Fanny Does Ferelden: Chapter Ten
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Fanny Cousland has only recently been awakened to the sensual world of sexual pleasure. She'll do anything and anyone in her quest for true love. Female Cousland/Everyone. Contains an ever expanding list of kinks including bondage, anal, beardsex and more! !NWS!
(Previous Chapters)
It was still night-time in the camp, as though it would remain night-time forever until some arbitrary set of pre-ordained conditions had been met which would trigger some form of transition in the static world around me. I rubbed my suddenly aching temples, Wynne's lesson had done some strange things to my vocabulary, magic clearly had odd drawbacks. The important question now was would men be intimidated by the sudden embiggening of my word pool or not? They are fairly simple creatures of basic lusts and shallow pride, my beauty and intelligence may prove to be too much for them. Is it possible to be too perfect?
Surely not!
I was meandering around the camp in a vague way, looking pretty of course, wondering how to find this "Jory" person when I walked straight into an armour-clad wall of manchest. I looked dazedly at the plates of shiny metallic armour before my eyes: It was made of several strips of metal with rounded ends and my magically enhanced brain told me it was something called "split mail". It reminded me of nothing less than dog biscuits for some reason, though I hoped it protected the nice chest behind it better than those would do in a fight. Being nibbled to death by slobbering Mabari was probably not a nice way to meet ones maker.
I looked upwards and my baby blues widened in surprise and delight as I saw the face of the man to whom the solid wall of chest belonged to. He had an open and trusting complexion, with a passing similarity to the King's own features but without the King's cocksure manner and certainly without the flowing golden hair. This man's hair was brownish and was arranged in an odd short but spiky style that spoke of a mix of practicality and impish personality. I had the feeling he wore a helmet a lot and that armour spoke volumes about the kind of warrior's musculature that would be behind it... mmm.
He was handsome in a rather ordinary way, his eyes were somewhere between hazel and light brown. His nose was slightly too pointed for perfection, but nothing like as huge as the snozz that perched proudly upon Loghain's sallow features. He had a very attractive philtrum (I mentally raised my eyebrows at the word Wynne had put in my head) that made me want to caress his top lip with my own pursed pout, or my sensuous fingers, or with deep strokes of my open vulva... whatever.
His mouth looked kissable but strong, not sensually poofy like Cailain's, or mockingly cruel like Duncan's. It was too bad about that rather unfortunate patch of facial hair, it was like a goatee that wanted to aspire to a proper chin covering, but couldn't quite work up the nerve. All in all it was a face that was far from godly, but one I wouldn't mind sitting on some time.
"Er.... hi!" the rather ordinary-by-my-standard's man said and his accent made my toes curl in a mixture of arousal and quite justified noble dismay. He clearly wasn't of noble blood, for no man of the peerage would address as lady by such cumbersome and plain terms, but neither was he a totally uneducated peasant. He'd had some education, I could tell, though that could not quite dissolve the metaphorical odour of wet dog that bespoke his humble origins. A nice bit of rough, in many ways.
"Hello there youtself stranger," I said, giving him a slight pout, "you wouldn't happen to be called Jory, would you?"
The man's face fell, as he realised my enviable affections were to be engaged upon another, presumably more worthy, personage, and he shook his head with what could only be described as total destitute misery.
"Ser Jory is one of our new recruit to the Wardens, you can find him receiving a blessing from one of the Chantry sisters." He glanced at my robes, clearly wondering if I was of the Chantry laity myself.
"Your recruits? Are you a Grey Warden?" I asked, hoping that not all Grey Wardens shared Duncan's passion for young pretty men and reversing their battle chargers through the back of the stable. If this man were also a Grey Warden, then his obvious lack of breeding did not matter so much. I did not know if Duncan had been nobility once, for Grey Wardens were not supposed to hold titties... er titles, I meant titles, of course.
"Yes I'm a friend of Duncan's, my name is Alistair," he said, offering me a gauntleted hand to shake.
I shook his hand with regal grace then surreptitiously whipped out my sexing list while he was occupied in politely pressingly his lips against the pale pink glove upon my peerlessly pale hand.
He wasn't on it.
Damn.
I briefly considered ravishing him anyway, but I considered how acting on my sexual impulses had brought me into Duncan's enslavement in the first place, for all I knew this Grey Warden's honest demeanour might hide an equally bestial nature, and I was tired of being treated like a possession to be passed around at whim. I gave this Alistair fellow a winsome smile and went in the direction he had indicated. The mouth between my thighs gave vent to a disappointed qweeb sound and I frowned because that was rather unladylike, not to mention gratuitous. I hope Alistair hadn't heard it.
