Heart of The Gerudo Pt. 1 - Sex Stories

Heart of The Gerudo Pt. 1

... Gerudo who inhabited a village in the desert though he knew very little about them. There were also a few other villages dotted about the various oases the desert had to offer. His only hope is that he made his way towards one of them. He had to make it.

As the morning turned to midday the heat cranked up even higher. He found his vision swimming slightly. He'd taken the last few bites of the hydromelon in his pack and saw no others nearby. His journey had led him to a veritable hill of sand which had taken no small amount of effort to surmount and now as he crested the ridge he could only feel a sense of relief as the sight below greeted him.

Nestled behind thick stone walls, a veritable oasis in the middle of the desert was a city. Even from here, he could see people milling about within, although he couldn't make out any of their features.

But it was a city. A sense of relief washed over him as he slumped to his knees atop the hill.

"I will have to make sure to thank the gods for such fortune when I am able." He mumbled, mostly to himself and the slight wind that had kicked up, sending stinging sand into his eyes.

"Just a short rest." He told himself, tugging his pack into his lap and digging around for a while until he finally located two of the only objects he had left in the town. A leather-bound sketchbook and a singular quill and inkpot. His art and his writing were two of the only things that kept him feeling himself anymore. Ever since his life had ...

... gone to hell back in his old village, it was all he could do to keep himself sane while constantly looking over his shoulder.

That's what happens when you get mixed up with the wrong crowds. When you cut deals with bandits, even if your intentions were pure.

Now he was no more than a vagabond on the run from his debts.

Flipping open his sketchbook, he'd flip to one of the few blank pages and whilst taking his break he'd quietly sketch a rough picture of the city below. This was both for his love of drawing, but also to commit the layout of the place to memory. His life of 'crime' had taught him that it was prudent to always be prepared for any situation that may arise. You never knew when knowing your surroundings might come in handy.

A fact that he very soon may have to put into use.

As the sun threatened to redden the skin on his back more than it already had, he packed away his things and climbed to his feet. How awkward it was trying to draw one-handed. Even now his right arm hung in its makeshift sling, effectively useless and stinging as the wound beneath the bandaging festered. If the desert didn't kill him, his shoulder might. And if not his shoulder, then the group pursuing him would probably be next in line for his life.

After a moment's contemplation, he began his descent. Step after gruelling step in the ankle-deep sand carried him eventually to a well-worn 'road' of compressed sand that led to the front of the city. It was a lot bigger up close ...