimate position didn’t feel awkward. In fact, she was glad for the excuse to touch them, if only to reassure herself they were real. Slippery silk slid across her skin as Lear’s quick fingers skillfully pulled the strips of fabric taut. He had to reach high up under her skirt, and the warmth of his hands made her tender skin prickle as he brushed up against her knees. Simultaneously, Garrin was guiding the other boot over her bare foot, repeating his mate’s movements until she was fully shod. Her night rail fell down and obscured most of the beautiful things.
“How is the fit? Is there tightness or pinching anywhere?” Garrin asked as Lear ran his hands along the leather encasing her flesh.
“Can you manage the heel, do you think? We elves like to have some boldness in our stride, but notice you humans favor more prosaic heights.” Lear tilted his head and peered up at her and some openness in his expression made her want to grin at him. Friends with an elf? Was that possible?
“They fit well, better than anything I’ve ever worn.” The unwilling admission made her flush with shame. Her father was a skilled man and had made all her shoes since she was a babe. Who was she to claim he was the inferior cobbler to these magical creatures? She was an ungrateful daughter. As if sensing her unease, both men wrapped their hands around her feet as if to anchor her to the floor.
“A pretty compliment and for that we thank you. Please walk so we may assess the movement.” Garrin nodded at the narrow aisle behind them, hemmed in on one side by a wall lined with shelves of tanned skins and the other by a hanging forest of lasts, one for each inhabitant of Arlentown who’d ever visited the shop.
“I cannot move with you holding me.”
Lear cleared his throat, and Garrin shook his head. They slowly removed their grasps upon her and she stood, for a moment trying to decide if this was a particularly vivid dream, but the reality of it intruded as she took in the felt slippers she had been constructing for the cheese monger, still in pieces on her bench, and noticed a gnawed edge to her stool where Phoebus had been displaying his displeasure. No, this was real and she was genuinely interacting with these elf men in her tiny shop, in the middle of the night, while she was wearing only a nightdress. Again that warm tightness gathered between her legs and in an effort to dispel it, she took a step, then another, the boot’s gentle support of her stride remarkable. They felt so delightful she found herself spinning around once she reached the end of the path to find the elves were still on their knees, their bright gazes affixed to her.
“Simply lovely,” Lear breathed out. Garrin nodded. “But perhaps you might raise your gown a bit, so we can see the tops.”
Surely they didn’t have a prurient interest. They were involved with each other, after all. And who was to say if an elf would even find a human attractive. Just because she was increasingly intrigued by them didn’t mean that feeling was reciprocated. Hanna took a shallow breath and extended her hands down her thighs as her fingertips gathered up the soft linen of her worn gown. With little pleating motions she pulled it up, up, and up even further until the cool air made the exposed skin above her sheathed knees prickle. The elves leaned forward.
“Please come back, I would like to adjust the bows.” Lear beckoned her to return and she trotted back, stopping obediently in front of him and his mate. She shivered a bit as the cool air found its way under her uplifted gown, cooling her warm cunny. Both elves studied the boots as they ran their hands along them, tweaking the laces as she lifted her hem out of their way.
“They don’t chafe your skin, do they?” Garrin ran his fingers under the edge of the boot top, his touch heating her flesh instantly. The powerful sensation shocked her into silence and she shook her head. “Are you sure? Perhaps we need to ease out the stitching a bit.”
Now his palm pressed to the back of her thigh and she swayed his way, mesmerized by his clear green eyes. The thought of him reaching higher, playing with the soft skin and sensitive folds between her legs, made her dizzy for a moment. When Lear’s hand ventured up her other leg, she closed her eyes and swallowed.
“You are beautiful, Hanna,” Lear said in a low, husky voice, and she shook her head automatically to deny the compliment. She wasn’t. She was plain with thin brown hair and an unremarkable face. Not a beauty or even particularly charming.
“You don’t appreciate your appearance? That’s a shame since you please us very much, both in body and spirit.” Lear smiled up at her and squeezed her thigh gently as his other hand rubbed along her calf, the leather squeaking slightly at the friction.
“I please you? But I’m not a man. I don’t have a—” She almost said cock and the thought of that aroused appendage made her face burn and her belly flutter.
