THE DRAGON AND SHARMOON by Trisha Monks (FF cons toys anal magic) The barbarian army lay encamped on the edge of a forest that nestled at the feet of tall mountains. In the chill dawn air those warriors to whom tasks had been assigned emerged from their tents to start the cooking fires for breakfast. Others still slumbered, for it was the morning after a hard-fought battle and the commanders had deemed it a day of recuperation or light duties. In a patched and threadbare canvas tent beneath an old gnarled oak a small, wiry woman threw off her blankets and sat up, yawning widely as she untangled her blonde tresses. Beside her a taller companion, also blonde, stirred in her sleep and murmured drowsily. With a sigh the small one poked her head out of the entrance- flap, blinking at the daylight and sniffing the autumn air. Outside the tent a dark-haired woman in a short black leather dress sat cross-legged on a flat stone, polishing her sword with an oily rag. "Is breakfast ready yet?" asked the little blonde. "Where's the fire?" "I haven't lit a fire, Keelam," came the reply. "Nor am I preparing breakfast. I'm off to the crossroads to get my blade sharpened." "Have you forgotten your duties, Sharmoon? You're supposed to teach the recruits this morning." Sharmoon shrugged. "Strunzel offered to take my place. So now I have no duties until sunset." "Which crossroads are you going to?" "The crossroads near Bremin. Apparently a travelling weaponsmith has set up his smithy at the waymeet." Keelam yawned again. "Seems a long way to go, just to sharpen your sword. Why not ask one of our own smiths to do it?" Sharmoon grinned. "The traveller is a dwarf, Keelam. Seldom am I given the opportunity to have my blade tended by a dwarvish smith." "You can't afford a dwarf!" Keelam objected. "You spent the last of your money on our victory-ale last night and you still owe me six pennies." Sharmoon shrugged. "Maybe the smith will offer me credit until I lay my hands on some good loot?" "Dwarvish credit?" Keelam scoffed. "Not much chance of that! When did you last meet a generous dwarf?" Sharmoon smiled, rising to her feet and straightening her dress. "I'll be back before nightfall," she said, sheathing her sword. "Be careful on the road, comrade. Not all of our enemies fled to the hills after the battle." With a nod, Sharmoon walked off towards the centre of the camp. Keelam watched until she disappeared among the tents, before crawling back to her blankets and snuggling up to her sleeping companion. It was barely four miles to the crossroads and Sharmoon made the journey in less than an hour, for she encountered neither foes nor peril along the way. Two ancient highways crossed at a place where once a lone watchtower had stood. The tower was long demolished but in the circular ruins of its foundations a large covered wagon had been set up, festooned with black canvas awnings that looked like market stalls. Beneath the awnings stood an array of tables, anvils, toolboxes and braziers. Two heavy oxen tethered nearby nibbled the grass and gazed impassively as Sharmoon approached from the west. She saw no other evidence of activity and wondered briefly if her trek had been wasted, but her hopes rose when she saw glowing coals in a brazier near one of the awnings. Halting beside it, she warmed her hands and looked around. Beneath the awning stood a long table to which three iron vices were fixed. Implements lay in neat rows on the tabletop but Sharmoon recognised them as woodworking tools rather than those used by metalsmiths. She saw chisels and files of various sizes, together with awls, planers and mallets. At one end of the table a dozen mysterious wooden objects stood in a circle. Sharmoon took a closer look and chuckled, for the objects were life-size phallic carvings, fashioned with exquisite skill from several varieties of wood in the shape of erect cockstems. Although amused by this unexpected finding, she wondered why a dwarvish weaponsmith would spend time on such a craft. Perhaps, she thought, he worshipped a fertility goddess and so carved these things as solemn religious offerings? "Do you like them?" said a voice close at hand. Startled, Sharmoon spun around and looked down at a grinning dwarf, standing a little less than five feet tall. Deep-set eyes under heavy brows stared up at her and a wide mouth beneath a broad nose showed a set of pearl-white teeth. A shaggy mop of brown hair framed the dwarf's round face, which was smooth and bare, with