What's a Bitcher, you ask? Why, the Bitchers were once so prominent that everycity from Leonhold to Highmark had their own school of 'em! Strange and powerful people, the Bitchers were trained to defend humanity against all those things that the rest of us are afraid of: Monsters, ghosts, witches and vampires, werewolves and the various other things that go bump in the night.

But of course, what the Bitcher quickly became known for, rather than their monster slaying, was their, well... their monster *laying, if you will. Endowed with superhuman stamina and strength, and the skills to put both things to good use, the Bitchers quickly learned that most of the monsters out there were just as happy to leave the rest of humanity alone so long as they got enough good, hard dick to keep them satisfied - most monsters are, as a point of fact, terribly sexually frustrated, hence their bloodthirst and rampaging on good an' honest folk - and so it soon transpired that the Bitchers began to disappear from the world, swayed by the siren song of fey and dryads, as well as actual sirens, unsurprisingly. And without any Bitchers to train new Bitchers in the art of Bitching - no, not like that - they soon became a rare and strange sight, and people began to resent them for their annoying habit of screwing anything female and humanoid. Marriage vows and promises of betrothals never did mean much to them...*

So now we're left with nary a Bitcher to be seen, and more and more monsters popping out of the woodworks like spunk from a man caught in a nest of nekkid nekkers! Ain't no ordinary man can lay with even the lowliest of goblins; we simply don't have the prowess! And that's not even counting the big-titted wyverns in the mountains, or the cyclops MILF that's moved in over by the waterfall...!

Deralt had heard enough. The old man's ramblings had gone on far enough, and although he was mostly right about the history of the Bitchers, there was also a few things he was neglecting to say - such as the fact that the cessation of training new Bitchers was because of the huge stigma that had begun to surround their kind, leading to the assault on and subsequent destruction of the Anilingus school of Bitchers out near Brackenwurst. Many lives had been lost, as well as countless priceless artifacts of powerful sexual magic... but such was the life of a Bitcher in a world of luddites. Save yourself for the wedding night, and then wonder why your wife, who has had four babies and zero orgasms, is always cranky.

Getting to his feet, Deralt gathered his pack and looked around at the assembled group. It had been a chance encounter with the caravan headed south down the edge of the Blackweald forest, and although Deralt was more than used to spending time alone, it had still been a pleasant change of pace to be around other people, if only for a night. Not the least because of the fetching red-headed woman whose eye he had caught earlier during dinner, and whose skirts now billowed around her ankles as she walked on bare feet over the grass to join him at the edge of the firelight.

"He spins a frightful yard, the old codger, doesn't he?" Her voice was melodious and soft, and Deralt nodded with a smile.

"He does. Gets most of it right, too. Most people would have just spat on the ground at the mention of the Bitchers."

The woman leaned closer, and Deralt could smell her skin like a faint perfume, notes of elderflower and citrus mingling with the scent of fresh sweat and campfire smoke. "My name is Elyse," she crooned, and laid her hand on his arm. "And you are...?"

"Deralt." He looked into her eyes, and smirked. "I'm a Bitcher."

She chuckled, and nodded. "I know. Just like you know what I am, surely."

It was his turn to nod. His hand had snuck around her waist, and now he pulled her closer, until her lips were an inch from his.

"Just making sure these people don't mess with your forest?" He cocked his head slightly, and let his lips brush over her cheek. "Not often I see a Leshen this young, nor this far from the heart of her forest."

Elyse giggled, and let her hands find his belt. "Mother was busy, and I wanted to see who they were. Doesn't hurt to be on guard, does it?"

Deralt pursed his lips, then huffed a laugh. "I suppose not. Just as long as the only carnage you plan to sow is wreaked in my tent. It's my duty to protect them, after all. Gullible fools though they are."

She did kiss him this time, her lips pressing briefly to his, but long enough that he could taste the faint notes of sap and pine on her breath. Her grip was getting stronger, and Deralt mused on the idea of a lesser man trying to tangle with this girl. Even with her meagre 5'5, she was still holding him harder than a full-grown man trying to wrestle him. He reached down and groped her ass, just to raise the stakes.

"I thought Bitchers only tangled with monsters when they were paid," she said, and her eyes twinkled with mirth. "I doubt Old Man Tales back there is going to want to throw any silver at you for bedding me."

She leaned closer, and Deralt took the hint; with a yank, he hoisted her up into his arms, where she wrapped her legs around his wrist like a monkey clinging to a tree. Her breasts were small and firm, and pressed to his chest while she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

"Call it... mnh.. a pro bono deal," Deralt groaned, when finally he managed to wrest his mouth away from Elyse's Her tongue was nothing short of eager, and so long and flexible that it made Deralt's spine tingle, and his cock rise to eager attention against his underwear. Taking a step, and then another step, he began to slowly walk away from the camp and towards his tent, set some few hundred feet away from the rest. A few eyes followed them, but no one commented. Only Elyse giggled, and ground herself eagerly against his stomach like she was trying to mark his treasure trail with her sex.

"Pro bono? Or pro boner? Mhh, I can see why Mother likes to keep one of your kind around..!"

"She does?" Deralt wasn't surprised, but his ears nevertheless perked up as he carried Elyse away over the uneven ground, with fingers that were fumbling rapidly to pull up her skirt and access the pert cheeks beneath.

