A Perverted Path to Victory

Aurora Vesta

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“You know,” Sara teased, her fingers massaging Vesta’s side, “for a Lady who spent her entire marriage dallying with women behind her husband’s back, I can’t recall the last time you wanted anything other than my cock.”

“That is…” Vesta felt it jump against her hand; it was still growing. She took a shaky breath. “I don’t see why it’s so surprising. Is the novelty of the experience not enough justification?”

Oddry giggled. “When you’ve been all but begging me to acquire larger toys for you? So that you may prepare yourself for Sara’s return to the city?”

Vesta’s hand was forced down against Sara. Sara had changed into her heaviest suit of armor after the attack on the city, which meant she was wearing thickly quilted breeches, legs protected by layers of dense cotton which helped ward off the shock of an impact. Even still, through all that material, Vesta could feel it. Damp with the sweat of exertion, the material was pressed upward by Sara’s cock, its length visibly tenting the material.

Oddry’s hand lifted off Vesta’s. She did not lift her hand from Sara’s cock.

“How long has it been, dear?” Oddry asked. She spoke in a sultry, tempting hush. “Months, at the very least. You were always more taken with her than I was.”

“I… I think you’re mistaken,” she said. She managed to drag her eyes off Sara’s cock, quirking an eyebrow at her wife. “Who was it that started this again, Oddry? Certainly not me.”

“If you wish to go back to discussing the particulars of trade agreements, feel free.”

The confidence with which Oddry made the offer was maddening. She’d come a very long way from the timid maid swept into her Lady’s chambers for a night of secret debauchery. A fact Sara noticed, apparently, because she laughed heartily.

“Look at you go, Oddry! Last I remember, all the freaky chains and gags in the hall closet were fitted for you. Guess things have really changed, huh? You really managed to get her bent over your knee—”

Vesta curled her fingers around Sara’s cock, cutting the woman’s exasperating comments off. Her hips squirmed under Vesta’s touch, a hiss falling from her lips.

Intoxicating.

“They still are, I’ll have you know,” Vesta sniffed. “And they’ve been put to exceptionally good use.”

“Certainly,” Oddry agreed primly. “Hasn’t it been convenient how close our sizes are?”

Involuntarily, without quite realizing it, Vesta began to stroke Sara’s cock. Just the base, a few inches of it, as it was too large and unwieldy to properly service over the woman’s clothes. Even as she did so, she turned her nose up at Oddry.

“I think you’ve let a few pleasant evenings go to your head, dear. Don’t forget that I’ve sullied more maidens than you’ve ever dared to wink at.”

“Of course, of course,” Oddry purred. She leaned forward, across Sara, who was watching the back-and-forth with a wide smile. Oddry pressed a kiss to Vesta’s lips, light and chaste, and pulled just far enough away to let her warm whisper brush over Vesta’s cheeks. “That’s why I’ll give you the honor of pleasing our guest first. You’re so much better at it, after all.”

Vesta blinked, a bit too dizzy from it all to notice the trap. Oddry took her by the shoulders, guiding her pliable self forward and off the sofa. It was only when she was on her knees, eyes level with Sara’s crotch, that she realized what the woman had done.

It was too late to do anything about it, however, so she simply smirked at Oddry.

“You’re such a caring wife, my love. I apologize for making you wait your turn.”

“Mmh,” Oddry hummed. She ran a hand through Vesta’s auburn hair, petting her like an animal. “Don’t worry yourself. I’m sure Sara will be as grateful as you.”

Up above, Vesta watched Sara pull Oddry closer, a flirtatious smile on her lips. “When have I ever been a bad guest?”

Oddry smiled back. “Do you want an honest answer to that question?”

Sara leaned closer. “No.”

Their lips met. She felt Sara’s cock throb as Oddry fell onto the woman, her hands coming to rest against the far-larger woman’s shoulders. Sara tilted her head to one side, lips parting, giving Vesta the briefest glimpse of her tongue darting into Oddry’s mouth.

Sara’s cock jumped again. It was fully hard, now. A pillar of steel tucked to her thigh, hot to the touch even through her clothing. Vesta let her palm drift along it, inch by inch, until she reached the head, which she felt as only a thick lump beneath her hand.

“So large…” she whispered, her awe nearly inaudible. “I’d nearly forgotten…”

She heard the other two women’s breathing accelerate, wet smacks and little moans slipping through the air, but she couldn’t drag her eyes upward to look. Her other hand drifted up, placing itself against the base of Sara’s cock, while her first continued to trace the shape of the woman’s head.

It is nearly to her knee. Has it always been that large? Certainly not. She can change it after all, and I would have remembered taking something like THIS.

This time, both her hands squeezed. Sara’s calves closed by a few degrees, nearing Vesta’s ears, and a rewarding murmur fell down from on high. Vesta loved the sound. It sent heat to her core like nothing else could, and so she squeezed again, trying to summon an encore.

Instead, it was Oddry who made a noise. A sharp, surprised yelp, a burst of air through her nose that became instantly and strangely muffled. A moment later and it was a lustful, aching groan, one so filled with want that Vesta finally tore her attention off Sara’s cock.

She looked upward just in time to see their kiss break. Sara pulled backward, having to push against Oddry’s shoulder to keep the woman from hungrily following her, and as their lips parted, their tongues naturally hung in the open air. Oddry’s open-mouthed panting was a familiar work of art to Vesta, beautiful as ever, but on this very rare occasion there was something more remarkable to marvel over.

Sara’s tongue kept going. It was darker than usual, tough, thick, and strangely colored, and inch after seemingly endlessly inch pulled itself from Oddry’s mouth. It lasted for one second, then two, then three, Oddry’s eyes fluttering all the while, and then it kept going. It had to have been shoved deep into Oddry’s body in ways strange and uncomfortable, yet the way she writhed at the rigid thing’s exit, lips closing to eagerly suckle it, the experience had been anything but.

Finally, with an audible slurp, Sara’s tongue returned to her mouth. Oddry fell forward against her, her chest trembling.

“Wha… what was that…?” She asked.

“A new Blessing,” Sara said, even her natural suaveness failing to hide her giddy eagerness. “And you’re both the first to try it out. I think Amarat liked my performance with the Carrions. I seem to have finally gained a Level.”

Oddry stiffened. “Truly? Then the drought is over? Might you begin progressing again?”

“I hope so. Evie’s been concerned, and—”

“The Blessing,” Vesta breathed. “What does it do?”

Vesta was clinging to Sara’s cock like it was the rope that had been tossed to save a drowning sailor. That was appropriate; it was as thick as ship’s rope, and Vesta did feel like she was drowning.

That tongue… she marveled. It was three fingers wide and so stiff. It almost seemed to have ridges. I knew she could mimic the bodies of other, but that came from the mouth of no mortal creature. If it was, women would have spent their lives in pursuit of its talents.

Sara laughed. “Is that really what you’re curious about right now? Not the cool-ass Divine powers I might be flaunting?”

Oddry smacked her lips, resting two fingers against the hollow of her throat.

“Sara, I think that even I am finding myself distracted.” She swallowed several times. “My throat is… it feels terribly warm. And I can’t seem to keep myself from salivating. Is that alright?”

“Probably,” Sara said with a shrug, which was not the most reassuring of responses. “You want to know about my new Blessing? It’s a good one.”

“If you’re quick about it,” Vesta said. She scooted forward slightly, placing her head between Sara’s knees. Her clothes were damp from a day spent beneath the Tulian sun in black armor. The longer Vesta had spent on her knees the more she felt herself surrounded by Sara, her presence enveloping every inch of her skin.

“In short?” Sara placed the tip of a finger beneath Vesta’s chin, turning her head upward. “No more mimicking for me. I get to pick and choose what I like.”

Her tongue flicked out. It started as her normal self, pink and wet, but grew and grew, its form turning hazy as it extended. Sara’s arm around Oddry’s waist curled inward, dragging the woman close, until she had to catch herself on Sara’s lap to keep from falling over.

The tongue moved forward, its wide, flat surface pressing against the side of Oddry’s bared throat. Vesta’s eyes had not deceived her. Ridges and bumps rose across its form in rippling waves, small bumps decorating its upper side, the bottom curved with a single thick, bulging muscle. Every inch of it dripped with heavy drops of glittering saliva, leaving a shimmering streak on Oddry’s skin as it stretched further and further, until it had snaked entirely around her neck, entangling her in a thick, fleshy collar.

“And the best part?” Sara’s voice reverberated strangely in the air, summoned by magic alone. Her tongue clamped tighter around Oddry’s throat. “So long as it’s for a partner’s pleasure, I really don’t think there’s a limit. Even if I decide I want to cover a beautiful lady in a vampire’s venom.”

