by Rowan Bree
To the feast.
As you near the castle you hear horse’s hooves and the clatter of coach wheels, then the cheerful voices of the arriving guests. The castle courtyard is bathed in light streaming out from the hall, illuminating the king’s grand and varied guests. A centaur trots past you, nodding as he does so.
“Invitation?” the guard asks you. Jasper hands him a pair of envelopes and he welcomes you inside.
As you pass through the entryway there is a commotion behind you. The guards are furiously trying to block the entrance while onlookers watch in mixed horror and disgust.
“Please let me in! I have an invitation! The king is expecting me!” Through a break in the crowd you see a horribly disfigured woman being driven back by the points of the guards’ swords. There is a large, writhing lump on her back with protrusions that wrap around to the front of her body. The guards poke at one of the protrusions and it extends towards them, then the whole lump detaches. You realize that it wasn’t a disfigurement at all but a separate entity. The creature looks like a mix between a spider and a goblin, humanoid in shape but with too many limbs. It challenges the guards with a hiss.
A third guard hurries towards them from the hall. He starts to close the doors.
“What are you doing?” one of the door guards asks.
“The king said to close the doors. No more guests. We can’t risk any more of the creatures getting in.”
The woman continues to plead to be let in even as the doors close on her. A final few other guests manage to slip in at the last moment, including the spider-goblin whom no one seems to notice. You feel sick to your stomach.
“It’s a good thing we got here when we did,” Jasper whispers.
The great hall is a little emptier than you would have expected, no doubt due to the king’s decision to close the doors early. Even so, the vast tables are lively with food, drink, and fine nobles being boisterous as fits a celebration such as this.
Jasper squeezes your arm. “I need to make a quick sweep of the place first. I’ll be back in a minute. I promise.” He leaves you standing by yourself unsure of what to do.
But you are not alone for long. You are approached by a faun wearing an intricate mask over his eyes. He winks at you.
“Something tells me I’ve just met my date for this evening.”
“I’m with someone already,” you tell him.
“That’s never stopped me before,” the faun replies. “Besides, I have a feeling you’re only here out of obligation. Am I wrong?”
Jasper only invited you because he wanted you to help him stop the Order. You know you’re not his real date, no matter how you try to tell yourself otherwise.
“Join me for a stroll in the gardens,” the faun says. “I promise I won’t keep you long.”
You look around the hall too, but in search of Jasper. The rogue is nowhere to be seen. He told you he would only be gone a minute.
The faun waits for your response.
Go with the faun.
Stay with Jasper.
“I won’t fight you,” you mutter, not daring to look past the stranger at Jasper. You feel disgusted, ashamed with yourself for what he is about to witness.
The stranger throws you back hard against the ground and gets on top of you. He pushes down his pants impatiently and shoves himself inside you. You try not to think of Jasper lying just feet away, witness to your defilement.
“You’re fucking soaking,” the stranger growls.
Though you know you’re only wet from Jasper’s teasing, you’re still ashamed to feel your juices so eagerly coating this brute’s cock. There is a sticky, lewd slap every time his balls hit against you.
The man’s hand clamped over your mouth does little to muffle your sobs. You know that Jasper can hear you even if he is not watching. You fight back the urge to scream and keep your eyes closed tight, pretending that the man on top of you is not who it is, that the rising pleasure in your body is not because you are being taken advantage of by some stranger in on a dark street.
Jasper moans your name. You try to shut it out.
“Mmmm, that’s a girl,” the stranger taunts you as you feel your body start to clench. His breathing in your ear is making your whole face feel hot. His deep grunts are nothing like Jasper’s soft moans. His beard scratches your cheek, and his hands are too rough. Still, you can feel yourself coming.
The stranger lets out a choked grunt and pulls out, scrambling to paint your face with his cum. Sobbing, you can taste his unwanted seed dribbling into your mouth, the evidence of his deed all over you.
You lie there dazed as the stranger gets up and leaves you. You wish you could just disappear, but Jasper is hurt and you have to get cleaned up if you still want to go to the feast. You crawl slowly over to him.
“I failed you,” he wheezes.
He sits up wincing and takes a handkerchief from his pocket. He carefully wipes the cum from your face.
You ask if he’s okay.
He nods. “I’m using what strength I have to heal myself. I’ll be fine once I reach the castle.”
You notice he hasn’t included you in his plan.
“I can take you back to the hideout. The boss will look after you. I can’t ask you to come along with me, after all that’s… happened.”
He starts to get up and you help him to his feet. He doesn’t look fine at all, though the blood on his temple has disappeared and the cut seems to be closing.
“I still want to go,” you tell him. You don’t want to be apart from Jasper. Not tonight.
To the feast.
“I won’t fight you,” you mutter, not daring to look past the stranger at Jasper. You feel disgusted, ashamed with yourself for what he is about to witness.
The stranger throws you back hard against the ground and gets on top of you. He pushes down his pants impatiently and shoves himself inside you. You try not to think of Jasper lying just feet away, witness to your defilement.
