Author’s Note: this is an extension of Min’s dream about her future with Aerylle in ‘Sehanine’s Moonblade’. It is meant to be read as a side-story and an exploration of the two characters’ relationship.

“When I asked of the mighty, bronze-skinned huntress why I, a pale Sorceress from the North, excited such smouldering lust in her eyes she laughed and pressed her Bloom of Hanali against my lips to savour – her nectar fierce and burning like spiced tea on my tongue.

‘We believe there is no water without stone, no hard without soft, no light without dark.’ she said, her voice drummed like a jungle song and I saw fires blaze in the distance.

Ignorant as she was of my status, she took her pleasure wantonly and I, to my horrified surprise, surrendered to her primal power and dipped my hand, against all good judgement, between my thighs…”

- Excerpt from Travelogue of a Sorceress in the lands of the Sylvan Elves, a Grey Elven erotic novel

Water pattered against the windowpanes and streamed down the well-polished glass like celestial tears. It was grey outside – overcast and cold. Aerylle’s internal clock told her it was time to get up, even if the darkness outside could easily have been confused with the dim light of early dawn. The bedcovers were warm, soft and temptingly fragrant – she had brought them in from the gnomish laundry at the far end of Harrier’s Lane the previous afternoon. It would have been best to stay in bed and snuggle up closer to Min who lay naked, beautiful and languid beside her in their small but cosy bedroom. She had woken up with Min by her side for years, but she had never grown tired of it. Instead, the sensation of longing grew each time she opened her drowsy eyes and saw the long, ember-red tresses and pale, red-tinted skin of her lover’s taut back and flanks next to her. They had succeeded. She and Mind had finally built a life for themselves, even if no one had ever quite believed that a tiefling and Grey Elf were meant for an enduring relationship, there they were: older, wiser and with a beautiful, proudly independent adolescent daughter to show for their efforts. That thought spurred Aerylle into action. The rent would not pay itself and the Library of Sensation needed her, as Head Librarian of the Elven Arts and Experiences section, to be in on time to spur her two assistants into action and meticulously catalogue and maintain each element in the vast collection. With reluctant, stiff muscles, she sat up in bed and shivered under her blue satin nightgown. For an instant, she envied Min. The tiefling was as lithe with lean, athletic muscle as ever. She had thought it was Elves who aged gracefully, but her back and shoulders were beginning to feel the strain of sitting at a desk all day. That and she now preferred to read with a pair of platinum rimmed spectacles. Min told her it made her look more sensual in a stern, schoolmistress sort of way, but Aerylle never believed her.

“Min, my love…it’s time.” Aerylle whispered and Min purred softly and turned to face the other way, her head buried in a lacy cushion. The Grey Elf woman sighed gently, sat up in bed and brushed back her golden blonde hair. A shower of free falling tresses and thin braids fell behind her. She shifted her slender, almost waiflike body and tried to shake off the grating morning stiffness.

“Min…” Aerylle insisted gently. She used to take Min’s reluctance to maintain a steady job with a pinch of mirthful irony, but now, with a daughter in maintain, there was no question of it being amusing any more.

“Hmm…princess…” the tiefling protested, rising, panther-like in her grace, to her hands and knees under the covers. Her hair fell around her face. A fiery curtain that hid those sharp, exotic features, those hypnotic orange, delicately slanted eyes Aerylle had fallen in love with so long ago. “Y’know I always get up…eventually.”

“Of course, my love,” Aerylle replied, examining the room around her before deciding that the crystal vase full of wilting pink lilies on the small, but tasteful hardwood dresser carved in a fluted, Elven style needed changing. “But I suspect your employers at the Guild would like you to turn up on time.”

“It’s not the kind of Guild you’re thinking about.” Min replied enigmatically and arched her back. The cold air felt delightful against her breasts. Her ruby-red nipples stiffened, her muscles straining as she stretched to the first dim rays of light. She turned and smiled, almost wolfishly at Aerylle. Her love added new dimensions to her beauty with each passing day. Gone was the perpetually bemused, almost girlish expression she had remembered from the first time they met. Aerylle’s features had blossomed into a quiet, deeply intellectual maturity. Her high, Elven cheekbones, knowing smile and sapphire-blue eyes were as radiant as ever, her face still unlined. She was every bit a librarian, that was certain, but the loveliest librarian that Min had ever set eyes upon.

“Remember our agreement, Min.” Aerylle warned, smoothing out the wrinkles in her nightgown. “As long as it means having a salary and staying out of harm’s way, I simply do not want to know the details of what you do.” There were days when Aerylle was terrified that the Bureau of Civic Protection would just burst in and demand to know where Min had stored her contraband or stolen gold. At least Min’s record was good: whatever she did to bring home five hundred Marks a week, she had never been caught.

