The oak table grinds against your chest, the smooth wood worn from countless travelers pressing up against you as my hips bear down on you from above, callused hands seizing your waist and the solid, swollen shove of a warm human cock bearing down deep into your ass. It all smells of sweat and ale and rich, spiced mead, your ears tingling with heat as I grunt with pleasure above you.

With a thump, my hips meet yours again, and the ale-streaked table jolts back underneath you again, your toes brushing the floor as the crowd raises a raucous cheer.

"C'mon, lad!" a study old dwarf in the corner crows out to me, flashing me a grin and thumping me, hard, on the beat-up iron of my plate. "Ye can go harder than that; tha's what elves are made for, by the mountain!"

And harder I go, a hand wrapping around your throat and the world lifting up around you, your back to my chest as lube and our own juices make your thighs glisten in the candlelight, the alehouse crowd cheering and pounding tables in time to the heavy smack of my sack against your cunt on every thrust.

Gods, it's warm, and thick, and buried right up inside you up to your woods-damned ribs, it feels like, the grind of the hair at my base seeming to tease you into a sensitive mess. I'm grinning down at you, though, brown eyes warm as I stroke a hand through your hair, an arm wrapping about your waist to keep you properly speared.

"Twenny coppers if she can't stand after!" the barmaid cries, already undoing her bodice, and the heat only grows on her cheeks. "That's lewd, wot elves are for!"

You can only, from the stretched pounding you're receiving, knightly arms around you hauling you up and down like a toy, surmise that I agree, the charming gentleman of a few drinks before submerged into the rutting, sinewy heat of my lust. My eyes skate around the tavern, from the halfling lass already following your example, lustily bobbing her head along an orc's member in the corner, to the cheering, fist-pumping passel of farmers' sons eagerly watching your every bounce and jostle on my cock. "Fuck 'er!" the crowd cries, splashing with mead and eyes shining with lust. "Let loose in every hole, be lewd!"

Always, always, the refrain - "That's what elves are for!"

It only continues, warm fire running through your veins, the world blurring into a mess of getting fucked, and the scent of mead, and the distant recollection that I'd asked you quite nicely to join my adventuring party, as everyone needs a proper thief, though the only thing taken away seems to be any sense of shame. Louder and louder the crowd chants, and harder, harder, I pump, until you're not sure if the lurid moans are yours or everyone else's, pleasure and pain swirling like old friends on the dance floor. For! Lewd! Elves!, the words flashing staccato in your mind, until -

"No."

It's quiet, amid the grunts, my breath warm against your ear. Slowly, tenderly, my arm relaxes, sinking you all the way down to the base of me, and my hand slides warmly down your belly to pluck your dangling hand up. Callused and strong, gentle and practiced, my fingers slide delicately between your slender digits, dwarfing your palm and curling in until our hands are clasped tightly, my pulse thrumming against your own as I give you a gentle squeeze.

And that hand's twin, you can feel as the blush on your cheeks and chest only deepens, is tracing through your silver locks, thumb brushing the tips of your ears, my palm cradling you and patting, soft and slow and promising.

The crowd goes cold, silent - the halfling lass freezes mid-suckle, and the dwarves stand with mouths agape; the barmaid has her tits out at last, a hand on the cocks of patrons to the left and right clenching tight in abject horror and producing squeals of surprise that cut the still.

I can see it, now, on everyone's faces: Some lines, after all, are not to be crossed, in polite company.

This, I know, is lewd.

"This," I smile gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead and rocking my hips gently again, "is what elves are for."

Another fantasy frolic, with many a way we can take it! Of course, charming, rough sex, loving shenanigans, and cheery adventures are always on tap.

Never a worry if you're reading this a month from now, even - I'm always willing to hear from anyone, any time!

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