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Story Codes: Teen female masturbation, Fantasy, Magic

For a list of all The Knight and the Acolyte, other World of Erasthay stories, maps, and glossaryclick here

Comments are very welcome. I would like all criticism, positive and negative, so long as it’s
constructive, and feedback is very appreciated.

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Click here for Book Five, Chapter 9.

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Xandra – Black Glass Aerie, The Island of Birds

I knelt on the edge of my parent’s nest on the steep cliff my people lived upon, my feet dangling over the side, staring at the black rocks of Mount Peritito choked with vines. I tried not to look at the large pyre being laid on the aerie’s largest outcropping, situated just above the jungle’s top. The large logs had already been laid for the fire and the ground around it swept clear of creeping vines. Young maidens, all newly crossed into adulthood, stamped down the ground, their giggling trills rising up to me.

They all dreamed of the male they would mate. Each had her favorite, the one she would dance for and hope to earn his gaze. But only the most beautiful avian maiden would only have one male in mind, confident to win his affection. I should be down with them. All unmated maidens, by custom, prepared the dancing field.

But what was the point? I had danced before the mating pyre twice before. No male wanted a wife who could not transform into a bird and dance through the skies with him. No male wanted a wife who still possessed her adolescent name.

Xandra.

I had earned the name at eleven when my spirit quest revealed I would serve my aerie as a shaman. My parents had been so proud of me then. A shaman. When they named me at hatching, they chose Sky as my child name. They believed I would soar far. And then I was given Xandra when chosen as a shaman. A good name for a student of spirits.

But at fifteen, when I crossed into adulthood, I failed to transform into a bird. Unlike the other adults else in Black Glass Aerie, I could not take to the skies. I was stuck living on the side of the cliff like a child, denied my adult name.

Tears brimmed my eyes as I looked away from the clearing. I stared up at the darkened sky. Night descended onto the Isle of Birds. The distant Nimborgoth became a dark smear on the horizon. The lights of the halfling city of Baraconia burned like a small beacon on its edge past the dark-green canopy of the Collserola Jungle that surrounded the flanks of Mount Peritito.

I would be stuck here on the ground forever. Flightless. Nameless. Forever an adolescent. No male wanted a wife who could not fly.

I pressed my face into my knees. My skirt slid down my thighs, exposing the pale skin. My tears fell. I shuddered for a few moments, the bitter memories of my first mating dance washing over me.

I had been certain that Obsidian would choose me despite my failure to transform. I could still tend the nest. I was still a shaman. I invoked the elements and helped our people survive. I was important, even if I had no true name or ability to fly. Obsidian and I had been close as children. I was certain he would chose me. He always favored me over the other chicks and hatchlings.

And then I danced before him, my body moving, awakening to my sexual desires. My pussy had grown heated between my thighs while my bare breasts bounced firm before him. I had never exposed myself to a man, but I bared my nubile body before him and the watching tribe, hoping he would lift his eyes and stare at me. I danced and danced, drinking in his gorgeous, black hair and his slim shoulders. He was a pretty male. Exotic.

Black hair was so uncommon.

My soft-blue tresses danced about me as I spun. With every beat of the drum, my body grew hotter, my dance more graceful. I put my all into performing, enticing him. I saw his arousal tenting the front of his blue kilt.

But he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

Tears burned in my eyes when I moved on. My friend, Sapphire, took my spot, dancing before Obsidian. She hardly had to shake her hips when Obsidian looked up at her. How Sapphire had sang, her voice trilling as she fell on his lap. Her moans sang as she gave her virginity to her mate, echoing over the beat of the drums.

I could still remember the way her ass writhed and clenched as she made love to Obsidian. He held her, their lips pressed together, her larger breasts rubbing on his chest. They danced their marriage, undulating together, working towards their shared pleasure.

He was supposed to be mine. But I failed to transform into a bird. The only avian on the Island of Birds who could not enjoy our race’s profound gift.

Wings flapped. I lifted my head. A pair of falcons danced through the air. Not true birds, but avians. I recognized the subtle difference in the pattern of feathers. Sapphire and Obsidian, playing with each other on the currents of winds, screeching their joy at their marriage. They had their first hatchling, a son, only weeks back.

