You’ve always had a talent for healing. As a child you discovered this at eight when you mended your own scraped knee from falling in the woods, already fearing the lecture you were sure you were going to get from your mother. “Don’t you know there are dangerous creatures in there, my little sweetcake? Monsters who would happily eat little girls like you up in one bite.” She’d always try to break the levity with a joke, more for her sake than your own you’re sure. Your father was always too busy on the road to be of much help, leaving you and your mother alone more often than not.
Something in your heart told you to keep this secret from your family, knowing what was whispered about at market about witches and magic and evil. Your mother would surely consider you corrupted by the forest and put you up to the town for ‘saving.’ At twelve you were graced with the supposed miracle that was your baby brother. Your father finally stopped traveling and took up a post in town in order to be here. “I’ve got to make sure this boy is raised properly.” He was gruff at the best of times, although until this moment you’d never doubted he loved you. If the option had been here for so long though, long enough at least that he could take it so easily with little notice, then why hadn’t he done it earlier to take care of you? Raise you? Love you in person instead of through sporadic letters?
You brother’s fifth birthday was when it all came undone. At seventeen your father was getting antsy to marry you off, so every party was an occasion at which you had to be prepared to be shown off and carted around to all sorts of interested suitors which never failed to bore you to tears. Thus far you had managed to avoid that fate, sticking close to the children and making the excuse that you were watching them to give their parents a break. The accident happens in a blink. Your brother is in the middle of a rather intense game of tag, and is tackled down the hill by the child who was it. The two go tumbling, and the tackler stands up while your brother lies at the bottom of the hill looking battered and bleeding from a nasty cut to the temple.
The child who hit him is crying apologies, and the rest of the kids are starting to break down in tears. Before you can think about it you run down the hill and skid down on your knees to his side. You thread your hands in his hair and press your forehead against his, weaving your magic to take care of his head and neck injuries. You forget to leave the more superficial marks though. You learned long ago that if you were healing someone, you never told, and you made sure to leave whatever marks you thought necessary to make it look natural. The sight of his little body laying crumpled and bloody at the bottom of the hill removed all sense from you though, and when you pull back your hands are coated in blood but the gash on his head is healed.
Gasping and looking around concerned you stand and make a dash to grab your cloak from the house. “I-I’m going to run into town and get the doctor.” A good excuse, you think, and are thankful that the doctor and his family are not at this gathering. Before anyone can say anything you dodge off, slipping your hand into the seam of your dress and checking for your pocket. You’re grateful for the errands your mother had sent you on and the money you had sitting in your pocket, because after this you’re sure you can’t go back. You make it into town in short order, and you do actually send the doctor although you tell him to go ahead without you, making the excuse that your parents asked you to pick some things up in town to help make your brother feel better. You head to the store and think back to every book you had ever read that involved an adventuring party. You pick up a decent amount of hard cheese and some bread rolls, some dried salted meat, and you have enough left for some potatoes and onions. You make the mumbled excuse about some sort of stew and pay for the food and a linen bag to carry it all in.
When you start to hear a commotion coming from the direction of your parent’s home, and some muffled cries about witches, your worst fears are confirmed and you make sure to walk out of town as inconspicuously as possible. Once you hit the forest road you immediately head into the woods, trying to keep out of sight of the road while still following along it. You walk, you walk and walk, and even when your feet ache and you feel your toes might fall off you continue walking. You walk until sunset, thankful for the warmth of the summer. As night falls you climb a straight path into the woods, marking it with a few broken twigs so that you can find your way back to the road in the morning. You want to be far enough in to escape torchlight, as you’re sure that if people come looking for you they’ll stick to the well worn road, refusing to believe a young woman would venture out into the woods in the middle of the night alone and unarmed.
Sleep come strangely easily to you, although dreamless and slightly fitful you manage to rest for the most part until morning. You wake with the dawn, unsurprising considering you’re outside with no cover. After stretching and taking care of yourself as best you can manage, you walk on. You take out some cheese and bread, nibbling as you try to find your way along the path you’d marked last night.
It takes you a surprisingly long time to come to terms with the fact that you’re lost. You’re somewhere in the middle of the forest, you can’t find the road, you’ve picked a direction and simply begun walking, trying to keep as straight a line as you can manage. Your second night is spent in tears as you drain your water skin and try to think of what you should do. Your mind spirals in anxiety until you fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion, waking once again at first light, tired and frazzled.
