Hyandai's hair still tickled his stomach, and even slid its silky, smoothness over his testicles and thighs. Her bobbing up and down became faster and more insistent.
Harlen felt his testicles draw up in preparation for his orgasm. Her fingers gripped the constricting eggs and squeezed them gently, rolling them around in their sack together.
Groaning through clenched teeth, he climaxed strongly, his seed pumping into her sucking mouth. A small part of his mind noticed that she drew him just barely within her mouth as he ejaculated, no longer deep down in her throat. He felt her tongue massaging the notch on the underside of his swollen cock head as his seed filled her and moved over that tongue.
Long after Harlen ceased squeezing out semen, Hyandai finally swallowed his seed down her throat, having held it a long while for him to finish giving it to her.
She smiled at him, still kneading his balls and stroking his shaft of his shrinking manhood. "And that," Hyandai said, "is why this is such a happy place."
There was a giggle in the distance; the sound of a young woman. Harlen looked in that direction and saw movement near the far edge of the clearing. "We were just watched." Harlen said, grinning down at Hyandai.
She grinned back. "I know." She replied. "They watched everything. In fact, he just talked her into letting him do to her what you did to me." Her grin widened. "And thus the offering is returned tenfold by the spirits." She said, almost ritualistically. Harlen doubted not that she was actually offering praise, not just joking or stating rote.
---
Freshly dressed and grinning like teenagers, Harlen and Hyandai proceeded down the gravel road with a bit more spring in their step than before.
They turned off the road and into a private walk that led up into an unfenced yard. It was another of the small, but elegant homes. Hyandai marveled and reminded herself once again to defend human towns from the often-callous words of the elves.
Harlen opened the door of the house and walked right in, much to Hyandai's surprise. She followed at his beckoning gesture.
Inside the cottage was cool, and the small common room was filled with the collected bric-a-brac of a long human life. There were shelves everywhere with little items. Stones collected by Harlen, statuettes, small paintings of people both dead and alive, and many small pressed flowers under sheet glass.
However, the centerpiece of the room was a shelf that contained a half dozen items, items of rather mundane appearance, but was all of elven manufacture.
As she took in the very homey little room, Harlen called out. "Gramma, you have company."
There was a voice from the back of the house, it sounded as if it was moving closer. "Well, my good-for-nothing grandson has finally decided to stop playing in the woods and give his dear old gramma a visit, has he?" The voice was old, but strong and very energetic. "Or did you just need your socks darn . . .." She stopped speaking as she walked into the room, her eyes falling upon the slender, petite elven lass looking back at her with her hands behind her back demurely.
Hyandai regarded her. Gramma was an elderly woman, but not quite decrepit, she decided. She was only a bit taller than Hyandai herself, and quite slender, as well. Her hair was universally silver, with only a very few spots of darker black among the long strands. Hyandai smiled when she saw Harlen's deep blue eyes.
"Oh, my." Gramma said; her expression slightly stunned. "Aren't you a lovely lass?" She murmured. Her eyes were no longer in the now, however. Hyandai saw the faraway look of someone remembering something from many years ago.
Harlen beamed at both the women in the room. "Gramma, this is Hyandai." He said. "Hyandai, this is my grandmother."
The elf-maiden smiled at her and said. "I am pleased to meet Harlen's grand dame." She said, and bowed low, almost touching her chest to her forward knee. Gracefully, she stood back up. "I have heard much of you and your good influence on him."
"I can tell he finally got around to doing something smart, for once." Gramma said, her smile widening.
Harlen shuffled his feet a little at those words, and Hyandai's heart swelled upon seeing her big man acting as a little boy, even for a moment.
"If you mean he was smart in courting me, then I must say that I must be even smarter, for desiring him to do so." Hyandai said. "Your grandson is a well-bred and wonderful man." She paused a moment. "And handsome, too." Hyandai added.
Gramma beamed at hearing her boy praised so boldly by a young woman. "I will lay claim to the first two." She said. "Though he probably got his looks from elsewhere."
Hyandai giggled. "You're too humble." She said. "I see your visage in the face of this man." She moved to Harlen's side and pressed against him.
Sitting in a large, padded chair, Gramma said. "You elves are as smooth-tongued as ever." She was smiling, though. "I've missed your people's fine way with words."
Both Harlen and Hyandai moved across the room to a large couch and sat upon it.
"I see you collect elven mementoes." Hyandai said after a small pause.
Gramma nodded. "Aye." She said. "Please, take a look at them. I would ask you what some of them might be."
Hyandai rose from the couch and moved to the shelf. "May I touch?" She asked, barely able to hold her hands back.
"Your people made them, my dear." Said his grandmother. "I would be honored if you were to examine them. They're not fragile."
She picked up the first item; a flute, carven of ornthal wood. It was engraved with many fine traceries and inlaid with silver. When Hyandai placed her lips to it, a haunting sound filled the room, each note so pure that one could almost touch it. She played a short tune on it then stopped. "It is wondrous. How came you by a master minstrel's flute?"
The old woman smiled mysteriously, and said. "I was much prettier than I am now, in my younger days, Hyandai. Enough so to turn even a master minstrel's head, if I took a notion."
Both the women giggled, and Harlen coughed uncomfortably. Gramma smacked him on the shoulder. "Make yourself useful boy, and split me some wood, I'm running low, let us women speak without man-ears to hear us."
Harlen made a totally fake sour face and skulked out the back door of the room, then there was the sound of another door followed by the sound of wood being split.
"You run a tight camp, um?" Hyandai asked the unspoken question.
"Call me Maggie, if you like, or Gramma, either, if you prefer, Hyandai." She said.
"Well, you run a tight camp, Lady Maggie." Hyandai said, grinning.
Maggie smiled. "Oh, a lady am I?" She said, patting her hair gently with one hand.
The elf said. "When an adult elf comes across a human who bests them in years, we tend to want to show some respect." She nodded to Maggie.
Maggie said. "Well, I wish it weren't so obvious, but, I would wager I do best you in that count." She chuckled.
She turned back to the shelf of elven artifacts, replacing the flute and picking up a silver chalice. "Do you know its purpose?" She asked Gramma.
"No, actually, it was found in the wilds many years back, and I bought it from a traveling merchant." The lady said, looking at the chalice. "It was so beautiful, I knew right off it was wrought by elven hands."
Hyandai said. "Indeed, it was." She looked at it closely. "It is a wedding cup, from whence a couple would drink wine to seal their marriage." She showed Gramma the engraving. "It was wrought some three thousand years ago, ere the fall of the Syrisian Empire, see there? Those are symbols used by the Syrisians that the elves of the day found comely."
"Oh, my. So ancient." The lady said, smiling.
Hyandai said. "Very much so. Some among my people would pay a dear ransom for that chalice, if they knew of it." She sat it back on the counter cautiously. "Even the elves do not live long enough to show little regard for the passing of three millennia.
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