Oddry tensed. Her hands instinctively flew for her throat, as if it to claw Sara’s tongue off her, but it was too late. Before her hands had reached halfway there, the intoxication set in. Vesta saw it in her wife, in the way her body shivered once, hard, and then her eyelids fell shut, her hips bucking against the couch. Instead of resisting, she groaned, grabbing a weak handful of Sara’s shirt as she tried to pull herself closer.

Sara let Oddry melt into her, slowly slithering her impossible tongue back into her mouth. With saliva dripping down her neck in volumes enough to stain the collar of her shirt, Oddry was reduced to a twitching, whimpering mess, an unholy ecstasy wracking her frame.

“But that’s not very fun, is it?” Sara reached up and wiped the back of her hand across Oddry’s throat, brushing away a little bit of the saliva. “Let’s change you up a bit, Oddry. Give you some resistance to that venom, so we can get your head back in the game. I’m pretty sure you had some plans for the evening.”

As Vesta watched, the delirium that had taken her wife began to fade. Her twitches faded, the micro-thrusts of her needy hips not quite disappearing, but slowly turning to a more controlled, conscious grind. Finally, about thirty seconds later, her eyes fluttered open.

“O-oh,” she croaked. “That was… quite something…”

“I know, right?” Sara used the sleeve of her shirt to dab saliva off Oddry’s neck. “You were almost as needy as Vesta there for a moment.”

“W-what?” Vesta stuttered. “She was- she was insensible. I’m nothing like that.”

“Really? What do you think, Oddry?”

Her wife, still recovering from the experience of drowning beneath an ocean of aphrodisiac venom, took a moment to muster her response. When she finally did speak, however, it was with a steadier voice than Vesta would have ever believed possible.

“She’s correct at the moment, I’m afraid. Such a shame it is.” Oddry clicked her tongue sadly. “Look at her. So close yet so far from what she really needs.”

Vesta huffed. “You know, your insistence that tonight is yours for the taking is getting tiresome. For someone whose mind was just taken apart by a tongue-bath, you’re awfully sure of yourself.”

Oddry swiped a finger along her neck, collecting the fluid, then popped it in her mouth.

“Mmh. And I’m still not entirely immune, it would seem.” She shuddered. “But close enough. Now, my dear?” She reached out to Vesta, pressing that same finger to her lips. An instant later, Vesta felt a fire spreading across her face, as numbing as it was paradoxically sensitive. Oddry giggled at her reaction. “You said you were going to see to our guest’s needs, were you not? What is keeping you?”

A pulse pressed itself to Vesta’s skin, startling her.

When did… how?

Somehow, the warmth of Sara’s cock was against her cheek. She had nestled into Sara’s leg’s, both hands on the woman’s cock, rubbing her face against it. She didn’t know when.

“It’s really been too long for you, hasn’t it?” Sara grabbed Vesta, using a fistful of red hair to shove Vesta against her cock. “Evie and Ketch get this bad sometimes, but I always thought they were the exception. Never would have guessed you’d end up just like them.”

Vesta’s thighs rubbed against one another. She was still fully dressed, yet she could feel the slickness pooling there.

“Th-that’s ridiculous,” she said. “They are enraptured by you, desperate, while I’ve spent happy months without your touch. I’m nothing like them.”

Oddry laughed girlishly. “Which is why you first started asking me to use toys on you the week after she left for Tulian, of course.”

“And why you used your personal communication crystal to pester Evie about a return trip every week or so,” Sara added.

Oddry’s lips curled cruelly. She took hold of Vesta’s head, dragging her face off Sara’s cock, burying it straight into the base of her crotch. She was surrounded by Sara. She held her breath.

“And you are so not desperate for Sara that you only sent two letters to the brothel asking if they’d hired a woman with a cock yet.”

Vesta’s lungs were burning. She should have been able to hold her breath for much longer, but her heart was pounding. Oddry’s fingers twisted in her hair, pulling tightly. It made her whimper, spilling some of her precious air. She held on for as long as she could, but it was only a matter of time. She exhaled. And breathed in.

Sara filled her lungs.

It was, simply, Sara. It was a scent that Vesta had tried to keep from her mind for so many months, unwilling to torture herself with what she couldn’t have, yet it was as familiar to her as her own reflection. She smelled of work and steel and smoke, but each was buried beneath her, a dizzyingly unique scent that had no other comparison.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Sara said, speaking to Oddry as if Vesta wasn’t present, “I may have given her a catfolk’s nose. Or sense of smell, at least.”

“Ah,” Oddry exhaled. She dragged Vesta’s face across Sara’s crotch, smearing it up and down. “I’d wondered why she was reacting so strongly.”

Vesta fought it. She was in her forties, for the gods’ sake, and she was being talked down to (Even worse! Entirely ignored!) by two women who had not reached their thirtieth year. It was utterly insulting.

“A-aaaare you going to… haaah…” she turned her head away from the base of Sara’s cock, looking up at the two beautiful women with an expression that she hoped was not as ditsy as it felt. “Are you going to do anything useful with your time here, or are you going to… to…” Her tongue flicked out, trying to taste, but it hit only cloth. “Going to… do something with yourselves?”

“Oh?” Oddry loosened her grip on Vesta’s hair, freeing her to move away from Sara’s crotch. She didn’t. “I apologize, My Lady. I didn’t realize how impatient you were.”

“I can’t prove you wrong with both of you dawdling up there,” Vesta said. She grabbed hold of Sara’s waistband and began to tug.

Sara’s breeches slid down with ease, taking with them her underclothes. Oddry moved in sync, pulling Sara’s shirt over her head, their efforts leaving the woman bare in record time.

Her cock leapt up, pointing into the air. It seemed too large to be reasonable. To be possible for Vesta to take, even.

She pressed forward once again, returning her lips to the base of Sara’s cock. Nuzzling into the woman’s pubic hair (when did she stop shaving? Did her Blessings grow it for Vesta?), she let the heavy slab push up and over her cheekbone, coming to rest across her face.

Vesta held herself there for a time, panting heavily, trying to keep herself from breathing through her nose.

“Those damned catfolk senses,” she muttered. “They’re… did you do something more?”

“More?” Sara lifted her cock for a moment, dropping it back down on Vesta’s face. It landed with a heavy clap, making her flinch. She still didn’t move away. “I guess I might have. The scent of a heat in the air, aphrodisiacs on your skin. Who knows what I did?” She slid her hips forward, pushing her cock across Vesta’s face. “The only question that matters is, can you resist it?”

Her head swirled. Oddry was smirking down at her, still curled into Sara’s side, now with a hand resting on the woman’s bare breast. She seemed so sure of herself up there. Vesta set her jaw.

“Of course I can,” she breathed. She pushed her tongue up against the very bottom of Sara’s shaft, making them both shudder. “I only wonder how long you’ll last under my touch.”

And with that, Vesta got to work.

I’d almost forgotten how wonderful she tastes.

With Sara’s cock resting on her face, she only had to turn upward and open her mouth, slowly dragging her tongue along the underside of the thick pillar. Her mouth, already watering after spending so long in close proximity to something she’d so frequently acquainted herself with, began to truly salivate. That made it much easier to lick and tease, pressing her lips to the underside of the cock’s head, her tongue flicking out to wring precious sounds of appreciation from the woman above.

“Look at that,” Oddry breathed, snuggling into the hollow of Sara’s shoulder. “She really thinks she’s doing something impressive, doesn’t she?”

Sara smiled down at Vesta, making eye contact as she brushed her thumb along Vesta’s cheek.

“It certainly feels nice, I’ll give her that much.”

A sure sign of success if ever there was one. Vesta moved deeper into Sara’s thighs, letting the molten iron rod of her cock slide along her face, closing an eye against the saliva that was smearing along her face. She went down, down, down, until her lips met the balls that sat at the base of Sara’s cock, the full length’s prodigious heft weighing her head down. She began to kiss and nip, flicks of her tongue filling her mouth with another burst of the Champion’s divine taste.

“Do you think she’s already lost it?” Oddry asked. “Or will she last a bit longer?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sara’s fingers gently moved a lock of Vesta’s hair out of her eye. “She might keep it together for a few more minutes. Not much beyond that.”

Vesta opened her mouth and raised her head, turning to one side so she could work as hard as possible to envelop Sara’s cock in a tongue-wrapping embrace. She was rewarded by a soft sigh, nearly a hiss, and the hand near her face trembling just a touch. With a wet smack, she pulled her lips free, smirking up at Sara.

“For one trying so hard to seem confident, you’re making such lovely noises as I— Oh!”

The hand on her cheek shot upward, fast as a blur, fingers curling into the sides of Vesta’s hair tight enough to send a jolt of electrifying pain racing down her spine. Her head was dragged roughly back, faster than she could track, positioning her so that the thick head of a cock pressed her lips into silence.

“You’ve got better things to be doing with your mouth, My Lady,” Sara chastised. “Don’t let yourself get distracted again.”

Vesta tried to mutter a retort, but that required parting her lips, an opening Sara immediately exploited. Searing heat speared into her mouth, instincts causing her jaw to widen, allowing it to enter.

