Treasure Revealed

by A. S. Etaski

  Wherever that is. The Sisterhood barely needed the help of one Priestess, useful only to our Elder Sorceress.

  Yet those two and the Prime had taken my Sister Gaelan away, and I still waited for news from someone, anyone, about this crisis; how it started, what we planned to do next. The Sisterhood had responded as directed, as we’d been trained, and it had felt like I had understood what was happening around me. Within the crisis, within that “mindlink” spell, I had known what was going on as it had been staring me in the face.

  Now, a heavier, lonelier thought had settled in, likely enough that I wondered at my own naivety.

  Nothing will be explained now, but well done. Continue on, Sisters.

  I watched. I reported. Once, I asked my Corpora if the battle mages—the male ones—had returned safely to their Wizard’s Tower.

  “Of course,” Cilyan replied, making a face. “If you have time to think about that bua you kissed, you have time to work on a few other things. Follow me.”

  I’d expected that. I was given “grunt” tasks: helping to gather food and equipment, and cleaning the Cloister. There were no outside servants to do it; we had to be self-sustaining. It was better than acting on my impulses, which might lead to House Itlaun and the Consort again, or perhaps to House Thalluen, to see if my former Matron had given birth yet.

  After all that danger and excitement, my mind strained against the feeling that my world was shrinking again, not even a full turn after all I’d suffered in body and mind to enter the Sisterhood. After I had thought the cage of my Nobility had been blown wide open by my trials.

  Patience. Opportunity will be there. Just look at Jaunda and D’Shea.

  This assumed I wasn’t trapped by another with a grudge against me. It also assumed I wasn’t killed in action. Or punished for insulting a Priestess. Or got on the Prime’s permanent bad side. The truth was that I didn’t know how many Red Sisters died young compared to how many earned rank like my Lead and Elder. We didn’t talk about the dead, and I had not been around long enough to witness it.

  But I decided, with Elder Rausery staring at me. Asking me outright. I decided.

  It was better to die young as a Red Sister acting under our own agency than live longer by sucking up to Matrons and Priestesses as a Noble. It was better to do my own scrub work than wait for servants; better to serve my Sisters as I had in the sluicers, for pure pleasure and release than to fumble around negotiating for suitable studs, my only important duty being to breed more Nobles.

  I reminded myself the only one with true authority over the Sisterhood was the Valsharess. I had risen very high, very young, even doing lower work than I ever had before, even yielding my body to be used in the basest ways by older females. The contrast was an awakening for me, and I would only figure out more of the system the longer I lived.

  It must be enough. There’s no going back.

  Eventually my mind returned to the three Sisters who had been struck down by Ornilleth.

  Sister Feini. Sister Berayne. Corpora Reishel.

  Primarily under Lead Qivni’s command. Middling rank, solid fighters as I understood it. Their bodies whole but comatose, their minds injured. According to Elder Rausery, we’d never attempted to retrieve such casualties before. Why now? Do such things heal with time? Did the extraordinary willpower we all possessed reassert itself? Was there anything we could do to help beyond caring for their bodies?

  And how long might we perform such a draining duty before the Prime orders their throats cut? Not long. Elder D’Shea must discover something for Rausery quickly.

  “There you are.”

  I jumped but kept hold of my bristle brush, getting to my feet swiftly and standing at attention. “Lead.”

  Jaunda wasn’t smiling as wide as she could when she had distinctly lewd plans for me; she held Gaelan upright by her arm. “Here, got something else you can clean up.”

  I scanned her and frowned. “What did they do to her?”

  Our youngest mage was awake but exhausted, barely paying attention to her surroundings or the voices talking about her. Gaelan’s disheveled, white hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks from sweat already having dried. I wasn’t sure, but thought I glimpsed a pleading look in her dull, red eyes.

  “No point in asking right now,” my Lead said, passing Gaelan over to me, and I dropped my brush to reach out and hold her up with both hands. “Just get her clean and fed, if she’ll eat. And guard her, will ya?” She pulled out a message pellet and came close enough to tuck it in a pouch on my belt. “Call me if there’s trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Do as I say, novice.”