“You’re fucking soaking,” the stranger growls.
Though you know you’re only wet from Jasper’s teasing, you’re still ashamed to feel your juices so eagerly coating this brute’s cock. There is a sticky, lewd slap every time his balls hit against you.
The man’s hand clamped over your mouth does little to muffle your sobs. You know that Jasper can hear you even if he is not watching. You fight back the urge to scream and keep your eyes closed tight, pretending that the man on top of you is not who it is, that the rising pleasure in your body is not because you are being taken advantage of by some stranger in on a dark street.
Jasper moans your name. You try to shut it out.
“Mmmm, that’s a girl,” the stranger taunts you as you feel your body start to clench. His breathing in your ear is making your whole face feel hot. His deep grunts are nothing like Jasper’s soft moans. His beard scratches your cheek, and his hands are too rough. Still, you can feel yourself coming.
The stranger lets out a choked grunt and pulls out, scrambling to paint your face with his cum. Sobbing, you can taste his unwanted seed dribbling into your mouth, the evidence of his deed all over you.
You lie there dazed as the stranger gets up and leaves you. You wish you could just disappear, but Jasper is hurt and you have to get cleaned up if you still want to go to the feast. You crawl slowly over to him.
“I failed you,” he wheezes.
He sits up wincing and takes a handkerchief from his pocket. He carefully wipes the cum from your face.
You ask if he’s okay.
He nods. “I’m using what strength I have to heal myself. I’ll be fine once I reach the castle.”
You notice he hasn’t included you in his plan.
“I can take you back to the hideout. The boss will look after you. I can’t ask you to come along with me, after all that’s… happened.”
He starts to get up and you help him to his feet. He doesn’t look fine at all
, though the blood on his temple has disappeared and the cut seems to be closing.
“I still want to go,” you tell him. You don’t want to be apart from Jasper. Not tonight.
To the feast.
The thug can go choke on a sewer rat. He’s not getting any of you. Rage burns in your chest and you feel around for a weapon. Your hand closes around a broken bit of cobblestone and you hurl it at the stranger’s face. It hits him in the head leaving a darkening mark above his brow, but the stranger manages to keep grip of your hair. He pulls you upwards and raises his hand. You brace for the broken nose.
But it never comes.
Jasper lets out a shout and firelight fills the narrow street. The stranger drops you as his boots catch ablaze.
“Run!” Jasper yells, scrambling after you.
You turn to grab his hand then hightail it out of there as the stranger is left wildly trying to kick off his burning boots.
Soon Jasper slows. He doubles over, wheezing, then drops to his knees.
You go to help him up.
“I’m okay,” he breathes, but his face is twisted in pain.
“You’re not,” you tell him. “We should find somewhere safe to rest.”
“We’ll miss the feast. We can’t let Tyven fall to the Order.”
You understand his urgency, but how does he expect to save the capital if he can’t even walk?
“I’m healing myself as we speak.” Jasper attempts a smile. He gets unsteadily back to his feet. “I’ll be good and new by the time we reach the castle. I promise.”
He takes a couple shaky steps followed by some more confident ones. You worry his magic use has drained him of too much energy.
Jasper notices the worry on your face.
“It’s okay dear,” he says, a bit of his old charm back in his smile. He strokes your cheek. “I’ve survived much worse than a few kicks to the ribs. It’s that thug you should be worried about. Walking around on burnt feet isn’t much fun, especially when the wounds refuse to heal.”
He winks and you’re immensely glad he’s on your side and not the Order’s. There’s a sly way about him that would make you uneasy if he weren’t such a pure soul.
To the feast.
The thug can go choke on a sewer rat. He’s not getting any of you. Rage burns in your chest and you feel around for a weapon. Your hand closes around a broken bit of cobblestone and you hurl it at the stranger’s face. It hits him in the head leaving a darkening mark above his brow, but the stranger manages to keep grip of your hair. He pulls you upwards and raises his hand. You brace for the broken nose.
But it never comes.
Jasper lets out a shout and firelight fills the narrow street. The stranger drops you as his boots catch ablaze.
“Run!” Jasper yells, scrambling after you.
You turn to grab his hand then hightail it out of there as the stranger is left wildly trying to kick off his burning boots.
Soon Jasper slows. He doubles over, wheezing, then drops to his knees.
You go to help him up.
“I’m okay,” he breathes, but his face is twisted in pain.
“You’re not,” you tell him. “We should find somewhere safe to rest.”
“We’ll miss the feast. We can’t let Tyven fall to the Order.”
You understand his urgency, but how does he expect to save the capital if he can’t even walk?
“I’m healing myself as we speak.” Jasper attempts a smile. He gets unsteadily back to his feet. “I’ll be good and new by the time we reach the castle. I promise.”
He takes a couple shaky steps followed by some more confident ones. You worry his magic use has drained him of too much energy.
Jasper notices the worry on your face.
