"Another round of mead, and if ye ain't quick enough, your skull'll be my tankard!"

Peering up at the mighty Rukhora, I shield my eyes from the sun blazing behind her. There she stands, arms planted proudly on her hips and, strapped across her back, a great-axe with a blade as long as her head from ear to ear. The sharp tusks that glitter in the sun and the ragged scar across her eye would strike fear into the heart of any wayward adventurer and cause them to quail at her reputation, except...

Well, the barrel she's standing atop keeps wobbling, and it does sort of spoil the effect. Still, I can't help but at least act impressed, when the barmaid saunters over with a suppressed grin and slides a fresh tankard of the good stuff across to Rukhora. Serves me right for being late to the tavern, I guess - even the legendary Sir Lockwood can't get more than a crammed-in table seat with a psychotic barbarian, it seems. Gods, do I miss Harrowstone...

With an astonishing speed, my erstwhile drinking companion hauls the tankard to her lips, slogging it down with an admittedly impressive gulp. I can almost sea the liquor take hold, her golden eyes swinging to me with a lusty glimmer and a curl of her cutely-tusked lips.

"So," she booms - okay, chirps, but I'm not going to tell her that - "what've ye got for me, lad? You've heard the stories, yes?"

I hesitate, looking over at the barmaid, who nods, covering her face with her hand.

"Yes," I admit, throwing in a dash of fear to my expression. "Yes, even though I've, ah, road on the Endless March with Lord Barrowbolt and crossed the Iron Wastes, words of your fearsome exploits have reached my knightly ears."

Rukhora smiles drunkenly, leaning in to grab the back of my head with one daintily callused hand. Even if she has to climb onto the table to reach. "A knight, eh? I'll ride ye hard and break the bed with ye," she smirks. "No point in resisting, lad; ye can't match the strength of a proper barbarian. Not one with orcish blood, I'll warrant."

I sigh, wiping a gauntleted hand across my brow and pondering how best to break it to her that it'd not be hard to pick her up with one hand, tusks, axe (hatchet, I note, now that I'm closer), and everything, and pin her to the bed. Actually... that might be fun, now that I think of it, and she does look rather charming up close, scar and all. Ruggedly adorable, really. Cutely fierce, even. Buxom in miniature and barbaric in excess, no less.

"You've forced my hand, Despoiler," I groan, sweeping an arm around her waist and hefting her easily until her boots dangle above the table. "Dear gods," I call, making my way to the rickety planks leading upstairs. "My knightly virtue, sullied and spoiled by a fearsome barbarian. I'm quailing."

I can feel small cheeks heating against my own, and I grin, wandering up to my room, visions of evening delights dancing in my head as Rukhora wraps her arms around my neck, scowling.

"So tall!" drifts down from the upper rooms of the inn. "So strong! So vicious! A veritable orcish Amazon..."

The faint kick of a boot against my chest coincides neatly with the slam of an oaken door behind me, as I disappear into the bedroom - another tragic victim, it seems, of the great Rukhora.

Another fun fantasy romp featuring a pint-sized terror and a hint of playful silliness, courtesy of my fondness for short, stacked lasses and barbarians both. Feel free to suggest another idea, if this one catches your fancy, and I'm always happy to hear from you, no matter how far afield!

Kinks for this one: Rough but happy sex, keeping up the charade for a bit, butt-stuffing, smaller partners, and silliness.

DPP Profile