“Thought so,” Min said triumphantly with that soft, low drawl that brought Aerylle’s senses back to life with a delightful, electric shiver. She pounced under the sheets, wrapping her arms around Aerylle’s waist and lavishing soft, wet kisses against the soft skin of her lover’s pale throat. Despite herself, Aerylle giggled softly and put up a mock struggle. Min always knew how to completely transform her serious, responsible parent façade. “How ‘bout we start the day with a little tiefling magic?” said Min, her tone low and lascivious. She drew a long, glistening trail with her tongue down to the hollow of Aerylle’s neck, all the while hiking up the soft, immaculate satin of the Grey Elf librarian’s gown.

“Hmm…after last night?” Aerylle mused, tenderly caressing Min’s hair, tracing the familiar contours of the fiery tiefling’s jaw. She made a mental note to replace the uncorked, half-empty vial of rose oil that still sat defiantly on the bedside table lest their daughter notice. Although the girl was hardly naïve, it would have been inappropriate for her to see.

“Yeah, why not?” Min said casually. She clasped Aerylle’s tight, pert little bottom in her hands, her thumbs trailing down the smooth, silky inner lips of the Grey Elf woman’s sex.

“We’ll be late…” Aerylle sighed and demurely spread her thighs. Min’s fingernails brushed over each familiar petal. Aerylle bit her lip, her toes curled into the soft bedspread. Min remained insatiable.

“’Right, so here’s the deal, princess…” Min said, her kisses hot and moist against Aerylle’s throat. “We can all go to work on time and do the same useless screed we do every day for the rest of the day, or I can lick that sweet, juicy Elven pussy of yours until you come on my tongue, how ‘s that sound?”

Aerylle groaned and felt her sex pulse to life with desire. She took a deep, cleansing breath and caressed the firm muscles of Min’s shoulders. “Oh…oh, all right…” she breathed with affected reluctance. “But only if you agree to wait for tonight for me to repay my debt.”

“Good girl.” Min disappeared under the sheets. Aerylle lifted her hips and wrapped her thighs around Min’s neck. It was a position she adored – luxuriant and spread out on the bed, with her lover’s expert tongue lapping at the sopping folds of her sex, her nipples hard and straining in the confines of her nightgown. The tiefling nestled herself in the darkness under the sheets. Her keen orange eyesight pierced the blackness, so she could see the heat and warmth emanating from those gorgeous, soft pink petals blooming between Aerylle’s slim thighs. She wasted no time and began licking. Aerylle still tasted vaguely of rose oil. Even the flavour of her arousal had changed since giving birth, now the slightly sweet, floral taste of a Grey Elf woman was enriched with a savoury note of feminine fertility – a primordial ocean. Aerylle trailed her toes over Min’s back, rolling her hips, her firm, petite breasts rising and falling with the quickening pounding of her heart. The same heartbeat she felt throbbing in her temples, hot and dense like the heat in her loins. Her sighs grew ever deeper as Min’s licks flicked in long, wet arches, inching closer to the nectar-slick gem of her clit. The tiefling’s lush, soft lips pressed against the inflamed pearl, her tongue lapping, soft and unhurried.

“Atara, Min!” The voice was distant in Aerylle’s ears. All she could hear was Min’s wet licking and the frantic rhythm of her own breathing. Soft, muted footsteps drew closer. “Min!”

“Ignore her,” Min ordered, her head poking for an instant from under the sheets, her lips stained with viscous, sweet nectar. She went back to work, this time teasing the slick, velvety entrance of Aerylle’s channel with her thumb and forefinger. Soon she would be wet enough to enter.

“Min!” The door burst open. The first thing Aerylle saw was a wry smile on sensual, ruby-red lips and a knowing glint in fiery golden, almond eyes. Her daughter stood in the doorway.

“You impudent girl!” Aerylle growled, desperately trying to disentangle herself from Min and slipping angrily under the sheets to adjust her nightgown. “A lady knocks before she enters. Honestly…this city is turning you into a wretched savage.”

“Sorry…” the girl shrugged, not at all contrite, “so anyway, Min, can I stay out tonight after school?” She leaned against the opened door, defiant and impertinent. Her short cropped hair seemed to gleam with its own light: metallic gold, crimson red, burnished copper. Much to Aerylle’s irritation, her delicately pointed ears were proudly exposed. Though her features were fiercely elegant and decidedly Elven, she had inherited Min’s lean, leopard-like physique. Her flat, hard belly and long thighs were muscular, her gait every bit as dangerous and entrancing as her tiefling mother.

“She’s right,” Min interjected, scrambling out from under the sheets and rising like an awakening jaguar. “You’ve got to knock.” She wet her lips and ambled her way to an old silk-upholstered armchair decorated with a stylised, cherry-blossom pattern to retrieve her shirt.