You don’t think you’ve ever been more thankful when, after hours of walking, a brook bisects your path. You turn to follow it, moving upstream against the current as you walk along the bank. You fill your skin thankfully from the clear water, and take a few handfuls to pour over your face and hair, feeling as clean as you’d get for now. You followed that brook for another two days before coming across a secluded house in the middle of the forest. That’s where you met Brinth. Brinth was an old woman even when you met her those years ago and she took you in, teaching you her ways and recognizing your gift in the healing arts for what it was. “You were right to flee those cities of men, they’ve never known what to do with talented girls. They call it witchcraft when you can do anything other than sew and make babies.” You want to laugh at the bluntness, but there’s a ring of truth to the statement.
That was many years ago now. Enough years that Brinth was now gone, burned to ash and scattered outside the cottage she so loved, a marker left where the pyre had stood. You had taken up in her stead, providing your healing to those who could not intermingle with human settlements and doctors. You didn’t advertise your skills, even discouraging word of mouth in except the most dire of circumstances. You don’t want to be found, especially not by humans. You like your quiet life in your cottage with your chickens and bees and garden.
You’re sitting by the fire as the embers of twilight drift over the world, blanketing everything in cricket song and croaking frogs. Embroidery was a favorite hobby of yours, however stereotypically feminine it might be. You were working on bringing a lily to life at the moment on a piece of linen cloth you’d been given by a goblin merchant. You had no use for money really, considering you never went anywhere to spend it, so you would only accept goods in trade for your services and only when freely offered. You didn’t live lavishly, but were plenty comfortable with your furs and clothes, cast iron pots and, well, maybe occasionally a piece of jewelry or two. You’re humming a tune that you heard from an orc patient once, trying to remember how a certain part of the bridge went, when you’re interrupted by a loud crash coming from your back garden and a pained lowing.
It only takes you a moment to light a lamp, pulling on a glass shade for it before stepping out your back door. There’s still some light left, just enough to throw everything into stark shadow as a hulking form lies prone amongst your cabbages, leaving shards of fencing in their wake from where they obviously fell. When you reach them, you’re greeted by a rare sight. The minotaur lying in your garden is speckled, with a midnight dark back that bleeds into a stark white belly and front, sides covered in speckled dots blending the two. She’s gasping, and you can see from the way her chest strains to rise and fall on the upward facing side that there’s likely a broken rib or two, hopefully not a full puncture of the lung. There’s blood oozing from an assortment of cuts, but none so worrisome as the huge gash on her thigh that’s quickly pouring scarlet blood out onto the soil. You barely glance up from your appraisal of the minotaur when they weakly grasp your ankle and grind out “where’s Brinth?”
“Dead, this past winter. Sickness, we assumed because she was half orc she was immune to orc blight but we were wrong. We managed to save our patient, but Brinth couldn’t pull through.” Your appraisal of the situation is quick, although the situation itself was much messier. Brinth had been happy to sacrifice her life for that of a young orc child who had been cast into the forest because of the disease. He was saved and sent off by Brinth to join others she’d managed to cure, but when the first signs of the illness began appearing as lesions on her neck and chest, both of you knew this was the end for her. You did what you could to keep her comfortable, fully immune as a human, but because you were a human there was nothing your healing magic could do against a disease like this.
Before you can get lost in the memories though you blank your mind, well practiced after years of meditation and instruction. You let out a long, easy breath as you feel your power flow through your hand, gentle and warm but strangely buzzing and tingling. The amount of damage means a wound like this will take several sessions, and even then the body is going to need time to replenish in order to heal at all even with your magic. You manage to knit together the artery and get some of the larger muscle pulled in place to protect it, after triaging the wound as much as the body will allow you take care to check the minotaur’s ribs. Pressing your head to their chest, you can hear that your worst fears are confirmed, and that there seems to be a puncture in the lung.
“We’re going to have to get you inside. You’ve got a badly broken ribs and it seems like there’s a hole in one of your lungs. I’ve dealt with that before, but we’re going to have to release some of the air unless you want to die due to compression because your lungs won’t expand. I’m going to have to put a copper tube in your chest, it’s going to hurt like a bitch but then feel almost immediately better, I promise.” You’re giving the minotaur a serious look, their huge dark eyes boring into you as seriously as they can muster.
