Wanton Witch: XdCeX Online - Discretion Guaranteed. A LitRPG Series.

by ilo man

  Vinnie strode after her. “I can prove it!” he shouted. “Prove it all.”

  “Don’t you dare tell her about our treasure,” Little Red growled. “Remember, you can’t trust anyone. Think of the twins, of Lavender. Everyone has let you down.”

  “Not you Little Red,” Vinnie whispered.

  Atrixa stopped. Vinnie caught up with her, thinking hard.

  “My spell book!” he cried. “Jormungandr gave me the spell Twisted Tongues.” Calling for his Little Book of Spells and opening it to the second page, he thrust it under her nose. “See, there!” he said.

  Atrixa glanced down.

  “And it bit me,” Vinnie pleaded and showed her the gaping rent in his cloak, the tear in his crotch, his junk now in plain view. He held up his cloak. “This too, smell it, burned by serpent fire.”

  The half-elf relented. “It’s true? You really did fight Jormungandr?”

  Vinnie leaned close. “More like twisted my ring, vanished and ran.”

  “Oh Vinnie,” she said. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I was so worried. I thought I’d lost you.” She made to hug him but thought better of it. “Perhaps we should get you cleaned up first.”

  “First?” Vinnie said.

  “First,” Atrixa confirmed and gave him her sexiest smile.

  She grabbed his hand and led him to the partly open, huge double doors and out into an underground city. “Roarforst,” she whispered, her voice filled with reverence. “Abandoned for centuries.”

  “Why?”

  “Not so many dwarves anymore. Besides, nearly everything happens on the surface now. Most prefer it. I know I do.”

  She pulled him close, and they walked through the deserted streets, buildings partly carved in the black granite, partly built out of gray-stone. He could hear Sorrell and the others calling for him, all by the now gaping entrance. Then they scattered, all shouting and screaming, and Vinnie saw Jormungandr rearing up from the chasm.

  “Where is he, little dwarves? I can smell him. I want him. Give me Vinnie the Weak or I will roast you with my fiery breath.”

  The evil serpent reared back, ready to strike. Gorbon and Borbon gesticulated wildly, chanting loudly, and a curtain of shimmering magic appeared where the entrance had been, black granite appearing soon after, shutting the dreaded beast out.

  “You really were telling the truth,” Atrixa gasped.

  Vinnie gave her a sideways glare, but then accepted he had a little history for lying. He shrugged, and they both started hailing the dwarves and Sorrell, who turned, running towards the pair, hearty grins plastered on their faces, and the party was reunited.

  Having been made to recant his story three times, they all finally boarded the cart. Sorrell pushed them through the abandoned dwarven city, jumping in as they came to a slight decline, and off they rolled again.

  Atrixa scrunched close to Vinnie, her hand firmly on his leg. “You need a bath.”

  “He’ll be well looked after when we get to the mine,” Borbon shouted from behind. “He fought Jormungandr and survived. That beast has been a curse on the dwarves for as long as I can remember. Now we know the way to its lair, we can sneak up on it and kill it while it sleeps.”

  “Stole it all,” said Gorbon. “All the king’s jewels, his gold, his silver, swords, the lot. It’ll be good to get that all back.”

  “Aye,” said Borbon. “Imagine, it might turn the tide on our luck. Since we abandoned Roarforst, fortune hasn’t favored our nation.”

  Vinnie thought about his sack full of loot. Guilt washed over him and straight out the back of the cart. It was his loot now. He’d risked life and limb for it.

  “That’s the spirit,” Little Red whispered.

  Their cart plunged on its merry way. Vinnie soon noticed another track now ran alongside theirs, then another. They shot into a new cavern, a much larger one. Banging, hammering and shouting rang out, and they slowed and slowed until they pulled alongside a rocky platform.

  Atrixa jumped out, but Vinnie sat for a moment, taking in the scene.

  Piles of mined ore lined the other side of the cart.

  A huge winch was just beyond the platform.

  The dwarves were everywhere, some shoveling ore into the empty cart in front, some standing, milling, pointing. Borbon hopped out, the broken tiller in hand, giving it to another dwarf. “You'll have to fix this’un; damn brake didn’t work. Oh, n’ the bridge to Roarforst finally fell. Bloody Jormungandr.”