“Why should that matter?” Garrin leaned back on his heels and almost let go of her leg and she stepped forward so he wouldn’t lose contact. He glanced at Lear, who was compressing his lips tightly, then looked at her with a slight smile. “We like the form of women as well as men and delight in the differences and similarities. We’d be honored to demonstrate our predilections to you.”
She knew her mouth was open with shocked comprehension, and the air of the shop suddenly felt as if she’d stoked her tiny wood stove with her entire store of wood. So their touches and glances weren’t merely to assess the fit of the boots. In a quick instance she considered the situation. Knowing they might wish to take this meeting to a more intimate level didn’t displease her; in fact, the idea was thrilling if a little intimidating. What would it matter? They would leave after this one night, quick to return to their hidden lands and avoid humans once again. It had been so long since anyone had touched her with pleasure. She remembered Edwin and his gentle fumblings. Her cunny swelled in anticipation of what these skilled men could do, what they’d let her see and touch. Yes, she would relent. Just the thought of losing herself for a time made her smile.
“How do you decide who goes first?” Summoning all the courage she possessed, she reached down and rested her hands on their heads, allowing her fingertips to sink within the warm and smooth strands. Both elves gazed up at her, their eyes alight with carnal promises.
Chapter Three
Lear wanted to laugh out loud. Not only was their little human friendly and appreciative, but she seemed to desire copulation as much as they did. He spared Garrin a glance and was gratified to see his mate peering at her with narrowed, darkened eyes, his expression of aroused interest as familiar to Lear as the sunrise. His mate likely had a ramrod to rival the one now pushing against the soft suede of his trousers.
“We’d prefer to be together, if that doesn’t disturb you,” Garrin said with a low thrum in his voice. Lear watched Hanna intently, searching for any sign of displeasure at the idea. Elves liked group encounters, but he’d come to learn humans, especially those in thrall to clerics, viewed such delights with horror, much as they did many other wonderful things. Hanna’s bright eyes widened and her breasts rose and fell rapidly under the thin linen as she breathed.
“But how does that work?”
“Let us show you. We would never cause you a moment of discomfort.”
Her face, flushed pink, now went nearly red and he drew in a deep breath, hoping to catch scent of her again. There she was, sweet and musky, with a faint, unmistakable tang of feminine arousal designed to entice a lover to lick and suck. She gave a slight nod of her head, and his blood rushed with triumph. Enough talking for now. Once they were underway there would be plenty of time for verbal exchanges as they caressed each other. He rose and held out his hand to her. Only a slight hesitation delayed he
r and soon her fingers were around his. Hanna was staring up at him as if she wanted to read his mind. Those skills were beyond a human’s ken, and his body was directing him now, not any sort of deep thought worthy of expression.
Garrin also stood and collected her other hand. She sent him a shy grin which morphed to a look of bemusement as his mate kissed her fingers. Lear took the next step and licked at her wrist, relishing the way her whole body shook. So responsive. This was going to be a wonderful experience for all of them.
“Are we…is this…” Her soft and hesitating voice thrilled him. Elven women were much more forthright and the idea of guiding her appealed to him greatly.
“Show us where you sleep, where you are comfortable.” Garrin urged her up the stairs and she turned to climb them, slowly letting go of them to grip the rails. The heels of her new boots rang hollowly on the wooden steps as she ascended, and Lear took in the sway of her curved hips under the limp gathers of her gown. They followed close behind and soon emerged into a narrow hallway with three doors. The black-and-white cat they’d met on an earlier nocturnal visit sat on the floor and blocked their passage. His purr rumbled as he rose up on his toes and arched his back, clearly demanding appropriate appreciation. Garrin plucked the animal up and scratched under his chin, and the cat closed his eyes in feline bliss.
“Careful, he’s likely to nip,” Hanna cautioned as Lear ruffled the fur behind the cat’s ears. More purring and a tiny meow resulted. “I don’t understand, he’s usually so grumpy.”
“We have a way of charming animals,” Lear told her, not elaborating that it was also possible to glamour humans in a similar manner. No need for her to wonder if she was doing anything against her will. The idea of engaging in relations with someone impaired by a spell was repugnant. Willingness was the best aphrodisiac. “He’s a fine, arrogant creature and simply requires all around him find him as impressive as he does himself.”
Hanna laughed and reached out to slowly stroke down the cat’s back. He allowed the touch with a flick of his fluffy tail. “His name is Phoebus. My father’s cat.”