For such a large hulk of a man to be so gentle with a woman like IIyra is a sight that would melt the hardest heart. With her eyes brimming with tears, Tagor slowly untied her dress ties, without taking his eye off hers. Letting the fabric fall to the floor like liquid silk. Now, you would think the first thing on his mind was to rut, which was normal for Njada men, but this time instead, he bent and picked up IIyra and carried her to the furs, laying her down gently in the center. From here, he laid down beside her, not on top. From here, he started to run his calloused hand across her shoulder, down and over each bosom, exploring her with the lightest of touches. There was no kneading, or pinching, just the gentle sweep of his hand. He propped himself up, so that he could gaze upon her fully; capturing her reactions and hearing her breath a sigh.
Njada men did not do this. Not by custom, but deep within their own nature, they had the capability to show such love for a woman, more so than to treat her as an object of lust and to carry young. IIyra had brought this need out of Tagor, to show her such affections.
Feeling a sense of peace overtake her, Ilyra stood still as Tagor reached for the ties of her dress, her eyes on his. The material slipped to the ground at her feet with barely a whisper of sound. She had prepared herself for the roughness of their joining. What she was not expecting was for Tagor to scoop her into his arms and carry her to their furs. He placed her gently in their center before joining her, not on top of her but beside her. Well this was certainly different then his usual behavior.
He ran his large and calloused hand across the skin of her shoulder and down over her chest, exploring her body with feather-light touches that raised goosebumps along her flesh. There was no roughness, no pinching, no biting. It was as if he had discovered something new about her and was savoring each moment.
He had propped himself up on his free arm so that he could stare at her, catching her reactions to his touch.
At the first touch of his hand, her heart had stuttered in her chest. His touch electrified her, causing her to tremble. As he traversed her skin, she couldn’t help the small moans and breathless sighs that teased past her lips.
Shyly, her own hand reached upward to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing across his skin, lovingly. She ran her hand upward over his cheekbone, to his forehead, mapping his strong brow. Down the bridge of his nose, across his lips, which he kissed as they moved over him. Down his neck and across his broad shoulders. She felt a deep scar there, thick and rigid and decided to ask about it at a later time. Down his chest, over his pectoral muscles, brushing gently across his nipples and through the sparse hairs of his chest.
Gulping, for she’d never voluntarily had done anything of the sort, she ran her hand down his body and over his rigid manhood. She made an “O!” of surprise at how soft it felt. And it had been inside of her body. The thought of it made her flush with heat. She reluctantly released him and continued exploring the rest of his body, her hand moving down his thigh, the furthest point she could reach without moving away from him, before she let her hand follow the same path upward toward his back. The rounded globes of his arse were a temptation she couldn’t ignore and she gave them a light caress before she released him.
Her gaze was caught by his and she inhaled sharply, seeing the love he felt for her shining in their depths.
“Tagor.” she whispered, the emotions she was feeling making her skin glow with her own light. Was this love? Is this what she was feeling? She took a moment to examine it and found that, yes, she was in love with this man. Was it only yesterday she was tied to a pole and ready to be sold? How could love happen so quickly?
She could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head…
“Love sets no time limits, has no set day, doesn’t conform to the standard practices and rituals involved. When it happens, it simply is. You cannot run from it…you cannot fight it. To the world you might be one person, but to one person you might be the world. **Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.**
Her hand stopped at the back of his neck, brushing lightly over his skin as she waited. She was so unsure of what to do and was counting on him to lead her in the right direction.
“My love.” she whispered.
**As quoted by Kahlil Gibran
Njada men are traditionally very set in their ways. To them, sex had two purposes; one to be as a release for their lust, and the second to produce young. There was no time for intimacy, or just sharing with another the simple pleasures of touching. What Tagor had set out on, when he laid his woman down on the furs, was a chance to not only explore her body with his hands, but allow her to do the same. Normally this was simply not done. Women were either held down, and mounted, or encouraged not to touch, unless advised too.
