Slow Burn

by Tamara Vincent

  “I knew you would love them,” Bélise said. She had got rid of her fur-lined cloak and was standing at the foot of the four-poster bed, in her trailing blue gauze dress that left her pierced right breast exposed. She was holding a large goblet, filled with the blue wine. She offered it to Gisla as the older woman approached her.

  “And they are absolutely perfect.”

  Gisla smiled evilly and dipped a finger in the blue wine. She sucked on the finger, holding Bélise’s gaze.

  “Do you think it will work?” Bélise asked.

  Gisla dipped her finger in the goblet a second time.

  “Of course it will,” she said. “We have waited too long already.”

  Bélise leaned forward, and took the offered dripping finger in her lips. She sucked on it gently, her hair falling across her face, her cheeks hollowing.

  They moved to the center of the room, where a large crystal ball rested on a wrought iron tripod. The mist in the ball cleared, showing them their three guests. They had shed part of their garments, and were sucking on the water pipe with gusto.

  “News of the exploits of Liane and Coline are spreading,” Gisla said. She put her arm around Bélise’s waist. “But we need someone to work closer to the people of the Duchy, to spread the faith in the Flame.”

  “And now that the venerable Claire of the Hearth has abandoned the people—” Bélise said.

  “We will provide them an earthier consolation.”

  Bélise nuzzled her neck. Gisla sipped from the chalice. “We will replace their inadequate mother figure with a reliable harlot.”

  “Hildegarde of the Blue Flame,” Gisla said with a grin.

  Bélise chuckled drunkenly. “I always wanted to found a religion.”

  Two - Beast-men

  Big fires burned in the camp of the beast-men. Ever since they had come to Bellegarde, following Liane as their new leader, the savage war-bands had settled outside of the walls, in a field where once, under Duke Fevàl, the fairground would pitch its tents for the Carnival celebrations.

  And indeed, Liane reflected, as she walked through the encampment, the field was still a place of revels and merriment, even if of a decidedly less childish nature.

  Two more bands had joined her tribe, the chieftains accepting her authority. Two hundred more beast-men and women, a rowdy, volatile community that would turn into a perfect killing machine should the need arise. She had called for a revel, to welcome the newcomers and help the long-idle slayers to let off some steam. Food, wine, violence and sex.

  And she would be at the heart of it, as chieftain and top bitch. A blue frisson ran down her spine and tickled her twat. She loved the beast-men, and it was good to be one of their number.

  In a clearing between two lean-tos, two young males were fighting each other, while a gaggle of females shouted and cheered them on. Some of the wild women flashed their tits at the fighters, trying either to distract or to encourage them, while others growled and screamed obscenities for the same reasons.

  Liane joined the audience, her heart pounding, enjoying the press of naked bodies and the show of violence and aggression. She put her arm around Liuva’s waist,and her hand sneaked under the red jacket her bodyguard and bitch had started wearing. Liuva hissed as Liane’s hand cupped her breast, and leaned closer. “My bet’s on Nurbo,” she said in her ear, shouting over the din.

  Liane shook her blue mane and squeezed Liuva’s boob. “What are you betting?”

  “Nurbo wins,” Liuva said, “I have my way with you, any way I want.”

  Liane eyed Nurbo’s opponent. “And what if he loses?” she asked, squeezing again.

  Liuva laughed. “You can imagine, don’t you?”

  Liane laughed in turn, and pulled the bitch closer. One of the other females passed her a skin of blue wine, and she drank, the wine staining her lips the same color of her hair.

  “We have a deal,” she said to Liuva, handing her the skin.

  In the circle, Nurbo swept his adversary’s feet from under him, and the beast-man crashed on the ground. Everybody cheered, and Liuva patted Liane’s ass appreciatively.

  Liane’s head swam, the blue wine gripping her in its power, and she became savagely aware of every color, every smell. Liuva’s nipple under her finger had the texture of a fine filigree, and the air was heavy with the smoke of the roasting boars.

  It was going to be a good night.