Oh, gods.

Taste.

Her mouth was stuffed full by Sara’s cock. It rested against her tongue, throbbing in place, filling her mind with an overwhelming presence. It was one thing to taste it with the flick of a tongue or by licking up the remnants of a grazing kiss. Another entirely to have herself filled by Sara. The scent of her, her flavor, it was overwhelming. Normal in some ways, salty sweat swirling over womanly skin, but it was Sara. There was so much more. Saliva burst forth as she groaned, taking in that taste, that indescribable flavor, the sort that made air rush from her nose in a high-pitched whine. It was without comparison or equal, compelling her tongue to lick and press and take it in, her eyes falling closed.

The impossibly thick cock in Vesta’s mouth should have strained her jaw, but it didn’t. It pushed at her boundaries in just the way to leave her groaning, falling forward, letting it slide further and further into her mouth. Just when it reached the start of her throat, Oddry spoke up.

“Isn’t it so funny to remember how she used to be? The High Lady of Hagos, head of House Vesta, wealthiest socialite in all the southern lands.”

Drool began to pool in Vesta’s mouth. She tried to pull back, but Sara wouldn’t let her.

“It’s not that far of a jump, is it?” Sara mused. “I think she knew even back then what she was destined for.”

Oddry’s index finger reached down to Vesta’s head, curling a red lock into bored twirls.

“You think so? I suppose it would make sense.” Oddry’s hand went lower, gripping her scalp, joining Sara’s in holding her in place. “How long did it take for this pretty little noblewoman to start servicing you after you met? An hour? Two?”

“Two sounds about right.” Sara’s iron grip shoved Vesta’s head down her cock, the head bumping against her throat. “I didn’t spend much time in Sporatos, but it didn’t take long to learn that no one takes less time to get on their knees than a noblewoman.”

Vesta glared up at Sara, or tried to, doing her best effort while still lavishing the woman’s cock with loving attention.

She shuddered. Gods, this taste.

“What I would have given to know how easy she was, back in Hagos,” Oddry wistfully sighed. “Back then, I still believed all the lies they told. That they didn’t care for us, that we were meant to serve them. How did I believe any of it, even after she invited me to her bedroom that first evening and pulled me into her legs, wet as an azarketi whore?”

Vesta tried to frown around Sara’s cock. That wasn’t how it had happened. She had teased and plucked at a blushing Oddry’s sensibilities, slowly ensnaring her in a web of beautiful whispers. Her body had been ready for the woman on that fateful evening, yes, but it was after weeks of teasing flirtations. And it had been Oddry who knelt between her legs with a nervous smile on her face.

“Oh, she doesn’t like hearing that, does she?” Sara pulled Vesta back, so only the very tip of her cock rested between her lips. Still trying to take the haughty Champion apart, Vesta’s tongue licked and lapped forward. “She definitely likes sucking me off, though.”

“It’s only natural. She’s just another noble whore.”

Vesta’s only response was a loud, wanton groan— from effort. Not for any other reason. It was from the effort of trying to pull against two women’s grip on her hair, trying to free her mouth to speak.

There was a wet pop as Sara abruptly jerked Vesta off her cock. She immediately fell back forward, the spit-slicked shaft once more resting against her face. Pulsing heat. Throbbing. Every pump of Sara’s heart could be felt on her skin.

“My Lady?” Oddry prompted. “I thought it looked like you wanted to say something.”

She blinked several times, catching her breath. She turned to the right slightly, so that the bridge of her nose was taking the weight of Sara’s cock, and looked at Oddry.

“I am not a noble whore,” she said between breaths. Her thighs rubbed together. “How nonsensical. How can one be both a whore and a member of the peerage?”

Sara grinned. “Well, to start with, I imagine you’d want to be the type of woman who soaks through her underclothes when she’s got a cock dropped on her face.”

“That’s…” Though fully clothed, Vesta was shocked to realize her thighs were slick. “What about finding yourself excited by a partner is whorish?”

“You can’t tell?” Sara lifted her cock off Vesta’s face, then dropped it. Vesta flinched, but didn’t move. Sara laughed. “How about the fact that you’re sucking my cock without even touching yourself? I don’t think many chaste women are so concerned with their partner’s pleasure that they don’t take any for themselves.”

“That is because I am trying to please you!” Vesta indignantly reminded Sara. She gripped Sara’s cock— with both hands, good gods— and brought it back to her lips. “You’ve had a terrible day and I stayed up late to help you relieve some stress! If you’re going to sit up there and insult me, I’ll, I’ll…!”

“You’ll?” Sara drawled, grin widening.

Vesta hesitated. She was going to drop Sara’s cock and stand up, but… but she’d come an awfully long way, hadn’t she? It wouldn’t make much sense to simply stop.

Vesta pressed a kiss to the head of Sara’s cock. The woman shivered; a delightful sight.

“Then I’ll just have to shut you up,” Vesta purred.

And pushed her head forward.

Sara fell back with a contented groan, letting her eyes drift closed. Vesta kept moving, taking a deep breath through her nose when she felt it brush against the entrance to her throat, and then pushed forward.

She felt her throat bulge outward. More than anything else, that was what she remembered. The feeling of her body bending to Sara’s whims, twisting itself to accommodate her, her very flesh warping in its quest to bring the Champion pleasure. When she first pushed, she was too small, Sara’s cock too large. And then something shifted. A sensation unlike any other, one nearly impossible to describe, save for the heat that blossomed through her.

Sara’s cock began to travel down her throat.

Oddry’s eyes sparkled with delight as she rested her head on Sara’s shoulder.

“Gods. I can see it, My Lady. That cock you’re taking.”

Vesta groaned, setting her throat buzzing. She felt so full, fuller than should have been possible, and it was wonderful. She began to swallow rhythmically, caressing Sara’s cock with her throat, helping it slide further down.

Excitedly, Oddry turned to Sara. “Has it been long enough, then? Is she lost?”

Sara lifted her head off the couch, cracking open an eye. Vesta met her gaze, smoldering at her, daring the woman to deny that she was feeling anything other than amazing.

“N-no,” Sara moaned. “Not yet. But close.”

For what?

Sara’s cock jumped in her throat, making her try to gasp, but she couldn’t breathe around it by then. Her throat only convulsed, taking it another half-inch deeper.

Oh, what does it matter?

Heat, a fire even, was spreading through her body. Every inch that Sara’s cock touched felt as if it was being burned in the most exquisite of ways, hanging at the very furthest edges of a stretch that would have been painful were it just that slightest margin further.

She was inches away, now. Her sight was consumed by Sara, by her stomach and pelvis, the base of her cock buried beneath curly black hair. Vesta had never understood why women shaved themselves, had thought it a personal preference, and had been delighted when she’d finally worked up the bravery to ask Oddry to stop and got nothing but a positive response. Of course she still shaved herself, but that was only natural, as it was what Oddry wanted.

“Deeper, My Lady,” Oddry whispered. Her hand returned to Vesta, this time on the back of her head. “Come on, now. Close your eyes and push.”

W-well. It was only natural to do what Oddry wanted, wasn’t it?

The world turned black as Oddry helped her slide down those last, precious few inches. It felt like Sara’s cock was embedded in her stomach, deeper, maybe, but it was so hard to tell because it felt so hot. She was so hot. Like a fever consuming her body, molten metal that pooled in her core and came out leaking between her legs, burning her thoughts to ash.

She felt her nose touch something soft. She would have whimpered in relief if she could, but she couldn’t. So instead she twisted her head and pressed further, further, until finally, with Sara’s hair tickling her face, her lips wrapped around Sara’s base.

“Oh, there we go,” Oddry praised. “Oh, such a wonderful Lady. You know your place after all. Wrapped around a peasant’s cock.”

With watering eyes Vesta tried to groan in protest, but it was no use. All she achieved was making her chest vibrate like a purring cat, like a squealing moan, like she could think of nothing other than how full she was.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Sara hissed, re-gripping Vesta’s hair in response to the vibration. “Alright, Oddry, fine. I’ll j-just…” One hand skittered down to Vesta’s throat, pressing in, highlighting the fat bulge in her throat. The thought of it pulled another mindless purr from Vesta, making Sara swear.

Then something changed.

“T-there we go. Now she knows her place, Oddry.”

For the first time, Vesta choked. Her body twisted and writhed around Sara, muscles twisting as that fullness turned tight, tighter. The heat boiling up in her exploded into a raging fire, sweeping through her, her eyes shooting open and seeing nothing at all because she was full, like her entire throat was just another cunt for Sara to occupy, like it had been slotted into the place it wanted, needed, deserved to stay for the rest of time.

“Oh, finally.” Oddry ground Vesta’s face into Sara’s stomach, making her hips buck as cock twitched and throbbed within her. “We told you, didn’t we? There’s nothing more that a proper noblewoman like you wants than a peasant to worship.”