“So can I?” the girl insisted. It was always best to ask Min.

“Sure,” Min began, splashing her face and breasts with cool, jasmine-scented water from the gilded washbasin next to Aerylle’s polished, silver-vine inlaid pinewood wardrobe. “Just don’t…”

“No you most certainly cannot, Shesayina. If you wish to spend time with your friends, you can invite them here. I expect you home when I return from the Library.” Aerylle interrupted, glaring menacingly while her daughter stood impassive with her irritating, irreverent smirk.

“Don’t call me fucking Shesayina…” the girl grimaced. She was a woman now and certainly resented being called by her Grey Elven child-name.

“Your tongue, child!” Aerylle hissed, stunned in the face of such vulgarity. “I shall treat you like a woman when you act like one.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Min said wearily, pulling on her breeches. “D’you two have to fight every morning?” She never understood why Aerylle insisted on being a disciplinarian. The girl at least made an attempt to study, confined herself to occasional, petty thieving and generally stayed out of trouble. As far as Min was concerned, it would have been unreasonable to ask for more.

“No, my dear Min, we do not.” Aerylle replied sharply. “As soon as you teach your daughter proper etiquette and behaviour, there should be no cause for conflict whatsoever.”

Min sighed in resignation. Any reference to her being a parent made her feel just a little bit older. “Kheth, you know your mother doesn’t like that kind of tone, maybe if you asked nicely…”

“Khethinal,” Aerylle corrected, “how many times do I have to tell you that it is bad form to use anything but an Elf’s full name?” Despite herself, she had entered her lecturing mood. It was exactly the same tone she used to explain the intricacies of library management to her two assistants.

“Yeah, but Atara, I’m not exactly what you’d call…”

“Any daughter of mine is an Elven lady and will be treated and behave as such, understood?” Aerylle said calmly but firmly.

Khethinal bit her bottom lip nervously, awaiting her mother’s verdict. There was no point in pretending that she felt at home in the elitist and expensive Elven school Aerylle insisted she attend. Though she had managed to earn the grudging respect and admiration of her classmates through sheer force of presence, her predicament always reminded her of the errant warriors of her mother’s Elven homeworld who, though the subject of much myth and poetry, were hardly considered appropriate social company for the scions of noble Houses. “Please, Atara, there’ll be no thieving and no Dreamsmoke, I swear by the Moonbow…” she pleaded. Even then, her humility struck Aerylle as less than convincing.

“That goes without saying.” Aerylle concluded. She rose from the bed and instinctively began to tuck the covers in and smooth out the pillows. “But this city is a dangerous place and it has been getting worse with each passing day. Sometimes I think we should all just return to Imej for good…maybe then your Selen Yssinel will be able to teach you proper deportment…”

“Let her go, princess.” Min insisted gently. She threw open the window and a chill, humid breeze flooded the bedchamber. The embroidered Elven curtains trembled in the smoky air.

“I am sorry, my beloved daughter, this time, the answer is no…perhaps when you are a little older…” Aerylle paused and drew her fingers over the sky-blue threaded silk of the sheet, her soul pensive and distant. Khethinal was indeed already essentially a woman as Grey Elves counted the passage of time, but just as a blossom was a flower in the making, womanhood needed time to mature and understand itself. Most importantly, in Khethinal’s case, she needed to learn discipline.

“Thanks,” Khethinal spat bitterly. She angrily adjusted her ivory-white tunic to smooth its skirt over her form-fitting, red leather breeches and stalked off.

“Wait…” Aerylle called in Grey Elven.

“Fuck you.” Khethinal replied darkly in Common and slammed the apartment’s door behind her as she left.

Aerylle’s throat tightened. She would never have used such a tone with her own mother. No matter how many times Khethinal said it, it always hurt. In the briefest instant, Min was behind her, pressing soft, comforting kisses in her fragrant hair. “I’ll go after her, don’t worry,” the tiefling whispered and slipped away, stealthy and silent as always.

Outside, on the bustling, cobbled streets, Khethinal felt at home. Her soft, beige leather boots floated with expert grace over the broken flagstones, avoiding puddles, mud and the stale remnants of the passing baker’s cart with ease. She knew Min was behind her without turning around. Khethinal had a habit of knowing her surroundings perfectly without having to look, relying entirely on her hearing and intuition. “What do you want?” the girl asked, stopping by the crossroads that led into the bustling main street. The alley was deserted – in a quiet, residential area, life that early in the morning was confined to a few deliveries and the omnipresent advertising streamers of glowing faerie fire that made the rounds around the tall, skeletal buildings.