“How can I trust anything you’re saying? How do I know you didn’t kill Brinth yourself?” You scowl down at the minotaur and almost bare your teeth.
“I will forgive you for thinking that knowing what I know about Brinth and the kind of regulars she used to get. The only answer I can give is that you have to. You can trust me, or you can lie out here and die in my cabbages.” You stand from your knees then and lift the lamp with you, staring down soberly.
The growl from the minotaur is impressive, but cut short with a wince as it seems to hurt their ribs. “Fine. I’ll come in, but whatever it is you do to me, I’m going to stay awake. No drugs or sleeping draughts.” You roll your eyes but agree, it’s going to hurt even worse putting in the chest tube, but it’s better than leaving someone who obviously held Brinth in such high regard out here to die in your garden.
You’re about to tell them that you’ll get the wheelbarrow when they roll onto all fours and jerk up to standing in a way that makes you cry out nervously. You move to try and brace them, but considering their massive size and therefore incredible weight you’re left as more of an ornament than anything helpful. Still, you try to assist them into the cottage and you tell them to get settled on the cot by the fire and strip down from the waist up if they can manage without help. You busy yourself getting first a poultice and clean linen bandages for the wound on their thigh, it’s going to have to be packed and wrapped for the next few days until their body had built back enough of a supply of nutrients to heal any more of it with any real effect. With that in hand you begin gathering the things you knew you were going to need to put in a chest tube in a conscious patient.
Copper tubing and various tweezers and clamps are dumped into a large pot of water and set over the fire to boil. Rags are also covered in boiling water and left in a huge shallow bowl nearby. From a hidden compartment in the back of your workbench you remove a box, and in that box is the sharpest implement you’ve ever worked with. The knife is made from pure obsidian, honed fine enough that you can cut a single hair in half from root to tip. You cleanse it how Brinth taught you, using alcohol and fire. When you finally turn your attention to the minotaur again they’re giving you a somewhat inscrutable and somewhat wary look. Now that you’re less focused on appraising injuries, and they’re helpfully stripped from the waist up, you notice that this huge minotaur is a woman. You aren’t sure how you missed it initially actually, considering the size of her breasts. This shouldn’t make putting the tube in any more difficult, but it might make recovery slightly uncomfortable.
“All of what I am about to do to you, up until the tube is inserted, is going to feel like I’m trying to kill you. I will do everything I can to make it as comfortable and quick as possible, but know that no matter how painful this gets it is the thing that will, in fact, keep you from dying.” You stare up at her seriously as you soak her side liberally in alcohol before wiping it down with a boiled cloth, tossing the used cloth in an empty bucket beside you. “Before I begin, you need to promise me that you will not strike me as I’m doing this, that is the only thing that could cause me to seriously injure you. If you are going to stay awake I am trusting you to have the self control to let me work.” She looks at you soberly, staring into your eyes again, and nods.
“Understood sweetling.” You bristle a little at the nickname, but don’t comment and instead nod your head back and pluck the straight razor out of the pot. You give it a few shakes before shaving off as much of the fur around where you’re going to make the incision as you can and wiping the area down again with a boil soaked cloth. You expose the skin between two of her ribs, the fifth and sixth, and raise her arm over her head until she’s grabbing the base of the cot.
“You might want this.” You hand her a piece of old leather torn from a belt, doubled over. It’s enough for her to fit between her teeth so she can bear down without cracking her jaw. You slip it in her mouth and look up at her, waiting for her to nod that she’s ready. When she preps as much as she can for something like this, you brace your hand on her chest and begin.
The incision you make is small but on the deep side, considering how much more intercostal muscle minotaurs have than humans. The bellow she lets out around the leather strap in her mouth would wound your heart if you weren’t so engrossed in making sure this goes quickly. You push a bit of magic into the wound to keep bleeding minimal and slowly insert a clamp to draw it open. You check to make sure you’re in the space between the lung and diaphragm, and that you haven’t hit the lung itself. Once you’re sure you insert the tube, and the deep breath that she’s immediately able to take tells you that you’ve done it exactly right. You remove the clamp carefully and set a few stitches in place with silk thread to keep everything together. You can tell the minotaur is trying to control her breathing to make this go as quickly as possible, and although she’s in pain, the relief is palpable in the way her once tense hindquarters relax and her tail flicks against the wall.