The world spun as Vesta’s head was jerked back, cock slipping from her throat with horribly embarrassing noises, but the worst part of it all was that emptiness, that terrible nothing that replaced all the warm beauty that had been in her body.

She scrambled blindly, hands slapping at Sara’s calves, her knees, her thighs, until she finally took fistfuls of the couch itself and pulled herself forward, desperate to replace that awful ache with the beauty of her cock.

She was allowed to. Thank the gods, they let her, and she cried out as her efforts were rewarded with that agonizingly beautiful stretch once more, filling her whole.

She was pulled back yet again, further this time, enough so that there was time for her mewling whine of protest to fill the air. It didn’t last long; she was brought back down again, her throat taken, and on the way down she tasted something new, something beautiful, and deep in the precious recesses of her mind that hadn’t been drowned by endless cries of the name Sara! she realized that there was only one way that she was going to get more of it.

The hand fell from her head. Sara moaned openly as Vesta finished the rest of the way down of her own volition, burying her own face to the hilt on Sara’s cock.

She needed it.

“Is it all you dreamed of, My Lady?” Oddry whispered. She was at Vesta’s side now, somehow. Teeth nipped at her ear, teeth still coated in that wonderful venom, and when a tongue licked the same place, Vesta felt the first crashing climax ripple through her. She choked on Sara’s cock, throat spasming, gag reflex protesting, but it was worth it. So very worth it.

“You love that cock, don’t you? It’s all you can think of, isn’t it?”

She whimpered.

“You never want to let it go. You never want to feel it anywhere else again, do you?”

Vesta shook her head, or tried to, at least. The movement earned her another whine from Sara, and with it, the barest flicker of that taste again. Beautiful. So beautiful.

“You’re worshipping it. You know that, right? Swallowing her shaft, licking the head, nuzzling into her tummy like a desperate little whore?”

She bobbed her head in agreement. She was. It was… she didn’t want to. But she had to, didn’t she? Faced by perfection, what else could be done?

“A peasant’s cock gets dropped in front of you, and what do you do? Put it in your mouth and cry in relief.” Oddry’s arm wrapped around her, elbow on a shoulder, hand reaching down her dress.

Vesta tasted it again. More, this time. Oddry’s fingers pinched at her nipple, twisting, sending the heat in her flaring harder, until she was caught in a toe-curling climax, yet she only sped her movements up, chasing something higher, something greater.

“Are you trying to excuse it, My Lady?” Oddry took another nibble of Vesta’s ear, right as she was at the apex of her worship, so that her cry of pleasure was audible to all. “Are you thinking to yourself that Sara’s body is different, maybe? That her cock has stolen your mind from you, that you couldn’t be blamed for what happens once she’s set her sights on you?”

She was. She was doing that, somewhere in her mind, and she wanted to tell Oddry how much she loved it. How much it left her eyes fluttering to know that she was at the Champion’s mercy, that she could be taken this way, reduced to this state at the mere whims of another.

“You’re wrong.”

Vesta’s cock-drunk mind whirled, uncomprehending.

“I haven’t seen her in this long, have I?” Oddry’s voice appeared on her other side, accompanied by a lick that ran from her collarbone to chin, making her fingers curl with pleasure as another dress-soaking climax was wrung from her. “I haven’t seen Sara in months, and I’m not this desperate. Hurlish sees her every night, has this in her every night—” A flare of pathetic jealousy roared through Vesta at that, “—and she’s never fallen on her knees for it. Not like this. Not like you. But you know who has?”

The flavor was growing stronger. It was coating her throat, pooling in her stomach, and she still couldn’t name it. All she knew was that it came from Sara, that pleasuring her cock would bring more of it.

“Evie. A slave.”

Vesta’s hips jumped. There was a hand between her legs, she realized, fingers in her cunt, but they were dull, so dull compared to the fucking she gave her throat.

“Ketch. A familiar.”

She was drooling so, so much. It ran down her chin, joining the tears streaming from her eyes, and she couldn’t stop it; she wouldn’t have if she could.

“And the third.”

The fingers in her cunt dug deep. A hand slammed her face to the base of Sara’s cock.

“You. A noble whore.”

Vesta was kept there. Hilted. She began to swallow, swallow, swallow, trying to suck everything she could from Sara’s cock, letting her throat massage the woman who’d earned her place. The world was greying around her, her head fuzzy from lack of air, but what did it matter?

Sara’s hands clenched on her head, tugging at her head.

Her cock pulsed.

Vesta could have sobbed with joy.

The underside of her cock jumped, her hips thrusting, taking Vesta just that extra fraction deeper, and she loved it, because Sara was finally, finally cumming.

The first splash of white that coated Vesta’s throat was ecstasy. It was a peak, a climax, something that sent her entire body shivering and twisting to the tune of electric pleasure, and then there was the second one. The third. Again and again, Sara held Vesta down, groaning out, cumming down her throat. Using her, taking her, debasing her, proving every dirty whisper Oddry had slipped into her ears to be true, and it was all so worth it.

Vesta’s world went white. She felt herself get filled again and again, every sticky string redoubling her pleasure as it slid down her throat and into her stomach, so much, far too much to be possible, and yet there it was, sloshing in her stomach. She wanted to cry out, to scream and twist and writhe with animalistic howls, but she was held in place beneath Sara, left to take it, and even in the throes of it all, she loved that. Loved being forced into place, into her place, because there was nothing left for her to do, no decision to be made, her only option left being that which allowed her to sit and take, take, take it all, drowning in pleasure.

“Oh, My Lady,” Oddry whispered in her ear. A hand cupped her chin. “I’m so proud of you.”

Vesta sagged. Sara’s cock spurted once, twice more, and then Vesta was left only with dimming vision and the burning heat of pleasure radiating from her core.

She was slipped backward, held gently in the comforting hands of her wife, and set on the plush rug. Even the fibers caressing her skin felt like the hands of a thousand masseuses, leaving her shivering and shuddering in place.

Up above, she watched Oddry climb back up onto the couch on hands and knees. Stalking forward, like a predator. Sara’s tits heaving with every breath and her eyes a daze, blinked blearily as Oddry crawled into her lap.

“I hope you’re not finished, my lovely guest,” Oddry purred. She had lost her dress, Vesta noted. Her bare pussy rubbed along Sara’s half-soft cock.

“I think I’ve got… one more round in me,” Sara managed to say. One hand, fingers calloused from hours holding a sword, wrapped around the back of Oddry’s neck. The maid was brought in for a kiss, hard, and the two began to embrace.

As Vesta felt sleep, overwhelming and undefeatable, rush up on her, she watched her wife try to pull away from Sara to catch her breath.

The Champion’s tongue chased her, slithering further and further past her lips, even as a foot or more separated them.

The last thing Vesta heard made no sense at all.

“Fucking finally. Eighteen goddamn levels to get my own tentacle. Amarat, you’re a cheap motherfucker, I swear.”

O-oh, her delirious mind thought. Tenta…cles… I remember her talking about… that…

Vesta licked her lips, trying to find droplets of Sara’s cum.

G-good for… Evie… she’ll be so… happy…

Finally, as one day turned to the next, sleep took her.

When she woke an hour later, Oddry was laying atop her, entirely naked, coated in sweat and saliva. Sara was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, Vesta convinced her trembling muscles to turn her head the opposite direction. Sara’s armor was gone, too.

Does that girl… ever… get tired…?

Vesta, it seemed, did. When she next woke, it was to the sound of songbirds.

-------------------------------------

Mui Thom

-------------------------------------

There was something to be said for boldness. His entanglement with Sara had proven that well enough. He only wished he could convince his own thoughts of it.

Unlike every other tent of a commanding officer in the army, the temporary dwelling of Sara, Evie, Hurlish, and their child was notable only for its size. Waxed canvas repelled the rain off its wide roof, a high central pole keeping its slope significant enough that Hurlish could walk about the space without crouching. He lifted a hand to an exterior tent pole, preparing to knock. He hesitated. The tent was supported by local woods, roughly carved, like the young child of a carpenter attempting to mimic their parent’s work.

He was distracting himself. It was only natural, of course. After his encounter with Evie, his relationship with the woman felt… fraught. Strained, to say the least. He’d first been furious, then baffled, until he eventually settled on an astounded frustration.

How could such an experienced Warrior be struggling with such a juvenile dilemma?

He still didn’t know. Mui had met many soldiers who spoke as Evie had that night, claiming that what they had seen in their careers left them unable to care for others. It hadn’t taken more than a few months of serving beside them as a young boy before Mui had begun to roll his eyes when they expressed the sentiment. The men and women who claimed they no longer cared who they killed, whether they lived or died, would risk their lives plowing through a river to rescue a stray kitten caught in a rainstorm. He’d seen it personally. And so he’d come to the conclusion that all those supposedly intimate, drunken campfire ruminations amounted to, in reality, was a hidden confession that they were too easily wounded by their emotions to dare explore them.

