A Short Blonde with Big Boobs and Loose Morals
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Flexible Morals Ch. 02 free porn video
The kitchen was filled with the glorious smell of frying meat. It hung in the air like a cloud, hinting and teasing at the tastes to come. There were other smells, too, though none quite so pleasing as that of the sausages cooking over their fireplace. Phyre watched them, her mouth watering. For now, she had only a bowl of porridge to sate her appetite. She took great care not to eat too much of it. No need to fill up while the best was yet to come.
There was music in the kitchen, too. Her mother stood at the counter, carving off a slice of bread that would soon join the sausages. The woman sang as she worked, not just to see, but because she enjoyed it. A song that reminded Phyre of the morning, likely because that was always the time she heard it. She had no idea what the words or sounds meant. Nor did she understand those of her father when he chose to join in. The words were not her own, so they were not hers to know. Phyre chose not to accompany her mother’s song, that morning, content to simply eat and watch as the sausages steadily approached edibility.
Abruptly, her mother’s voice stopped, as did the sawing of the knife. ‘Some men are coming,’ she said to the room.
Her father raised his head and his voice grew a little louder as he searched outside. ‘Hmm, what could they want.’
Phyre saw them too. Three men coming up their path that was little more than a series of stones in the ground. One was a Solar, his yellow-blond hair, gleaned with her voice, was shadowed beneath the hood of a dark cloak. The other two were Skytouched who didn’t stand out quite so much against the greens and browns of the forest. She didn’t recognise any of them. ‘Who are they?’ she asked.
‘Just some folk I’ve had business with, my dear,’ said her father.
That was nothing unusual. He was the only glassmaker for miles around. Just about everyone in town could be labeled as ‘folk he’d had business with’. Samples of his craft could be found on shelves and in drawers all throughout their home. Even before that, her father had worked as a healer, using his magic to mend wounds and his knowledge to cure ills. That had been a while ago now. So long that Phyre scarcely had any memories of the time left. Now she was learning to work with glass too, so that someday she would join him in the trade, as had her mother. A family of glassmakers. Yet she couldn’t remember ever seeing these men around her father’s glassworks. Strange.
‘Phyre, why don’t you go into the woods and see if you can find us some fruit to go with breakfast, hmm?’ her father suggested.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘For our company, of course. There’s scarcely enough for all of us if they’ll be joining.’
Phyre considered this for a moment. Bread, jams, sausages and porridge, not really enough of any of it to share amongst six people, though she didn’t see why there should be any need to. She opted not to voice that opinion. ‘But the sausages are almost done,’ she argued instead.
‘I know, we’ll save you plenty. Don’t you worry about that. Now hurry along, we don’t want to keep them waiting.’
Phyre turned her head to her mother who nodded approval. The men outside were nearing the front door. ‘Okay, but don’t let them get cold or burnt,’ she said, pointing to the sausages as she stood to leave.
‘Don’t worry. Be swift now.’
Phyre nodded and moved towards the back door. She reached into one of the drawers in the kitchen counter along the way and took out a sack to hold the fruit. Then, with a final look at her parents and the men approaching, she said goodbye and went outside.
===
It was a sliminess that shrugged away sleep. Not morning noises or lights. Something moving that stuck to Phyre’s cheek. She shuddered, sat up and reached to swat whatever the intrusion was.
‘Hmm? Wait! It’s me!’ came a voice from right beside her ear.
It was then that Phyre realized she wasn’t dreaming or imagining things. The frog was in her hood. She pulled it off and took him into her hand. ‘What were you doing?’ she asked.
‘Please don’t be mad, my lady. I got cold during the night so I crawled inside. I didn’t mean to frighten or alarm you.’
She watched him for a moment. Watched as his throat pulsed with breaths. Then Phyre set him down amid the leafy branches of her bedding. She couldn’t tell if he blended in effectively, blue and black on green and brown. Did those match up? Under Phyre’s voice, he stood out starkly. But so did everything when she paid close enough attention. Considering where she found him, she guessed that his colors would be much better suited to a life in the river. His eyes were on her, she realized. ‘What are you staring at?’ she asked.
‘Your eyes. You’ve no eyes,’ said Drop.
‘You didn’t know that?’ Feeling a bit self conscious, Phyre pulled her hood back on and down to her nose to cover the red-orange marks on her skin.
