The tavern is grimy; the braziers lining the room are poorly stocked, and the flames flicker meekly and cast long shadows onto the rugged walls. The bartender scowls at us when we enter, but says nothing; three elf women, each more scantily clad than the next, with dark skin and darker lips, each of us holding the arm of another, each of us wagging our hips like only the most professional of whores might. To my left is Syndra, she of purple hair and purple eyes, and whose clothes are red and sheer and draped around her perfectly feminine form in a single, flawless motion. On the other side of her is Ghilanna, whose white hair reaches her waist, and whose eyes glow a crimson red above her pert, pretty nose. Her golden silks only serve to accentuate her hips and her chest, and had it not been for her umbral skin and fierce eyes, people might have thought her an angel.

And then there's me, Dyna, in a leather corset the color of midnight, and dark blue hair above a narrow brow. My eyes are purple like Syndra's, but less vivid; like a murky pool in the depths of the Underdark, holding such promise of pleasure and oblivion as to make the bravest knight shiver. My sharply pointed ears are adorned with studs and rings, tally-marks for sordid deeds done, although what deeds, I shall not tell. All girls should have her secrets, and us dark elves have more than most.

The tavern is sparsely populated, and conversations are low and hushed. A few dwarves huddle around a map, a few sacks of precious stones splayed between their collective, stubby fingers. A human sellsword is in talks with a wizened hag, her accoutrements immediately outing her as a powerful hedge witch. Peasants, paupers and petty folk litter the tables, but none catch our attention like the man in the corner, leaning over a small table while nursing a mug of rotgut. I offer a meaningful glance at Syndra. She smirks and nods.

The man registers us as we approach, but makes to move to leave. His eyes, however, wander from one pair of luscious, well-exposed breasts to the next, and when we crowd around him, our smiles positively suggestive, he merely smiles back and offers a curt nod, seemingly open to conversation. He is dressed in fine clothes, the outfit of a merchant enjoying a rest off the road, and while Ghilanna slinks up to him, I pull the mug away from his fingers and drink down the dregs, feeling the sweet taste of honey-mead lubricate my tongue and throat. When next I look, the two girls have managed to peel him off of his chair, and without speaking, they crowd close to him, their intoxicating scents undoubtedly filling his mind with lewder-than-lewd thoughts. He glances from one girl to the next, seemingly estimating the course this is headed. None of us are carrying weapons, and none of us seem inclined to hurt him. He smiles, more warmly, and pushes the chair aside. A few heads have turned to glance in our direction. Nothing wrong with an audience, though.

With a gentle but forceful gesture, Syndra pushes him up against the wall, her tongue already snaking into his mouth in a deep, sensual kiss. Ghilanna coos softly, her hands rubbing over her supple breasts while she brushes her lips against the man's jaw, adding her warm breath to his suddenly very narrow world. One of his hands slides around Syndra's waist, pulling her closer as she melts against his lips; the other reaches back to cup Ghilanna's ass, tugging her in to create a warm, lewd sandwich of human and elven flesh.

I'm on my knees already, fingers working to untie his trousers and reveal his cock. It flops out, hard and heavy, and practically smacks me across the face with its potent weight; pre-cum is already oozing from the tip, and he moans into Syndra's mouth as I wrap my lips greedily around him, sliding down without hesitation until he is pushing against the limits of my throat. Spit, thick and viscous, begins slopping over the rim of my lips as I bob my head, and his moans increase in fervor as Ghilanna's hand comes down to wrap around the base, stroking and feeding the fat shaft into my hungry mouth.

The sound of kissing above me mixes with the feminine moans of the two dark-elven seductresses, and I can feel the man twitch between my lips as both girls press more insistingly against his body. A spurt of pre paints my tongue, and I feel Ghilanna's hand bump against the tip of my nose as she strokes him eagerly, controlling the pitch of his guttural growls with her squeezing, teasing fingers. My tongue is rubbing fervently against the underside of his cock, and every time his broad head reaches the limits of my lips, I suck more potently, making the tug and drag of my wet lips like a vice of pleasure on his (hu)manhood. Long strings of drool are beginning to drip down onto my cleavage, painting the dusky skin in hues of glittery, prismatic wetness, and Syndra's husky purr from above tells me that he has switched over to make out with Ghilanna instead, enjoying her long, flexible tongue against his own short and stubby one.