  “Bloody Jormungandr,” the other agreed.

  “This way, folks,” Gorbon signaled, diving between the crowds, stealing up a little side alley. “Face One,” he explained, “busiest in all the underground.”

  “Why the bland name?” Atrixa asked.

  “Stops us getting fond of the place. If we get too fond, all we want to do is carve great works of art, craft runes and the like. Call it Farrantacor or some such name, an’ that’s all they’ll do. Face One; they get digging. Now, what do you want to do? Get up to the surface, or grab a hot spring?”

  Sorrell grunted. “Vinnie needs a bath. He can’t meet the Wanton Witch like that. Looks a wreck.”

  “Are we near—” Vinnie tried to remember their destination.

  “Hundenwyrdich? Yes, Face One is fifty miles south. A few hours by horse and cart, or a pleasant stroll.” Borbon sized him up. “First, we’ll take him to see Chimmie. He can fix him a new set of clothes. The serpent’s ruined the ones he’s got.”

  They weaved their way through more stone alleys, up and down countless steps until they came to a small stone house, set back into a towering, gray rock face.

  “Chimmie’s?” Atrixa asked.

  “Best Kobold tailor this side of the Twin Mountains,” Gorbon said, proudly.

  Ducking through the doorway, Vinnie saw Chimmie’s workshop was no more than a dozen or more workbenches in two ranks, all piled high with clothing, boots, and gloves. Each had a little green creature behind, with long, green ears, green hair, a thin, hooked nose and nearly bare but skinny top half, just a waistcoat for clothes.

  None looked up from their toil, nor even acknowledged the visitor’s presence.

  Eventually, one did look up and huffed.

  Perception Check: Chimmie. Kobold. Tailor. NPC.

  “Yes, Gorbon?”

  “We need a rush job.”

  “When don’t you?” Chimmie the Kolbold said. “Which—”

  His gaze fell on Vinnie.

  “—Never mind.” He sighed, rounded his little desk, and flopped out a tape measure. “What do we need, picker, shoveller or porter?”

  “Hero,” said Borbon, all proud.

  Chimmie’s interest perked. “Hero, you say?”

  “Hero,” agreed Gorbon. “So far, he’s sent two shapeshifters packing, killed a Witherer, and had a run in with Jormungandr.”

  “And survived,” added Borbon.

  “Hero,” Chimmie finally agreed, pulled a pair of glasses out and circled Vinnie. “Leave him with me for ten minutes. The Pot of Froth is serving ale, only two doors down. I’ll send him there when I’m done with him. Seriously though, you could have sent him to the springs first. The man stinks of serpent spit and stale buildings.”

  Atrixa lingered, but Vinnie waved her away.

  “Lose the cloak,” Chimmie told him, breathing on the metal end of his tape measure.

  Vinnie tossed his cloak into a pile on the floor. Chimmie studied Vinnie from head to toe. “Relatively new to the land, eh? Still a bit cock-heavy. Planning on keeping that up, or do we have a little perspective yet.”

  “Perspective, definitely perspective,” Vinnie lied.

  “You dress to the right or left?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Chimmie knelt down, rubbing the ends of his tape measure. “Of course it matters, it's like a third fooking leg. Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?” Without any warning. Chimmie pulled Vinnie’s pants down, ramming the tape measure up behind his balls. “Keeping y
our cock ring on at all times, eh? Ever ready, that’s the spirit.” Chimmie mumbled. “Here, Bert, come look at the dick on this one.”

  Vinnie felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Bert, a kobold identical in every way to Chimmie, got up from his desk and knelt next to his colleague.

  “That’s some fucking cock,” he gasped, lighting a cigarillo a little too close for Vinnie’s liking. “Nice ring, mind. Here, Jack, come n’ look at the johnson on this fooker. Can I touch it?”

  “No you bloody well can’t,” said Vinnie. “Can I pinch a smoke?”

  “Only if I can touch it.”

  Vinnie sighed. “Smoke first.”

  “Deal,” said Bert, handing up his smoke.

  Jack gasped. “Oi, Bob, come n’ look at the pecker on this one. You’d have to be a licensed campanologist to give it a tug.”

  Bob, a kobold equally identical to the others, knelt next to Jack.

  “Handy for jousting,” Bob declared.

