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Swimming With Sharks

Hey Readers. This story is a non-magical, non-horror erotic story. I hope you enjoy it!

The Las Vegas airport never heard the word subtly. Slot machines clutter the waiting areas as if invasions from the casinos themselves. Allison walked beside me and between those slots. She cringed at an older couple cranking at the one armed bandits.

“Those machines are so antisocial,” she whispered.

That’s my Allison. Always out for the connection. It’s music festivals and spiritual retreats for her. Which is why it took so much convincing to get her to join me and another couple. Susan and her boyfriend Greg carried their matching luggage together. I’d known them since sophomore year of college. Allison and I met on a dating site for curious women.

“Poker is social,” I added. It’s my preferred way to play.

“Isn’t it a little adversarial, Rachel?” Allison said.

“But in a fun way!” I said.

I took my girlfriend’s hand. Her fingers intertwined with mine, making that familiar warmth. Her large, dark brown eyes, looked at me for an intense second. Allison was mystical, mysterious, and dangerous all at the same time. That’s what attracted me months ago. I’d never dated another woman before her. We’d been doing this for six months and we loved it.

“And there’s lots of other fun to be had here too, right?” she hinted.

“Yes. Clubs. Shows. We’re going to have a good time, I promise.”

The strip overwhelmed all of us as our rental van slogged through the traffic. We passed a casino that advertised dancers, gambling, and sex toys all under one roof. Allison smirked subtly at an advertisement for a porn star’s lessons in pegging video.

“Would you ever do that, Rachel?” she said.

“Do what?”

“Top a guy with a strap on dildo,” she said. “I hear it’s orgasms on a whole different level for him.”

“How so?”

“I wouldn’t let just anyone do that to me,” she said. “If I found someone ready to take it like that, then that’s pretty special.”

“Hmm.. Oh and I bet you’d feel like a complete boss bitch doing it too, right Allison?” I chided.

She blushed.

“Maybe that too.”

Our group made it to our resort hotel. Once in our room, we showered off the afternoon sweat together and reclined half dressed until the sun went down. Then, we hit the black jack tables. Allison played like her bets were her cover. She never made much more than the minimum, and chatted with Greg and Susan. We met other tourists there, and one local: An aspiring pro poker player by them name of Eddie Silva. I watched him for any subtle tells. I sensed he watched me in return. I fiddle with my bracelet when I anticipate a good hand. It’s lame. He had to have caught it, which is why I chickened out and folded. Eddie won.

“You’re good,” Eddie said. “This isn’t your first time.”

“Nope,” I smiled. Allison put her cards down, happy to be rid of the betting. “I’d go pro if I lived here. You better watch out.”

“Oh? You’d like another game?” he said. He indicated to a group clearing out a poker table right then. Oh, yes, I had to do this, especially after that fold. All I had to do was get rid of my stupid tell and I could clean everyone out.

“I think I’d like that,” I said. I turned to Allison and our friends.

“Allison?” I whispered. “Would you hold my bracelet? For like, an hour?”

“You’re not coming to the club?” she said.

“I am, but not yet,” I said. “I wanna see what I can do.”

“Okay,” said Allison. “See you in an hour?”

“Yes!” I said. We shared a quick kiss. “I won’t let you third wheel for long.”

She left to the club. I sat down at a poker table with a handsome local. Alone, and outnumbered, I readied myself to swim with the sharks. Let me tell you, it’s fun. Too much fun. Once I entered this poker shark head-space. It literally flows like I’m swimming. I watched the older Asian man eye my cleavage. Eddie Silva held his chin up ever so slightly when he was dealt that third card. Another woman, a charming British lady, looked jet lagged. Yes, I learned the tells. With no bracelet to fidget with, I noticed myself squeezing my feet together at the good hands. Eddie caught that tell too.

But then I caught one of his.

When Eddie gets confident, he lets down his guard and orders a drink. Then he stirs it.

The Asian man tried to buy his way out of a bluff, and fattened the pot. It forced me to put more in than I had planned, ignoring the buzzing of my phone. Eddie though wasn’t intimidated and the Asian man backed down like the sleepy Brit. It was down to me and Eddie in that last hand. I bluffed my way into a win. A huge one. Over a thousand dollars on my first night. You know what? I’d just beat a semi pro.

“She’s good!” said Eddie. “Let me get you something to celebrate that.”

“Sure! Umm…” I pulled my phone out of the purse. Shit. I’d been playing for almost two hours.

“I uh… I’m sorry,” I said. “I promised I’d only play for a single hour…”

Eddie looked hurt. The Korean man was disappointed too.

“You’ve all been great. Rematch soon!” I said. It hadn’t been the most gracious exit. Though dammit, I’d sorta broken a promise here.

