by A. S. Etaski
“As what?”
Qivni swallowed. “As addicting. Like many Priestesses’ spells.”
Rausery rolled that around in her mind. “Is that to say… he’s potentially as powerful as a Priestess?”
Qivni snapped her mouth closed, pursing her lips. She would never say such a thing out loud. Regardless, her Elder knew her too well. Rausery smirked, letting it rest so she could lean forward to kiss the Lead with an unsparing tenderness that weakened Qivni’s knees. Every time.
Oh, please…
“Describe that first time, Qiv,” her Elder whispered with forbidden softness, tugging gently at the leather ties beneath her belt. “It’s been a long time. I want to listen to you describe it again.”
This. This was where her thoughts had been drifting far too often with that Consort here, and even after he was taken away.
She wants me to say it.
The Lead shivered with shame and a horrifyingly swift arousal as she removed her own belt, hanging it up while Rausery watched. Her Elder’s hands returned to Qivni’s hips, loosening the leather knots atop the crisscrossing thongs there.
“I-I was working too hard in the new quarters created for them,” she whispered, her chin down. “I…fell asleep on their floor, in the laundry room. Th-they found me…”
Rausery dropped smoothly to one knee, pulling her subordinate’s leathers down, quickly removing her gloves so she could caress the bare skin with attentive admiration. Qivni’s skin pebbled as her superior stared at her white thatch. Rausery leaned to nestle her nose into it, breathing in then out. She licked her. Kissed and sucked. Qivni’s sex tingled, swelled.
“Keep going, Qiv.”
Oh, Goddess…
“There were eight,” she gasped, reaching to grab the edge of a shelf, her other hand braced against the stone wall.
Rausery stroked her slit firmly with her tongue, sucked on her.
“Oh! They s-smuggled me into one of their bedrooms. I woke there, disoriented. M-my small clothes, gone. Bent over the bed with my robes pulled up—”
Rausery growled quietly, rising to shove a few bags out of the way on the stout sorting table. Taking Qivni by the shoulders, she turned her to face it, pushing her down onto it.
“Like this, Lead?”
Qivni did not fight; she mewled as the General held her neck with one hand and tugged her leathers down farther with the other. Then Rausery massaged her hips and buttocks with both hands; she kneeled, spread her open…
And feasted on her again.
“Gener—! Ah!”
A chuckle. “Been a while, eh, Qiv? Mmm, me, too.”
Rausery moved her face eagerly against her Lead’s slick crotch, resting one warm hand on the small of her back; a reminder without pressure to stay in place.
“Go on,” the Elder murmured. “Who started it? Who went first?”
Qivni blinked, trying to remember as she felt a slippery probe dip in deep then rise and swirl in circles around her netherhole. “Ohh! Uh-uh…K-Kino. H-He told the others I was shaped like ‘Mother.’”
“One of the Priestesses.”
“Yeah…the others had never seen us naked before. Th-then he showed them how…”
“How to what?”
Qivni stared at the wall, holding onto the table with both hands as Rausery stood up behind her. She heard the familiar sounds of a Feldeu being inserted at the base end, the magical word following, and the head of the pleasure tool settling between her labia. At last.
“How. To. What?” her Elder repeated slowly.
She quivered, whispered, “He sh-showed them how to f-fuck…!”
“Like this?”
Qivni gasped as the Feldeu speared her sex. Her Elder took her full length without hesitation, and her body clutched the phallus in complete welcome. “Yes!”
It’s been so long…
Rausery rumbled, “You held still for it, hm? All eight buas in the same eve?”
Qivni’s face burned as her cunt greedily accepted the strong pounding like a punishment she deserved. She was close, so close. “I-I have said, Elder, the strong ones are addictive.”
“The strong what?”
“C-Consorts!”
“What else? Were they done after a shot a piece in your sloppy hole?”
The Lead hid her eyes. “….n-no, Elder…”
“Twice each?”
Qivni bit her lip.
“More? Wow, you enjoyed a gang fuck long before the Sisterhood got you, huh? You were meant for us.”
Rausery fucked her. Qivni moaned.