‘I didn’t. I always thought your hood was covering them.’ He was still staring.
‘But then, how did you think I could see through it?’
‘I assumed that the fabric might be thinner than it looked.’
Phyre reached up and touched the cloth of her hood. It was thin enough to speak through and let a bit of light in. She couldn’t tell if someone with eyes could see through it.
‘What happened to your eyes? And what are those marks in their place? Did someone hurt you?’ Drop asked.
‘No, I’m a Vocal. We don’t have eyes because we see with our voices instead. And these…’ She touched a finger to the fiery marks on her hood. ‘These are my occumarks. I was born with them.’
‘What? You were born with them painted to that robe?’ Drop croaked in surprise.
‘No, I mean the ones underneath.’ She pointed up under her hood just in case the frog planned on having any further trouble in grasping this rather simple concept.
‘Oh, I see.’ His eyelids went through one of their slow, thoughtful blinks. ‘So why wear the hood? I mean, if you’ve painted the same marks on it as the ones underneath, why wear it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, though it wasn’t entirely true. Most Vocals wore a hood with their occumarks painted atop it, just as she did. The reason, as far as she could guess, was that the marks looked better that way. Her skin wasn’t very even where the color changed to orange and red. It looked a bit like scar tissue, fleshy and unusual. ‘It’s nicer than what’s underneath,’ she added.
Drop croaked, this time as a low rumble. ‘Pah, that’s preposterous. Here, take the hood off again and let me see.’ He waved a foreleg insistently until she complied, then he continued. ‘Why, look at it. There’s nothing there to be ashamed of. Such a remarkable hue. Crimson and tangerine mixing together seamlessly. Look, there are even little dabs of saffron near the top.’
‘But isn’t the skin there messy?’ Phyre asked as she tried to keep her head from swelling.
‘Nonsense! Besides, who could notice such a triviality past that pallet of color? I’ll tell you who, nobody worthy of being your friend, that’s who. No, there’s not a thing wrong with your skin. Especially when you look at its frame as well. Your hair, my lady, such a match for your marks, such a deep red I’ve never seen on anyone. It should be a crime for you to hide it all away in that hood of yours.’ Every word that Drop flung out was accompanied by a wave of his legs as he buried her with praise.
‘You really mean it?’ she asked in a shameless effort for more.
‘Of course I do. I’d never say anything I didn’t mean. We frogs are experts on color for we color ourselves just as brightly. Why I remember my days at the academy and seeing all the senior students who were just about to set out, tadpoles no longer. Oh you should have seen the colors that they presented. Sapphire hides with spots of purple and black. Emerald bodies with fire-opal stripes and a bright gold trim around the legs.’ Then Drop hung his head. ‘Yet al
l I could manage was a blue drop and a black canvas. And to do so without even noticing…’
Phyre watched the little amphibian for a moment before realizing that he was after his own heaping of praise. ‘Oh, um. Why, your pattern is marvelous, Drop. It’s such a deep shade of, uh… ebony, so like the night sky. And your blue is magnificent. You didn’t need to color yourself with whole rainbows. Only two paints to work with and you’ve done so much with them. It’s, um, elegant in its simplicity. Besides, your way with words more than makes up for the dull hide that you so foolishly think you have. I bet none of the frogs at the academy could speak the way you do.’
Drop looked up at her, his eyes looking wetter than usual. There was a faint smile upon his lips. ‘Well, no they couldn’t. I remember my teachers often telling me that I was astoundingly verbose.’
‘I’m sure they did.’ Then their conversation slipped away into silence as neither thought of anything more to say. With all the distractions since waking up finally gone, Phyre was at last able to focus on the morning as it developed. Her voice crept out and touched her room, bare of any furniture save the bed. Her body groaned from sleeping on the hardwood frame. She recalled the reason why she should be sad and suddenly she was. The fire and the ashes and the two mounds of dirt outside. She’d done so much crying yesterday but today was new and fresh and there was plenty of misery left to suffer through. Her face contorted, the happiness she had just been experiencing long forgotten. The pain always felt worse in the morning. Always newly remembered, learning, once again, that none of it was just some bad dream. She heaved and her vision blurred, her voice distorted with misery.
‘Oh, come now. Don’t go putting yourself through that again,’ Drop soothed.