The sound of leather hitting the floor lets you know she’s spit out her bite guard. “You weren’t kidding, if you hadn’t warned me I’d have thought you were doing me in. I feel worlds better though, shit.” Her head flops against the cot tiredly as you mop up the blood and ichor from the work with boiled towels to leave the tube draining into the mess bucket.
“This will need to stay in for a bit, a few hours at the most I think, then we can get it out and get that wound healed up. The big gash on your thigh is going to take a few weeks at least, and the ribs, we’ll need to get a lot of iron in you.” You’re almost talking to yourself at this point as you begin rambling on a list of how you’re going to need to treat her. You fail to notice the way she stares at you as you ramble, the way your hands move as you talk and your pretty human lips. That little tongue is so cute, and she’s tempted to catch it between her teeth just to see what you would do, but the thought is absolutely driven from her mind when your hands press around the fractured rib to make sure it’s set properly before you push just enough magic into it to get the bone to begin mending so it won’t shift. You want to save most of the body’s resources for dealing with the chest tube once it’s out, so that you can cross the worry of disease spreading inside the chest cavity off your list. You work on her thigh then, taking more of the boiled rags to clean around the wound after flushing it with plenty of clean fresh water.
“What’s your name sweetling?” The rumble of her voice is exhausted, but she seems less wary of you when you glance up again to meet those huge brown eyes. You introduce yourself and shiver a little at the way she repeats your name back at you, the way she purrs it out as she tastes it makes you intensely aware of how big and likely dangerous this woman is when she’s healthy. “Viadera. It’s nice to meet you, sweetling.” The name is familiar, someone Brinth had talked about before, the daughter of a friend of hers. You don’t know anything other than that, but you’re happy to welcome her into the cottage and care for her as she recovers.
“You need sleep, Viadera. Do you think you’d like to try and nap until I have to remove the chest tube?” You give her the option as you bandage her thigh, hoping that she trusts you enough to get the rest her recovering body so desperately needs. She gives you a bit of a smile, and lets out half of a sigh as she closes her eyes.
“I suppose, sweetling. After all, if you’d wanted me dead you wouldn’t go through all this trouble.” She cracks one eye open and then blinks it shut and open again quickly in a…is that supposed to be a wink? You think it’s a wink. When her eye shuts again it doesn’t reopen, and within a few minutes her breathing is even if a little on the shallow side, and she’s resting fairly well. You stay awake the whole night, thankful for the distraction of your embroidery as you continue to check on her until you’ve determined it’s time for her to wake and have the tube removed.
You mull over in your head how you might want to go about waking her up. If she’s a fighter, which it seems like she is considering her build and injuries, it’s possible she won’t react well to being woken with touch. “Viadera.” You call out her name at a relative volume, not too loud as to be shouting but certainly not a soft whisper. Her brow twitches. “Viadera!” You call out a bit louder and she snorts, moving to sit up before being stopped partway by her screaming ribs.
“Ah fuck, gods, I forgot where I was for a second.” You smile at her gently, pressing a hand over her ribs and helping a bit with the inflammation. “What can I do for you sweetling?” Her tired voice is somehow even huskier than normal as if that’s at all possible. Her sleepy, half-lidded eyes almost make her look aroused, and you wonder about her looking at you like that under different circumstances before you shake the thought away abruptly. Now is neither the time nor the place.
“It’s time to remove your chest tube, think you’re up for it? It will hurt like I stabbed you for a second and then it’s over.” She sighs but nods, biting on the side of her hand this time and looking at you expectantly. You’re quick to snip the stitches around the tube and look up at her. “Alright, one…two…” and as you begin to say “three” but before you get there you pull out the tube in one quick motion. She screams and bites against her hand momentarily, but as soon as the tube is out you begin encouraging her muscle and skin to knit together. It’s going to leave a bit of a scar, but it shouldn’t need anything more than a few days of poultice and wrapping so you can focus your healing energies on her ribs and gnarly looking thigh.
“That was mean, sweetling, or can’t you count?” You almost want to laugh at her affronted look and the way she seems on the verge of pouting. You suppress the urge though and instead give her a soft if slightly smug smile.
“Well, you need to be relaxed, and I find that patients tend to tense at the worst moments if you give them enough warning.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t rebut, instead sinking further down into the cot. “You should get some more rest, I’m going to try and sleep a bit now that I know you’re not going to be dying on me in the next few hours. Just…please take it easy. You can’t be up and around on that leg, or you’re going to make it harder for me to save.” You try to pin her with a serious look, and something in your eyes seems to get through to her as she huffs a little but promises not to get up.