“Bet you didn’t make a peep, Lead. Lest someone find out how you really want to be treated by a pile of willful buas, as their sexy piece of raw gooey ass and sweaty thighs, dripping on the carpet.”
Oh, Goddess!
Blood roaring in her ears, Qivni climaxed on her Elder’s Feldeu, writhing, mouth pressed and whimpering into her arm. Rausery let her finish, not yet done herself when she pulled out of a flexing, hungry sex. She pried her subordinate’s buttocks apart, nudging the tool at her dark star.
“What else did they do?” Rausery panted, her palms sweaty. She already knew. “Who started it?”
The Feldeu pressed in.
“K-Kino, again,” Qivni confessed as her asshole yielded to her superior. “He watched a-a Sathoet take his M-Mother like, ungh! This. H-he wanted to…to tr-aaiiee!”
Immediately, Rausery clapped her hand across her mouth as the buas once had to keep the mountings going. The Elder muffled Qivni’s second climax as the slick pole stretched her netherhole open. She thrashed and trembled as her Elder took her deeper still, sliding in all the way by the time Qivni was in her afterglow, breathing heavily through her nose, desperate for air.
Rausery held her pinned and penetrated, slowly withdrew her hand from her mouth. She whispered in her ear, “Did this Sathoet have a name?”
“Kerse,” she confessed, again.
“Ah, right.”
Rausery fucked her ass. Qivni felt her cunt drooling down her thigh.
“Kino was Wilsira’s first experiment,” her Elder said. “She taught him before the others. Let him observe her and her son.”
Qivni lay passively, belly atop the table, the old memories of all those Consorts filling every moment that wasn’t Rausery’s voice or her wonderful cock.
“Kino broke in your slit and your pucker without asking, didn’t he?”
The younger Davrin’s cheeks were hot as lava while tears pricked her eyes. “Uh-yes! A-and all the others followed him. And I didn’t stop them…”
“Because you wanted them. All of them.”
“Th-they were dangerous!” she cried. “I-I couldn’t close my legs, I was compelled to hold them open while even one bua was hard! That’s why I was caught!”
“Ha! Maybe some magic, Qiv, but I bet you looked so sexy. You knew what you wanted then. No wonder you took the Prime with such ease.”
“It wasn’t easy!”
Rausery leaned down again, bit the back of her neck, making her gasp and clench down on the Feldeu lodged in her ass. Her Elder kissed the bite to soothe it. “Mmm! So fucking hot.”
She drew out, thrust back in.
“Anything else?”
Qivni braced herself, tilting her hips, gratefully taking every thrust her Elder gave her. She tried to think. It was difficult.
“Let me help, Qiv. Why do you think Wilsira made you take that new Consort with the knot up your ass?”
The Lead cried out in shock at this most recent humiliation, seeing it clear as if she’d been sober. Shyntre was practically fisting her to keep Wilsira’s toy bua from taking her slit as he tried to do. How drunken she felt when he touched her, when that strange phallus leaked on her skin or inside her.
That massive bulb, far too big for a bua his size…
Qivni remembered how it squeezed in and swelled inside her body, locking them together. How s
he’d struggled to dislodge it, and couldn’t. And the novice Sirana had witnessed her Collector squealing beneath the bua, her asshole being bred by a mindless, demon-touched beast. The shame had been unbearable until all witnessed it about to happen again, and Lelinahdara and D’Shea had attacked with their proof of demonic taint.
At long last, Wilsira and all the demon-tainted were dead. The Conceiver couldn’t torment her former servant anymore.
“She was too…” Qivni grunted, “prideful…”
Rausery plucked something smooth from her belt to press to her compliant partner’s clit. The Lead cooed, shivered, swiveled her hips as Rausery closed in on her own peak. Qivni remembered something else, too, stared into space at it while rising a third time.
We didn’t check, I don’t think…
But held her peace until the Elder achieved her own pleasure first. Once she did, Qivni succumbed to that swell of smaller waves sweeping through her again, leaving her exhausted.