Tagor found a sense of wonderment in watching IIyra’s skin glow with a magical aura as his hands passed over her skin. Though rough and calloused from combat and labour, he was still able to show a gentleness that could not be imagined. The Njada leader’s eyes reflected the candle light as he withdrew his hand from IIyra and found that she had now worked up the courage to touch him. Tagor actually found her soft and delicate hands to be extremely pleasurable. Like electricity shooting through him as she let her fingers wander, and explore every scar and ever bump of his skin. He even had to suppress a light chuckle when she gasped at handling his girth. It was one thing to experience in mating what it felt like to have his member pushed inside her folds, but quite another to be handling it; stroking it lovingly. Tagor was of size, it was without question, and when they did join together, it had to be done gently at first, for he was simply so large he could easily hurt her.
Keeping his hands to himself as she continued to let her fingers dance across his skin, was becoming increasingly difficult, but he kept himself under control, till the point where she was so aroused from their play that she would want his touch again. Sure enough that would come, as her fingers lightly stroked the back of his neck. Eyes imploring him to lead the way. She was so accustomed to being used just for pleasure for the male, not for her own sake.
“My love.” Her voice was whisper soft, as she gazed into his eyes, and he returned this by smiling at her fondly.“IIyra…treasured.” Tagor growled, though his tone was not aggressive, just how it sounded when it reverberated off his chest. Now that they were discovering each other, he decided that they would continue this, only in a manner that would lead them both to sexual fulfillment. Long ago, one of his slaves from the spice nations, had shown Tagor a few positions from a book called the Kama sutra. He gently rolled IIyra onto his stomach, however her back would face his chest, and her buttocks would be resting upon his lower stomach. Using his large hand, he parted her legs so in effect she was straddling him, but he moved his thick member in between her legs, so with its natural curve it now sat plump against her folds. The point of this was, as they both started to move, his member would tease her clit, by sliding up and between, while him being on his back, he had access to touching her breasts at will. The more aroused that IIyra became, the easier it would be to have her mount from this position, propping herself up with her palms, whilst her bottom would roll and turn as it rested on his stomach. It was both a way of being close, without the bulk of Tagor upon her, and also gave her the chance to be well lubricated from the stroking play before hand. Tagor took to task and began to lift his hips ever slightly, enough to have his member slide against her sensitive lips, while tilting her head with his free hand, so he could steal a kiss as she had her face partially towards his. It was something new, and ideal to help her learn that she too deserved pleasure from their lovemaking.
Laying on his back, he nudged her body over his, moving her around until she was straddling his stomach and facing his feet. His thick member was pressed against her womanly folds, warm and pulsing and she gasped at the sensation. His hands wrapped around her hips and held her as he slowly canted his hips upward, sliding against her moistening heat. Her eyes slid closed and her head fell back against her shoulders, her hair lightly brushing against his chest as it flowed behind her. He caught her lips in a kiss that set her soul aflame with desire.
Her skin glowing, her body throbbing, she moaned lightly as her hips rolled over his. There was something about this that seemed instinctual, though she’d never been the initiator of sex before. It was as if this was something her body already knew how to do, despite the newness of it. She slid forward against him, then back until the head of him was set to press inside of her. She inhaled sharply at the feel of him, poised at her entrance. And how she wanted him with every fiber of her being.
She rose upward a fair bit and slid down slowly, feeling the press of him against her. She wanted this…wanted him. Her body vibrated over him and it seemed the universe held its collective breath to see what would happen next. She pressed down, feeling him press hard. There was a dull pain as she did this, but she didn’t let it stop her. Pain she was used to. Her body’s natural response acted as a lubricant and not even a moment more, with a slight pop, he was inside of her. She gasped, her eyes flying open, and if one were to look, they would see that her pupils were blown with desire and need. A low moan teased her lips. She paused in her movements, body straining to adjust to his thick girth. He was only a few inches within her and yet she felt every single inch of him as if he were fully seated. Her fingers were clenched in the meat of his thighs beneath her as her body slowly began to adjust, allowing him to slide into her inch by agonizing inch. He must have had the willpower of the gods to simply lay beneath and not just thrust forcefully into her and causing her irreparable harm.