You expect to feel awkward as you strip down behind a wooden screen and wash yourself quickly before getting ready for bed. You’re too tired to focus on anything but the call of your pillow though, using so much magic in such a short time frame always left you drained. You sink into bed gratefully and a blissful dreamless sleep overtakes you.
You sleep straight through the sunrise and on into the late morning, waking only to some particularly loud birdsong directly outside of the window next to your bed. You worry that you’ve slept too long and perhaps Viadera is bored or, gods forbid, wandering around on her own. That worry is quickly broken by a soft snort and the click of a hoof against your wooden floor, and when you look at her you can see she’s dreaming still with her good leg sprawled off the bed and her hoof grazing the floor. She’s got a sheet over her, kind of, just covering her chest and some of her stomach but mostly kicked off and tangled around her fallen leg.
You want to laugh at the picture of this huge, muscular, admittedly impressive looking minotaur woman tangled up in the sheets like a fauntling. Instead though you simply start breakfast. Minotaurs thankfully eat meat, so preparing some eggs and venison for the both of you is easy enough. Your quiet humming stops when you hear a deep inhale and then a low groan from the cot on the other side of the hearth. You hear Viadera take in a breath like she’s about to say something, but her words are cut off by a loud rumble coming from her stomach that makes you break out into bright peals of laughter. She closes her mouth with an audible click and rubs the back of her neck sheepishly as she slowly moves herself into a sitting position. She’s still favoring her ribs, but it at least looks easier to breath now that you’ve cleared the space in her chest. She groans, letting her head fall back against the wall of the cottage as she sits. “Feel like I was run over by a fucking centaur.”
Before you can think about what’s coming out of your mouth, and you’d later silently blame Brinth for this as it was entirely her influence that caused you to say this, you retort. “Dunno how they’d manage that if they were fucking.” The loud bellowing laugh Viadera begins to let out before hissing and gripping at her side makes you feel a little less self conscious. “Sorry, yeah, I know exactly what you mean. You’ve got a lot of bruising and swelling, but I’ve sadly been taking most of your body’s resources to deal with that and putting it into quickly healing the more dire wounds. We had to stop the bleeding in your thigh, and we had to drain the space in your chest and close that wound. So you’re likely to feel awful for the next few days until your body has built up some more nutrients to continue healing itself. Sadly it might be more like the next few weeks, because I fear I’m going to have to continue taking those resources to make sure that wound on your thigh heals properly and without infection. Sadly with an injury like that I cannot let it heal wrong, so we’ll have to keep the wound open for longer than you’d like in order to make sure it knits together from the inside out.”
Viadera hums an acknowledgement to you before huffing out a short laugh. “You talk a lot.” Your face heats up in embarrassment, and you purse your lips slightly in an attempt to not talk back as you finish stirring the pan of scrambled eggs. She laughs a bit louder this time and calls out your name in a sing-song voice. “Come on sweetling, don’t pout. Didn’t say it was a bad thing did I?” You still don’t answer more than giggling a little, but dish up a huge portion of meat and eggs to her along with a few rolls and some cheese. She thanks you quietly and digs right in.
Your meal is the same but significantly smaller, and the two of you sit in companionable silence as you eat. She eats quickly, and you think to warn her about chewing more slowly so she doesn’t choke on her food but before you can even finish your own bite she’s through her plate. She likely notices the look you’re giving her because she laughs a little sheepishly and shrugs. “Y’know, in the army with all the boys, if you don’t eat fast you don’t eat.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you smile back at her.
“Can’t say I do know. I never spent a ton of time around boys unless it was healing ‘em. Even men are polite enough not to take food from the mouth of the person in control of their care.” Viadera snorts a laugh at that, eyes sparkling mischievously down at you.
“Couldn’t agree more sweetling, even men aren’t stupid enough for that.” She winks at you, a proper wink now that’s she not almost passed out from pain, blood loss, exertion, and waning adrenaline. In the light of day Viadera is a gorgeous woman, even before a proper bath. She’s tall and broad, with strong shoulders and arms, her shape is feminine and soft, with a bit of padding around her stomach and hips, deceptive compared to the sheer muscle underneath that you know is there after last night. Her bovine head is mostly black that speckles out to white at her jaw, leaving her muzzle white and capped with a cute pink nose. Her huge brown eyes are rimmed with long dark lashes that flutter against her cheeks when she blinks and she has just the nubs of two dark horns growing out near her long ears.