It’s good to be a girl. It’s even better to be a girl with cash sometimes. There was the usual line of pretty people outside of a club, but I walked up to the bouncer and bribed him. “I have to meet my girlfriend,” I emphasized. He understood and let me through. Once past the door, the glitz of animated screens strobe lights beckoned me in. Shuffling around, I got my way to the bar and found my way to Greg, Susan, and Allison.

“Allison!” I said. “Oh my god! Top shelf on me right now, okay!”

“Yeah?” she said.

“Yes, come on!”

I told her how I totally killed it on poker. How I’d beaten a semi pro, and how I’d become flush with cash.

“Good. I’m happy for you,” sighed Allison. We ordered some fancy vodka drinks from the bar and then danced. Allison moved close enough to keep others away. Still, she didn’t really dance with me.

“Hey,” I said. I leaned into kiss her. Her lips touched in rote acceptance. “What’s up?”

“You said you only be an hour, Rachel,” she said.

“I know… but it happens. I got caught up in it,” I began. Oh god, no this wasn’t the right way. It was all over her eyes. Allison and I loved to dance, and I loved to dance with her. Though now we weren’t connected and it was my fault. “Allison… I’m sorry I broke my promise to you, not even one day into this trip and I’m messing this up.”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’re upset,” I said.

“You left me the third wheel,” she added. “Why?”

It’s far too hard to whisper shouts to each other’s ears like that. Allison and I moved to the restroom of the club. We had to talk it out in there, as awkward as it was. Listening about how she’d kept guys away embarrassed me. What made it even worse is that Allison knew that I loved to play and had supported me in it all night. She didn’t like how I would forget things, and forget her, when I’m swimming with the sharks at the table. It’s too good to become the master in a game like that.

“Okay, I’ve messed it up,” I said. “We’ll do something different tomorrow. I promise.”

Allison looked at me.

“Not quite,” she said. “We’ll do something different tonight.”

Allison held out her palm.

“Share some of the cash with me first,” she said.

“Okay…” I said. I placed several hundred in her palm.

“Okay, now let’s get a cab…” she said.

Leashing me with her pace, Allison led me out of the maze of the casino, into a cab, and into the sex shop we had passed by before. Exploring toys didn’t take much time for her. She picked out a few things by intuition alone. My cash left Allison’s hands, and then she took us back to our hotel. We held hands the whole ride back. When she kissed me in that ride, it assured me our spat was resolving.

Entering the hotel room made both of us wet, and Allison’s brown eyes focused on me. She tugged at my dress in a way that felt like a command. One I obeyed. We made out right there in the hallway, getting a feel for one another’s body heat.

“I want you naked,” said Allison. “Will you do that?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Get on the bed then,” she said. “While I open the toys.”

“Which ones?”

“I’ll choose,” she said.

I stripped myself. Allison tossed a blindfold mask at me. I put it on and lay there to the sound of tearing, cracking, and snipping of plastic containers. Touching followed those sounds, as did a shift of weight on the bed. Allison lay on top of me, the cups of her bra touched my bare nipples.

“We’re going to play now. I’m going to give you something new,” she said.

“Okay,” I sighed.

“Turn over for me.”

On my belly, I gave my hips to Allison’s control. Spanking whapped hard on my ass. Both cheeks were clenched in turn, then a cold drip of something came down towards my hole. Something pressed to it. It stretched my hole open, painful at first, then I relaxed against its pressure and it felt so nice.

“Oh god, Allison,” I said. “What is that?”

“Me plugging your hole,” she said. “You like that?”


“Good,” she said. “Next toy is for me. Open wide.”

I did. The next thing that entered there had the familiar shape of a penis. Allison affixed it in place with straps around my cheek and a solid buckle round my head.

“Feel this?” She took my hand and placed it over my gag. A dildo extended upwards. I muttered yes through my restraint.

“It’s a cock,” she said. She dripped lube onto it, and some trickled to my chin. “I’m going to ride your face, Rachel. You like that?”

I nodded. Everything remained dark under that blindfold. Rocking moved the mattress while Allison took position. Oh that scent! The wetness of her pussy hovered near my face. Then, she inserted that dildo into her sweet smelling self. I pressed up, pushing in and out of my lover’s pussy. Allison moaned and winced for it, enjoying the penetration.

“That’s so good, Rachel. Keep moving,” she sighed. “I like having my pussy over you like this…”

Allison took it more and the heat of her juices simmered over me. “I’m going to ride it now,” she gasped. She guided my head down, and then started thumping her hips down hard. She pleased herself on top of me, and I endured the drips of her pussy’s sweet moisture. Dominating me thrilled Allison. I could tell because the sounds she made I’d never heard before. It made me hot too, and when she orgasmed, I clenched against that plug. I literally had no idea I’d like it that much!