  “Or croquet,” Jack agreed.

  One-by-one, they all came up. Chimmie measured Vinnie for his new clothes, and Vinnie stared at the low rocky ceiling, smoking his cigarillo, hoping it would all end. Then Bert started moaning, and golden sparkles crackled down below.

  “Right, that’s it,” he cried, looking down, seeing Bert’s finger stuck on his ring. “No more, yer all wrong.” He pulled his pants up. “How long, Chimmie?”

  Chimmie barked at the assembled throng, and they all scrambled back to their desks. “Shall we say two silver and two hours?”

  Vinnie darted out and went off in search of the Pot of Froth. Luckily, Sorrell’s gravelly tones led him there, and he soon had an ale in hand.

  Atrixa beckoned him down, sitting him next to her. “We’ll grab something to eat then go grab a hot spring, deal?” She looked up at him. Vinnie saw promise in her eyes.

  Then it dawned on him. “You’re going to leave me once we get to the Wanton Witch’s place, aren’t you?”

  Atrixa didn’t reply. She pursed her lips but turned away.

  “Is it because she doesn’t share? That’s what Velvet told me.”

  She huffed and then let out a long sigh. “It’s not that at all. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  Atrixa turned and looked him in the eye. “No one can compete with the Wanton Witch.” Then her head dropped, her eyes downcast. “There’s no point in even trying,” she said, so softly that Vinnie hardly heard it.

  “You could,” he told her.

  Atrixa smiled, pulled him up, and said “We can eat anytime,” before dragging him out of the inn.

  They hurried through the underground alleys, past Chimmie’s, farther along the rock face until they came to a little cave. She led him through, the rock’s glimmering with encrusted gems, the strata laced with white marble. They stepped around the first steaming pool, then another, weaving their way farther into the caverns. Eventually, she pulled him through a narrow fissure and into a smaller cave only about ten feet round, a small rocky ledge, and an iridescent, blue pool.

  “Here,” she said, and she grabbed him, kissing him square on his lips. Pulling back, she pulled her cloak off, her tunic, boots, and pants and stood naked before him. She looked nervous, her eyes pleading. “Please, say something.”

  “No way the Wanton Witch will ever compete with you,” he muttered, and she smiled, her nerves passing. Vinnie grinned and pulled his clothes off.

  Atrixa had already eased herself into the steaming pool.

  Vinnie’s heart raced. Atrixa pushed herself into the pool’s center, inviting him to come to her. He slid in, slipping right under, rubbing at his hair, scrubbing his face, resurfacing right by her, their lips close, so close. The pool was just deep enough, coming up to his shoulders, its water magically rejuvenating him. She pulled his hips to hers, and he felt his hardness sandwiched against her. His breaths matched hers, short gasps, no more, and their lips touched as her hands traveled up the side of his body, settling in the center of his back.

  Their kiss lingered, neither wanting it to end. Her breasts pressed into his. His hands cupped her butt cheeks, and her legs wrapped around his groin. She pulled herself slightly away, allowing Vinnie’s cock to spring free. Reaching down, she guided him into her. He gasped as she surrounded him, fitting like a glove, holding still, accepting, getting used to him filling her.

  “Shouldn’t I?” Vinnie asked, his voice near cracking.

  “Just stay still, let me savor you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice husky, breathless. Then, slowly, gently, she rose, pulling off then lowering again. Vinnie felt his ring pulse, the magic flow, and the blue luminosity of the pool turned to shimmering gold. Atrixa rose again, to the ends of his tip, then plunged down, gasping, rising, then plunging.

  “Against the side,” she whispered, urgently.

  Vinnie walked her over, pushing her up against the smooth, soapy rock.

  “Now fuck me properly,” Atrixa hissed.

  He braced his feet, his hands under her armpits, and the thrust into her, once, twice, and again.

  “That’s it, Vinnie, just like that.”

  Her head sagged back. She stared up at the gem-encrusted roof. Vinnie’s lips immediately drawn to her milky neck, kissing, biting, sucking, all the while thrusting and gasping for breath. He became lost in the magic of Atrixa, the magic of his ring, the land. Urgency coursed through him, but no urgency at all. He wanted his satisfaction, but also knew it could wait. He felt renewed, like he’d experienced a personal revelation, and his lips left her neck, his eyes staring into her endless, blue irises.