Phyre didn’t listen. She got to her feet, pulled up her hood and trudged into the hallway, leaving the frog behind. She wandered into the kitchen. With her voice soft and blind, she could almost imagine the room like it would have been on any other day. Good food ready to eat. Warmth in the air. A fire in the— no, not that. It was all gone now. Stone turned to dust, metal turned to puddles. A magical fire that burned irregularly. Some parts of the walls ended with a seamless cut where the wood had been vaporized. Yet, right next to such spots, there was wood intact and scarcely scorched. It was that knowledge that kept her from pretending that this was some sort of cruel accident. She went out the back door, still pretending that there were walls to walk around. A short distance from the ruins, right near the well where the earth was softer, was the pair of mounds. She knelt down between them as she did every morning these days. Two heaps of dirt, a stone at one end of each. She didn’t say anything for there was nobody present to say it to. At least, not a whole person. The fire’s effects on flesh had been much the same as wood.
‘Do you know who the three men were?’ Drop asked.
Phyre sent her voice to look at him for a moment. He was spattered with soot and morning dew from his journey. She shook her head.
‘Why did they come here?’
Another shake of her head. The talking stopped for a while after that. The only sound came from rousing birds calling to one another. Lively chirps, screeches and caws. The noises sounded cheery, they grated on her nerves. ‘I can’t wish to bring my parents back, can I?’ Phyre asked.
This time it was Drop’s turn to shake his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why not?’ She could recall him mentioning it before but he hadn’t been very clear.
‘It’s too much for me to manage.’
‘Is there anyone that could? Could I wish for someone who can bring them back?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t think there’s anyone that can do such a thing. My teachers were rather adamant that such a wish would be impossible no matter the loopholes you might try to find. They said the same about wishing for someone to die.’ At least it sounded as though there was a bit of regret in Drop’s voice.
‘I don’t think there’s anything else for me to wish for, then,’ said Phyre. She brushed at one of the mounds and pulled out a shoot that was already claiming the ground. ‘Do I have to make a wish?’
‘Well… I suppose you don’t. You can’t think of anything that would make you happy?’
She shook her head and slumped even lower on the ground.
‘Phyre, I won’t accept it. It may take days or weeks or months or even years, but I’m not leaving you until you’re happy again. You saved my life, now it’s clear to me that I have to do the same for yours.’
Despite her situation, Phyre felt a little spark of warmth at his words. Then came a touch upon her leg as he hopped there and sat down, his big, black eyes to her marks. Drop made a firm croak before speaking again. ‘It’s easy to be sad. You can sit around and be miserable because life was cruel to you, but anyone can do that. You have to be the person who stands up and keeps going even when the weight of the universe is trying to push you back down. Don’t let life hurt you without getting a chance to hurt it back. You and me, Phyre, we’re going to show life what we’re all about. And we’re going to start by doing something about those filthy clothes you’re wearing.’
Phyre wiped her nose on her sleeve and allowed the faintest of smiles to spread across her lips. Drop looked ridiculous when he spoke in such a way. His legs flailed with froggy gestures and his throat swelled on the height of every sentence. Yet it worked. The pain wasn’t gone, maybe it would never be gone, but, listening to the little wishing frog, Phyre could almost believe that she might be able to get past it. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll try.’
===
‘I don’t think I can go home again,’ said Phyre. With her hood down, she reached back and wrung more water from her hair.
‘Whyever not? I mean, it is rather a mess. But where else would you go?’ Drop asked from his place on her shoulder.
‘I d’no. Maybe I could go somewhere really far away.’
‘How?’
‘I have a wish, remember?’
‘Oh, right.’
A wash had done wonders in a way Phyre hadn’t imagined possible. All the fatigue and other distractions of the past few days had kept her from realizing just how dirty she had let herself become. She and Drop had gone to the river and he had claimed, as soon as she had entered, that the water ran much dirtier where she stood. He had exaggerated, of course, but not by much. Phyre had sunk into the river, its water icy from the nighttime chill, and let it simply wash around her. After a good five minutes of letting the cold cleanse her body, she set about scrubbing her robe while still in it. All her other clothes were gone to the fire and this had seemed the best way to wash the only thing she had left.