After breakfast you prepare a huge bucket of hot water and come over to Viadera with some soap and a few wash rags. “Do you need help, ‘Dera, or would you be more comfortable washing up on your own?” She perks up at her new shortened name, ears flicking cutely as she pins you with a smirk.
“Well, sweetling, as much as I’d love to take a bath with you I’d much rather wait for my condition to be less dire.” She winks at you as you fluster, raking her eyes over your form as you stand in front of her nervously worrying a wash rag between your hands. You huff embarrassed and throw the rag at her playfully.
“Just wash up you brute, I’ll bring over the bucket and screen, so you don’t have to move around.” You set up the bucket of hot water on a stool so it’s a better height for Viadera, and drag the wooden screen over to set up some cover for her. You clean up from breakfast while she washes, and begin working on a fresh poultice for her leg injury. Last night you simply pulled something ready-made out of a jar, but you’d rather use something more specifically tailored to your patient and her injury.
You’re grinding some herbs together and humming a favorite song of Brinth’s when Viadera tries to join you in her lower register. She gets a few bars in before she stops, hissing out at her ribs and breathing heavily. You sigh a little and toss a withering look at the wooden screen. “Heard that.” She hums out deadpan from behind the screen and you giggle. Her answering chuckle is rough and a little strained.
“Are you doing alright?” Your tone is worried, and you stand up from your workbench to approach the cot, still leaving her her privacy with the wooden screen between you. She hums out something you think is supposed to be an affirmative.
“Yes, sweetling, just trying to get my shirt back on. Managed it.” With her invitation you move the wooden screen, finding her sitting back against the wall of the cottage and looking at you curiously. Her eyes are bright as she watches you get back to work, continuing on making her medicine so that you can check on her leg wound again. When you turn back to her her gaze is half lidded, she’s staring at you with some deep curiosity as you approach with a bowlful of fresh herb poultice and clean linen bandages.
“Alright, I’ve got to check on your leg. This might sting some but it shouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as anything last night did.” Viadera just shrugs and continues watching you as you work. Unbinding her leg is quick, and you wash the old poultice out with cool fresh water. Once the wound is clean you assess to make sure nothing is getting infected or infested. It looks clean though and seems to be stable enough, so you pack it with fresh poultice. You give her a sympathetic look when she hisses at having her wound packed again, and you try to pump in just a little bit of magic to suppress some of the inflammation as you wrap her hugely muscular thigh back up in clean bandages.
“You’ve got quite the touch sweetling. Though I’d like the circumstances of you touching me to be quite different.” She winks again and you blush, squeaking at the implications. Her husky chuckle this time is less strained and she reaches up to stroke the back of one huge finger over your plump cheek.
The next few weeks remain the same in terms of schedule. You make breakfast and eat together, then while she bathes herself you prepare what she’ll need for the day. Then you’d check the wound, work some more magic when you could, and bandage it back up. The rest of the day would be spent doing normal work around the house, chatting with Viadera, and blushing and stuttering as she continuously flirts with you more openly and frequently than any of your male patients ever had. It’s four weeks until this schedule is broken up a little bit by you.
You’ve checked her leg, and it’s healed up enough that you think it’s time for her to start standing and moving again. You tell her as much, and the happy little laugh she lets out makes you smile broadly in return. You’re beginning to regret letting her stand though as she wants to start walking and running and doing other things you’re sure the wound isn’t ready for yet. “No! No, you cannot go for a walk down to the brook! Are you crazy?! Do you want to undo all my hard work? No. If you want to reopen that leg wound and bleed out you go do it off my land thank you very much.” You’re standing in front of your door with your arms crossed, glaring up at the huge minotaur woman in front of you as she crosses her own arms and glares back. You keep her gaze though, and eventually she throws her head back and lets out a lowing sigh before stomping back to the cot. “And don’t walk like that you’re going to make it worse!”