  Three – Silk and Smoke

  Sister Maeva woke up feeling strange. The sky was still black through the window, past the billowing curtains, and she was entangled in one of the silk sheets their hostess had provided. The fur she had used as a cover was bounced at the foot of her couch. She pulled herself up on one elbow, and looked around the room, squinting. Her head felt full of dry leaves. Maeva licked her lips, missing the taste of the smoke on her tongue.

  With a gasp and a giggle, Auriane and Arnelle joined her on her couch. Arnelle was wrapped in one of the blue silk sheets, and had let her hair down. Maeva did not remember her hair to be so long, or so soft. Auriane had pulled a thick black fur around herself, and her lips were stained blue for the berries they had shared earlier. Full lips, pouty and sensual.

  “She’s up!” Auriane said.

  “Yes, yes!” Arnelle breathed. She knelt on the couch and moved behind Maeva.

  “We have found out!” Auriane said, an she went down on her knees in front of Maeva. The fur slipped, leaving her big breasts exposed.

  Maeva chuckled, her head reeling. She really needed a smoke, she thought. It would feel good, to let her lungs fill with the thick, heavy warm smoke of the water pipe.

  “What have you found out?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange to her.

  “Show her!” Arnelle said, an urgent whisper by Maeva’s ear. Her breath was warm, and smelled of wine and tobacco.

  Sister Auriane dug into the folds of the fur bundled around her legs, and came up with the tapering glass cylinder they had found earlier. “This,” she said. “We have discovered its purpose.”

  Both Auriane and Arnelle giggled.

  “Come on,” Arnelle insisted, “show her!”

  Sister Maeva felt the breasts of Arnelle press against her back, the skin as soft as the silk of the sheets, the nipples hard and hot like charcoals.

  “So you want me to show you?” Auriane asked, in a gentle sing-song voice. Had her nails always been black, sister Maeva wondered. But hers were black too. Sister Maeva wanted the mouthpiece of the pipe. A deep long toke would clear her mind. She fumbled on the couch until she found it, and she pulled gently, the pipe snaking against her bare leg and between her breasts. She took it in her mouth and sucked on it, a hard drag. Behind her, Arnelle leaned closer, and gently took the pipe from her hands. Maeva moaned, and exhaled the precious fumes. “Let us show you!” Arnelle whispered in her ear.

  Maeva sighed, blue smoke escaping her mouth and nostrils. “Well,” she said, looking down at Auriane. She ran her fingers through the curls framing the sister’s face. “Show me then!”

  Auriane’s eyes sparkled and her lips curled in a wicked smile, as she pushed gently on Maeva’s knees, pulling them apart. Maeva hummed, curious at what was to come.

  “You are going to love it,” Arnelle said in her ear. She too had taken a toke from the pipe, and her breath was a burst of sweet smoke. Her free hand was caressing Maeva’s tit, the thumb nail tickling her nipple.

  Auriane leaned forward, pushing herself between Maeva’s legs, her curly hair brushing the inside of the older nun’s thighs.

  Maeva took the pipe’s mouthpiece. She brought it to her lips just as Auriane pushed the glass cylinder inside of her,. Maeva’s eyes widened and she sucked hard on the pipe, a flash of pain climbing up her belly hand in hand with a flutter of indescribable pleasure. She let out a long, low moan, smoke escaping her lips. She leaned back against Arnelle, and let the younger nun squeeze and rub together her tits, while Auriane pumped the glass cock in and out of her with an increasi
ng rhythm.

  Four – Distractions

  Coline of Bellegarde, captain of the Duchess’ Guard and second daughter of the Duchess, laid on her bed, her red hair splayed on the soft pillows, the bed-sheets bunched around her legs and hips, and the cold winter hair slowing through the open window of her tower room. The cold made her pale skin crawl with goosebumps, and hardened the big dark nipples topping the high domes of her chest. The blue gem in her navel glinted as the light of the chandelier danced in the breeze.

  Coline moaned, frustration mounting in her chest, hunger growing in her twat, and a sensation she could not name oppressing her mind.

  Her eyes shut, she ran a hand through the coppery curls between her legs.