  “I apologize, Lead.”

  Jaunda left for her next task, whatever it was, and I stumbled with Gaelan to her familiar quarters, laying her down on her pallet. She closed her eyes and didn’t speak while I gathered the water, basins, and cloth I needed to cleanse and dry someone unable to clutch the tools herself. The door could be warded with a finger pressed to a gem embedded in the frame and a word spoken. I tried that, discovering that Gaelan hadn’t changed it since I had slept here more often before claiming my own room in the barracks.

  Most of her weapons and armor had already been removed; Gaelan wore just the red leather and boots, easy enough to strip off. I knew what stale sex smelled like, and furious physical effort; the whiff I caught coming off her skin wasn’t either of those. The closest thing I could compare was the unctuous, alchemical odor upon my body after being released from a ritual or being forced to drink a potion not in my best interests.

  The ‘real’ ones by the Priestesses, not any my pretentious sister attempted in the back plantation shed. I leaned closer, opening my nostrils to draw in the strange mix of scents as I wrung out the clean cloth. D’Shea’s scent, too.

  Our Elder hadn’t left her alone with Lelinahdara but had remained close and presumably called Jaunda afterward. This kept my protective resentment in check while I tended Gaelan. At one point, Gaelan’s eyes fluttered, her head turning on the edge of consciousness as she moaned and reached out with her hand.

  “N-Na—” she stuttered before her throat closed and she gripped my forearm like she feared to drown.

  I watched her, letting her squeeze my arm as she swallowed desperately, gagging before taking a deep breath to fill her chest.

  “Ungh,” she choked again, her eyes rolling up inside her skull. “Tr…ey-guh—!”

  What are you trying to say? Why do you strain like this?

  I felt tiny bumps rise from my neck all the way down my back and arms beneath my uniform as a thought occurred to me. How well I knew this feeling, of not being able to speak when thoughts and cries rang loud and clear inside my mind. I hoped it was only the shadow of a childhood fear in a helpless Sister who was not well.

  What did they do to you?

  In time, Gaelan was clean, warm, and resting peacefully, if only because she had used any remaining strength in an imaginary struggle. I stayed to guard but grew bored enough to explore her room, to see what she’d changed since I’d left. It was not much. There wasn’t a lot of furniture to change around anyway, and although her chest of drawers could be locked, they weren’t right now.

  I found her Feldeu wrapped in a shiny, black pouch within the second drawer. I paused with my fingers on it, feeling it through the silk. This one was the first Sisterhood phallus I’d felt, first, in my mouth and then parting my slit. Gaelan had been attached to the other end, and I’d made her cum while kneeling on all fours.

  I’d since received and serviced many others. Some Sisters swapped places, taking turns wearing it. I knew Gaelan wasn’t opposed to trying this with me, but D’Shea had forbidden it until I passed some unknown test and earned the right.

  Thus, I didn’t know the command word to make this one transform from a cold, floppy, unwieldy thing to a warm, rigid, sensitive extension of a Red Sister’s whole cunt.

  S
ighing, I removed it from its drawer anyway and pulled the bag off, cradling the dark tool in my bare hands. I was already familiar with one end but less so with the bulb at the base, which always disappeared inside the Sister about to fuck me. I imagined it was broad enough to make clamping down on it with one’s belly muscles an effective way to keep it in place even if the command word hadn’t been spoken.

  Hm. I could still try it on, see how it looked. Wash and dry it off later.

  With my boots already off, I tugged at the leather ties at my hips, loosening the blood red leather enough to push it down my thighs. The act alone made me receptive, and it took only painting a few other lovely cocks in my mind—real ones—that I either had long ago or still coveted and strumming my nub to make me wet enough to work the firm, smooth bulb around in my cleft like a dessert in its sauce.

  Oh, yes.

  Soon enough, I pushed. My body gave but I was fully aware of every measure of the unusual girth.