It’s another two weeks before you let her walk more than just a lap or two around the cottage at a time. That day you take her with you a little ways into the forest to forage for some wild herbs and mushrooms. Not too deep in, and not for too long, but you can tell Viadera is thankful for the feeling of the sun and wind on her face, and the dirt beneath her hooves. That’s the day that something between you two shifts. She’s always been flirtatious and loud, but now that she’s regaining her strength that bravado slowly started to morph into something else. Her touches start to linger more on your skin, and she touches you more and more often. Her eyes are always on you, and more often than not you find her appraising you with a half-lidded stare that makes your core ache. The day you take her out with you into the forest, you decide to take a bath while she takes a nap to recover from her exertion. You fill your huge bathing tub with a mixture of cool and boiling water until you have a perfectly steamy bath to soak in. You’re in water up to your shoulders, although you have to bend your legs so your knees stick out. You fold up a wash rag and place it behind your head as a cushion, leaning your head back along the edge of the tub and relaxing. You’re so engrossed in your bath behind the screen, next to the fire, that you don’t even hear Viadera wake up.
You’re startled enough that you almost jump out of the still-warm water when a huge hand dips into your bath and trails up your arm. “You know sweetling, I’m feeling well enough now to take you up on your earlier offer…” She trails off as she cages you in with both of her huge arms, caressing your stomach and gripping at your side. “I’d like some help washing up, if you don’t mind.” Her voice is husky and whispered directly into your ear as she rests her jaw on your shoulder. The strained whimper you let out as her apparently bare breasts press firmly into your upper back makes her chuckle deeply. The hand she has caressing your stomach reaches up to pull the soap and rag down off of the side of the bath, she lathers the wash rag up and begins stroking it gently over your shoulders and upper arms, kissing open mouthed at your neck. “So beautiful sweetling, you’re so lovely. You’ve got such a fire in you, I want to see more of it. I want to light that spark sweetling, I want it to shine just for me.” Her hand drops the rag now as she slides a wet, soapy palm up the center of your chest to your throat, tugging your head back against her. When you arch into her, squirming in the tub, instead of shove her away, she knows you’re exactly what she’s been looking for.
You’ve got a fire inside, as she said. You’re not a doormat or some simpering noblewoman, you push back, you play, you fight her when it matters. She knows she can’t get anything from you without earning it, and that makes it all the sweeter when she does. When her hand tightens just a bit around your throat, not enough to cut off air but just enough to let you know that she could, you feel arousal begin to pool heavily in your belly. She chuckles before cupping some water in the hand that had been on your waist and rinsing off the soap she’d gotten on you. Before you can think though she’s hauled you bodily out of the bath water and tossed you onto your own bed. You’re naked and glistening in the firelight, and when Viadera has the passing thought that she’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment she makes sure to tell you.
She relishes in the way you fluster and squirm already, and she isn’t even touching you. Well, that at least is soon to be remedied. Viadera crawls as best she can into bed with you, looming slightly over you before she leans down to capture your lips. Kissing a minotaur is slightly awkward, but as she presses her thick, warm tongue into your mouth you find that you enjoy it. While she has you distracted by her kiss she flips and hauls you up over her so you’re straddling her soft waist. Slowly her kisses begin to drop down your neck and shoulder until she’s licking and nibbling at the thin skin of your chest. She takes her time exploring your soft breasts until she reaches your now throbbing nipples. They seem to be begging for her attention, and when she licks a wide stripe over one before catching it in her teeth you cry out her name and grip at her skull. She smirks around your nipple, tugging on it lightly with her teeth before letting it pop from between them and repeating the process. She teases both of your nipples this way, alternating between them until they’re throbbing and swollen and she’s got you rutting your hot, slick sex against her stomach.
She sits up then so you tumble back into her lap between her splayed legs, effectively folded in half. Before you can right yourself Viadera has a hold on the back of your thighs, pushing up and out so you’re splayed open before her with no way to escape. “If you want this to stop sweetling just tell me, I give you my word.”
“Please ‘Dera just fucking touch me.” Your whimpered reply makes her chuckle darkly, using one huge arm to keep your legs pressed back over you as she takes her big hand and smooths it over the curve of your ass.
“You don’t have to ask me twice sweetling. It’s been torture for me, having you so close and yet being unable to give you what you need, what I want.” One of her thick fingers pushes between the swollen outer lips of your sex, groaning at how warm and slick you are. Her calloused fingertip finds the bud of your clit and begins rubbing in slow small circles until she has you nearly sobbing with building pleasure. It’s at that point she slips a second finger between your lips to pull open your labia and expose your inner sex to her dark eyes.