My fists clenched and I stood up, my red skirt swirling about my thighs. I looked away. Sapphire had what should have been mine. Obsidian was so handsome, so wonderful. He hunted in the jungle, bringing back food for the aerie. Sapphire wore the bone and wood jewelry he carved for her.

He doted on her.

I reached the ladder. I was seventeen and forced to climb like a child. I scampered up the wooden ladder. It climbed high towards the next ledge. I stepped off and crossed it for the next ladder leading up and up. I kept climbing, navigating the ledges and nests, working to the highest point of the aerie.

The highest place I could go.

I stepped off the ladder onto the ledge before the Shaman’s cave. It led deeper into the mountain, towards the gem beds and the volcano’s heart, sealed to keep the imps from spilling through the aerie and causing all manner of mischief. And to protect what was entrusted to our Aerie.

I sighed in relief—Shaman Farsight had sought his nest. I was alone.

I did not want to hear my mentor’s reproaches for skirting my obligation to help prepare for the mating ceremony. Since failing to transform, he found fault in everything I did. It didn’t matter how well I shaped the gems for trade, how skilled my digging homunculi were, or how many new beds of rubies or sapphires or topazes I found. My gems were never quite perfect for his standards, my homunculi never quite as quick as they should be, and my gem beds were never quite large enough.

I peered down the mountain. I stood on the edge, my toes over it, and spread my arms like wings. I closed my eyes and savored the wind whipping past me, blowing my hair and rustling my skirt. In my imagination I flew, dancing through the skies, experiencing the true freedom. I could fly away from the aerie, skim across the top of the jungle, float above the city of Baraconia and then out over the Nimborgoth. I would keep flying and flying until I reached distant shores—the desert of Halani, the islands of Thlin, the black wasts of Azi, the Haunted Forest, the mouth of the mighty Tingul.

I could see it all beneath me, small, tiny, beautiful.

I could fly with my mate, our wings almost touching as we spiraled around each other, singing our love. And then we would land in quiet privacy, a hidden glade in the jungle decorated with flowering vines and scented with sweet perfumes.

Obsidian flashed in my mind, so strong, so beautiful, his dark eyes round, his lips plump, his body muscled and slim, his kilt tented with his excitement as he laid me down on the soft moss. His delicate fingers would pull off my top, exposing my small breasts.

My arms lowered as I pictured his hand sliding up my skirt, exposing my slim legs. His hand would brush my thigh, teasing me. A hot shudder ran up my body. I let out a sigh, dreaming of the wonders of love-making.

My hands slid up my thigh and beneath my skirt, touching my flesh in poor mimicry of my fantasy. No male would want me. Only crude masturbation gave me any pleasure.

In my fantasy, Obsidian’s hand reached my pussy. His fingers were wonderful, sliding through the folds of my sex, teasing me, stimulating me. I shuddered and moaned, my toes curling, gripping the ledge’s edge as I caressed my clit and pretended it was Obsidian’s touch.

“My love,” I moaned, rubbing harder at my sex.

Pleasure tingled through me. My mother always whispered that a male’s touch would be far better than my own fumblings. And my own touch was so sweet. I moaned into the night, my nipples hard beneath my top as I rubbed vigorously at my clit.

I circled the nub. My lips moved, pretending Obsidian kissed them. Juices leaked out of my pussy, coating my fingers in my sweet honey. I groaned, rubbing harder as I imagined gripping his dick and guiding it into my pussy.

In my fantasy, I was no virgin but a wife mated before the flock.

“Obsidian,” I panted as I imagined his girth sliding into my sheath. My fingers moved down, caressing my maidenhead. There was one hole just big enough in the membrane for my little finger to wiggle through.

I shuddered as I caressed the insides of my wet pussy. My other hand slid up my bare belly and beneath my sleeveless top, cupping my small breast. I pumped my little finger faster and faster, the heel of my hand grinding on my clit while I pinched my nipple.

You’re so beautiful, my mate, Obsidian whispered. Perfect. Whether as a bird or a woman.

“Yes,” I groaned, the pleasure building inside of me. I swayed in the wind, my hips undulating, humping against my hand. My clit throbbed. “You’re so beautiful, too, my mate.”

Your plumage is so sleek, he moaned in my fantasy, his hips pumping as we made love, my breasts crushed to his chest. I’m so glad I chose you over Sapphire.