neither beard nor whisker. "A female!" muttered Sharmoon, voicing her thoughts aloud. The dwarf nodded. "Kirith Moriksdaughter is my name," she said, her voice only slightly less deep and gravelly than the voices of her menfolk. "What do you seek here, tall warrior?" Sharmoon noticed the dwarf woman wore a tough leather apron over her grey tunic and had strong, gnarled hands. "Are you the weaponsmith?" she asked. "I've trudged four miles to get my blade sharpened." She unsheathed the sword and showed it to Kirith, who inspected it closely. "This is a fine weapon!" said the dwarf. "But it has seen many, many battles. Morik my father is the smith whom you seek, but he went away last night to tend an ancient sabre." "Will he return today?" asked Sharmoon. Kirith shook her head. "Three days he'll be gone. Do you wish to wait for him?" Sharmoon groaned. "No. I have to get back to the warband. Tomorrow we head north in pursuit of our foes." Kirith shrugged. "No need to worry. I can sharpen your blade, if you wish, for my father has taught me his craft. I lack his skill, of course, but I'm still a better weaponsmith than any Skinnyleg!" "Good tidings!" said Sharmoon, sighing with relief. Her eyes were drawn once again to the phallic carvings. Kirith followed her gaze and repeated her earlier question. "Do you like them?" "I don't know," Sharmoon replied. "They're certainly unusual." "I made them," Kirith explained. "Woodcarving is my primary craft and I prefer it to smithying, although the anvil and hammer would bring me more wealth. There's little money in wood these days." Sharmoon moved closer to the table and picked up one of the carvings. It was ten inches long and two inches in girth, its surface smooth and polished. The tip bulbed like a mushroom's cap, ending in a blunted point. She ran a finger along the length and around the tip, smiling at its resemblance to a real cockstem. "I've seen something similar before," she said, recalling an old memory. "Four years ago, I think. One of my comrades bought a phallus from a half-orc pedlar. She paid a good price, but it was made from leather, and unlike these woodcarvings it was a work of no quality. Presumably your fine work is destined for the shrines of the fertility gods?" The dwarf woman laughed heartily. "No! They're just toys. No different in purpose to that leather phallus that you once encountered." Sharmoon raised her eyebrows. "You realise, then, why my comrade bought it?" "Of course! Why else would a woman purchase the likeness of a cockstem?" Sharmoon carefully replaced the phallus on the table and looked at the others. Some were intricately carved, with strange patterns that resembled sinews, nodules or tiny spikes. A few adornments mystified her: a miniature frog, a skull, a crouching lion. The dwarf joined her at the table and rearranged the carvings, handling them delicately in her thick fingers. "Who buys such things?" asked Sharmoon. Kirith shrugged. "My customers are many and varied: single girls, married women, old women. And some men, too: husbands seeking gifts for their wives, men who love other men, and a few pilgrims." "Pilgrims?" "Devotees of the fertility goddess," answered the dwarf.. "They buy them to place in their temples, or at least that's what they tell me!" She chuckled heartily and Sharmoon laughed along with her. For a while they inspected the objects in silence, until Sharmoon turned away with a sigh. "So, Moriksdaughter! What about my sword? Can your dwarven skill restore its sharpness?" "Of course! Better yet, I will charge you a mere two- thirds of my father's rate, for he has the greater skill." "Ah!" said Sharmoon, her mouth drooping. "Now we reach the problem. Unfortunately I have no money at this time, so perhaps your father might extend credit to me. I am known and trusted in these lands, where dozens of folk will readily vouch for my honesty." Kirith's heavy brows furrowed so deeply that her eyes were almost hidden in shadow. "A problem indeed! Alas for you, my father never gives credit to Skinnylegs. He gives it to fellow dwarves, but only with extortionate rates of interest." She saw the gloomy expression in Sharmoon's face and met the tall warrior's mournful gaze. Stone-hearted dwarf though she was, Kirith was not so stern as her father. Even by dwarven standards he was mean-spirited and his daughter felt sympathy for those with whom he bargained. "Listen to me, lady," she said, after an awkward pause. "Perhaps we can strike an