  Thick as a Dwarf…

  The bulb slipped in, abrupt and startling, as my body clutched down harder than necessary. My face grimaced in disgust and I tossed the flicker of Kain from my head. A stupid comparison to make, as if I wanted to reimagine how that particular cock felt.

  Feldeu in place as well as it would get, I settled back on Gaelan’s pallet near her feet while she lay curled up on her side. I explored both my sex and its burrowed lodger with my fingers, briefly caressing and tracing the shape of the unfeeling rod itself. It was turgid enough, and I could press it to my stomach like an erection, but it was far too cool to help my impulsive fancy. I knew it could become even firmer with the arousal of its wearer. Hard and hot.

  The faces Jaunda, Gaelan, and the others make when they use it on me…

  I could only imagine the sensual pleasure alongside with the taboo of turning the usual power dynamic on its head. Whatever enjoyment a female could glean from using the pole to scratch her itch, it was secondary to the Red Sister’s magical rush.

  Magic I wasn’t feeling this moment.

  I sighed again, the initial excitement in donning the Feldeu waning as I reflected that I’d never done this at Court because it would have made me the lesser. The submissive female, the play-acting bua attempting to touch those refined spots inside a “superior” female without ever reaching her own peak. Not unless the unfeeling, awkward phallus was pulled out and more knowledgeable fingers or lips and tongue replaced it.

  Jaunda makes it look easy.

  My Lead wielded her cock with such confidence and power that sometimes I forgot her tastes were backward from every Matron, Noble, and commoner following them. It only seemed natural to submit and spread my legs to her, for her to mount me and let her ride the pleasure her way.

  Elder Rausery, too.

  What she told me once in my earliest training still confused me.

  “I’ve already seen how you take a cock, Sirana. You’ll do fine if you’re ever on the Surface. Now show me how you fuck one.”

  If I ever go. And what did she mean, I’d do “fine”? At what?

  At taking a cock. That seems obvious.

  It still left so many questions.

  Meanwhile, Elder D’Shea hadn’t yet coaxed me into her bed after inviting me to sleep there a few times early on, which was assuredly another test of my impulse control at the time. I’d never seen the Sorceress wear the Feldeu at all. Nor Lead Qivni. And other Sisters switched all the time. At least my curiosities and the malleable status of such a tool might stave off stagnation for a while.

  I tugged on the black toy with my fist, stroking the length of it. I felt nothing except my body resist giving up the bulb inside. I tapped a bored tattoo on it, just for the subtle vibrations, as I turned my head, letting my eyes wander. My eyes fell on Gaelan’s shapely ass, on the pretty, purplish netherlips peeking out from between her dark thighs. I smirked at my thought.

  She’s not well. Probably can’t enjoy it, and neither would I. Numb pole.

  Unless she told me the command word.

  Gaelan twitched in her sleep, muttered something unintelligible again, and I watched as she stroked her clean slit with one hand, her fingers trapped between her legs as she relaxed again. I perked up.

  “Truh… Treh…”

  She breathed out, her lips forming the same syllable even if her voice was gone. Her hips moved in a clear, sensual invitation, one hand reaching to cup one buttock, spreading herself a moment for a better view. Then she relaxed again, and my smirk had crept higher to a grin.

  Do you still dream of buas, too, Sister?

  I hadn’t asked her whether she had taken real semen inside her since joining the Sisterhood. She had been off and on again agitated with Elder D’Shea or cold to me ever since my mission to execute the Second Daughter of my former House. That had been a task I was only too glad to fulfill, and yet…

  Somewhere, I’d disappointed my Elder. I should have asked the Matron more questions. I should have taken a sample of that drugged wine. Gathered more intelligence on the male guardsvrin and the orphaned cait.

  But I’d been afraid of seeming weak and beholden to a family which was mine no longer. I did not want to appear distracted or, worse, obsessed. There was self-discipline to impress a superior—something the Prime and Rausery wished to see—and there was inquisitive discovery, which D’Shea made clear she wanted more. She wanted me not to feel fear but pleasure in revealing that which was hidden in plain sight, just by gathering and interpreting the right details.