I moaned again, tossing back my head. The pleasure crested inside of me. My pussy spasmed about my little finger. The tingles rushed through me. I chirped my delight, my lips pursed, whistling sighs mixing between my pleasure. I swayed more, leaning out over the edge of the cliff and then back.

The sweet release hit my mind. I savored it, held onto it, pretended Obsidian gasped my name as he spent inside of me. I gripped my fantasy, not wanting to let go of my moment of peace and happiness.

Wings flapped.

I squeaked and ripped my hands from beneath my clothing. A large, white roc soared down, landing behind me. I tensed, breathing in, my face flushed as I turned to face the roc. The bird shimmered, the feathers retracting as the form of a man appeared, skin dark-olive, hair a white, wild tangle, papery-skin almost transparent, the veins bleeding through.

“Shaman Farsight,” I bowed, my cheeks burning. How much had he witnessed?

“Have you abandoned the hope that any of our males would want you?” he asked, his voice a dry rasp. “Huh?”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, staring at the ground.

“Good, good,” he nodded. “Let those sweet maidens who have earned their true name dance. Don’t tempt a male with your body. He will never be happy. And what if your chicks and drakes cannot change, huh? Does the aerie need another useless avian?”

“No, Master.” I clenched my fists.

“Good, good,” he nodded, then shook his head. “I understand you have only yourself to care for the hungers of your body, but do not abuse yourself on my ledge, chick. This is holy ground. Do not profane it with your filthy masturbation.”

“Yes, Master.” I rubbed my hands together, one sticky with my honey.

“And why were you even doing on the ledge, chick? Masturbating in the open? Hoping you would lead a male into mating with you? Huh? Looking to break apart a nest?”

“Of course not, Master,” I gasped. “What male in the aerie would cheat on his mate? None in our aerie are so base.”

His eyes flicked at my body. “Do not flaunt your body and tempt them, chick. Go back to your parents’ nest. Watching your display sickens me. I cannot stand the sight of you.”

“Of course, Master.” I bowed. As I turned my head, I noticed the bulge pressing on his kilt.

Something had aroused the old avian. Me? Had I inflamed his lusts? His mate was long dead. Yesrilia died when I was a child. My cheeks flushed. I was tempting him into breaking his marriage dance, any male preferable to loneliness. But the fact Yesrilia was dead did not make my desire to claimed by the old shaman, to settle for something over nothing, any less wrong.

The marriage dance was inviolate, a scared right performed in the eyes of the God Luben.

I fled down the ladder, shame rippling through me. I tempted the poor shaman with my body. I made him ache, and he had only himself for satisfaction. Like me. My cheeks burned the entire way down the aerie to my parent’s nest.

I curled up on the piled feathers, animal hides, and soft moss. I would forever be trapped—not an adult nor a child—in limbo. My body had urges, and I would never have a mate to satisfy them. I would never fly. I would be stuck scampering up and down ladders, useless, a burden on my people.

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Lady Delilah – The Free City of Raratha

The Golden Hunger sailed south for the Island of the Birds, Angela and her companions safely aboard with the second piece of the sword. I watched the pirate ship dwindle as i stood on the roof of the Saltspray Palace. Below, the Doge screamed his orders of revenge, freed from the mage’s fiery prison. Angela’s plan had not worked the way she had hoped.

Her quest would be far harder. Now two rulers wanted her dead.

Doge Aurelius had resources. The exorbitant bounty, 5000 dupondius, would have every sellsword, bounty hunter, and would-be adventurer eager to capture Angela. How could I protect Angela? She was talented, and her companions were skilled, but nothing was ever certain in combat. Luck played as much a role as skill. All my dead husband’s plans would be ruined if Angela died.

“Why did you give me this task?” I whispered, lifting my head to the sky.

The memory of his voice rose in my mind, his final words to me, Because you are strong enough to see it through.

The betrayal of his death still stung, his promises broken by her.

I was strong enough to see it through. The Doge would hire champions, the most skilled adventurous and freebooters he could muster. The most dangerous men and women and monsters he could find to hunt Angela down. I could not stop him short of swooping down and killing the man. And once I started…

I took a deep breath, mastering myself. No, instead I should be one of the bounty hunters.

But which? I considered my disguises and smiled. I knew the perfect alias. I changed my form and soared from the rooftop to make my arrangements.

To be continued…

Click here for Chapter 1.

I have released a part 28 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!