  She missed her man, Gerard, away with a detachment of Guards to patrol the passes. Away for days.

  She missed his hands over her skin, massaging her muscles, working out the aches and the kinks after a long day training.

  She missed the taste of his mouth on hers, their breath quickening as passion arose.

  She missed his cock, plunging inside of her and making her scream with pleasure, every night, many times each night. In the bed, on the floor, up against the wall.

  Coline moaned softly, her nails finding her slit, her back arching gently She rocked her hips and pushed two fingers in.

  Was this love?, she wondered.

  She had known lust, she had reveled in it, but this was more than that. After the Flame had awakened her, she had had no trouble experimenting. She had fucked both men and women, she had tried the attentions of one of her sister’s beastmen, and much more. But after the battle in Tavin, where she and Gerard had met and crossed swords, bloodying each other, there had only been Gerard.

  She sighed and let out a bitter chuckle that turned into a sigh. Captain of the guard, sword-mistress of Bellegarde, and in love like a schoolgirl.

  “Mistress?”

  A shadow detached itself from the shadows and stepped forward in heels so high she was forced on her tiptoes.

  Coline did not open her eyes. “Hmm?”

  The woman in the shadows came closer, her heels clicking, her corset creaking. Her face was delicately made up in tones of black and purple, like bruises, her long brown hair pulled back in a severe, painful tail, held in place by a black leather strap.

  “Mistress?” she said again.

  Coline opened her eyes and turned to watch her, her hand still working between her legs.

  Madame Simone had once been the governess of Bellegarde. She had educated Liane, Coline and Bélise with iron-fisted discipline. When the Blue Flame had burned Bellegarde and remade them, Simone had been untouched, one of the few people in the castle that did not share the blood of the bastard Romuald. And yet, two weeks in the hands of Coline had reshaped her more thoroughly than the Flame ever could.

  She now leaned forward, her pierced nipples glinting. Her eyes were covered in a leather blindfold. “Mistress, let me help you.”

  Coline’s face contorted in an angry grimace. “You?” she spat. She felt warmth spread through her legs. “Help me?”

  “You are unhappy—”

  The thought of Gerard faded momentarily from Coline’s head. She stopped masturbating and leaned on her elbow. “What if I am, slave?”

  Tears were pouring from beneath the blindfold.

  “I live to make you happy,” Madame Simone said with a tiny voice.

  “And you are a complete failure at it.”

  “Please mistress—” Simone implored. “Use me.”

  “Are you giving me orders, bitch?”

  Simone shook her head. “Never—” she breathed, panic in her voice. “But you need—”

  “You presume to know what I need?”

  Coline stood in front of Simone. They were the same height, but Coline’s ample chest and muscular shoulders made her look squatter.

  “Never, mistress, never. But maybe, a good thrashing—”

  Coline grinned. She stretched a hand and caressed Simone’s wet cheek.

  “You miss the whip, don’t you?”

  Madame Simone nodded eagerly, her black and purple lips curling in a faint smile.

  Coline’s hand slid down Simone’s neck, on her shoulder, feeling the scars her education had left on the former governess, down around the curve of the slave’s boob. Simone shuddered, breathing in sharply as Coline pinched her nipple cruelly, pulling on the silver ring, and yet she did not scream.

  Coline’s smile widened.

  “Get my riding crop,” she commanded.

  “Yes mistress!” Simone squealed happily, and she tottered on her high heels to where she had been educated to find, even blindfolded, the tools that made both her and her mistress happy.

  Five – New Perspectives

  Maeva moaned and stretched her arms above her head. She was laying astride her couch, her legs spread wide, her twat aching deliciously. The tube of her beloved water pipe was wrapped around one leg, curled on her belly, and caught between her tits. Arching her back, she ran her fingers through her hair. The last time she had worn her hair this long had been when she was in her teens, before she joined the order. She pulled a long strand in front of her face. And her hair had not been this shade of black then, with such beautiful blue highlights.

  She sighed, and took a lungful of smoke.

  Sister Auriane squealed.