He had no interest in attempting to convince Evie of that, however, and so, despite his confusion with Evie’s so-called dilemma, it wasn’t what filled him with anxiety when he contemplated speaking to her again. It wasn’t her at all, in fact, but her wife. Sara.

All my hours wondering what the Chosen was to me, and on that night she so casually refers to me as Sara’s ‘friend.’ But that was not all it could be, no?

An Artifact of the Divine gracing Mui’s life had been something so ludicrous that he still occasionally struggled to believe it had happened. He struggled even more when he thought of what Sara herself was, how she behaved, and most of all, what it meant for him. She had cajoled and joked with him, flirted with him, and eventually seduced him into her bed, taking his body into hers with a smile on her face and passion on her lips. A married woman, with a child, had done that. He… he had no idea what to make of that. There was no world in which it made sense. Simply none at all. He was her lover, physically, but he had never spent a night in her tent, only she in his. He had met her child a handful of times and cared for him only once, when there was quite literally no other alternative. She draped herself over him at every private opportunity, yet remained respectfully distant in public, containing her habitual flirtations to little more than hidden smirks and quick winks, even on occasions when she publicly dragged Evie and began heavily petting her ears for all to see. It was a relationship defined by contradictions.

And then Evie had told him of her Blessings. Of her ability to elevate those around her to her own height, gifting them the Levels of a lifetime in a matter of weeks. He had thought he understood then, and he had been repulsed. He was her chosen liaison within the Empire, and she was using her body to curry the favor and loyalty of a man who, when he was brought to her Level, would find himself undyingly loyal. Like an Imperial Courtesan with ambitions for usurping a throne, she used pleasure as the grindstone which honed a living weapon.

But that would have only made sense if she’d continued to pursue the behavior. Instead, she’d been furious with Evie for revealing the lie, and she’d kept a respectful, chaste distance ever since. Not an unfamiliar distance, mind. She still called upon and spoke freely with him much as she had before. But never again had she invited herself into his tent unannounced. If she had been simply using him, that wouldn’t make sense. Either the scheme would have continued— and likely succeeded, if Mui was honest, he knew he was far from worldly enough to resist her beauty— or she would have discarded him, plying her trade on another poor soul.

Evie called me Sara’s friend. But that cannot be, can it? After all she has said and done, all we have shared, deeds and body? I cannot imagine—

With his knuckle still hovering over the wooden pole, the tent flap snapped open. The top half of Evie’s half-turned head appeared, ears flat, the canvas pulled just far enough to rest under her nose.

“You are making our guards nervous, Sergeant,” Evie said. Then she giggled. “They would have liked to be pointing guns at your gut and head through the tent walls, but I didn’t allow them.” Her ears flicked in patterns he did not recognize, but which seemed to give her an impishly impatient air. “What is it that has you nervous enough to be standing in the morning rains with your mouth agape for this long?”

She wobbled slightly as she spoke, her voice bobbing up and down to the tune of her half-focused eyes. Mui immediately recognized the apparent drunkenness as being born of something very far from alcohol; a condition that he had quite literally only ever seen in her. One which made him want to sigh heavily. It was going to be a complicated morning for entirely different reasons than he had initially thought.

“I received a summons that, I suspect, you would like to be apprised of.” He reached beneath his armor and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment, its wax seal already broken. “It was addressed only to me, but it pertains to a matter relevant to the Powdered Lead as a whole, and Sara in particular.”

“Ah,” Evie said, eyes widening. “A shame.”

“A shame?”

“I am not allowed to leave the tent at the moment.”

“You are…” He flattened his ears, as if the light rain had overwhelmed his ability to hear clearly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not allowed to leave,” she repeated.

“You’re not allowed to?”

“No.”

He stared, unbelieving. He thought he knew what she was referring to, but… surely not? She would not behave such even when he wished to speak of important matters?

“See?” Evie let the tent flap fall a few more inches, showing a touch of her bare shoulder, then down to her neck, which was wrapped in iron. The links of a chain fell there, absurdly heavy, bent bars as thick as two of Mui’s fingers. She gave it a rattle. “I’m not allowed.”

“You are,” he stated, still disbelieving what he was hearing. “That is a shattered collar, Evie. I can see the padlock on it, and I know it doesn’t actually lock. You could simply take it off.”

She blinked owlishly. “It’s my collar. I’m not allowed to leave until Hurlish says so.”

“Evie, do you not understand?” He held his hand up. “This is a letter that-”

She shrank away from the paper as he tried to hand it to her, leaning backward like an infant trying to avoid a spoonful of bitter food. She was preoccupied enough with doing so that, in fact, she dropped the tent flap, baring her entire nude body to the camp behind Mui.

With arousal visibly dripping down her legs and tusked bite marks on her breasts, Mui cursed, knowing that even she wouldn’t be alright with exposing herself in such a way were she in her right mind.

Yet as he reached up to grab the flap and whip it closed, he was surprised to see it moving on its own.

A shining steel gauntlet emerged from within the folds of a green robe, clasping the tent flap and pulling it across the space in just the right way to preserve Evie’s modesty. Mui grabbed it a moment later, instinctively, and then froze, staring incredulously. The armored arm retreated, and now alerted, this time Mui saw a flash of pale northern flesh through the chainmail protecting its twisting wrist.

That was one of the guards, wasn’t it? It had to be.

Mui leaned forward, briefly ignoring Evie as he turned his head to the right.

Sure enough, though he could scarcely believe it, one of the green-robed guards stood there. Their arm had already disappeared back within the fold of their heavy robes, leaving them standing as impassively still as they always did. Their empty-eyed expression was facing squarely forward from within a large hood, staring lifelessly at the far wall of the tent.

It hid her nude body, he thought, amazed. He looked around the tent. There was one other guard, to the left, with the other two absent, and no one else, even Tahn’s crib left empty. There was no one here to give it an order, and even the most fanciful of stories don’t speak of automatons clever enough to be so understanding of human customs. Is it really a living creature under there? An intelligent one?

He sniffed hard, curiosity getting the better of him, only to be predictably overwhelmed by the pungent remnants of sex swirling into his nostrils. If there was any scent of an unknown human in the room, it was drowned beneath the rolling waves of arousal Evie was still emanating. He coughed lightly, fur puffing in embarrassment, and pulled his head back out of the tent.

The green-robed guards had not shown so much as a twitch of reaction. Back to steel statues once more, it would seem.

The peculiar distraction having only lasted a few seconds, Evie was still standing a few feet from the tent flap, one hand clutching the chain leading to her iron neckband.

“I told you, Mui, I cannot leave at the moment. Is this a time-sensitive matter?”

“Is it…?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Yes, Evie, it is. As the Imperial Cultural Liaison to Tulian, Mage Mayaran summoned me to bear witness to an interrogation in Sara’s place. It is the mage we captured during the last battle. That she summoned me and not you speaks of some political matters I’m doubtlessly clueless to. I very dearly do not want to be involved in another incident between factions.”

“I see.” Evie took a nervous breath, looking about the room, a single finger looping through the chain. Gods, Mui could barely stand to look at the thing, much less imagine wearing it. It looked more like the chains used to anchor riverboats than it was something to keep a mere human restrained. “I suppose that… it does sound rather important… So I might, ah, ask permission…”

Her words trailed off into near silence, her fretting inaudible. Mui still could not believe it. He knew she was dedicated, as she might put it, but this was absurd. Taking a breath, he stepped into the tent, taking care to keep the flap mostly closed behind him.

Then he stopped.

“Evie.”

“Hm?”

He pointed. “Evie. The chain is attached to your bed.”

“Of course. That is where I belong.”

“Your wooden bed. It is barely more than a cot.”

“Well, Sara doesn’t enjoy flaunting luxuries while on campaign, so-”

He stepped over to the bed and grabbed its corner, lifting it. The other end of the chain slumped to the rug.

“Mui!” Evie gasped. She hurried over, pushing him aside so that she could lift the bed as well, carefully placing its leg back through the loop of chain. Then she stood. “Do you want to get me in trouble?”

An eye twitched. “Maybe. If it ends this ridiculous game, I very well might.”

Her expression brightened. “Will you, then? I’ve been trying to earn a punishment, but it’s been very difficult to do on my own, and-”

“Hey!” A deep voice boomed, the tent flap rustling. “I’m back. Sorry it took so long, the carpenter didn’t believe I actually wanted it that big, so I had to make ‘em carve out a second one and— oh.” Hurlish put the wooden implement she’d been holding behind her back, nodding to Mui. “Didn’t know you were here, Mui. Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, I was only-”

“Hurlish!”

Evie’s chain rattled as she darted across the room to collide with her wife, doing her utmost to wrap her arms around the massive woman. With Tahn swaddled on her shoulder, Hurlish reached down with one arm to return Evie’s hug, giving the woman a friendly pat.