When there was but a few inches left between her and the ultimate pleasure, she took fate into her hands and pressed down and hard. She cried out as he breached her fully, the light of her magic making her skin glow brightly. Her head fell forward, her shoulders shaking with suppressed need as she throbbed around him.
“Ussta ssinssrigg, ussta ssinssrin, ussta ssrig’luin.” (“My love, my desire, my need.”) she moaned, her voice taking on a husky quality never heard before. The glow of her light was bright and to anyone passing by their tent, it would look as if the fires had been banked high within.
Feminine instinct took over and Ilyra began to move her hips in a sensuous dance. Her body, long suppressed by her slavery, moved of it’s own accord, rotating over Tagor’s as she pressed her hands behind her against his chest. She moaned as she felt the press of his hard length against that spot within her that had her seeing stars. He allowed her to set her own pace, growing more and more comfortable with her own body and what it desired.
“Tagor…love me…” she breathed, her body straining for a release of not only body, but mind and soul. To be truly connected to her mate on the most intimate of levels.
Would he give her what she sought? Would he take his pleasure and not allow her to achieve her own? Or would it be a mutual release, design to connect them on a level neither had felt before.
The air was heavy with the magic leeching from her body, little pinpoints of light dancing around the tent and caressing against Tagor’s bronzed skin. It wasn’t painful, far from it. Every move she felt, he felt in return. It was as if he were seeing what she was seeing, feeling what she was feeling, as they were no longer two separate entities but one mind, body, heart and soul.
A light sheen of perspiration coated her skin as her passions ignited. She was breathless with feeling so much at once, she felt lost. His hands on her skin kept her anchored in the here and now. The tension she’d been dealing with for so long began to ebb away under his tender mercies.
Her cry was almost breathless, as her natural instinct brought her to move her body of its own accord. IIyra’s voice had a husky quality as she seized this new wave of desire, that was bringing her a feeling of euphoria she had never before known. She was doing well, accepting his girth a bit at a time, and slowly easing onto him. The pain and pleasure meshed together, while her body started the rhythmic hip rolling, only getting her lower and lower. Tagor grunted with pleasure at the feeling of tightness from her; muscles working to grip his shaft, while at the same time lubricated with her hot sex. But now IIyra wanted more. Not just for Tagor to lay there and be used, she wanted him to bring her more pleasure. He obliged, by licking his large digits, then reaching around as she gyrated. A single finger stroked between her lush folds, while his other free hand came to clamp over her right bosom. His hands were huge, and with the roughness of his skin against the suppleness of hers, the sensation would evoke a new wave of desire. Not hard kneading, for that was not needed. Tagor teased her nipple by pulling on it, and then cupping her breast, as another finger joined the first down between her legs. With the combined sensation of being stroked, along with his engorged member sliding in and out at a speed she controlled, this would be what bring IIyra to climax.
Her excitement at that moment, her moans and cries, as he pleasured her were only reawakening his own needs, and his hips started to lift off the furs, bouncing her a little. Tagor was incredibly strong, and probably didn’t know just how powerful he could be, but right now, he had a goal, and that was to have her scream his name; begging for more. She would be a Njada woman…and be proud.
As his fingers pleasures her, as his hand teased at her breast, she clenched tightly about him, her breath catching in her throat as the ultimate pleasure rolled through her like a tidal wave.
“Tagor!” She cried out loud, her entire body freezing in place as pleasure swept her away. Her breath left her in a long drawn out moan as her body welcomed him into her. She trembled violently in his grip, wanting to move away from him but wanting more from him at the same time.
Now would be the opportunity he’d been waiting for; to make her his completely. A strong and capable Njada woman.