Allison rolled off from me. Panting in my ear, she cuddled next to me. Then she undid my blindfold and gag. She overwhelmed me with a series of kisses at my neck and then locked her lips to mine and we touched one another’s tongues. Her fingers caressed my pussy lips, and I exhaled in release.

“Are you ready for the next toy?” she said.

“You got more?”

“Just one more,” she said. She got up and got out of the last of her underwear. She grabbed a huge magic wand vibrator, its pulsating bulb large enough for us to share. My legs opened and we scissored. We held that pulsing vibrator between us, dizzy with lust. That vibe on my pussy brought me to another level thanks to the plug in my other hole. We pressed our hips together and struggled to keep hold of our vibrator. After climaxing more and more, we fell over exhausted.

“Rachel,” she said as we cuddled. “You won’t forget about me again will you?”

“How could I?” I said.


We slept until the afternoon and then took a lunch out with Susan and Greg at an above ground pool. Swimming, splashing, and simply sun bathing turned out to be the perfect way to pass the afternoon Vegas heat. I got a text message during that time. It was from Eddie.

“Who’s that?” said Allison.

“It’s umm…” I was tempted to hide it but no way. “It’s Eddie. The guy I played with. He wants a rematch soon.”

“Oh?” said Allison. Her eyes still hidden behind sunglasses.

I read the next few texts. An local channel amateur poker night would be shared online later. He had brought in to the game with a friend, who got sick and now there was an extra slot. I touched my chest, sensing my heart beat faster.

“You want to do this,” Allison said.

“I know, but I promised you that we’d see Steampunk Whimsy Burlesque tonight,” I said.

“So tell him,” said Allison.

The next text I wrote was more for Allison than for Eddie. I told him that I’d be out with my girlfriend, and we definitely had tickets. We knew the show would last until nine at least that night.

“I wish I could go, but I have a commitment,” I finished my text. Allison smiled back at me for posting that.

There was a pause on Eddie’s end.

“Come to the early game then,” he replied. He shared the location. Same Casino where Steampunk Whimsy would be performing.

Allison read the message too. I definitely wanted a chance, and she knew that.

“I want you to have fun,” she said. “Will you do something to keep me in mind though?”

“Anything, Allison,” I said.

Allison motioned for me to follow to the shower room near the pool. She guided me to a stall and we soaped away the chlorine from our skin. Focused on her, we enjoyed the steam and I was ready to have sex with her and get caught if necessary. She pushed me away.

“Hold that thought,” she whispered. “Can you turn around again? Put your hands on the wall?”

“Like this?” I posed like a suspect in a cop show.


Allison left the shower and returned. I dared not move. Tickling lube slipped down my tail bone, and Allison pushed a finger in. Next? I gasped as the plug stretched me once more.

“Oh!” I whimpered. “You had that handy?”

“Kept it in my purse,” Allison replied. “Thought we might need it. Are you focused?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay,” she said. “Go down on me now.”

She hardly needed to ask me. I squatted before her in that tiny stall. Her hips bucked forward to me and I tasted my girlfriend. Allison’s face beamed with pride and contentment as I worked my tongue up and down her outer lips. She moaned softly when I suckled at her clit. Before long, we heard whispering outside our stall of other women coming in, and neither of us cared. I penetrated Allison with a finger and coaxed more pleasure with each curl. Allison gasped, suppressing her orgasmic cries, and she came right there in that hot shower.

Later, I made it to the early game, with Allison’s support. You know what? Playing poker at a casino is one thing. Playing with an audience around the table and some cameras on you is a whole different level of intensity. I wonder, if that had been the actual reason why Eddie had invited me to play here. Examining him for any signs taught me nothing, and so our game began with two other amateur players. My mind slipped into the flow of the game. Betting and calling came as natural as every breath. No bracelet of mine provided tells them time either, and the pot grew fat. Nothing except the game mattered, and my world became no larger than that table. Even the cameras faded from my conscious mind.

That’s when my butt plug buzzed. I let out a sharp puff of air. Eddie glanced at me for a nanosecond. Dammit, in that moment I forgot what I was doing. The pulsation changed. Instead of a steady buzz, it now turned on and off with the rhythm of a bass drum. What distracted me most, was how it aroused me.

I pushed more chips into the pot, but why? Oh man, my cards! I didn’t think I could go forth with a hand like this and Allison didn’t even tell me that the plug buzzed.

“Alright, I’m still in,” said Eddie. The next player didn’t fold either. We revealed our cards.

Stupid. My hand was so weak it was easily beaten. Eddie collected the wins, and a clock struck for a break. The other players cleared the table and I sat there dumbfounded for a few seconds hiding my lustful reaction to Allison’s buzzing.

In the break area I went to Allison, not sure if I was to beg her to remove the plug or vibe me until I orgasmed. Frustrating.

