“Oh, fuck, Kiera,” murmured Tau. “How did I ever let you leave?”
The hand around her pussy was having its intended effect, and any response Kiera might have wanted to give was instead replaced by a loud moan as she came. She tightened around Tau’s fingers, squeezing hard enough to leave a slight pain in them. Her hand on his cock paused in its work, but Tau waited it out, until her pussy had released its death grip on his fingers. Kiera was breathing heavily, trying to regain her composure, her chest rising and falling in his hand.
He pulled his fingers from her cunt and brought them to her mouth. Kiera loved to taste herself, and she dutifully sucked each finger into her mouth in turn, the hand on his cock resuming its rapid motion between her legs. Tau watched as she licked his fingers, probing for every drop she’d left on him.
“Oh, Kiera, I’m close,” he said.
“Good,” she managed. She slid her hips down until his cock was bent over her mound, so that she was stroking him straight up at her belly. “I want to see you cum.”
Tau couldn’t manage much in the way of coherent words, and Kiera sat up a little to watch, her hand moving even faster along his length, hard and pulsing in her grip.
Tau’s cock twitched and his cum came streaming out, splattering up across Kiera’s stomach, some of it falling into her navel, a fair amount catching in the hair between her legs. Kiera cooed with appreciation, panting her enjoyment of the visual evidence of Tau’s desire for her, feeling how hot his cum was across her belly as she continued to pump him as hard as she could, until finally she couldn’t coax any more out of him and Tau seized her wrist to stop her efforts.
It was his turn to breathe hard, his chest lifting Kiera with each intake, and lowering her when he exhaled.
“I missed you, Kiera,” he said, as she slipped off his chest to lie in the cool fabric of the bedsheets beside him.
“I know, Tau,” she said.
* * * * *
Pol rubbed a towel across his hair. He’d been taking well more than his fair share of baths, by his reckoning. Margase had shown him around the Guild Rock, highlighting the mess hall, where the cooks were retained to provide him with food day or night should he require it, and the archives, where he’d met the Chief Archivist, Sorcerer Praela, as well as her assistants. He’d been briefly introduced in turn to Sorcerer Garen, Master of Spies; Sorcerer Carista, Master of State; and Sorcerer Tudon, Master of Stores. They’d been kind, but brief. Kindest but briefest of all had been Master Waldrin, the Chair of the High Council. He’d seemed excited to see Margase, but his interest in Pol had focused more on the young man’s status as the first student in many years, and less in Pol as a human being.
Margase had, despite Pol’s protests to the contrary, assumed he would want to bathe and called for a bath and water scented with flowers and herbs which made him feel a bit like a bouquet. Still, he’d shed his clothes, borrowed from Kiera’s father, letting a handful of Guild servants bundle them away, and clambered into the tub. He didn’t wash so much as just let the warmth seep into his body until the water had cooled enough that it was no longer enjoyable. There were, he was beginning to admit, certain benefits for daily bathing.
After having dried himself, there were no signs of any replacement clothes. Margase had told him to expect further visitors, and he was worried that the servants would not return in time to save him from embarrassment when he found a note written in an ill-disciplined hand on a table near the four-poster bed in his room.
Pol, the next guest will require you unclothed. Never fear, your garments will be returned to you after. -B
A peculiar request, and coming from Bollu and not Margase, but who was Pol to question it? It was not like there was anyone to question it to around, anyhow. And there were certainly no replacement clothes to disobey it with. He found a book on a shelf entitled A Survey of the Five Noble Houses and flipped through it as he waited, mostly glancing at the pictures and skimming through the words.
He began with the vai Banda family, starting with their hero founder, Yorvar vai Banda, “the Hammer of Banda” who had been tasked with holding a small side gate alone against the enemy while the other four Nobles held the main gate. It was said he’d barricaded the gate with the corpses of his enemies before he’d rejoined his comrades. Pol idly wondered how many bodies it would take to make a door impassable. It sounded far fetched. He’d known boxing champions who had bragged of their prowess and status as undefeated, but if you examined their records, their fights were fixed, unbalanced, or both.