Now they walked together along the road that led to town. She hadn’t returned to the house after her wash, instead opting to follow the river south until it met with the bridge, then continue west until she reached civilization. It wasn’t much of a road, really just a stretch of gravel that meandered through the trees, winding to avoid the occasional impassable obstruction. These woods were filled with points where the hills rolling through them suddenly dropped away, almost as if someone hadn’t painted the slope properly or had forgotten to add a piece in.
‘How much father do we need to go?’ Drop asked from his perch on her shoulder.
‘Not that far. I think there’s only four or five more bends until you can see it.’ Phyre quickly ran the path through her mind. Next came the sharpest twist of all of them, followed by one that had two enormous boulders on either side.
‘We should do something to pass the time.’
‘Okay, like what?’
A dull rumble of ribbits sounded by her ear as Drop collected his thoughts. ‘Perhaps…’ the frog began. ‘I should tell you a story, seeing how you’ve told me one,
even if it wasn’t a very happy story.’
‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘No, no, I want to. But which to tell…’ Another series of ponderous hums emanated from Drop. ‘Aha, I’ve got one that happened rather recently. In fact, it took place only a few days before you rescued me.’
‘How does it go?’ Phyre asked with a bare spark of interest.
‘Right, well… How does it go… Yes, so I’ve been wandering the forest for quite a while. Actually, I was following the river which isn’t really wandering, I suppose. Anyway, after such a time of wandering—’
‘Why were you wandering?’
‘All wishing frogs need to wander. How else are we going to get in enough trouble for someone to come along and save our lives and claim our wishes?’
Phyre considered the idea, then nodded. ‘I guess that makes sense.’
‘Good. As I was saying, I’d been swimming along the river for a good amount of time when I decided that I’d seen quite enough of it. So, rather than keeping on trundling through the water, I hopped up onto the shore and figured I’d try a bit of a wander through the trees to see where that would get me. So there I was, hopping away for a good couple of hours when I thought to myself ‘goodness me, this is exhausting.’ It was then that I realized how better suited we frogs are to a life in the water. So I thought I’d head back and keep swimming. Unfortunately, being small as I am, the forest looked quite similar in every direction. I tried heading along the ground that felt dampest, figuring that it would lead me back, but it only took me to a swamp and that’s—’
‘What swamp? There’re no swamps around here.’
‘A bog then. Or a marsh, whatever you want to call it. The ground was all runny with stagnant water, most of the trees were dead and rotting and there were mushrooms everywhere. A regular swamp, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Right…’ Phyre still wasn’t entirely convinced about this alleged swamp. She’d lived in the woods for quite a while and had yet to find a place that sounded like Drop’s description. Then again, it was quite a big forest. Perhaps his story took place much further away than she had initially thought.
‘Anyway, soon as I realized my error, I turned to go. That was when I saw it. The monster of the forest. It was huge and—’
‘But there aren’t any monsters in the forest,’ Phyre interrupted yet again.
Drop made a loud, impatient croak. ‘Listen here, girly, I’m the one telling the story. If you think that you can tell it better then by all means, keep interrupting… No? Good.’ Drop uttered another croak, this one sounding considerably more satisfied. ‘So there it was, the monster of the forest. Big, black and furry with these horrible eyes and a scythe for a tail. I tried to flee but I was much too terrified to even move. Then, before I knew it, the monster was standing right over me.’
Phyre waited several seconds for the rest of the story. When it didn’t come, she spoke up. ‘Then what happened?’
‘Hmm? Oh, I managed to get away.’
‘How?’
‘With the most frantic, speedy sprint of hopping that I’ve ever done.’
‘But what about the monster?’ Phyre asked as her brow furrowed in frustration.
‘What about it?’
‘It let you run away? Just like that?’
‘Mhmm.’
‘Why?’
‘How should I know. Maybe it had already eaten or it didn’t see me. It was quite a big monster, after all. Big things don’t often notice we smaller beasts, present company excluded.’
‘Right…’ Phyre mumbled, her frown persisting. ‘That wasn’t a very good story.’
Drop croaked in a way that almost sounded like an offended gasp. ‘Well I’m sorry, my lady, but it’s the best I could do on such short notice.’
‘And there aren’t even any monsters in the woods. Nor any swamps. Not around here, at least. And what do you mean it had a scythe for a tail?’
‘The tip of its tail was all silvery and crooked. It looked like a scythe to me. I’m sorry if my attention to detail isn’t satisfying enough for you but it was rather hard to focus with the monster bearing down on me.’
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