Ilyra’s cry could not only be heard in the privacy of their tent, but also outside the tent. A cry so loud that it had many stop what they were doing. The mate of Tagor had become full Njada, experiencing the wonders of a full orgasm. Tagor held her still as she froze upon him, her long wail like music to his ears. It was rare to hear a woman make such sound, and she was trembling so violently, he knew of how to finish.
Gently he rolled her onto her side, and the large Njada warrior moved in behind her. Making sure she was comfortable, as she came down from the dizzying highs. He brushed back her angelic white hair from her neck, taking his time, as he positioned himself in behind her. Tagor murmured into her hair as he lined the head of his still hard member to her dripping folds, and then eased himself in a bit at a time. With one leg draped over both of hers, he held her in place, and then started to slowly move his hips, pushing himself in and out as though savoring each moment he was inside her. Tagor wrapped an arm around her and burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. She could feel the warmth of his breath as he made each hip thrust; a delicious grunting sound as he completed her. IIyra though having come herself, could feel an incredible closeness, the very love of this man as he bound her in his arms, protecting her and loving her all at once. He didn’t speed up, but kept the constant rocking, which was building as his size increased inside her. Finally, he was short of breath, and the last two hip thrusts came. He released a sound, that was muffled through her skin, much quieter than normal. Filling her and then continuing to hold her close to him, as the candles burnt brightly around them. Tagor’s hands wandered to her stomach, and there they lay.
They had not just mated, but made love. It was the beginning of their lives as a couple. The leaders of the Njada.
She was aware of when he slipped slowly from her and she made a little sound of disappointment. It didn’t last long as he pulled her down beside him, spooning her from behind. She felt the brush of his hand in her hair, pulling the damp strands away from her neck as he pressed in close. He murmured something she didn’t catch as he eased himself into her once more. She moaned his name, pressing the back of her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed as he draped a large leg over hers. She shivered as he thrust into her still throbbing core, her overstimulated organs squeezing tight around him as this angle allowed him to go deep within her. His movements were slow and Ilyra couldn’t help but feel a sense of closeness at this act.
He wrapped an arm around her, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck, his warm breath ghosting across her skin. Each thrust within her would be accompanied by a grunt of pleasure from him, causing her to moan and arch her back, meeting his thrust with one of her own. He neither moved too fast nor too slow, but a constant steady pace that kept her on edge for moments at a time.
His name, whispered on a sigh, as she felt him expand within her. He made a sound behind her, muffled against her skin as he finally reached his own peak, thrusting twice more before stilling, his body rigid against her back, throbbing within her and filling her with his seed. An answering throb from herself, her breathing synced in time with his own.
He didn’t release her from his embrace, nor did he remove himself from her body. His hands wandered to her stomach and remained in place. Her own small hands joined against his upon her stomach where their child slept in her womb, her fingers tangling with his, content for the first time in her adult life.
No words were spoken between them. None needed to be said.
What Ilyra hadn’t realized then, was that by the releasing of her magic inside of their tent, surrounding Tagor with her love and commitment, bonded him completely to her. She was his mate, yes, but the reverse was also true. As the father of her child, as the mate of a Winter Elf, the bond between them signified that Tagor would be unable to take another woman to his furs, no woman may touch him in return without causing himself and Ilyra some sort of pain. And if he were to die, she would die with him for elves could not bear to live without their bondmate.
She had been taken from her homeland before this was explained to her and she did not know of it.
It would be something they would discover together, most assuredly.