There was a knock at his door.
“Come in,” said Pol.
The door opened and Praela stepped in, a massive tome hovering in the air after her. She closed the door behind her. Her clothing was simple, a loose fitting shirt with padded elbows and a pair of women’s trousers with comfortable shoes, masking any sense of the body underneath. Wrapped around her shirt was a wide belt, with loops for quills, a knife to sharpen them, and a few different colors of inks.
She looked at Pol, her eyes tracing down his naked torso to his crotch and then back up to his face. She arched a brow.
“Where do you hail from, Sorcerer Pol?”
“Lowvale.”
“Sort of a backwater, isn’t it?”
“Compared to Tia Vashil, I guess so.”
“Well,” said Praela, taking her eyes from the nude man in front of her to pull the tome open and leave it hovering in front of her. “I just have to record a few things for posterity. What’s your name?”
“Pol Burr.”
Praela made note of it in her floating tome.
“And the day of your birth?”
“I’m not sure. By my count I’m 23, maybe 24.”
“Well, we’ll tell history you were 24.”
“Place of birth, Lowvale, obviously. Your mother’s name?”
“Eluna Burr.”
“Mother’s occupation?”
“Scullery maid.”
“Father’s name?”
“I didn’t know my father.”
“Your mother didn’t tell you?”
“Never.”
Praela frowned at him. “I’m sorry, Pol. I have to ask though.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago, and I never knew him.”
“Okay, let’s move on,” say Praela. She noted his sandy hair and the color of his eyes in the tome. “I need to interview you about who you were before the Guild and how you discovered your magic. May I sit?”
“Sure, let me make some room,” said Pol. He collected the book on the Five Nobles from the table he’d been reading it on, and put it back on the shelf. When he turned around, his face blanched.
Praela had shed her shirt, and she was bent over peeling her pants off. When she’d lost all her clothes she straightened and looked at Pol.
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, catching the confused look on his face. “I thought this would put you more at ease! It’s how they do it in Lowvale, isn’t it?”
Pol stared for a moment as Praela’s nude form. She was a smaller woman, but with fine suntanned skin and small perky tits and a firm ass. A strip of hair, not much narrower than two of Pol’s fingers, ran up the front of her crotch.
“It’s not,” he said, finally remembering himself.
“Then why are you naked?” she asked.
“The note said to be!”
“What note?”
Pol fetched it from the table and Praela came over and read it out of his hand. Her nudity and her proximity began to have a noticeable effect on Pol, his cock twitched as it stirred to life.
“I believe you’ve been the victim of some very juvenile hazing, Pol,” said Praela. She spun her hands about, until a small pocket of air had contorted itself and shimmered in the shape of a horn.
“Bollu, when you’re available, please come to Pol Burr’s quarters to explain yourself, and return his clothes,” she said. She flattened one hand and the horn disappeared.
“Well, Pol,” she said. “
I got to see you, I suppose it’s only fair you see me until Bollu gets here with your clothes.”
She sat at the table and Pol joined her. Soon she was laughing at some of his more outrageous moments as a thief and listening to the story of how he’d met Kiera and everything they’d done on their way to Tia Vashil. She tooks notes on maybe half of it, including mostly the damage to Sir Vallan, the name of his horse and the Toft farm, and details on the Canians and the members of the wild men’s society and their roles.
“Well, that’s it,” said Praela. “Oh, I almost forgot! One last statistic: your height.”
She rooted through her pants until she found a measuring tape, drawing it out.
“Up against the wall,” she told him. When he complied she measured from his head to his shoulder, pressing the tape against his arm.
“Hold this here,” she said, taking the hand on the opposite arm and placing a finger on the tape. She measured lower, until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him, her head not far his cock. It had softened during their conversation, but now was beginning to find some of its former steel.