agreement, you and I? I'll sharpen your blade, for free, but you must do something in return, for free. How does that sound to you?" Sharmoon's curiosity was instantly aroused, especially at the mention of a free sword-sharpening. "It depends on what you want me to do." "It's quite simple," Kirith explained. "I need someone to comment on my newest designs. It has to be a woman, of course. If the comments are favourable, I'll take the new carvings to market on Saturday." "Alright," said Sharmoon. "That sounds easy enough. Show me the carvings and I'll give you my honest opinion." Kirith grinned. "I need more than your opinion, lady. I need you to try them out." The request so surprised Sharmoon that she laughed. "Are you serious?" Kirith nodded, returning Sharmoon's grin. The warrior took a deep breath. "Well, Moriksdaughter! I admire your curtness. Dwarves are not famed for their tact, it is said, but your blunt speech exceeds all!" For a moment they stared at each other, until Sharmoon raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright! I care too much for my sword to refuse your offer. Consider the agreement struck and sealed." Kirith bowed, following the custom of her race, placing a hand over her heart and closing her eyes. Then she straightened and pointed to the wagon. "My father's best grindstone sits under the front axle. Give me your blade!" They walked over to the wagon and Kirith reached beneath the axle, hauling out a heavy grindstone on an iron trestle. Sharmoon marvelled at the dwarf woman's strength, admiring the well-toned muscles in her limbs. Kirith became aware of the barbarian's gaze and acknowledged it with a wink and a broad smile. Sitting on a low stool she set the stone turning, working the pedal with her foot, her short sturdy legs pumping hard until the wheel spun faster than a night-breeze. Sparks flew from the steel as Kirith pressed the sword against the spinning stone. Such was her skill that the process was completed within a few minutes, far quicker than if a barbarian smith had undertaken the task. Sharmoon took back the blade and tested its sharpness on her finger. To her delight, it drew blood at the lightest touch. "Excellent!" she commented, her blue eyes narrowing as they scanned the blade's smooth surface. "Sharp as a razor, yet no trace of the grindstone. If Morik is a better swordsmith than his daughter, then surely he is the best that now lives!" Kirith stood up, smiling at the compliment as she returned the grindstone to its place beneath the axle. Standing beside a short ladder that led to a door in the wagon's wood-panelled side, she beckoned to Sharmoon, and together they stepped up and went inside. The interior was shadowy and dim, taking light from two small windows that flanked the door. At either end was a floor-bed of soft cushions and blankets, partitioned by a curtain that could be drawn at need across the middle of the floor. Kirith led Sharmoon to the rear of the wagon and signalled for her to sit among the cushions. "This is where I sleep," she said, tidying the cushions and blankets. She placed an open box on the floor and knelt beside it. "My father rarely spends his nights in the wagon, for he prefers inns." Sharmoon gave a knowing grin. "He enjoys a few mugs of ale?" The dwarf woman nodded, but showed no hint of amusement. "Too much ale, alas! And wine, too. But most of all he enjoys the company of Skinnyleg wenches, especially the tall ones." "Dwarves do seem to have a penchant for tall women," said Sharmoon. "I speak now from my own experience, for last year two dwarves chased me around a tavern, proclaiming their undying love for me. Luckily I outran them, otherwise they would have fucked me on a table in front of everyone!" Kirith chuckled. "Would you not have enjoyed it?" Sharmoon shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps one day I'll allow myself to be caught and bedded by a dwarf, just to satisfy my curiosity." Kirith cast her a swift glance, but Sharmoon failed to notice it, her attention being drawn to the box. It lay within her reach and she rummaged inside, pulling forth a long, slender phallus with a bulbous tip and three raised rings encircling the shaft. She examined it closely, lifting an eyebrow as she ran her finger over the rings. "My new collared design," Kirith explained, taking the carving from Sharmoon. "It stimulates well, I think, but I would value your comments on it." "You've used it on yourself?" The dwarf nodded, stretching