You can’t see what she’s doing, so you’re left waiting with anticipation as she stares at your exposed pussy. A puff of warm breath on your core makes it twitch before that impossibly huge tongue licks a full stripe from your ass to your clit. She licks you like this over and over and over, and you’re begging her to let you move, touch you harder, faster, more. You want to come and badly, but she’s content teasing you just as she is. When she finds you’re too close to the edge of orgasm she pulls away completely, leaving you with only puffs of hot air as she pants over your slit.
The moment of respite is enough to pull you from the brink but not enough to douse the pleasure, and you let out a long, low moan as that slick, thick tongue of hers presses into your waiting tunnel. The invasion of your pussy by this huge appendage makes your thighs twitch. Sure you’ve masturbated before, with your fingers and maybe with a vegetable or two from your garden, but nothing you’ve had in you before has ever felt so dexterously alive. She chuckles at the strained and passionate moan you give her, sending vibrations down her tongue and making you squeal. She fucks you with her tongue in slow, languid strokes, occasionally brushing your clit with her nose. She does just enough to keep you in that frenzied, pleasured high where you’re begging her to make you come, to just go a little faster, a little more stimulation.
You almost sob when she pulls her tongue from you and leaves you once again unfulfilled. She chuckles down at you though. “Are you sure you want me to make you come sweetling?” When your only answer to her is continued begging she chuckles again. Two of her fingers from her free hand now shove forcefully into your pussy, your slickness combined with the earlier invasion of her tongue make their entrance easy. She crooks them just so until with every stroke of her fingers in and out of you she’s rubbing over and over a spot inside of you you didn’t even know existed until just now. When her tongue grinds against your clit is rapid, firm circles you feel your orgasm begin to approach quickly. You’re chanting Viadera’s name interspersed with praises about how “fucking incredible holy shit” she is at this. When your orgasm washes over you and you come around her fingers screaming her name you’re sure that that’s it. But she doesn’t stop, instead pressing a third finger into you and redoubling her efforts. You’re sensitive and sloppy, but you’ve never felt so incredible or so high in your entire life. You’re panting uselessly and moaning, hands gripping numbly at the sheets as Viadera has you folded in half in front of her.
Your second orgasm takes you by surprise, you’re already floating so high on pleasure you’re sure there’s nowhere further to rise but when you break again around her fingers and on her tongue you’re proven wrong. It’s a special kind of pleasured euphoria you’re sure most people have never experienced, almost whiting out as the world around you crumbles until there’s nothing but the pure sensation of this huge woman above and around you. She still doesn’t stop though, only groaning appreciatively as you flutter and clench around her fingers.
“‘Dera, ‘Dera I can’t, so sensitive, I can’t!” You’re squirming and whining thighs a weak mess and core dripping down over you. She just hums appreciatively and moves her tongue to speak.
“One more for me sweetling, come on, just one and you can stop.” You’re panting and gasping for breath, but don’t protest further when her tongue meets your clitoris again and begins working its magic once more. You almost scream when she begins to lightly suction and nip at your swollen, sensitive bud. The feeling of her teeth lightly grazing your clit as she furiously works her fingers in and out of your weeping pussy have you come undone around her one last time, hoarsely screaming her name and futilely kicking your feet out as she slowly brings you down to earth.
When she lets go and lays you across your bed you finally see her face again, eyes bright and blown with lust as she stares down at you full of adoration. “You were so perfect sweetling, so good for me.” She strokes up your thighs and over your stomach gently, caressing your sensitive flesh and relaxing your tense muscles. She massages you for a while, until your breathing has calmed and your heart is no longer racing, and when you open your eyes to gaze up at her again she’s smiling down at you with such tenderness in her gaze.
“Please tell me that wasn’t the only time we’re going to do that?” She laughs throatily at the first words you say to her after that experience, and she leans down to nuzzle and kiss at your neck, caressing your face and hair.
“Of course not, sweetling. I was hoping to woo you and convince you to keep me.” She winks playfully kisses your lips. When she tugs you into her chest and tells you to sleep you go to protest about taking care of her and she laughs. “We have all the time in the world for that, love, but if you can do anything other than nap after what I’ve just done to you then I’m afraid I haven’t done my job right.” Her wink and the kiss she drops on your head make you feel less guilty about curling up into her because she’s right. You have no energy left for anything other than a nap. She’ll still be here when you wake up, and then you’ll be able to reciprocate and show her how beautiful she is to you.