“Hey. Uh, sorry, Evie, but…” Hurlish reached down to the thick padlock keeping Evie’s collar closed and pinched, shattering it to pieces. The once-divine collar swung open, dangling off Evie’s shoulders.

The Feline woman’s tail, a moment ago waggling happily, abruptly stilled. With all the urgency of a patient tortoise, she slowly straightened, turning to face Mui.

They stared at one another. Evie was still naked, lithe body pockmarked with bruises and bite marks, arousal weeping down her legs. She didn’t try to cover herself in the slightest, but Mui did think, though he may have imagined it, that her cheeks colored ever so slightly.

“I apologize, Sergeant,” she said. “I was indisposed. If you’ll allow me time to get dressed, we can be on our way shortly.”

Above and behind her, Hurlish could only meet Mui’s astonishment with an indifferent shrug.

“I can’t fuck with her head like Sara can,” the orc smith said, “but I can order her to act like I did. And once the collar starts making her do that, there ain’t much of a difference.”

“In fact, the sensation is remarkably similar,” Evie added, moving to a chest of drawers and pulling out a set of undergarments. “Sara refers to the phenomenon as ‘subspace’, shorthand for an extremely submissive state of mind. It’s been quite a relief to discover that it’s a very near substitute for her ability to alter my perception of reality.”

“I understand,” he lied. “Yet the broken collars are surmountable by one’s own willpower. You didn’t think that my request was urgent enough to remove it yourself?”

“To be frank, Sergeant, no.” Evie pulled a pair of lacy underclothing up her thighs, ignoring the way they became soaked with her slick. “I’m hardly the best source of judgement when in such a state, after all. Though I’m sure that I would have ‘woken up’, as Sara puts it, were you to present a true emergency.”

“Ah.” Mui looked around the room, trying to avoid watching Evie’s body twist as she dressed herself. It was not the first time he had seen the woman nude, but it was the first time he had seen it when in the presence of her other wife and their mutual child.

Hurlish strode across the room, rhythmically patting Tahn as she moved over to his crib. Gently, with a grace that should have been impossible from such a large woman, she lowered him into his bed. He gurgled slightly, but didn’t open his eyes. Hurlish reached up and drew a shutter down over the crib, smiling as she did so.

“He just ate pretty good, so he’ll probably be knocked out for a bit,” she said, glancing at Mui. “And the crib’s one-way soundproof, so he can’t hear us out here. Sure as hell makes naptime a lot easier, let me tell ya.”

“I can imagine. My mother would have done terrible things to get such a device for herself.”

“Really?” Hurlish dusted her hands off. “I’m sure we could get her one, if she’s still having kids. Wouldn’t be too hard, but it might take a while.”

“Oh. Oh, no,” he waved the idea away. “No, her child-rearing days are long behind her. I’m sure she’d be grateful for the offer, though.”

“No problem.” Hurlish moved over to the bed, dropping onto it with a relieved grunt. She tossed the wooden implement she had brought off to the side, and then rested back on her hands, watching Evie dress as if she were at a personal theatre showing.

“You can look too, y’know,” she said to Mui. “Kinda weird to have you over there staring at the ceiling the whole time.”

His muzzle parted in disbelief. “I… I don’t think I can, actually.”

“What? ‘Cause I’m here?” Hurlish snorted. “I don’t care. Just ‘cause I don’t wanna fuck guys doesn’t mean I think they’re nasty. Sara said she knew some folk like that back at her home; weird as hell, you ask me.”

“And if she was truly bothered by it,” Evie added, pulling a shirt over her head, “it would be far too late nonetheless. I’ve been filled with your seed once already, Mui, and felt you spill into Sara’s womb a dozen times over through our collared connection. Why bother with feigned civility?”

By the gods, Mui thought, fighting the urge to faint. They really are just like this, aren’t they? He’d always known to some degree, of course, but after Evie had called him Sara’s friend the other night, he’d been scrutinizing their behaviors more closely. To have a crude sense of humor in private was one thing, but this was just… they were just honest, weren’t they? Directly so.

“When’d he get here?” Hurlish asked Evie.

“He arrived some twenty minutes ago, but only entered the tent about ten minutes or so later.”

“Damn, really?” Hurlish chuckled. “He’s got a hell of a lot more restraint than me. If I walked in on you looking like that, I’d have been up in your guts in a couple minutes, tops. Still kinda mad you got shit to do.”

“Both of your losses, I suppose.”

He couldn’t believe it. Evie had been right.

I truly am just her friend, aren’t I? This is normal for them. Impossible as it seems, it is—

Wait.

“Up… in her guts?” Mui belatedly questioned.

“Yeah. Y’know, like,” Hurlish held her hands up as if holding the hips of an invisible woman, then made a thrusting motion. “Like you’re fuckin’ her so deep you’re all the way in her guts.”

“It is something Sara says on occasion,” Evie explained. “Though it’s mostly metaphorical, save for when I’m with her.”

“What, has Sara not given him an upgrade or something?” Hurlish asked.

“No, of course not, dear,” Evie replied patiently. “You know how she feels about that. Considering male insecurities, she’d much rather alter herself to accommodate her own pleasure. To tell a man she would prefer them with a larger cock would be terribly insulting to their egos.”

“I—” Mui tried to begin, only to be cut off by Hurlish.

“Aw, c’mon! That’s boring as hell.” One thick finger pointed at him. “Mui, you’re really telling me you coulda been packing a twelve-incher and you said no?”

“I-”

“She did not offer, dear.” Evie slipped her belt on, four pistol holsters sliding into place. “In fact, I suspect she’d rather you have not broached the topic at all.”

“Boring!” Hurlish reiterated. “See, this is why I’m glad I’m fuckin’ women. Dudes get way too hung-up about that bullshit.”

“As do women with penises, I’ll remind you. Do you not remember that one woman in Tulian, the one with the hair colored… oh, that wasn’t it, what was her name…” Evie pursed her lips, thinking, then shrugged. “Regardless. She was about four and a quarter inches long, not particularly girthy, with shorter foreskin than most and a small birthmark on the underside of her cock. She was rather insecure about it.”

“Which I always thought was stupid! She’s a woman with a dick,” Hurlish scoffed. “That’s a sweet enough deal that it doesn’t matter how big she is. What kinda chick doesn’t want to get fucked by a pretty girl’s cock?”

“I believe your interest in recreational impregnation may be skewing your views.”

“And I think you wanting to get fucked by a dick that pops out your throat may be fuckin’ up your view.”

Evie paused, pants halfway up her legs. “...With her Blessings, do you think that would be possible?”

Mui backed away in a daze, muttering under his breath. “I am… I am going to go stand in the rain. I will see you shortly, Evie.”

Hurlish’s belly-laughter followed him out of the tent.

-----------------

--------------

-----------

Keeping a prisoner capable of spellcraft was not something the Imperial Army regularly attempted. While even the most powerful of Warriors could be contained by heavy enough chains, a mage was a different matter. Imprisonment was awash with a spellcrafter’s most valuable asset: time. As Mui had often heard it said, it didn’t matter how clever your methods were when you were containing a mage. No spell was perfect. It was only a matter of time before they found a way around your safe measures; greater effort could extend the time required, but that was all. Their escape was inevitable, and only the foolishly arrogant ever attempted it.

Unfortunately for the Imperial army, the formal decree of a Chosen could not be ignored. When Sara had brought the mage back to the army’s camp, they’d had no choice but to try.

Mui now stood before the product of their efforts. From the outside, it was an unremarkable tent, notable only for the musket-wielding guards who were facing toward its interior, not away. There were ten of them in a circle, their weapons loaded and held in both hands, ready to be raised in an instant. It hardly mattered that this mage was not exceptionally powerful; where most Warriors best excelled at defeating their powerful opposites, mages were the bane of the commoner. Fire or ice would roar through the camp the moment she broke free, bringing dozens to an agonizing end. That she would quickly be killed thereafter was immaterial to those caught in the maelstrom.

As Mui approached, one of the few guards facing away from the tent held up a hand. With a simple breastplate and no visible rank, she was only remarkable for her uncommonly casual handling of her musket, which she tossed to a shoulder as she ordered him to a stop.

“Halt! Are you Sergeant Mui Thom?”

“I am.” He pulled the summons from a pocket. “And I have the papers to prove it.”

“I see,” she said, her eyes flicking only to the broken seal without reading a word. “And this is?”

Evie stared at the woman. Mui sighed.

“As I suspect you are aware, this is Evie Brown, Commander of the Powdered Lead Mercenaries.”

The guarded nodded to the paper. “That say she’s allowed in?”

“It does not, but she is the representative of the Chosen in her absence-”

“I was told only to allow you in, Sergeant.”

And you think that means you can keep away someone of Evie’s status, girl? Mui wanted to shake his head. The guard was too old to still think that her superiors would dare oppose someone like Evie. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Evie spoke first.