"Mhmm." Elyse had seemingly grown bored of the conversation already, and was now leaning in to nibble at Deralt's neck, which made his erection throb even harder against the stifling cotton britches. When he finally managed to pull away her skirt, his fingers immediately found a plump, wet slit which welcomed him eagerly, and that proved too much for the poor Bitcher; slowing to a stop, he reached down with one hand, undid the buttons keeping his trousers closed, and pulled out his cock with trembling fingers, which he immediately maneuvered up between Elyse's warm cheeks and into her core. The young monster-woman sighed with contentment, and pushed herself down hard, spearing herself on the hard shaft in one, slick motion, and Deralt gave a little gasp of pleasure before he began to walk again, each step bouncing the girl on his cock.

"Do-- do you know the name of your Mother's Bitcher friend?"

Elyse had closed her eyes, and at the question, she let one slide open into a narrow slit, to gaze at Deralt before shutting close again.

"Vambilt or something. Mnh... I'm not sure. Maybe if you lay me like a proper Bitcher of legend, I'll have an easier time recalling...?"

Deralt growled, half annoyed and half amused, and increased his pace to a light jog, while his right hand did its best to hold up his trousers. Elyse was bouncing faster on him now, and harder, too; every breath she took was tinged with a soft little moan, and as they began to get nearer to Deralt's tent, he could feel her fingers dig into his shoulders with such force that it caused him pain. Stumbling forward with his cock buried to the hilt in monster-pussy, the venerable Bitcher practically fell into his tent, and pinned the lithe body of the Leshen under him with a grunt of effort.

"I'm the most 'proper' Bitcher you'll ever meet, girl," Deralt reared up, and with a tug ripped open Elyse's dress to reveal her cream-colored breasts and the tangle of wood-like veins that crisscrossed her chest and stomach. As they grew older, Leshens would eventually grow much larger and more well-defined, with large, heaving breasts and a veritable artwork of vines and bark adorning their bellies, thighs and arms-- but Elyse was still youthful and more akin to a wood sprite than a forest protector, and her breasts were more than capable of fitting in Deralt's hands as he cupped them and pressed her into the bedroll while his hips began to move and churn.

Elyse did not answer him; she was busy moaning quite indecently, and bucking her hips up against him, and pretty soon she was lifting herself off the ground in an arch, with her legs around his hips and her arms pressing down on the ground to pump herself bodily onto his lap. The force of each impact sent the sound of skin smacking against skin echoing all around them, and Deralt knew that this spirited spirit would have likely worn out any ordinary man by now - or, indeed, crushed his pelvic bone. He, however, merely grabbed her hips and helped her get her fill of cock, which was far more than one small, red-headed frame should be able to fit. His head was grazing the roof of the tent, and it was impossible for Deralt not to cast a glance down at the tight, warm cunt grinding along the length of his cock, and leaving a trail of joyous wetness behind that made him glisten in the half-light.

"On your knees," the Bitcher finally growled, as the slap of the young Leshen's sex began to sting across his groin, and with a quick grip around her waist, he spun her around and pushed her down onto her knees, while his own hips rose up to meet her in a hard doggy style. Elyse mewled, although whether it was annoyance or contentment was hard to say, but she simply braced herself and pushed her ass back against Deralt's cock as he held her hips and made her cheeks tremble and quiver with every thrust. From this angle, she resembled little more than an average human woman, albeit of such flawless skin and perfect complexion that she would have turned the heads of even the most pious men - not to mention more than a few women. And amidst it all, Elyse's moans continued to grow more and more enthused as Deralt fucked her deeper, laying every ounce of strength into her that he had.

The end came, as it always does, with both a cry and a whimper. Deralt had no idea if the Leshen had found her orgasm yet - it was impossible to tell through the flurry of over-eager moans and yelps that she made constantly while Deralt was taking her - but he found himself steadily reaching a peak that he could not retreat from, and before he knew it, he was clutching the young monster-woman's waist and bucking forward as his cock spasmed and released a rich load of pent-up need into her. Even in the throes of orgasm, his hips continued to pound forward, and it was only when he felt his erection begin to fade that he stopped, and pulled out to let Elyse slump to the side, happy and drooling, and leaking seed like a freshly tended field of wheat.

"Mmnh... maybe I should bring you home to Mother." Elyse's face curled into a smile at the thought, but Deralt was already over her, laying down her to her and draping his strong arm over her naked body to hug her tightly.

"Fat chance," he rumbled amicably, and nuzzled his face into her hair. "I've got better things to do than be in your harem, young one. But I appreciate the offer."

Elyse grumbled softly, but allowed herself to be scooped up in his arms, and soon enough, they were both asleep. Come morning, Deralt awoke to find himself alone, but with a pleasant, throbbing ache around the base of his cock from where Elyse had bruised him with her eager cunt. He packed up, bade the caravan farewell, and headed off with his trusty horse to find the next monster-girl, and the next adventure. There were plenty of both, he knew, and it was only a matter of patience before either would find him. He had no rush. Whether a nest of hungry nekkers, or the forlorn specter of a poor maiden with a mighty need, or even a pack of playful wolf-girls... he would have his hands full sooner rather than later.

"Go, Poach," he rumbled at his trusty steed, and the horse neighed softly and began to trot down the road, towards the rising sun.