out her short legs as she sat on a cushion facing her guest. "Try it. See what you think." Sharmoon hesitated, before sitting back among a heap of cushions, making herself as comfortable as possible. She felt somewhat nervous, which surprised her, for coyness rarely troubled her and usually she felt at ease displaying her body in the company of other females. A flush of warmth at the edges of her face told her that she might even be blushing slightly. Stretching her long legs, she hoisted up the hem of the leather dress and held it in place with her left hand, expecting to hold the phallus in her right. Her expectation was corrected by Kirith, who shook her head solemnly. "It's better if I do it," she said. "I have more experience with such things." Sharmoon cautiously parted her thighs, keeping a wary eye on the phallus. For a while Kirith did nothing except stare at the barbarian's exposed crotch. "Now I see why our menfolk chased you around the tavern, for you are indeed very beautiful." "Thank you!" Sharmoon replied, watching in bewildered anticipation as the dwarf woman smeared her fingers with oil from a glass jar. "Just relax, tall warrior! The test will be worthless if your muscles remain tense." "Gods!" hissed Sharmoon as her cunt felt the touch of a warm fingertip. Then she gave a soft gasp as two sturdy fingers wormed inside. Old jokes about dwarvish clumsiness sprang into her mind, but Kirith's probing felt surprisingly gentle and exceedingly pleasant. Sharmoon sighed, and smiled, closing her eyes as she snuggled her bare buttocks into the cushions. She purred when a fingertip lightly brushed her clit and felt truly disappointed when the touch was not repeated. Instead, the dwarf slowly withdrew her fingers and transferred them to the wooden phallus, oiling the shaft until it glistened. "Do you feel sufficiently lubricated?" she asked and, when she received a nod in reply, she gently inserted the phallus into Sharmoon's slit. Inch by inch, the hard shaft penetrated the warrior woman's well-oiled flesh, making its way slowly along until its entire length lay inside. Sharmoon opened her eyes and beamed at Kirith, who grinned as she withdrew the shaft very slowly. As the three raised collars moved backwards along her slick tunnel, Sharmoon gave a series of tiny moans and her nostrils flared. The bulbous tip had almost emerged from her body when the shaft thrust forward again, its pace still deliciously slow, until once more it lay buried deep within. "How does it feel?" Kirith inquired. "Wonderful!" whispered Sharmoon, her long dark eyelashes fluttering. "Good!" chuckled the dwarf, as she again withdrew the shaft. Twelve times she repeated the sequence of inserting and withdrawing, until Sharmoon sank down in the cushions, sprawled out like a drunkard, her face pink and her legs quivering. Kirith's final withdrawal of the phallus left her teetering on the brink of orgasm, but then the bulbous tip slipped out of her body and she lay among the cushions, breathless but unfulfilled. "Why did you stop?" she asked, her eyes fixing the dwarf with a hostile stare. "Better that you don't climax too soon," came the reply. "Better for me if your cunt stays hungry for my carvings, for then your flesh is more sensitive to the test." Sharmoon sighed, sitting up with some difficulty before regaining her former position. Flicking a strand of dark hair from her face she made herself comfortable again. "What's next?" she asked, peeping into the box. The dwarf woman held up a phallus whose shaft was shorter and thicker than the first. Instead of a single bulbous tip it had a row of three, each bulb decorated with dozens of tiny round nodules. Kirith smeared it liberally with oil, chuckling mischievously when she saw the anxious expression in her guest's eyes. "Don't fret! I know it looks formidable, but I assure you that the pimples won't hurt your flesh. Do you need more oil?" Sharmoon shook her head, bracing herself for the insertion. The first bulb disappeared inside her slit with a soft squelching noise, then the second, and finally the third. Her flesh, still tingling after being so cruelly deprived of its orgasm, felt so heightened in sensitivity that she felt every one of the countless nodules as the three bulbs made their slow journey along her slick tunnel. "Hell's Fire!" she gasped through clenched teeth as the phallus began to pull back, the nodules or pimples scraping along her tube as the three bulbs pushed against the slick