“It’s okay dear,” he says, a bit of his old charm back in his smile. He strokes your cheek. “I’ve survived much worse than a few kicks to the ribs. It’s that thug you should be worried about. Walking around on burnt feet isn’t much fun, especially when the wounds refuse to heal.”
He winks and you’re immensely glad he’s on your side and not the Order’s. There’s a sly way about him that would make you uneasy if he weren’t such a pure soul.
To the feast.
The thug can go choke on a sewer rat. He’s not getting any of you. Rage burns in your chest and you feel around for a weapon. Your hand closes around a broken bit of cobblestone and you hurl it at the stranger’s face. It hits him in the head leaving a darkening mark above his brow, but the stranger manages to keep grip of your hair. He pulls you upwards and raises his hand. You brace for the broken nose.
But it never comes.
Jasper lets out a shout and firelight fills the narrow street. The stranger drops you as his boots catch ablaze.
“Run!” Jasper yells, scrambling after you.
You turn to grab his hand then hightail it out of there as the stranger is left wildly trying to kick off his burning boots.
Soon Jasper slows. He doubles over, wheezing, then drops to his knees.
You go to help him up.
“I’m okay,” he breathes, but his face is twisted in pain.
“You’re not,” you tell him. “We should find somewhere safe to rest.”
“We’ll miss the feast. We can’t let Tyven fall to the Order.”
You understand his urgency, but how does he expect to save the capital if he can’t even walk?
“I’m healing myself as we speak.” Jasper attempts a smile. He gets unsteadily back to his feet. “I’ll be good and new by the time we reach the castle. I promise.”
He takes a couple shaky steps followed by some more confident ones. You worry his magic use has drained him of too much energy.
Jasper notices the worry on your face.
“It’s okay, really,” he says, a bit of his old charm back in his smile. He winks. “I’ve survived much worse than a rock to the head. It’s that thug you should be worried about. Walking around on burnt feet isn’t much fun, especially when the wounds refuse to heal.”
You find yourself immensely glad Jasper’s on your side and not the Order’s. There’s a sly way about him that would make you uneasy if he weren’t such a pure soul.
To the feast.
The thug can go choke on a sewer rat. He’s not getting any of you. Rage burns in your chest and you feel around for a weapon. Your hand closes around a broken bit of cobblestone and you hurl it at the stranger’s face. It hits him in the head leaving a darkening mark above his brow, but the stranger manages to keep grip of your hair. He pulls you upwards and raises his hand. You brace for the broken nose.
But it never comes.
Jasper lets out a shout and firelight fills the narrow street. The stranger drops you as his boots catch ablaze.
“Run!” Jasper yells, scrambling after you.
You turn to grab his hand then hightail it out of there as the stranger is left wildly trying to kick off his burning boots.
Soon Jasper slows. He doubles over, wheezing, then drops to his knees.
You go to help him up.
“I’m okay,” he breathes, but his face is twisted in pain.
“You’re not,” you tell him. “We should find somewhere safe to rest.”
“We’ll miss the feast. We can’t let Tyven fall to the Order.”
You understand his urgency, but how does he expect to save the capital if he can’t even walk?
“I’m healing myself as we speak.” Jasper attempts a smile. He gets unsteadily back to his feet. “I’ll be good and new by the time we reach the castle. I promise.”
He takes a couple shaky steps followed by some more confident ones. You worry his magic use has drained him of too much energy.
Jasper notices the worry on your face.
“It’s okay, really,” he says, a bit of his old charm back in his smile. He winks. “I’ve survived much worse than a rock to the head. It’s that thug you should be
worried about. Walking around on burnt feet isn’t much fun, especially when the wounds refuse to heal.”
You find yourself immensely glad Jasper’s on your side and not the Order’s. There’s a sly way about him that would make you uneasy if he weren’t such a pure soul.
To the feast.
“What do you want me to do?” you ask under your breath.
The duke smiles. “For a start you could sit here,” he pats his lap.
You get up to sit on the man’s large thigh. He circles your waist with one arm, while his other hand gathers the skirts of your dress up around your knees. The tabletop mostly hides you from those around you, though anyone walking past might catch a glimpse of the duke’s hand up your dress. No doubt the young man attending the duke is getting an eyeful.
“So what do you want from me?” the duke asks, rubbing your slit through your panties.
You ask him what he means.
“Everything is a transaction, even pleasure. It’s how things work here. You want something for Doria.”
His finger traces the line of your pussy and circles your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet.
You open your mouth to reply but he shushes you. “No need to talk business just yet. We’re still getting to know each other.”
The duke teases you through your soaked panties, the wet fabric clinging lewdly to your body.
“This is feeling a little one-sided,” he says.
He nudges aside his robe to reveal his erect cock. He guides your hand to it and has you stroke it. You move your hand up and down the fat member, feeling a blush creep up your face. You see a couple women across the hall looking at you. They can’t possibly see what you are doing, but you feel self-conscious all the same.
“Let’s get better acquainted,” the duke says, making you sit in the middle of his lap so that your legs straddle his and your pussy grinds against his cock. His hands grasp your hips to slowly move them back and forth.