  “I think I understand,” he whispered, and saw her smile, and wanted to kiss those lips, and kiss them hard.

  “Not quite,” said Atrixa, “but you’re getting there. Now fuck me hard, fuck me for everything you’re worth, through your pleasure, mine will come.”

  Vinnie powered into her, the golden hue of the pool grew in intensity to match his sure strokes. Atrixa’s head lolled back onto the rocky slab, her eyes straying up into her head, lips moaning, throat gasping, breasts heaving.

  He bent down to those tiny buds, sucking thirstily on them.

  The power of his ring now commanded both of them to pleasure. Atrixa gasped one more time before she tensed, her sex throbbing, clamping, causing Vinnie to cry out in ecstasy, unable to control himself any longer. His cum exploded into her, a string of almighty spurts, and his back arched towards her, his whole body now bathed in golden power.

  They slumped against the pool’s edge, no words, just breaths, until Atrixa slipped from him, pulling herself out of the pool, helping him out too, and they lay in each other’s arms, side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Now that was a shag. You sure you’re new? No way did you have the stamina for that.”

  “I think it was the ring. It seemed to combine with the water, as if the water infused me with power.”

  She propped herself up, her hand tracing random lines on his still heaving chest. “But it could have been all you, Vinnie. It could have been all you.”

  Your Esteem value has changed! You old value was 5. You pleasured Atrixa and shared in her pleasure, keeping yours in balance, in check, until you were in perfect harmony. The land awards you one esteem. Your new value is 6.

  Attribute (Value x Esteem modifier = True Value)

  Health: 2 x 1.6 = 3.2

  Stamina: 3 x 1.6 = 4.8

  Strength: 2 x 1.6 = 3.2

  Agility: 3 x 1.6 = 4.8

  Intelligence: 6 x 1.6 = 9.6

  Mana: 60 x 1.5 = 96

  Virility [Cumulative True Value]: 7.68 x 1.6 = 12.29

  Perception: 3 x 1.6 = 4.8

  Compassion: 1 x 1.6 = 1.6

  Vinnie felt his muscles swell, his skin tighten, his heart grow stronger.

  “You see,” Atrixa said. “Esteem is everything. It makes you strong. It makes you agile.”

  But Vinnie had hardly heard her.

  He was thinking of something e
lse, something he dreaded.

  “Will I ever see you again?” he asked.

  Her laughter filled their little cavern. “Fuck yeah,” she said. “Once the Wanton Witch has had her way, has built you up and spat you out, I’ll be there, in the queue.”

  “Eh?”

  Atrixa got up and slipped back into her clothes. She reached into her sack and threw him a towel. “We’ll ditch your old clothes, just take your sacks.”

  He sat up. “What do you mean, you’ll be in the queue?”

  The half-elf looked at him long and hard. “You don’t get it, do you. The Wanton Witch takes on few, but boy, the ones she does, well, they’re to die for.”

  “So, how do you know she’ll take me on?”

  Atrixa pulled him up. “You’ve pissed Sivatious off, killed a Witherer.”

  He followed Atrixa out of the cave. “So why?”

  “One thing she hates more than a man with a cock he can’t handle is Sivatious—they’ve got serious history.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Two muddy divots signaled his way, winding along between a dry-stone wall on one side and a deep-green thicket on the other. Both hemmed in farmer’s fields, one packed with ranks of corn, the other a few dozen grazing sheep. Behind Vinnie, the last of the Grand Central Forest, memories of dwarven mines, Gorbon and Borbon, a half-giant, and Atrixa.

  He planted his silver-shod staff in the dry mud, took a deep breath of the fresh country air, and looked up at the cloud-dotted sky. It was a fine, fine day. A great day to start the next phase of his game, for ahead lay Hundenwyrdich, now plain to see, a vast mass of latte-colored bricks atop a proud jutting rock.

  Vinnie tossed his kobold-made cape back and jutted his chin out.

  Chimmie had done him proud, fine new boots, soft leather pants, a laced up shirt, and heavy jacket (light armor, Bert had assured). He had a new belt, from which hung his Morningstar, and a back holster for his staff, though Vinnie had stowed that, preferring the feel of it while he strode the trail.