walls. Her heart pounded and her head spun as the shaft halted, paused briefly, then thrust forward again. Her fingernails tore into the cushions and she closed her eyes so tightly that they hurt. Kirith repeated the sequence nine times, in and out, in and out, and on the ninth withdrawal Sharmoon climaxed, her buttocks squirming among the cushions as she succumbed to the strange sensations. In the aftermath she half sat, half lay, breathless and sweating, her nostrils flaring at the scent of her own juices. She gave a faint smile to the dwarf but received a glare in response. "I told you to hold back!" Kirith complained, tossing the phallus aside. "Why did you let yourself go so soon?" Sharmoon pursed her lips. Never before had she been chastised for climaxing too quickly. She had always regarded it as an advantage, a talent that her female lovers appreciated and her male lovers avidly welcomed. "It's hardly my fault! Blame that thing you shoved in my cunt! Surely my climax is a compliment to your woodcarving skills?" Kirith's gaze softened and her broad muscular shoulders relaxed. "I'm sorry. I was wrong to be angry with you, for indeed you have complimented my carving in the best possible way. Please excuse the heat of my dwarvish temper!" Sharmoon smiled. "I forgive you. Yet maybe I should have held out a while longer?" "A Skinnyleg weakness!" said Kirith, patting Sharmoon's knees. "A dwarf woman has the strength to hold her climax until the time is right." "I don't believe that. I reckon it's no more than a myth." "No. It's true," Kirith retorted, reaching inside the box and producing a third phallus. This she held aloft, while Sharmoon peered at it. Unlike the other two carvings it was smooth, slender and unadorned, with a slightly bulbous tip. "Are you recovered yet?" asked Kirith. Sharmoon nodded, clearing long strands of hair off her face. She saw the dwarf smearing the slim phallus with oil and wondered why such lubrication was necessary. "No need for oil," she pointed out. "My cunt is dripping like a honeycomb!" "This isn't for your cunt," said Kirith, chuckling to herself. "Turn over, please." "No!" Sharmoon protested. "I'm not having that wooden spike shoved up my ass!" "Remember our bargain!" hissed the dwarf. "Now turn onto your belly!" Cursing under her breath, Sharmoon twisted around and lay face down on the blankets, folding her arms on a cushion and resting her chin on her hands. Another cushion, placed by Kirith under her hips, lifted her hindquarters so that her bare ass was raised and exposed. She groaned, still grumbling, and received a playful slap on her right buttock. "Ouch! That hurt!" "Well, stop complaining! And make sure you relax." Sharmoon giggled when she felt an oily fingertip prodding her asshole. "Hey! Stop tickling!" "Hush!" said Kirith, as her forefinger eased into the puckering hole. She felt the warrior woman's flesh tighten around the finger as it wormed its way deeper. When she heard a soft moan she smiled, wiggling her finger to lubricate the passage. Intuition told her that Sharmoon was no stranger to this kind of intimacy. Sharmoon gave a long slow moan and heard what sounded like a faint echo of it. She paused, listening, hearing at first only the squelching noises from her asshole. But then she heard it again: a sigh of pleasure that was not her own. Twisting her head, she peered behind and saw the dwarf woman's left hand moving beneath the leather apron. A dreamlike expression glimmered in Kirith's deep-set eyes and her wide mouth hung half-open. Sharmoon grinned when the dwarf gave another sigh. "Enjoying yourself, Moriksdaughter?" Kirith nodded, continuing to masturbate while probing Sharmoon with the wooden phallus. The barbarian turned away, resting her left cheek on her hands and smiling when she heard a low grunting noise. She knew Kirith had climaxed and she soon followed suit, the pleasant tingling in her rear passage suddenly welling through her abdomen to pulse through her entire body. A few moments of mutual peace ensued, in which the only sound was of slowly intaken breath. "Turn over!" Kirith ordered, her voice shaky and hoarse. "Lie on your back." Sharmoon obeyed, but wondered how many more objects she would be required to test. Kirith noticed the sweat glistening on her guest's brow and answered the unspoken question. "Just one more experiment. Then you can go back to your warband." Sharmoon eyed the dwarf suspiciously as she pulled from the box a small bundle wrapped in