Not far away was a small enclosure, no doubt a makeshift chapel for the Chantry sisters to hear confessions and give blessings to the troops here. Why were there so many troops here, again? Oh, right, the blight thing, whatever that was.
I found what could only be Ser Jory on his knees before a Chantry sister. That was certain a strange way of receiving a blessing! Evidently I had been missing out on some of the more esoterical religious practices of our sexy sect of Andraste, or perhaps my parents just patronised a more conservative congregation. Ser Jory seemed to be a most ardent worshipper, the way his head was bobbing all over the place, but the expression upon the face of the red-headed Laying Sister was one of duty and serene boredom.
"Hem hem," I hem hemmed, as politely as I could manage, knowing from experience that being walked in on while mid-lovemaking was never an easy thing to live down.
The Chantry Sister jumped back so quickly that Ser Jory was dislodged from her holy shrine of rapture and he fell backwards onto the floor. She twitched her robes down to cover the site of worship, but not before I'd had a glimpse of her glistening red-thatched love cottage.
"Oh arrrre yu 'ere to relieve moi, Andraaaste be praaized?!" she exclaimed, every vowel a wonder of nasalisation. She was clearly of Orlesian extraction, which might explain her slightly odd approach to religion by Ferelden standards. In my sexy robes she had obviously mistaken me for another of her Sisters, but before I could correct her she had run off back into the night, leaving me alone with the object of my sexy quest.
He was rather a disappointment, for a man who must be of some noble blood to achieve a knighthood and title of Ser, he was one ugly looking son of a Mabari. He was vaguely red-headed with a terrible, terrible, beard. A wide and flat nose plonked down in the vague middle of his face, his lips were wide and ugly. And his eyes were positively bovine. I frowned, partly at the homely and coarse features of the man Wynne had commanded me to sex up, but also at the unnecessary Thesaurus she had implanted within the grey creases of my cerebral cortex.
He rolled his big cow eyes up at me from his recumbent position sprawled upon the floor and muttered something about the fickle nature of foreign holy women. Whatever, I just wanted to get this over with. Ser Jory was obviously well-muscled under his armour, maybe I could just put a bag over his head or do it Mabari style.
"Let us pray," I said, getting upon all fours and flipping up my skirts, to show off my crotch-less underwear and well, my crotch, duh. Ser Jory rose up behind and slapped the perfect moons of my buttocks. I heard a clanking sound as his armour greaves and whatever he wore beneath them fell to the ground.
Then he plunged his sword of mercy into my holy shrine without the slightest attempt at foreplay. He mounted me like a bull mounts a um.... cow: Bellowing and pulling at my teats with his clumsy hoof-like hands. I understood the bored look on the face of the Laying Sister now, Ser Jory was totally clueless. He was quite large in his man parts, but that alone was no use to me.
"Bless me sister, for I have sinned," Jory mooed in my ear as he mechanically thrust in and out of my under unappreciated love cavern.
"Oh, right," I muttered, remembering I was supposed to be playing the role of a holy woman. I struggled to remember the bits of the chant of light I had learned as a child, but only one verse came to mind at the moment.
"And there I saw the Black City, its towers forever stain'd, its gates forever shut. Heaven has been filled with silence, I knew then, and cross'd my heart with shame." My Black City was totally shut up at the current time, no rapturous moans breeched heaven and I felt ashamed that I had let this incompetent man up in my business.
I didn't know sex could be so bad! So boring, so unfulfilling! What was I supposed to learn from this? This had to be some cruel joke of Wynne's, that must be it! She was obviously jealous of my sexy skills and my youth, and, well, my everything. So sad that she felt she needed to sabotage my lovely life of rapture, but I guess that's what happens when you're old. I made a promise to myself never to get old, maybe I should seek out some kind of demonic bargain before I got much older. I mean, I was already eighteen, I wouldn't want to get any older and start getting crow's-feet or something. Ew.
I was lost in my train of thought that I had almost forgotten Jory still had his bigness up my passage. He came with a bellow that jolted me out of my self-reverie: "HELENA!"
Who the heck was Helena? Oh, whatever, I was so done with this sex list nonsense. I ignored Ser Jory, who was now lying in a puddle of his own cooling man gravy and pulled out the list again. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw Arl Howe's name on the bottom of the list. He was one ugly guy, with a reputation for sexual deviancy (and not the good kind!) and my parents had occasionally tried to get me to marry his son. As if an Arl's son was good enough for me!
I tore up the list and stormed out of the Chantry. Again I walked straight into a wall of manchest. I looked up hoping it might be that rather nice peasant boy Alistair again, but it wasn't.
It was Duncan and he looked furious!
Shit.