Alex, a mage, watches his elf servant, Lythia, being possessed by a sculptor in the garden, while he struggles with his desire and jealousy on an afternoon charged with lust and submission.
The sun was setting over the adobe rooftops when Alex, still permeated by the smell of old parchment from the Archivium, crossed the gate of his property. Behind him advanced Lythia, the elf who served as assistant, cupbearer, and confidant. Her long white hair fell to her waist, suggesting freshly fallen snow under the orange light. Alex directed his gaze at the grounds without worrying about the books: Lythia's breast bounced gently with the rhythm of each stride, and the roundness of her back broadened into a generous backside that her tunic failed to conceal. He felt the habitual lash of desire that had tormented him since the first day he bought her from a luxury beast merchant.
"Master," she murmured upon seeing him stop. "Is there something you desire?"
Instead of answering, Alex took her by the wrist and led her through the rosebushes of the side garden. The grass smelled of humus and wilted flowers; the wind brought voices from the workshops to the north. There, a few steps from the wicker gazebo, two bodies moved to the beat of a rough rhythm. The recently hired sculptor, a stocky human with an open shirt, was thrusting without pause into the baker woman who brought loaves to the mansion on Saturdays. His thick cock, wet with female juices, went in and out with an obscene splash while the woman gripped the trunk of a cherry tree to keep from falling.
Alex stopped, panting. He did not wish to interrupt; he wanted to watch: each thrust was a pacemaker striking at the base of his own belly. He discreetly felt his crotch; the fabric already marked an insistent bulge. Lythia, attentive, lowered her gaze to her own body and guessed the order forming in the mage's mind. Without waiting for instructions, she knelt on the soft carpet of grass and leaned back, propped up on her elbows, with her legs relaxed to the sides. The green skirt remained stiff over her thighs; above, her shaven cunt opened like a fleshy flower.
The sculptor perceived the presence of the owner and slowed his swaying. His eyes, congested with lust, settled on the offered elf. Alex raised his chin in a brief gesture, a silent sentence without appeal. The man released the baker's waist, barely wiped his cock with the leaves of an oleander, and took two steps until he stood between Lythia's legs. She exhaled in an anticipatory coo.
There were no preambles: one of the stranger's hands parted the wet folds of the elf's sex, the tip of his fingers moistened her once, and immediately he drove the numbed head of his penis into the hot hole. Lythia let out a flute-like moan as the phallus opened her cavity; Alex felt the blow vibrate in his own chest, and the vision of the male sinking his crotch to the hilt caused a burning sting in his groin. The sculptor pulled from the waist and pushed again, marking a frantic rhythm that shook her white buttocks with a soft smack.
He unfastened the elf's bodice with a twist of the wrist; her round breasts, with pink and pointed areolas, projected into the warm air. The man's mouth settled on one of the tits, greedily sucking the nipple between his teeth; he sucked and then switched sides, while each of his thrusts thundered in Lythia's basin. Alex could contain himself no longer: he knelt behind the elf, rested his hips against her buttocks, and felt the vibration of her cunt through the thin partition of flesh. Each of the stranger's lunges compressed Lythia's sphincter against the mage's pubis, which throbbed from the external pressure.
The air smelled of open sex, of trampled rose sap. Alex uncovered his own cock, firm and curved, and rubbed it against the cleft between the elf's buttocks without penetrating her, marking the furrows between the silky flesh while the employee fucked her from the front. Bits of conversation seemed to come from very far away: the man's panting breath, Lythia's subterranean murmur, the buzzing of insects taking advantage of the scene to land on the sweaty skin.
When the sculptor gave his final, disordered heaves, Alex felt the elf's body tense in anticipation of the semen. The man let out a hoarse groan, sank to the bottom, and discharged inside her, with a sudden suction that swelled the veins of his cock. The warmth of the sperm escaped in spurts, drenching the winged creature's uterus. Upon withdrawing, his member hung heavy, dripping whitish drops that fell onto the grass.
Instead of dressing, the laborer collapsed to one side, exhausted. The heat of the day and the orgasm overcame him; in seconds he was asleep, his breathing steady. By inertia, Lythia gathered her skirts to her waist and wrapped the fallen cock between the folds of the fabric, like an improvised phallus-sheath. The sleeping penis remained lodged between her labia majora, like a recently awarded trophy, and the man clung to her waist without waking.
Alex remained on all fours nearby, listening to the pulse of his blood. The viscous semen of another flowed down the inside of Lythia's thigh and glistened on her skin; a glint that made him feel both sovereign and stripped. Envy ran down his throat like a hot knife, but desire sprouted even more voraciously: the vision of the elf possessed by another caused a painful rigidity that tightened his testicles.
He settled beside her on his back, brushed the hair from her forehead, and stroked the silver braid with trembling fingers. The palm of his right hand descended the splendid curve of her hip, settled on the generous body of her rear, and squeezed softly, without hurting. The warm touch of the flesh made him shudder; he closed his eyes and imagined himself inside her, replacing the employee's milk with his own.
"Did you like it?" he whispered near the elf's pointed ear.
She answered with half a smile, her lips wet with semen and pleasure:
"To serve is my duty, master... but the pleasure was sincere."
Alex swallowed hard. He didn't know if it was the pride of ownership or the vertigo of the cuckold that intoxicated him more; he only felt that the night was going to be endless and that the greed of his own cock would not be sated with a simple caress. He wondered, as the night breeze cooled the back of his neck, if he would ever manage to quench that thirst—at once devouring and celestial—or if he was condemned to watch time and again the elf's cunt contracting and welcoming the cocks of others.
The answer was lost in the gloom, mixed with the snores of the sleeping man and the acrid smell of recently spent sex. The garden was enveloped in a false calm, and upon the stained grass, the first-circle mage settled beside his servant, feeling how the slow fire of lust turned into a will-o'-the-wisp—fleeting, irresistible.