"By the gods, your place is a fucking mess."

True, the blinding flash of light is gone now, and the thunderous boom that seemed appropriately magical is now just an echoing ring in my ears, but I can't help but think that there must be some sort of mistake, and that the real magic will happen any minute now.

Annnnny minute now.

I'd been expecting an elven maiden, with a figure to die for and bright, sparkling eyes, or perhaps a halfling lass with quick wits and nimble fingers, or even, in a pinch, an appropriately charming young lady with suitably princess-like attire. Anyone, at least, except her.

Her, in this case, being the dull-apple-green, betusked vision of stark unrefinement currently making a beeline toward my fridge, smearing her warpaint on my cupboards and casually tossing her axe on my kitchen table.

Correction: What used to be my kitchen table.

Peering around the corner into the kitchen as the fridge shakes with her opening, I can feel my brows furrowing despite myself. I mean, true, having an orc pillaging my selection of lasagna leftovers and half-opened MRE's from last week certainly qualifies as fantastical, but I was thinking a little more dress and a little less loincloth and -

Uh.

Dear me, she's not wearing anything else, my mind helpfully supplies, my eyes drawn irrepressibly to her chest, each heavy green breast spattered with a mix of ochre-and-black paint and, now, the last of my chocolate milk, as she gives a hearty chug straight from the gallon.

"You're, ah, not a princess, I take it?" I offer cautiously, stepping into the kitchen and cocking my head at my semi-invited guest. "I mean, you're lovely in your own way, don't get me wrong, but I can't help but think that a princess would open with something a little less confrontational... Maybe an introduction?"

Straightening with a casual grin, teeth flashing a little more sharply than I'd like, she shrugs.

"The magic voice just said chieftain's daughter, close enough; let's see what he makes of this, and then chuckled. Let it never be said that Rukha defies the magic voices, except all of the time when they say something I don't want," she - Rukha, I note - grunts. "Everything else sounded pretty good."

My eyes narrow even further.

"Everything else?"

The next shrug does, I have to admit, do appealing things with her curves, and I can't help but think that, just maybe, the spell might not have gone completely amiss. Not completely, mind you; IKEA's going to be needing an extra wing just to handle the furniture damage flashing before my eyes.

"You wanted a 'fantasy princess,' no?" Rukha asks with a grin, ticking off my spell's wishlist on her fingers. "Cheery, charming, smart, and slutty, with a preference for happy rough sex? Moderately submissive?"

I nod.

Rukha nods.

"Sounds good! Me in a nutshell; you'd not believe how dull it gets with my lot. Nothing but wanting to stuff half a sheep in their faces in between wanting me to do all the work in bed. They're all into elves these days, anyway," she adds with a scowl and a guttural noise that's readily apparent as a fervent swear.

"Elves, right?" I crack dryly, pulling a disgusted face, earning a bemused smirk. I can work with this, I think, trying to avoid the magnetic pull of Rukha's loincloth as she shifts to lean casually back on the kitchen counter, munching on a chicken breast and nodding.

"So!"

She grins carnivorously, turning to me and spreading her arms wide.

"When do we start?"

This, see, is why you don't fuck with magic. Although fucking with magic can be all sorts of fun, as we might be able to find out together! I've imagined this a lighthearted sex romp, but the world's the limit (and perhaps not even then)! The main kinks I had in mind with this one are mostly friendly rough sex, good, old-fashioned butt-stuffing, and, just possibly, a hint of romance.

Please do feel free to drop me a line at any time - I'm always happy to hear from you!

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