a stained rag. Kirith unwrapped it carefully, smiling when she saw Sharmoon gape in horror at the object thus revealed: an iron phallus, its tip fashioned in the likeness of a dragon's head with ravening jaws and sharp fangs. The dwarf grinned as she squeezed the base of the metal shaft, for it made a clicking noise and the dragon's jaws opened and closed. "Devilry!" hissed Sharmoon. "Surely you're not thinking of ...?" "Orcs made it," Kirith interrupted, chuckling at the terror in the barbarian's dark eyes. "They use it as a torture device. But fear not, Skinnnyleg. This evil tool is not part of our bargain!" To Sharmoon's relief she put the gruesome implement on the floor and rummaged in the box, eventually picking out an imitation of the dragon phallus. It was in fact a perfect replica in wood, with jaws that similarly opened and closed, and rows of tiny fangs. "Three days I spent on the making of it," Kirith explained, admiring her handiwork. "My instinct tells me that it might become a popular plaything for my regular customers. Are you brave enough to test it?" Sharmoon gave a hesitant nod. "I'm brave enough, yes. But if you hurt me with it Moriksdaughter, I'll test my sword on your skull!" "Agreed!" replied the dwarf, chuckling as she greased the wooden dragon with oil. The hidden mechanism at the base of the shaft clicked and the jaws closed. Sharmoon held her breath as the strange device approached her slit and her teeth clenched when the dragon's muzzle entered her body. The glistening flesh lips parted to receive the head of the carven beast and soon it was burrowing inside her, its ears and gaping nostrils pressing her secret places as it passed. Then, to her astonishment and delight, the jaws slowly opened, producing a sensation unlike anything she had known before. Kirith listened carefully to the warrior's sighs and moans, using them to guide her manipulation of the device. If she twisted the head too much, Sharmoon's appreciative noises ceased and her limbs tensed. If the jaws opened too quickly, they prompted a groan of displeasure. Eventually, Kirith partly withdrew the dragon to allow the tiny wooden fangs to close upon Sharmoon's stiffening clit. The barbarian cursed loudly and clenched her teeth, feeling a myriad of familiar sensations curiously intensified. Coaxed by Kirith's skilful handling of the dragon, she experienced a third climax that rivalled the sum of the other two in its potency. The dragon's teeth nibbled her clit until she felt certain that the fleshy nubbin would be completely devoured. Blood pounded in her head, subsiding slowly as the waves of pleasure gradually lessened, but for a full minute afterwards she lay breathless and panting, her legs twitching whenever she tried to move. "Good! Very good!" commented the dwarf, rising creakily to her feet and shoving the box of carvings into a corner. She straightened her apron and tunic, offering Sharmoon a helping hand when the barbarian finally felt able to sit upright. "Ignore my earlier complaint," said Kirith. "I hereby rescind it, for you are not as weak as other Skinnyleg females. True, you climax too quickly, but you possess a good measure of stamina, and that is an admirable trait." With considerable effort Sharmoon struggled to her feet and tidied her hair and clothing. Looking down at the dwarf she noticed a twinkle in the deep-set eyes and a wide toothsome grin. "I like you, my tall friend!" said Kirith. "Maybe one day you'll find me again, and we'll share a jug of ale in a tavern?" Sharmoon smiled, reaching out to ruffle the dwarf woman's hair. "Maybe so, Moriksdaughter. Maybe we'll do that. But now I must hurry back to the camp." Kirith bowed and led her out of the wagon. Outside, the sunlight seemed very bright and they shielded their eyes against it. "Thank you for sharpening my sword," said Sharmoon. "I trust that you consider my debt paid?" "Paid in full, dark lady! Indeed, so enthusiastically did you test my new carvings that I now feel deeply indebted to you." The warrior woman turned to leave, making for the crossroads, but Kirith called after her: "Which of them was best, do you think?" Sharmoon spun on her heels and looked back at the dwarf. "The dragon, of course! That's why you kept it to the last, is it not?" Kirith laughed and gave a parting wave as Sharmoon strode away, watching as the barbarian broke into a run before a distant dip of the road hid her from sight. THE END The Dragon & Sharmoon. Copyright 2003 Trisha Monks.