“Fourteen and a half marks tall,” said Praela, pulling the tape from his grasp. She rose up on her knees and clicked her fingers, the tome rising off the table to hover at her shoulder. She noted his height, then pushed the book away.
She looked up at Pol and there was a light in her eyes. “One last measurement for my personal records, if you don’t mind?”
“Whatever you need,” he answered, not comprehending.
Praela reached up and grabbed his cock, guiding it into her mouth. Pol gasped as the soft surface of her tongue pressed up against his cock’s sensitive underside and her cheeks hollowed as she began to apply suction. His cock hardened rapidly in her mouth, reaching its hardest as she pushed deeper along his shaft and her nose pressed against the downy hair of his crotch.
Praela sucked air as she let him out of her mouth, leaving his cock standing at attention for her.
“Should we be doing this?” Pol had the sense ask.
Praela just laughed her enchanting little laugh at him.
“Pol, your life will last decades, if not centuries, longer than it should while you use magic, as will every sorcerer’s. But you will always still have some basic needs that need to be filled. And over time, you will likely find some joy in exploring new bodies, especially those of the other members of the Guild.”
She took up her tape measure again and ran it against the length of his cock.
“Just over one and a half marks,” she said. “Aren’t you a sizable fellow?”
She discarded the tape measure, her unencumbered hands stroking his cock, massaging her spit into his skin.
“What I’m saying, Pol, is that sooner or later one of your fellow sorcerers is going to want to experience you for the novelty, if nothing else.” Praela fixed him with a look, her smile broad and bright.
“If not most of them,” she added. She peered at his cock, her hand pausing in its work to hold him as though testing the weight and balance. “And isn’t sooner better?”
If Pol had at all had the will to argue, it left him when Praela’s lips found the base of his cock, licking at where it met the rest of his body, before briefly exploring his balls and then traveling back up to take just his head in her mouth, alternating between sucking and licking him as she stared up into his eyes, daring him to say something to stop her.
Pol placed a hand on her head, his eyes closing, his body reveling in the sensations emanating from Praela’s incredible mouth as she turned a careful attention to her work, starting slow and steady with the just tip of his cock. She pushed down his cock, one hand stroking him to meet her lips while the other played with his balls.
It wasn’t long before Pol’s pleasure reached his breaking point, and he groaned in warning, but Praela simply murmured happily, and pushed further along his cock, narrowing her hand’s grip on him until she was stroking less than the width of two fingers back and forth. Pol pulled her hand away, locking his own behind her head, his hips thrusting, driving himself as deep as he could as he came.
Praela was still for a moment, anticipating the warm flood that came pouring out of Pol’s cock, allowing it to almost fill her mouth before she took her first swallow, then clamping her lips around his member. She retreated slowly, sucking hard as she released him, her hand resuming its previous work, milking Pol of his cum into her mouth until there wasn’t a drop left.
Praela stood, her smile never leaving her lips as Pol leaned against the wall for support. She dressed without paying Pol any mind, then walking to the door.
“That’s all for now, Pol, but if you do have any questions, about the Guild or its history, I do hope you’ll come visit me in the Archives,” she said, opening the door. She snapped her fingers again, the massive tome of students flying across the room to follow her as she exited.
Bollu entered the room, grinning over his shoulder at Praela, then at the naked Pol. The Master of Lore placed a pile of clothes on the bed.
“Better get dressed,” he said. “Almost time for dinner.”
Pol spent most of the rest of the evening in a haze, briefly remembering heading to dinner where many of the Sorcerers were concerned with asking him most of what Praela had, venturing their theories for why his magical powers had demonstrated themselves so late, ranging from a particularly low source node in the Lowvale region to the possibility that it was awakened by true love, a prospect that was roundly laughed at and mocked as preposterous by all but the bookish young apprentice loremaster that had suggested it.
Wine and ale and dragon water was broken out when the sun settled over the horizon and Pol indulged in nearly everything offered, and was offered nearly everything, leaving him in poor condition to find his way back to his rooms.