“Look, Kheth, it’s all right when you need to take a shot at me, but your mother…y’know Elf-girls can’t take it like we can. I know it’s fucking barmy and it can really make your blood boil, but you’ve got to learn that ‘though I’d rather be your big sister – fuck, I can’t stand you calling me mother, or atara or any of that - but Aerylle…she has to be your mother. There’s nothing we can do ‘bout that, unfortunately.” Min paused, arms crossed, an ironic smile on her lips.

“I suppose you’d want me to say I’m sorry.” Khethinal shot back glumly and kicked loose cobblestone just to hear it skid and echo across the wet pavement. It had stopped raining, with only a cool, needling drizzle falling from the lead-grey sky.

“Nah, I already know you are.” Min said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But now’s a good time to tell me what’s wrong.”

Khethinal turned to face Min, a look of surprised wonder in her radiant, golden eyes. “You always know…”

“You’re not too hard to read.” The tiefling grinned.

“When I asked to stay out, it’s because I wanted to meet someone…” Khethinal confessed.

Min chuckled. “The apprentice-Illusionist boy?”

“No. He overstayed his welcome.” the girl answered tersely.

“Hmm? So what’s the dark of it?” Min probed. Aerylle, in typically Grey Elven fashion, had taken Khethinal aside on the occasion of her daughter’s first cycle and carefully explained how she had to ensure that her new life as a woman was both responsible and independent. It was only with time that Khethinal had discovered that the complex, ritualised customs of lovemaking her mother had explained in great detail may have been ideal in Imej, but in the vast, cosmopolitan city of Sigil, they were nothing but impractical theory. So, she had long ago decided that she preferred speaking to Min about the matters of the heart.

“The worm got what he deserved.” Khethinal snapped and subconsciously reached for the fine, Behemoth-horn Sylvan Elf dagger concealed under her tunic. “It was all fine and good when he had his cock in my mouth and, if you listen to Atara all Elven men are perfectly respectable. ‘Course, when it was his turn, the first thing he said was that I tasted…strange.” She felt bile rising in her throat. Hot, impotent anger flooded every fibre of her being. There was no simple way she could explain how humiliating the entire experience had been.

“Sorry, Kheth, I guess not too many Elves can handle a girl with tiefling blood.” Min said. She placed a reassuring hand on her daughter’s shoulder. It was never going to be easy being a half-elf, but she knew Khethinal was strong enough to carry the blessings and curses of her heritage. “But knowing you, something tells me you didn’t let him get away with that.”

“Obviously not,” Khethinal replied with mock indignation. A smile returned to her lips. “He was lucky to get away with a split lip and black eye, though.” No one could best her in single combat, male or female. Khethinal always put that distinguished record down to her tiefling reflexes.

“Top-shelf,” Min purred. “So who’s the next lucky contender?”

“There’s the problem.” Khethinal said, finally turning to meet Min’s penetrating, orange gaze. “I’d rather meet outside because Atara would flay me alive if she knew…you know how she scowls all day whenever you invite Lily over.”

Min gave a soft, mirthful laugh, amused at the endless ironies of life. “Let me guess…”

“Yeah, a Drow,” Khethinal said with an uncharacteristic hint of fawning admiration in her voice. “But a real Drow, not the spider-monster stuff Atara and Selen Tahllea like to sneer at.” That much was irrefutable. Zinzaranea was the cold, self-assured embodiment of Drow femininity. Few dared even cross her glowing, ruby-red eyes.

“How d’you manage to meet a Drow?” Sigil was a diverse city, to be sure, but Dark Elves were usually nocturnal on the surface world.

“One of those tricks of Fate,” Khethinal noted, “a Drow Academy of Sorcery opens just as soon as the Grey Elven School of Arcana closes.”

Min nodded. “Tell you what, then,” she suggested, arching her back as she contemplated the grey, featureless sky. “You bring her home…but be quiet ‘bout it and for my part, I’ll make sure your mother’s kept busy.” She smiled wolfishly.

“Thanks, so I guess this time I won’t have to walk in on you.” Khethinal said with her usual, teasing impertinence.

“You better not,” Min joked, “or maybe a certain tiefling will tell a certain uptight Elven librarian where to find the stash of Vision Hibiscus hidden up inside your mattress.”