The Lead was happily sore as her superior pulled the Feldeu out of her with a care she never experienced with anyone else. Then Rausery embraced her, lying on top of her while Qivni lay relaxing on the table. Her Elder’s heart always raced like hers right afterward, belying her outward calm with a deep excitement.
This part had always sparked a strange urge in Qivni to weep. She’d never understood why, but she always resisted showing it.
She licked her lips. “Um, Elder…?”
“Mm?” Rausery sounded drowsy.
The corner of Qivni’s mouth twitched.
“When I served in the Sanctuary,” she said, “the Conceiver kept parchments with odd symbols beneath a piece of stone under each Consort’s bed. I never read them. I do not know if she did this with the last ones, but…”
“Hmm,” Rausery hummed, nibbling appreciatively at Qivni’s earlobe before pushing herself off and regaining her feet. “Worth a try. Thanks, Qiv.” She slapped her Lead’s bare, sweaty ass, making her peep. “For all of it. I mean it.”
The Lead exhaled slowly. The unwelcome tension of Rausery’s absence drained from her as she took the cloth her Elder offered, bracing to stand up as well. While she wiped her copious lubricant from her crotch and inner thighs, Qivni felt the heat in her face.
Thanks, Qiv. For all of it.
“For whatever reason, Elder,” she replied, “you have never spit to hear me speak of my final service at the Sanctuary. For that, I thank you. For everything.”
Rausery straightened her own uniform after setting the magical cock aside for cleaning. “We all have our ways that we bend, Lead. What I’ve seen, it’s never in the same direction. If it were, we’d be mindflayers.”
Qivni looked down, hating herself for the urge to bring it up after hearing something so intimate. “Like Reishel?”
Her Elder paused but met her eyes with neither hesitation nor aggression. “Yeah. Like Reishel. We’ll do everything we can to keep that from happening to Sivaraus.” Rausery winked. “Right, Lead?”
The Collector for the Sisterhood didn’t quite smile, but she bowed her head with a purposeful and regained poise. “Yes, General. We will. I am here to serve the greater good for the Davrin and the Valsharess.”
“So am I. Let’s go. Lots of work after that break.” Rausery exhaled, with an alluring nod and smirk. “But worth it.”
Now, Qivni did smile as she released her privacy spell upon the door.
D’Shea had mostly numbed herself to the Sanctuary surroundings, to the lingering scents of Wilsira’s proven methods, so she could focus on work, on accurately translating the Conceiver’s cypher. Every so often, she would glance up at either the Confessor or the Headmaster, aware again of the age difference and reflecting how she stood right in between them in centuries.
Phaelous had always been there, for as long as D’Shea could remember. In contrast, young Tarra merely represented everything after Matron Siranet’s death and Shyntre’s tumultuous birth.
Has it really been so long? And I am free again.
Just not as she had been before.
The compulsion and the struggle to become an Elder in the Sisterhood had suppressed and blacked out much of that time, but memories drifted forward with Wilsira dead at last. They were so clear, she could hear conversations, threats; she could smell incense and soaps and bodies. In many ways, the Sorceress had long understood young Sirana and what she’d endured. Fortunately for Siranet’s granddaughter, the torment didn’t last beyond half a century.
We deserve to breathe. To know who we are, eventually.
Now, however, D’Shea wondered if this disturbing clarity from the past had happened in the young Noble’s head after Jilrina died, when the newly freed cait had been sent to the Thalluen suites in the Palace to live alone. It might explain some of what Jaunda had described in her reports, or why Sirana had become bua-crazy after the ritual orgy, looking for affable cocks to share the massive, empty suites.
Some of that behavior had spilled over while wearing her reds, although D’Shea would never have predicted her son and Sirana would start acting like her and Phaelous in her four-hundreds.
And, like us, gained the Valsharess’s attention for it.
The Elder Sorceress allowed her eyes to land on Shyntre’s sire. The ancient Headmaster had found several starting points to test Wilsira’s scripts and had been methodically going through them without speaking. He possessed more of those fine creases on his brow, around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, but his eyes remained brilliant with intelligence after all this time.
Meanwhile the younger Confessor fussed and poked around the Conceiver’s old suites, checking for secrets and insights in between the studious requirements. Tarra would be magically exhausted by the end of the cycle, no doubt, but D’Shea was content to let her.