He certainly couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there when Margase arrived in the morning to blind him with light when she pulled aside the curtains and usher him off to breakfast, this time in a loose fitting robe. After breakfast she took him to the training yard, where she attempted to get a measure of Pol’s abilities, but mostly discovered his ability to control his stomach after a night of heavy drinking. Pol’s attention was poor for anything else.
After lunch, Margase led him to Waldrin, who gave a long and fairly involved lecture on Pol’s responsibility as a Sorcerer, and how his rank entitled him the respect of every citizen of Tia Vashil, and would find that many citizens in Tia Joi and Coulain would show him the same deference should he request it, but that as an unofficial rule the Sorcerers did not demand that protocol be respected in their presence and few made it even known they were magical adepts unless it was of critical importance. This suited Pol just fine. No one had ever bowed and scraped to him, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself in any way. Nearly a decade of going where he wasn’t wanted had taught him that.
After sitting in a chair listening to Waldrin drone on, Pol was feeling better, but rather than go outside to practice again, Margase escorted him down into the bowels of the Guild Rock to Tudon. The white-haired Joian Sorcerer outlined various rare ingredients and artifacts, most of which had names so complicated that Pol promptly forgot them and their purposes.
It seemed nearly dinner time, but Margase led him to a small antechamber. Through the door he could hear the sound of voices chanting.
“What’s through there?” he asked.
“The Grand Hall of the Guild,” answered Margase. “But before we enter, please disrobe.”
“Oh, no,” said Pol. “I’m not falling for this trick again.”
Margase clapped her hands and the door to the Grand Hall opened long enough for two Sorcerers, a man and a woman, both nude, enter. The sound of the chanting that swept in with them was deafening until the door closed. The man was carrying a silver half-mask, depicting a person wearing a crown of crescent moons. The woman was carrying a brush and a small bucket of paint.
Margase undid her dre
ss clasps, the wine-red garment collapsing at her feet, and Pol drank in the sight of her pale skin, the freckles stars across her body, a zodiac from her small pert breasts to her shapely rump.
“There is no trick,” she said, the last word sounding bitter in her mouth. “The Rite of Renewal requires you to be as the First Man was. He wore no clothes, and neither must you.”
Pol flushed with embarrassment, more at angering Margase than once again being forced into the buff in front of his new peers. He shed his clothes hurriedly, turning back to Margase when he was fully naked. She nodded to the two other Sorcerers in the room. The man placed the mask on Pol’s head, securing it tightly in the back. The woman began to paint careful stylized moons and three-pointed stars in silver across his body, starting with his face and working her way down until all his skin save that of his cock was covered with the designs.
When Margase was satisfied Pol was prepared, she led him into the Grand Hall.
She stopped him as they slipped inside, and Pol stared through his mask. When Margase had taken him through the Grand Hall the day before, he had thought it mostly an overly large dining hall, with a towering buttressed high ceiling, and two massive spherical lamps and rows upon rows of tables and benches. Now it had been cleared of all furniture, save for a circular platform, covered with indigo cloth and set on a massive swatch of similar material in the center of the hall, and the seven chairs on the dais at the front of the hall.
Along the walls, a vast collection of men and women, every Sorcerer the Guild could muster, stood naked, chanting. The two people who’d prepared Pol rejoined the walls. Another woman, still chanting, appeared and handed Margase a sheer robe.
On the dias, Bollu stood. In his hand he held a long metal rod, which he rapped against the stone beneath his floor. The chanting diminished in volume, but did not cease and Bollu’s voice echoed with an unnatural ability to be heard above the din.
“Before the world was born there was nothing,” he intoned. “No earth, no sea. No forest, no fawn, no humanity. No light.”
He rapped the rod again, three times loudly, and both lamps went out at the same time. The room descended into shadow, lit in blood red by the light from the setting sun coming in through the small windows at the top of Grand Hall’s ceiling. Pol reached out a hand in front of him to test if he could see. Thinking something else, Margase took it, squeezing gently.
Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior Page 17