It was only later that day, while seated at her desk in the Library of Sensation, that Aerylle realised she had forgotten to take her old, azure silk and platinum chain evening gown to the laundry. Only Elven laundries handled the fabrics correctly, but, under the circumstances, she almost felt relieved that the dress was out of sight – in the washing-pile and not the wardrobe. She had worn the dress a few days earlier over an intimate dinner at home with Min while Khethinal was still on holiday in Imej. The distressing thing was that in the course of that evening, while she had been preparing for Min’s return from the Guild, she had sat motionless on her bed and thought long and hard before finally plucking up the courage to look at herself in the mirror. She had ordered that dress back when she and Min were still courting and it had seemed to still flatter her. That evening, Min had taken her with passionate urgency: twice on the kitchen counter and then almost until dawn in the bedchamber. They made love almost every night, but still, Aerylle could not shake the feeling that Min could one day grow tired of her, not because the tiefling did not love her – that would never be in doubt – but because some passions were simply too boundless for her to satisfy with just one person.

“Madam Librarian…miss,” a soft, cultured voice interrupted Aerylle’s meditation.

“Yes, Arilyn,” Aerylle meticulously adjusted her spectacles and peered over at the compiled inventory her assistant had set down on the desk.

Arilyn was a sweet-natured, bookish half-elf with dyed sky-blue hair Aerylle personally found to be in hideous taste and a charming, innocent expression on her elfin face. She was also a less than ideal assistant. Nevertheless, Aerylle did not have the heart to transfer her, especially since Arilyn looked to her as an elder sister and mentor. So, she had resolved to teach Arilyn the long, painstaking way. “I finished cataloguing the new supply of books on Evermeet ceramics.” she said proudly, her silver eyes lighting up in expectation of Aerylle’s praise.

“Let me see...” Aerylle flipped through the neatly scribed pages. Surprisingly, it was more thorough and more effective than usual. At least Arilyn was learning. “Very good, my dear, just make sure that the item numbers match shelf position exactly. The Section Supervisor sent down a new set of itemising criteria, but we can talk about that after the lunch break.”

“Really…it’s good? Thank you, miss…” Arilyn could hardly contain her enthusiasm.

“Please, child, call me Aerylle,” the Grey Elven librarian corrected. She felt at ease surrounded by the tall, heavily stacked bookshelves and the dim, magical lamplights that illuminated the labyrinthine passages of the Library of Sensation. The place held no more secrets for her.

Arilyn blushed at the privilege. “Oh…and I believe your wife is waiting for you in the reception hall, she told me to ask you to come down when your break starts.”

“Take my desk for a moment then, I shall be back shortly.” Aerylle replied and Arilyn leapt at the opportunity to sit in the much-coveted Librarian’s armchair.

Aerylle hastened out of the administrative office at the very centre of the Elven Arts and Experiences section and made her way down two circular flights of marble stairs into one of the many inner garden of the Library of Sensation. It was still cool and the air was heavy with the moisture of tall, creeping plants and low, ornamental trees. All the vegetation had been imported to mirror a naturalistic style of Elven garden design to complement the subject-matter of the library wing to which it was attached. Her violet silk sandals, shaped to mirror the pattern of a blooming iris, were the only concession Aerylle made to fashion while at work. Day after day, she wore the same long, unflattering beige librarian’s robe, bordered only by a complex silver cursive-script pattern that identified her as a section manager. As she made her way into the silent, deserted garden, surrounded by the high, white walls and big, crystal windows of the library, it occurred to her that Min probably wanted to go out for lunch somewhere – perhaps to the Wood Elf restaurant across the street. No matter how many times she told Min that they could not afford it, the tiefling insisted on a treat or two from time to time. Perhaps, she thought, she would soon return to her father’s bookbinding business in Imej – there Khethinal would be guaranteed an Elven education at a more reasonable price.

She followed a small stream inhabited by shimmering blue ornamental I’uosal ornamental fish. That was when something pounced. Aerylle knew immediately from the aroma of incense it was Min. The tiefling was behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, her breath hot against the sensitive surface of the Grey Elven woman’s pointed ears. Aerylle gave soft cry of surprise and found herself thrust up against the smooth bark of a willow whose heavy, verdant branches hung over the stream. Min’s kisses were hot and wet against her ear. Nimble hands scrambled to find the hem of her robe.

“By Sehanine, Min what if someone sees…” Aerylle began, before drawing a deep, sharp breath as the tiefling nipped playfully at the painfully erogenous surface of her ear.

“You’ve been wet all day, princess, haven’t you?” Min said huskily. She bunched Aerylle’s robe around the Grey Elven woman’s waist. The tiefling trailed her fingers over the waistband of her lover’s white silk culottes. Aerylle could do nothing but admit her guilt with a silent nod. The interrupted climax of that morning had never quite been forgotten. “Good, this is your reward for being patient.”

Min thrust Aerylle forward against the tree and ran her tongue, wet and lascivious, over the Elven librarian’s ear. Aerylle whimpered and felt her sex tighten in expectation. Hot, wet-stained silk slid against her sex. Min thrust her hand into Aerylle’s culottes and gave the Grey Elven woman’s nectar-drenched sex a long, deep caress. Aerylle parted her thighs and braced herself against the tree. Min raised her hand, slick with cloudy juice, to Aerylle’s lips. “Y’see that?”