“A question: does the Emperor pay you enough to deny me entrance?”

The woman’s eyes ran across Evie’s inch-thick steel breastplate, five pistols, and back-slung musket. She lingered on the long bayonet dangling from her hip.

“Emperor doesn’t pay me,” the guard said with a shrug. “General Borek does.”

“And does he pay enough?”

She smacked her lips. “Nah.”

With that eloquent conclusion, the guard stepped aside, gesturing them both forward. As they passed through the circle of guards, Mui muttered under his breath.

“I don’t believe Sara would appreciate you threatening a common guard.”

“As if she would be any more pleased that the mage’s official interrogation was scheduled during her absence,” Evie retorted. “The order given to that guard was a direct attempt to further isolate Sara’s influence over Imperial proceedings. Your people have no interest in what this woman has to say, only that Sara, who inconvenienced them by capturing her, does not benefit from the work she created for them.”

“Politics,” he grunted.

“I did try to warn you.”

They pushed into the tent, Mui moving first. His snout immediately curled at the smell that assaulted him. Though the air was clear at the moment, thick, pungent smoke suffused every surface, enough so that his eyes began to water. It was the noxious scent unique to intoxicants, but amplified ten times over, as if every inch of the tent’s interior had been soaking in it for days.

As his eyes adjusted, Mui realized that was likely exactly what had happened. A small fire-pit was dug in the center of the space, surrounded by piles of half-burnt pastil plants. Two more musket-armed guards stood at the tent’s exterior, wearing wooden masks visibly overflowing with the crushed remnants of aromatic flowers. They each had muskets with bayonets fixed, their armor finer than their fellows outside. They looked about the room with red-streaked eyes, blinking frequently. There was no furniture present in the room, only an iron cage set directly before the firepit, its occupant sitting cross-legged.

The rebel mage was in better condition than Mui expected. She had been given tattered rags that kept her mostly modest, and her cage had room enough to both stand and stretch her arms out, if only one at a time. She had lost a decent amount of weight, but her cheeks were still full and her ribs were not protruding, at least not as far as he had seen in the prisoners consigned to Imperial work camps. She even appeared to be fairly lucid, eyes making jerky, alert movements, though most of their whites had been replaced by red, days of pastil smoke inundation bursting the veins.

A familiar set of robes was bent before the rebel mage, hands on her knees as she whispered harshly at the slumped figure. Honored Elven Mayaran was spitting acidic question after acidic question, despite the captured mage’s clear unwillingness to answer.

“Hello, Mayaran,” Evie said, stepping ahead of Mui. She extended her hand. “I see that you have begun the interrogation of your own accord.”

The Elven woman finished one last question, which naturally received no answer, before standing and looking at Evie.

“Commander Brown. I did not anticipate your presence.”

“Of course. You exerted yourself to avoid it, I believe.” Evie’s hand stayed extended, stubbornly offering a peasant’s handshake. “Still, when I learned that you would be handling the prisoner’s questioning, I thought it best that someone with more direct training in the art of coercive investigation would be present.”

Mayaran’s eyes glittered with hostility above her polite smile. “Coercive investigation, you say? Quite a… gentle euphemism."

“Isn’t it?” Evie finally dropped her hand. “My mother found the term ‘torture’ dreadfully gauche, and so preferred a more circumspect replacement. It was surprisingly difficult to properly translate the phrase into kemari, so I’m glad it had the intended effect.”

As the two women exchanged verbal jabs, Mui watched the mage. Even his untrained eye could see at a glance that she was no highborn; she flinched at the mere use of the word torture, scooting away to press her back against the rear of her cage. If she’d been from a noble family, or if she had even spent long in the military, she would have known better than to show such weakness before her captors.

“A far more comely term for the practice, certainly.” Mayaran stepped away from the prisoner, folding her hands within her robes as she faced Evie directly. “Ever since our borders have begun to open, I’ve heard a great deal about your mother. The initial Imperial impression of your status as a prized sexual slave was quite inaccurate, I must admit. As the head of your House, your mother was a wealthy and important figure within your bureaucracy, was she not?”

Evie shrugged noncommittally. “Not important enough to save her from the headsman’s axe, which I suspect is all she cared about in the end.”

Mayaran’s face twisted into a fractured facsimile of sympathy. “It is always a shame to see one of the younger races having their life cut short; they already have so little time to prove themselves before the gods.”

“Perhaps. At the time, the day of her death was the happiest of my life.” Evie knelt down, ears swiveling to focus upon the prisoner. “Now, onto business. I have a question for you, mage.”

Seeing Evie nearing the mage’s cage, the two guards at the edge of the tent lifted their muskets to their shoulders. Mui suspected they had shot loaded, not ball, and they had positioned themselves such that they would not strike one another when they fired. Polished to a mirror sheen, their bayonets glittered even in the dim light.

“Who,” Evie began, “do you wish to handle this interrogation? Mayaran or myself?”

The mage’s breathing, already unsteady, accelerated rapidly. Her head jerked between the two women several times, yet she remained silent.

“Oh, of course,” Evie said, smiling kindly. That a woman like Evie could reproduce a genuine smile on demand was something Mui found a touch disturbing. “I realize now that we have not properly met. I am Evie Brown, wife of the Divine Chosen, Sara Brown, she who demanded you not be executed upon defeat. Those two behind me, Honored Elven Mayaran and Sergeant Mui Thom, strenuously objected to this measure. Had I been asked for my input, I would have, too. However, I consider myself a loyal wife above all else. So long as my authority over you is maintained, I will strive to spare your life.”

Evie fell silent. Still crouching, still smiling, it nonetheless seemed that her staring was physically drilling into the mage. A few seconds passed, and then several more, all in silence. After a tense minute or so, it became obvious that Evie was perfectly content to wait for a response. Nervousness got the better of the mage.

“I…” Her voice broke, raspy from smoke inhalation. “I would…”

The mage broke into a coughing fit, turning her head away from Evie. Pounding her chest, she spat several black globs onto the steel of her cage before attempting to speak once more, only for words to fail her yet again.

Silent, Evie held a hand up to the rightmost guard. The man stepped forward, then hesitated, confusion evident on his face. He had no idea what Evie wanted from him.

Rolling his eyes, Mui took his canteen from his belt, placing it in Evie’s hand. Without a word, she moved it forward and slid it through the bars, offering it to the mage.

Both guards audibly sucked in air, clicking the hammers back on their muskets. Without looking away from the mage, Evie held up her free hand.

“Do not insult me with the notion that this half-drugged woman is a threat to me. Shoulder your weapons.”

Rather than immediately obey, both guards looked to Mayaran. She considered it for a moment, then nodded. The men stepped back, gently letting the hammers of their muskets back down.

Does that mean they are her picked soldiers, or are they simply deferring to an Honored Elven over the wife of a Chosen? And did Mayaran agree with Evie’s assessment, or is she simply content to let the mage maul her rival if the opportunity arises?

Mui wasn’t sure why he was bothering to question himself. The intricacies of the moment were far, far beyond him. Technically, as best he understood his ill-defined role, his job was to stand silently and provide his best guess for what Sara might have wanted done, should anyone ask for his opinion. Seeing as Evie was here to fulfill that second role, he might as well consider himself a lifeless statue.

The mage accepted the canteen and began to drink heavily, spitting mouthfuls of black water several times before finally beginning to swallow. He was surprised to see so much smoke residue, until he noted the large pot in the rear of the room. Her water was kept inside with the smoke. Even what she drank had been filthy.

Still better than a work camp.

The mage emptied the entire canteen before handing it back to Evie, who set it aside. Mui went to retrieve it as the woman cleared her throat a final time before speaking with a much stronger voice.

“I do not care who tortures me,” she half-rasped. “Your wife may be Divine, Lady Evie, but she has been misled. You bed down with devils, opposing the rightful Empire.”

“Perhaps.” Evie crouched lower, resting on the balls of her feet, arms folded atop her knees. “Truthfully, neither my wife nor I have tried to tangle apart the claims to legitimacy in this war. It was a mercenary transaction, one in which your Adjutant was outbid by his opposite. If you feel any concern that I am hostile towards you for your chosen loyalties, disregard it.”

Mayaran sniffed. “How insultingly bold it is for you to declare you have no loyalty to our cause, Commander. I wonder what General Borek would think of such a thing?”

One of Evie’s ears flicked back to Mayaran.

“Should you inform him, I believe that he would congratulate you on your excellent success in defining the word ‘mercenary,’ Mage Mayaran. That our loyalty is bought, not owed, is quite clear in our contractual stipulations.”

“How honorable,” Mayaran sneered.

Evie snorted indelicately. “Oh, please, Mayaran, you must repeat that to my wife. There is nothing more that she loves to discuss than the supposed value of honor.”

“I would quite gladly enjoy having such a discussion amongst her allies. I imagine her tune will change considerably.”