We aren't done yet, though, and despite the size of him, I feel him pressing more and more against the opening of my throat as I force myself to swallow deeper around him, my hands steadying me on his thighs as I push my face harder against his cock. Ghilanna has given up trying to stimulate his shaft, evidently too caught up in the delight of their shared kiss, and I watch with determination as the gap between her fingers and my lips grows smaller and smaller, until finally, I feel my resistance give way, and his cock slides into my throat in its entirety. A long, firm drag of hard flesh distends my gullet, and I hear myself gag loudly around him even as he pushes deeper into me, until my nose finally thumps against his coarse pubes and Ghilanna's fingers dutifully fall away to give me space to work. The guy moans, a muffled groan against a pair of pillowy lips, and I pull back to witness his tanned cock glistening with my spit. Then I push back in, and begin to throat-fuck myself on his massive, throbbing hard-on.

There is a reason that I am the one on my knees, and the other two are plying their trade further up. No one, you see, takes a cock down the throat like me. In moments, my mouth is like the deepest, wettest pussy you've felt, and the long, succulent strokes brings him from the tip of his head to the base of his shaft without pause, while thick ropes of cock-flavored drool slops down over my chin, neck and breasts. Over and over, I push my face into his groin, hilting his majestic fuck-stick in my distended throat, before pulling back for a brief whiff of air and another discharge of drool down myself, and then back in, a perfect, hungry sheath for his turgid length. And all the while, the hands of Syndra and Ghilanna roaming over his body, their voluptuous breasts pressing against him and their mouths seeking his, insatiably switching him from the blackberry depths of Syndra's dark pillows to the raspberry sweetness of Ghilanna's. And always, my own, dark cherry lips swallowing his cock like a whore, mindless and gleeful in my rapturous worship of his size.

The effect is swift: Two or three minutes of eager face-fucking later, and I feel him twitch and buck against me, his moans rising as the churning sensation in his balls begins to travel up into his cock. Deftly, I pull back and lay one slender hand around his shaft, while my mouth spills open into a perfect O of receptive joy. I feel the orgasm well up in him, the telltale expanding of his girth as his muscles contract and prepare to shoot the first rope, and deftly, I press a strong thumb against his engorged cum-vein, blocking the first spurt as it rocks through him. He gasps, halfway in shock and halfway in pleasure, and in an instant I have removed the thumb again, to let his second jet erupt across my face with twice the intensity of a normal spurt. A thick, creamy rope of cum explodes across my face, and then another, and another, while my hand works furiously to coax as much out of him as possible. One jet streaks across my cheek, the next splatters the bridge of my nose, and then I point him towards my mouth to paint my tongue and the back of my throat with his copious ropes of salty joy. More and more begins to drip down onto my chest, and I use my free hand to lift up one breast in time for the next eruption to paint a streak of white across the dark skin, like the lewdest of war paints. He pumps and jerks and empties himself onto my chest and face, until finally, his spurts become a gushing stream, oozing down into the canyon of my exposed cleavage, and then dries up into nothing at all. I smack my lips, tasting the warm salt on my lips, and stroke him a few more times for good measure, watching the cum-glazed digits flex over the engorged member. My face is dripping, my cleavage is sopping in spunk, and he seems to be drooping in the knees, so spent as to barely stand any more.

Slowly, the girls peel themselves away from him with soft, giggly smiles, while I kiss and lick the bubbly froth of spit and cum from his spent cock. Looking up at him, he seems barely cognizant of what's going on, but that's fine - Syndra will have already spirited his purse into the folds of her clothing, along with whatever trinkets she could get her hands on. Gingerly, I get back on my feet and flash him a dirty, cum-glazed smile, and then the three of us turn, dark skin glistening with lustful sweat in the low light of the tavern, and saunter away. With a dull thump, the door shuts behind us, and then we are gone, swallowed by the night.

My sub of written smut