“Yes…” Aerylle pressed her rosy lips against Min’s fingers and lapped them clean. She tasted herself, hot, yearning, ripe. Her sex seethed, a cauldron of desire she desperately wanted Min to fill her, to fuck her and bring her to a hard, wanton climax amidst the secluded garden of the library. Min frantically tugged Aerylle’s culottes down. The Grey Elven woman parted her legs as far as they would go and felt soft, moist silk pool at her ankles. Min was behind her, breathing, kissing, unhurried in her caresses over the plump, sodden mound of her lover’s sex.

Then Aerylle felt something warm, firm and organic press against the velvety nether lips of her pussy. She knew the feeling, knew it from countless passionate nights of lovemaking. It was the tulip-bulb shaped dildo. Aerylle felt a rush of desire course through her. What if she was caught? A respectable, bonded Elven lady being fucked with an olisbos – that thought alone made her heart race ever faster. With swift, lusty hands, Min lowered her breeches and slipped the base of the dildo between the nectar-sodden lips of her sex. The sympathetic instrument took root, spreading its tendrils deep into the tiefling’s clenching canal. Min grunted and felt her entire sex, her engorged, burning clit, exposed to the humid air. The dildo had become part of her, an extension of her womanhood, linked to each painfully sensitive spot in the spicy-musky bloom of her pussy. Min wet three fingers on her tongue and inspected the pouting entrance of Aerylle’s channel. She need not have bothered – the Grey Elf woman’s pussy was drenched. Aerylle braced herself. Min entered her in a slow, careful thrust. The pliant, organic structure of the enchanted dildo parted the petals and channel of Aerylle’s sex. She gasped and felt herself contract around the thick intrusion. In all those years of use, she had never quite gotten used to that obscene and wonderful object inside her – but such was Min’s passionate nature that it was nice to vary their routine as often as possible.

Min paused and adjusted to the familiar sensation of slick, pulsing warmth and pressure against her sex. Aerylle’s pussy felt like a sweet embrace around her clit, as if two silky lips had wrapped themselves around her lust-inflamed bud. Then, Min began to fuck her lover with long, deep strokes, her hips rocking in rhythm with the sharp, whimpering breaths from the Grey Elf woman’s lips. Aerylle surrendered herself and let Min open the front of her robe and felt her berry-pink nipples, stiff and engorged, press with delightful friction against the smooth bark of the tree. They made love for what seemed like an age, Min thrusting, filling Aerylle with each stroke, the tulip-bulb head of the dildo gliding deliciously over the Grey Elf woman’s sweet spot.. Min felt herself peak only after Aerylle had climaxed twice, each time the sweet librarian’s soft, mewling little moans drove Min harder, until the raw sensation of limb-loosening release that flooded from the carnal nexus where the dildo was rooted overwhelmed the tiefling. Min drew a long, ragged breath and felt her hips become liquid, flowing into the soft, firm surface of Aerylle’s exposed bottom. She slumped forward and nuzzled her bonded lover’s hair, gradually slowing the rhythm of her thrusts until the last spasms of her climax were satisfied and Aerylle’s juice, thick and creamy, mingled with the spiciness of the tiefling’s arousal on the knotted length of the dildo. Then, she wordlessly bade the olisbos to release itself from the velvet prison of her sex.

Aerylle, her knees unsteady, sank to the ground and fell into Min’s firm, loving embrace. She buried her face in the tiefling’s breasts, desperate to hear the reassuring drumming of her lovers’ heartbeat under the soft, newly-ironed fabric of her shirt. Shielded by the willow’s branches, it was unlikely that anyone had seen them, but Aerylle simply did not care. All she wanted was Min. She caught her breath and submitted to the tiefling’s soft caresses. It felt cool and humid, but the warmth of Min’s body more than made up for that.

“I think I may be getting a bit old for this…” Aerylle said with gentle irony. Aging gracefully was one thing, but working in a library gave her little time to maintain the legendary dexterity of the Elves with the stretching, dance-like exercises Yssinel had recommended.

Min gave a half-suppressed laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“No,” Aerylle shook her head and snuggled closer to Min. “The more I see Khethinal become a woman, the more I realise I am no longer the girl you first met at the Waterside Inn...”

“Before I met you,” Min interjected, her tone almost pensive, “I thought I’d never grow old…just figured someone would get to me eventually – stab me in a dark alley. Now, that thought is just so fucking terrifying. I want to be sure that I’ll spend every last moment Lady Luck’s given me with you.”