  Did that mean not as many Sisters showed that tendency? It was one of the few compliments D’Shea had paid me, and she had framed it as an expectation. A demand.

  “Ohhh… mmm.”

  Gaelan was feeling better. Her spine curved elegantly from shoulders to hips, one thigh shifted up, her sex just a bit damp now after I’d cleaned it. I scooted on my butt closer along the wall, within reach to brush my fingertips along her sex, and she sucked in more air. Left herself open, inviting. My cunt ached as it swelled around the base of the Feldeu, and I rolled forward onto belly and elbows, attaching my mouth to her lips while grinding my mound against the cool pole trapped between my thighs and the pallet.

  Oh, that’s not bad.

  I might climax this way, given enough time. My hips undulated, my mouth chewed and sucked on my Sister. The two together was a heady combination.

  “Ah!” Gaelan cried, reaching back and catching the back of my head with her palm, pressing my nose deeper between her ass cleft. I chuckled, slurping her pucker.

  “Truh—! Ungh!”

  She hadn’t formed one clear word this entire time I had been watching over her. It was like a collar was around her neck, unseen yet someone kept tugging it each time she tried to speak. She only grunted as she scrambled up to her knees then, spreading them while curling her arms against her breasts, shoulders planted to her bed.

  Braced. Demanding to be fucked. Serviced.

  Her tasty slit now well above my reach, unless I sacrificed my own pleasure for hers.

  Damn it.

  I nearly reached out her ankles, tempted to pull her back down and continue my grinding upon the Feldeu while eating her. I paused, however, watching her quiver. A thought came to my mind, muddled by her personal perfume, and I pushed myself up using both arms.

  “You want it, huh, Gaelan?” I murmured how Jaunda often did to me. Crawling behind her, taking hold of one hip while rubbing the fake phallus along her ass, her inner thighs. I couldn’t feel a Braqth-damned thing.

  I asked, “You want this inside?”

  I nestled the tip between her petals, and she lunged backward, surprising me. She’d taken it halfway before I could yank it back out. She moaned a complaint.

  “What’s the command word?” I murmured softly, then repeated myself. “The Feldeu. What’s the word, Gaelan?”

  “H-huh?” she asked, her toes curling, which made me smile, although now she might be straining t
o listen.

  Or to wake up.

  “What’s the command word?” I tried again, keeping the same, calm tone. Confident. Not too eager or impatient; not like when I’d botched the bluff with the Tragar. I teased her opening, slipped the tip inside then dragged it out and down across her clit. She jerked and shivered, her toes curling again. She moaned, but no word came out with it.

  My own slit drooled like hers, I could feel it. I was tempted to thrust in, to see her response, and yet… I didn’t. I only wanted it if I could feel something, too. Like when I mated my buas. I enjoyed watching their genuine reactions, their faces, their straining and climaxing bodies. I could delight in Gaelan’s responses to taking a phallus instead of using it, but…

  I pushed in, bottomed out.

  She gasped. “Oh, yes!”

  Her first clear words.

  My beginner’s thrusts were awkward, every bit as much as the first bua I’d ever mounted yet different. I humped, experimenting. Unfocused. I tried grinding my clit again, realizing it didn’t suit the angle for filling her in any way she liked. Not if her weaving, uncooperative gyrations were any indication.

  Fuck.

  I pulled out, held onto her hips to keep us apart when she groaned again.

  “Command word, Gaelan. Tell me.”

  “Ss…suh—”

  “Yes?”

  Her dazed, maroon eyes flew open. “Sirana! N-no, wait! Oh, Braqth, what did I say?!”

  In a moment of pure frustration, I plunged in and folded over her back, pinning her in place for that instant of fear I saw in her eye. My mouth wasn’t far above her shoulder and one sharp, upturned ear.

  “Nothing interesting,” I replied with a wry sneer. “Just a lot of moaning.”