  She was leaning on the window-sill, wind blowing her hair. She was completely naked, and Arnelle, a wolf fur wrapped around her shoulders like a mantle, was gently probing her ass with the delightful glass dildo that had so much enlivened their evening. Arnelle’s flesh seemed to glow under the black mantle, and Maeva licked her lips as she caught a hint of Arnelle’s shaved pussy.

  Maeva thought back at their life in the convent, and a cruel laugh shook her as she exhaled a tall column of blue smoke. This was so much better. This was, truthfully, divine. She slowly disentangled herself from the pipe, and sat up on the couch.

  Auriane moaned, and Arnelle chuckled, slapping her ass.

  “Leave some for me,” Maeve said. Her sisters were different from what she remembered, but she could not place the changes. She felt dazed, tired, and in need of a good fuck. The thought shocked her for the briefest of moments. Then she shrugged, collected a silk sheet from the floor, and draped it over one shoulder. She ran a hand through her hair, and looked around. “Shit! Why there isn’t a mirror in this place?” she asked.

  Arnelle stopped pumping Arnelle’s ass and looked at her, arching her eyebrows.

  “Hey!” the younger nun protested, turning sharply, the glass dildo sticking between her butt cheeks.

  “The bitch worries about her looks,” Arnelle smirked.

  Maeva cocked a hip. “So bitches do. Is that a problem, you slut?”

  Auriane laughed. “You look gorgeous anyway,” she said. Then she nudged Arnelle. “Come on, I was almost there!”

  Maeva left them to their games, and went looking for a mirror.

  Six - Breakfast

  The Duchess Adele yawned and stretched, and ran her fingers through her white curls. On her left, Berig was laying belly up, snoring with his mouth open. On her right, Ervig was face down on the pillow, dead to the world. A thick animal smell hung on the four-poster bed, a memento of the rough night that had gone by. Adele sighed, and rolled out of the bed. Her two studs did not react.

  The Duchess chuckled.

  She stood in front of her horse mirror, a pouty frown on her face. She pulled her nipples, trying to see how much they would stretch. The door opened and Rose walked in on her tall shoes, balancing a tray.

  “Good morning, mistress,” she cooed.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Adele said in a husky voice. She stretched and yawned again.

  The maid bent at the waist, her bouncing tits almost spilling out of her dress, and placed the tray on a side table. She poured a cup of steaming chocolate, and placed a spongy cake by the cup.

  Adele shrugged into a g
old and blue dressing gown, and sat by the table.

  “A busy night, mistress?” Rose asked, eyeing the two beastmen on the bed. She and her mistress shared a leer.

  “Quite,” Adele smiled lewdly. She turned in her chair and looked at her maid. “Want to have a go?”

  Rose’s eyes widened. “If the mistress pleases—”

  “Why not? Something to entertain me during breakfast.”

  With a happy giggle, Rose sat on a bed and started gently massaging Ervig’s cock to erection.

  Seven - Mirror

  The silk sheet trailing behind her, Sister Maeva climbed up the spiral staircase. On the next landing, bathed in darkness, she spied a large mirror through the crack of a door, and went in.

  There was a lamp burning on a table, flush against a wall, that cast a moonlight-like glow on the chests and boxes piled in the room. The room was dusty, and cobwebs hung in the corners. The mirror had a gilded frame, and was as tall as Maeva.

  The nun passed her hand on the surface, cleaning it.

  She paused briefly, to look at her hand. Her fingernails were long, and thick, and sharp. She tapped them on the glass, and then focused on her reflection.

  Sister Auriane was right, she thought, pulling back a strand of black-blue hair from her face. She was gorgeous. Maeva licked her full lips glistening wet, and pouted. A chuckle escaped her throat. She let the silk sheet fall, and took her breasts in her hands. They were big as melons, and firm like marble. She took a step back. A hint of pot belly, and flared hips, and a spot of black hair, like a duckling, cradled between her muscular thighs.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  She turned.

  The lady Bélise was standing on the door, half of her face hidden behind her raven-wing hair, and her blue dress leaving her shoulder exposed, and clinging to her breasts.