“Hmm…you are growing soft with age.” Aerylle teased and stole a quick kiss from Min’s sultry, red lips. Then, the Grey Elf librarian gathered her courage and, almost as an afterthought, removed her spectacles to look at Min straight in the eye. “On your honour…did that dress still flatter me?”

Min gave an enigmatic smile and traced the contours of Aerylle’s high, elegant cheekbones. “I kept you up all night, didn’t I?”

Aerylle almost felt guilty for asking the question. Min never failed to make her feel loved and desired. “Thank you, my love…and now that I think of it, I better speak to Khethinal this evening. I may have been a little too severe with her…”

“Maybe you’re better off waiting ‘till tomorrow…” Min suggested, playing innocent.

“Blessed Sehanine, no.” Aerylle replied with firm determination. She rose, carefully folded her culottes and handed them to Min. “On your way back to the Guild, take these to the laundry and I will have a word with our daughter as soon I return.” Like her library, her personal life worked best when everything was in perfect, itemised order.

Later that day, Aerylle was the first to step back into the welcoming kitchen-cum-entrance hall of her small, but immaculately tidy apartment. For once, Khethinal had actually helped with the housework and the round table in front of the stove was set for the evening meal. Aerylle passed a careful eye over the hanging Elven tapestries of fruit and flower themes and decided that the tiny, but prosperous herb garden she kept in an enchanted crystal sphere next to the pantry needed a little trimming. Having an internal herb garden always gave her home a more naturalistic, Elven flavour. With an unspoken command, she bade the red globes of faerie fire that floated around the ceiling in circular, winding orbits, to brighten their warm, sunset-hued glow. She removed her sandals, paced twice around the room to inspect it and then proceeded to check that the pantry and the cooler box were sufficiently stocked. They needed more milk. Although the idea of drinking something from a cow made Aerylle sick to her stomach, Min and Khethinal had acquired a taste for that human custom, even if she had swiftly discovered that Elves could not digest the substance. That cultural divide had led to a couple of particularly unpleasant experiences Aerylle preferred to relegate to the very back of her mind. It was then that she decided that before she got dinner started, she had better speak to her daughter.

What Aerylle did not know, however, was that two rooms down, Khethinal’s bedchambers had its curtains pulled firmly shut and that the only light breaking the tenebrous darkness of that small, infinitely chaotic chamber came from motes of violet, enchanted light. Zinzaranea sat on Khethinal’s bed, intently dosing the dried Vision Hibiscus pistils into a slender, spider-spinneret shaped pipe. Khethinal watched, fascinated. Zinzaranea was blessed with the voluptuous sensuality of a noble Drow female. Her flared hips and rounded breasts, still a little short of the full glory of womanhood, were tempered by the lithe firmness of her thighs and bottom and the soft curve of her belly, gently muscled like that of a dancer. Though relatively short by Elven standards, Drow women like Zinzaranea possessed a commanding, entrancingly sensual presence.

“Ready?” Khethinal inquired anxiously, watching deft, obsidian-black fingers seal the pipe shut.

Zinzaranea did not answer. Instead, she cupped Khethinal’s chin and devoured her mouth with a wet, urgent kiss. Khethinal kissed back, hungrily, savouring the delightful softness of the Drow girl’s violet lips and the lascivious, infernal dance of her tongue. They fell together on the bed, Khethinal’s heart thumping painfully in her chest. Zinzaranea unlaced the front of her spider-silk shirt blouse emblazoned with a sinister, web-like pattern and allowed Khethinal’s urgent, exploratory kissing to fall between the valley of her breasts, so perfect they seemed to be carved from onyx. Firm, rubbery deep-violet nipples pressed against the Dark Elven fabric. Zinzaranea’s deft hands caressed Khethinal’s soft, flame-coloured hair – deep red and lustrous gold all compact – and grazed the tips of the half-elf’s sensitive, pointed ears. Khethinal felt a tense heat radiate from her sex, spurred on by the forbidden, exotic taste of Zinzaranea’s breasts.

Zinzaranea smiled conspiratorially, “Here,” she said at length, lighting the end of the pipe with a simple cantrip enchantment. “I must compliment you on your good fortune. Not many half-breeds have the benefit of meeting a Drow woman’s expectations.”

“Don’t push your luck.” Khethinal growled with affected menace. She rolled over and slumped back onto her pillow to take a deep, satisfying drag from the pipe. Its pungent, floral smoke filled the air, wafting in the dim violet light. She had grown tired of stuffy Grey Elven motifs everywhere in the house, so she had made a point of purchasing spider-themed Drow decorations and knick-knacks with which she now liberally decorated her room. No amount of furious protestation on Aerylle’s part had budged a single arachnid statuette.