Despite herself, D’Shea kept thinking about Phaelous and Tarra, albeit in different times than the present. On the desk before her, certain marks in Wilsira’s charts reminded her of the Forming Pit. She felt the impulse to tell them.
I will never go down there again.
The inevitability of being proven wrong in that ill-boding thought loomed.
“Tarra?” D’Shea called, waiting until the Priestess came to the door frame to meet her gaze. “How many unborn quickened by Consorts remain?”
Lelinahdara quirked an eyebrow but knew them off the top of her head. “All have either been expunged or cleared by the Priesthood, except for two.”
Phaelous’s stylus stilled as he looked up to listen. D’Shea motioned she was listening.
“The Noble Curgia Itlaunaduv carries a mage more powerful than her; we can tell this, if not the sex. The Valsharess has deemed her baby untainted, though the mata is unhealthily obsessed with the Consort she caught from, mourning his loss far beyond good form. She remains in the dungeon because of that and will give birth there.”
D’Shea nodded placidly, appearing only mildly interested, although it hadn’t been lost on her that both Curgia and Sirana had conceived by the same, strange healer who had stopped the bleeding from their cunts and revived the fertility of their wombs. Sirana hadn’t had the time to become fixated on him like Itlaunaduv, before being expelled from the Deepearth, but a few of her behaviors after her healing could have implied it might go that way.
Then there are the Red Sisters who raped him and wonder aloud, quad-spans later, where he’s disappeared to.
Auslan didn’t seem aware of the strength of his magic. Or he was aware enough to suppress it, but the recent stress and abuse had made it difficult to control.
Or he enters that stage few male mages of his ilk are allowed to if he’s bred, and there is simply no hiding it anymore.
Shyntre was only half a century behind him. How would he change?
“The other unborn, you know quite well,” Tarra continued, breaking into the Elder’s thoughts, “is down in the Forming Pit. That one is for certain tainted, though the auras
are entwined. To expunge it now would kill the surrogate and, for some reason, the Queen has spared her. She will give birth and the baby sacrificed to the Abyss.”
D’Shea closed her eyes briefly as nausea slapped at her middle.
“Bathila will need to be fed and cleaned soon,” Phaelous said.
The Priestess glowered at the reminder. “I may as well move into these suites for how often I must come here to clean buckets like a common drub.”
D’Shea replied dryly, “May you have pleasant dreams if you do, Tarra.”
The Confessor darted a look at her. Phaelous had barely moved after speaking.
“Care to join me, you two?” the Confessor invited, her odd eyes glinting as she approached D’Shea’s table. She took up a scroll with entries like an incomprehensible ledger, glancing over it though she’d looked at it several times. “I’m sure Varessa has noticed similarities here to the runes down there.”
D’Shea wanted to tell her where to shove that scroll, though she’d long developed better impulse control than that. She glanced at Phaelous, who made motions like he was preparing for a break.
Sigh.
D’Shea stood up. “If you clearly need the help.”
Tarra smirked. “Don’t try that cool arrogance act, Varessa. We were both there, remember?”
“Barely,” she said, carefully piling three scrolls to roll up together. “But some things grow clearer.”
“Oh? What things?”
D’Shea caught Phaelous watching her but swiftly focused on the emerald-eyed Confessor. “How opportunistic you were, pretending to care for my child’s health when you really wanted the secrets of what Wilsira was doing. A pity I couldn’t speak on it, then, I might have spilled it all. I’m not inclined now, my opinion firmer than ever that Priestesses can’t handle such knowledge with any wisdom.”
Phaelous busily shuffled parchment, and Tarra frowned, weighing her bluff. She shrugged, invited them toward the jump circle in Wilsira’s chambers.
“Come along, then. Just keep in mind, Varessa, it’s not you in the cage this time.”
Although Tarra’s jab before they’d entered the Forming Pit had been blunt as a club, that didn’t make it ineffectual. D’Shea followed the protected path between the red runes in the stone like the other two mages, observed with her usual poise and confidence, but refused to get closer to Bathila at first.