Evie did not bother with a response. She likely thought Sara’s response to the hypothetical was too obvious to be worth commenting on; Mui certainly did. The idea that Sara would censor herself when speaking about her true passions was… optimistic. Barring some hidden undercurrent he might have missed, he certainly thought Mayaran had failed to get the better of Evie in that exchange.

Turning her attention back to the mage, Evie’s tone returned to its gentler rendition.

“I am offering you a choice. Either your questioning is handled by myself and the Sergeant or by Mage Mayaran.”

The elf’s eyes flashed. “I did not approve any such offer.”

“I am aware,” Evie said, without so much as glancing at Mayaran. “Well, mage? Make your choice.”

It was not a fair offer. Mui could see the woman attempting to deliberate, yet her addled mind could barely break free of the poisoned blood pumped through her tar-stained lungs. Even then, Evie’s manipulation had to have been blatantly obvious. The mage had everything she needed to pierce together the fact that she was facing two rival factions, each disparaging the other in hopes of gaining some advantage in the form of an exclusive interrogation.

Fortunately for the mage, Mayaran hadn’t tried to present herself as an attractive option. The mage weakly pointed to Evie as she let her head fall back onto the bars of her cage, defeat evident on her face.

“I see.” Evie stood, gesturing to Mayaran. “Before I begin, I believe it best if I was aware of any questions you are interested in that I am unaware of. Let us speak outside.”

Mayaran scowled, but led the way out of the tent. Evie followed, with Mui drifting along in her wake.

The moment they were outside, Mayaran’s hand flicked out of her robe, slapping a shimmering wall between them and the tent. She narrowed her eyes at Evie, smoldering fury directed at the diminutive woman.

“Did you truly believe that I am going to accept this ludicrous premise you have given to our prisoner?”

“No.”

“No?”

Evie nodded. All emotion was wiped from her face, expression unreadable. “It was a rudimentary yet highly effective interrogation strategy suggested by my wife. By providing two contrasting options, one plainly worse than the other, a subject may be falsely convinced that they have found an ally against a greater threat, and therefore expose more of their information than they were otherwise willing.” Evie’s lip curled into the smallest smile. “Thankfully, though I did not have opportunity to discuss the plan with you beforehand, you presented yourself with capricious cruelty without hesitation. I applaud your clever recognition of the tactic, Mage Mayaran.”

Elven eyes burned with anger. “I cannot imagine how you fathomed that any agreement set by a mere mercenary is one that an Imperial representative is one that will be honored.”

“I do not care if you honor it. Only that you provide me the brief illusion of honesty, so that I may take advantage of what the mage currently views as a worthy alternative to more traditional interrogations. Once I am done, I could not care less what you do with the woman.”

Mage Mayaran stewed, though Mui hardly knew why. It wasn’t as if there was any reason for her to object to Evie’s offer, seeing as whatever she did during her period of brief exclusivity with the prisoner couldn’t possibly harm Mayaran’s own later interrogation.

Pettiness, I suppose, he decided. She doesn’t wish to give Evie a ‘victory’ by agreeing.

As was true of nearly every Imperial citizen, Mui had never spent time around the Honored Elven. Mage Mayaran was far from what he had expected, even with the small excuse of being relatively youthful for her kind.

After considerable deliberation, Mayaran turned her nose up and stepped away from Evie. “Alright, then. Unlike you, I am loyal enough to the cause to recognize a worthwhile strategy when it is presented.” She waved her hand, causing a chunk of the road to rise from the ground, which she sat upon. “Attempt your strategy, Commander Evie. But do not try my patience with it.”

“Of course,” Evie said, nodding graciously. She began walking back to the tent, forcing Mui to quickly follow in her footsteps.

That was it? Mage Mayaran had no questions for her, no further demands or requests? Is she really so petty, or was her only true objective of this interrogation the complication of Sara’s plans?

Evie passed into the tent, holding it open for Mui. Bracing his snout against the scent, he entered.

“Out,” Evie ordered, pointing to the two guards. “I will speak with the prisoner in private. And do not dare insinuate that I need your aid or protection.”

Wisely, the two soldiers left without a word.

Evie stepped up to the cage, staring down at the woman. Mui came up to her side, waiting in silence. Both of their ears flicked, instinctively listening to the retreating footsteps of the soldiers. Only when they began to murmur an explanation for their presence to Mage Mayaran did Evie finally crouch, extending her right hand.

“Here,” she said, offering a small vial of red liquid. “It is a healing potion. Use it to purge your lungs of intoxicants if you wish, but be warned, it is of poor quality. The experience will be unpleasant.”

The mage’s bloodied eyes looked at Evie’s palm. She licked her lips.

“How do I know it is not something worse?”

“Worse than the elven mage I just convinced to leave this tent?”

The mage took the potion, uncorking it. With one last trepidatious glance at Evie, she drank it.

Evie stood and stepped back, gesturing for Mui to do so as well. When he looked questioningly at her, she spoke softly enough that only he could hear.

“I would not waste something that may save a life on this. It was an apprentice’s attempt deemed too poor for battlefield use.”

The mage’s eyes widened. Her stomach visibly convulsed, rippling in waves, and then she began to cough.

Hard.

Black spittle flew from her lips in repeated waves, large chunks of it spattering against the ground. She fell forward, back curving as she alternated between loud retches and explosive coughs. Every burst sent more wads of spittle onto the floor of her cage, until a large black lump was laying between her palms, now tinged with flecks of red.

Mui thanked the gods that her convulsions lasted only a short while. Her coughing sputtered out as rapidly as it had begun, and then the mage sat back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The red had vanished from her eyes, the swaying gone from her stance.

“You were right,” she rasped, her throat not quite recovered. “That was an awful potion.”

“I did warn you.” Evie returned to her prior spot, crouching in front of the cage. Something flashed in her right hand, and then she leaned forward, placing her hand into the woman’s cage.

And began to wipe up the black tar with the finest handkerchief Mui had ever seen.

“What do you want from me, then?” The mage asked. She coughed slightly, turning her head away. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“You, Mage Sevara, are an unimportant pawn in an unimportant game, one thrust into the limelight for the briefest of moments. What I want from you is largely inconsequential to us both.”

The mage laughed weakly. “If it didn’t matter, y’wouldn’t have bothered figuring out my name.”

Mui snorted. Mirroring the sentiment, Evie shook her head, even as she continued to wipe down the floor of the woman’s cage.

“A word of advice: never confirm the accuracy of your captor’s information. For all you know, I could have been rather uncertain about your name until the moment you confirmed it for me.”

She squinted. “What does it matter? You’re playing some game with me, aren’t you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m hardly playing with you. I’m simply using you as a piece in my own game. As for what it matters?” Evie flicked her handkerchief clean over the firepit, then vanished it in a flash of light. “To me, it doesn’t. But I won’t be the last to interrogate you. If you think that elvish bitch will fulfill a promise, be it mine or hers, you’re too ignorant to be of any use at all to me.”

Mage Sevara grimaced. “The word of a traitor, even an Elven Traitor, is nothing to me.”

“Wise words.” Evie crouched in front of the cage, making a come-here motion with one hand. “My questions are simple, Mage Sevara, and they will cost you nothing to answer.”

The mage stayed put. “I doubt that.”

“The first question, then. How often and how much are you being fed each day?”

Mage Sevara’s suspicion seemed to only grow, but she answered cautiously. “Twice. Mornin’ and night, when they break camp or stop for it. A plate of rice about this big.” She outlined a circle with her hands about five inches in diameter.

“Only rice?”

“What else?”

“Vegetables, fruits, or meat.”

Mage Sevara laughed. “Meat! As if.”

“Yes, that would be too much to ask for, I suppose,” Evie sighed. “Second question. Have you been allowed or provided the means with which to clean yourself?”

Mage Sevara shook her head, astounded. “What do you think I am? Some blue-blood? I haven’t been allowed to bathe. I’m surprised they haven’t started beating me yet!”

“Interesting. That was going to be my third question.” Evie turned to Mui. “Do you have any water left?”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid she drank it all,” he said, reverting to habitual formality now that they were before the prisoner.

“Hopefully my own will be enough.” Evie re-summoned the handkerchief and put it beneath the spout of her canteen, wetting it down. “If you would come closer, Mage Sevara, I will help clean you. A hidden infection may set in, should you be allowed to fester in your own filth for too long.”

“Clean me?” She scoffed. “I won’t let you touch me, woman, much less clean me. Give me the rag.”

Fresh steel entered Evie’s voice. “It is not a rag. It is an enchanted handkerchief that was given to me as a gift from my wives. And if you want to be cleaned, you will refer to it as such.”

Mage Sevara held out her hand. “Fine. Give me the handkerchief, then.”

“Better.” Evie slipped the handkerchief and canteen through the bars. “Now, while you work on that, I have other questions.”

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