Zinzaranea knelt at Khethinal’s side, her posture almost predatory. Her arrogant, beautiful features, framed by long, silky, silvery-white hair were amplified in Khethinal’s mind as the hallucinogenic took effect. Definition, form and colour adopted a new dimension in her eyes, beginning to blur into a soft, sensuous whole. Zinzaranea’s touch trailed under Khethinal’s tunic and into the girl’s breeches, snaking against the hot, moist flesh of her sex. Khethinal gave an angry gasp, rolled her hips – an involuntary movement that betrayed her arousal. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. She liked, Zinzaranea, yes, but no-one, not even this dangerous Drow beauty, had the right to take such liberties.

“A little prudish are we?” Zinzaranea teased as she withdrew She licked the tip of her index finger and detected a hint of warm spice and tart femininity.

“No, but I’m not your sodding toy.” Khethinal took a defiant lungful of Dream Hibiscus.

Zinzaranea pounced and their lips melted into a lusty, smoke-shrouded kiss. Khethinal cupped the Drow girl’s breasts and explored the firm, elegant curves of her flanks, the sublime hillocks of her bottom perfectly encased in violet leather leggings. “Of course not,” Zinzaranea hissed, trailing her tongue over Khethinal’s lips. “This is why I fully expect you to lick me with twice the passion with which I shall now lick you.” Khethinal slumped back and felt her blood thick as molten iron in her veins. There was no resisting that low, purring, slightly menacing tone.

Zinzaranea hooked her thumbs in the waistband of Khethinal’s breeches and began to tug them down, inching them down, fractions of an inch at a time. “D’you want some Hibiscus?” Khethinal offered, her throat tight with desire.

“Not at all,” Zinzaranea snorted. “I will never allow a foreign flavour to interfere with my enjoyment of the delights of your womanhood.”

Khethinal felt a tide of relief overcome her. This Drow girl, with her cold superiority and sardonic, sadistic sense of humour truly desired her more than the finicky Grey Elf illusionist whose main ambition - in her view anyway - had been to ‘tame the half-breed’. Khethinal arched her back to meet the gentle teasing of Zinzaranea’s tongue as it left a warm, slick trail, moving inexorably down the hard, flat expanse of her belly.

“Khethinal!” Aerylle called tentatively, rapping gently at the door.

“Fuck.” Khethinal swore, her voice half-strangled with fear. “Get under the bed and dispel the faerie fire!” she ordered between gritted teeth and Zinzaranea, muttering threateningly in Dark Elven, obeyed. Khethinal leapt to her feet, extinguished the Vision Hibiscus pipe and rushed to the door and slipped into the hallway to meet her mother with a nervous, painted smile.

“Sorry, my dear, have I disturbed you?” Aerylle asked sweetly. Whatever irritation she may have felt at her daughter’s fiery temper was swiftly dispelled.

“No, I was just resting, today was pretty busy,” Khethinal lied, surreptitiously adjusting her tunic.

“I know you do your best at school…Min and I are very proud of you, never forget it…”

“Thanks, Atara, I appreciate it…but…” the distinctive odour of Vision Hibiscus had begun to waft through the doorway.

“So I have decided that it is time for you to begin to live your own life. From now on, if you wish to stay out you may, as long as you tell us where you are going beforehand and promise to take care when you are out in the city…” Aerylle paused, she was certain she had detected that aroma before. “Are you burning something?”

“Just some incense…” Khethinal said quickly, “to help me concentrate”. She was moved by her mother’s generosity and would eagerly have submitted to Aerylle’s obvious inclination to have a nice, heart-to-heart cuddle on the divan, but the timing was simply awful.

“Oh, child, I sincerely hope it isn’t Dreamsmoke.” Aerylle chided.

“C’mon, Atara, remember…I promised: no Dreamsmoke…” Khethinal protested weakly.

Something flashed in the darkness behind Khethinal. Aerylle peered through the doorway. She was certain she had seen two points of red, glowering light pierce the blackness. “Is something in there?” Aerylle asked curiously, forcing her way past Khethinal into the room. She conjured up a sphere of glowing golden light and passed it over Khethinal’s unmade bed and the wide collection of daggers she kept in a display rack next to her desk. The sphere trailed its glaring rays lower.

Zinzaranea gasped in distress as the light suddenly pierced her sensitive eyes and scrambled out from under the bundle of covers at the foot of the bed, an expression of furious exasperation on her face. Aerylle felt a leaden weight sink in her belly. The Drow girl’s blouse was undone and a still-smoking pipe sent its narcotic fumes wafting into the air.

“Atara...” said Khethinal, her voice almost inaudible with trepidation.

“Yes, dear…” Aerylle’s tone was measured, even if she privately wished she had one of Min’s daggers on hand.

“Allow me to introduce Zinzaranea.”