The new day dawned for the sleeping couple, who had enjoyed the closeness and warmth of each other throughout the cold of the night; wrapped within each other’s arms in the large pile of furs and cushions. Tagor was the first to stir as he could hear the sounds of a village coming to life, as many started their days early. Gently, Tagor eased himself from Ilyra as she lay sleeping soundly. She looked so utterly beautiful, her skin aglow and still warmed from being held. He placed a large fur across her body to maintain his warmth, as he rose to standing, and stretched himself out. The Njada chief was of course hungry after not eating a terrible lot at the feast, and he also needed to wash. There were special water gourds kept in the tents for bathing, and he strode over and picked one up, pouring water across himself, before picking up a special soap bar, that he rubbed himself vigorously with, before cleansing off with more water. A quick rub down with a large cloth, which he hung on a rope that ran across one of the roof sections, before going to get dressed in his pants and large belt, that covered a fair portion of his stomach. Later, he would ask IIyra to braid his long hair as it was customary for his mate to do so, but for now he would let her sleep.
Tagor now ready for the day, looked down at his pregnant mate, and smiled at her as she slept. She would wake up soon enough, and by then there would be slave girls to prepare her for the day. He would make sure of that. Sharma would still be out of action after defending IIyra against Marmut, and Tagor had plans to go pay her a visit later. But, first things first, and that was to tend to the horses, and also ride out to the scouting position to see what the neighboring clans were up too. If they had moved settlements into their lands or not. This was not uncommon, but the Njada did not take well to such things and there was usually disagreements that ended in violence, unless some sort of deal could be struck.
Heading out to the main horse enclosure, Tagor was met by one of his leading men, Bsar. They exchanged a handshake, gripping each other’s forearm, before going to mount their horses. Bsar asked. “You slept well, Tagor?” Tagor had a bit of a smug expression, and replied. “Mhmm…Mate very good to Tagor.” Both men laughed as they rode out to the scouting cliff.
She remained asleep long after he’d gone and only woke when the slave girls who tended her before the feast entered the tent, one shaking her gently awake.
Gray eyes met green and she sat up with a yawn, not bothering to pull the the furs up to cover herself.
“Good day, Ilyra. How did you sleep?”
“I slept well, Mija. Thank you.” Ilyra smiled as she climbed to her feet.
“You wish to see Sharma today?” Mija asked as she and Senji washed the evidence of Tagor and Ilyra’s lovemaking from her body and helped her dress for the day.
“I would, if that is all right.”
“She is asking for you. We will take you to her after you have broken your fast.”
“Agreed.” Ilyra nodded, moving to the platters of food they had brought with them.
Once she’d taken her fill, she was lead through the village, surprised when some of the younger children ran up to her and touched her gently before running off with giggles of delight. She looked at Mija in wonder.
“Word has spread you are true mate of Tagor, true Njada woman.”
“How do they know?”
“Several heard you and Tagor upon your furs.” Senji shrugged. Ilyra felt her face heat in extreme embarassement. “Do not be ashamed of this. It is proof you can provide for mate, proof that he need not seek furs of others for Tagor has pride in mate and family. No shame in that.”
It was the second time someone had told her not to be ashamed of what she had with Tagor. It seemed the Njada were a prideful people and by certain actions and deeds, proved their worthiness to the rest of the people. Ilyra would endeavor to overcome feeling ashamed of these things.
She was lead to Sharma’s side and spent some time with the young woman who had defended her with her life. She took time to use her magic to heal the worst of her bruises but the others would have to heal naturally. The medicine woman thanked Ilyra for her help with a smile to the young elf, stating that now Sharma would heal much faster and be back at Ilyra’s side in a few days time instead of a few weeks.
Letting the woman sleep, Ilyra rejoined Mija and Senji, who lead her around the village to show her how they lived. There were women who weaved baskets, women who made breads and meats, worked in the fields to harvest crops and those who took care of the young ones who couldn’t care for themselves. There were even elders who teached. It was a communal society where everyone worked together and no one was for themselves.
Surprising even the slaves, Ilyra offered to help where she could, in the fields with the other women and even learned the art of basket weaving. Using her magic, she fortified the baskets so they would last longer and even carry water and other liquids without losing a drop. In a way, she brought her own help and worthiness to the Njada people.
And she enjoyed every moment of it.