“Allison,” I said. “I… I didn’t know it could do that.”

“It’s fun,” she said. “I saw you liked it.”

I blushed.

“I lost that bet though!” I said. “It took me out of my flow. I can win this Allison, please no more, okay?”

“Can you remember me when you’re flowing?”

I was stunned by the bold vulnerability in her face, and even more shamed when I knew the answer to that question. If I’m playing there, I’m forgetting everything. I’m forgetting to keep promises and likely going to forget that we’re going to see Steampunk Whimsy tonight. I might lose this damn game, and on camera too.

“I may need a reminder,” I said. My breath grew heavier, like I wanted her to strip me and put a vibrator on my pussy once more.

“Then we’re keeping it in.”

My next round began as the first. Eddie sensed something different in me. It’s one thing to discard the things you may fidget with. It’s another to prepare yourself for a spike in anal pleasure. The first few hands were tepid. None of us were getting ahead, then I noticed Eddie watching the other two players like a gunslinger. He had something, and waited to use it.

Or he was baiting me? I didn’t know.

That’s when the buzzing interrupted my flow again. This time, I accepted it, exhaling evenly, in time with waves of those beautiful vibrations. Then, fuck, Allison changed the pattern once more. Shaking, I put more money in the pot. Oh god, all I wanted to do was win and then come, but in that order. Clenching my core against the pleasure, I kept my best poker face despite the excitement within.

I was wet. I held my thighs together which only clenched on the plug harder.

“Rachel? You in?” said another player.

I looked to my hand, and hid my confidence.

“I’m in,” I replied in a breathy tone.

“It’s only a game, Rachel,” said Eddie. “Don’t let the cameras get you nervous.”

“It’s a pretty hot game though yeah?” I said. “Let’s make it hotter.”

I pushed over more chips. That’s when a surprise orgasm made me trickle. I must have been blushing with lust. It was everything I could do to suppress a moan, and maintain a placid face.

“Oh… really?” said Eddie.


With that, all players showed their cards. One of the other players hid his face in dismay. Eddie smiled ear to ear at his flush. Me and my weaker hand failed to beat him. The orgasming still pulsed in my body, and I couldn’t care.

“You’re taking this loss well,” said Eddie. “You’re a damn good sport.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Another round?”

“I’m good,” I sighed.

“Really?” said Eddie surprised. “Well, until next time you’re in Vegas.”

Allison took me aside.

“You did good,” she said.

“I lost,” I sighed.

“Not that,” she said. “You did a good job concealing your orgasm.”

I blushed a little.

“What makes you think I orgasmed?” I teased.

Allison touched her phone and the vibrations teased me again. I whimpered, trying to maintain my poker face before her wild, dark eyes. She tugged me in for a kiss. It was a tease, but damn it got me so hot.

“We’re going upstairs, otherwise, I’m ripping you naked right here,” she purred into my ear. Heat swelled in my ribcage and I followed her.

I might have let her fuck me on that card table. Certainly would show the poker sharks who is really winning. Instead, Allison had me by the hand and by the backdoor buzzing all the way up to our room. Fuck. The thirst for her sweet lips on my pussy had me short of breath with every step. Wasting not a single moment, Allison held me, spun me around and tossed me to the bed. I shimmied out of my clothes and she stripped herself. I then welcomed her succulent, soft, hot mouth onto mine.

Then she set that buzzer to the strongest setting ever.

“Allison!” I cried out.

“Yes, Rachel,” she said squeezing my bare breasts in her hands.

“You’re so good,” I said. “Please fuck me. I wanna come with you again.”

Begging enlivened her and she pushed her tongue deep into my mouth.

“We’re going to trib now, Rachel,” she said, fubmling out for a toy. She presented a wand to me with a smirk. I whimpered at it and spread my legs. Allison activated the wand and its pulsations landed on my pussy. She pressed it to hers and panted in exuberance at the sensation. I lay there at her mercy, taking that unceasingly tight and overwhelming pleasure at both ends. Allison grinded against the toy. Her torso arched to the side and her hair flung over her face as she writhed in indulgence with me. She grunted, tightening her leg against my torso. No mercy did I get, even as I struggled to suppress my own rising orgasm for her.

Allison let out a percussive grunt, then a breathy, quivering moan. I couldn’t hold back with her if I tried. My climax exploded in my hips and jolted through every muscle. With my arms wrapped to her tense leg, I enjoyed my climax with hers until we both lay back and gazed at the room. I swear, it felt like it was swinging.

“Damn,” said Allison.


We said nothing more. Allison withdrew the plug and then I curled next to her, my head on her breast and her hand on my cheek.

“Are we forgetting something?” I said.


“I took the early poker because of that show right?”

Allison breathed in thought for a moment.

“Right!” she said in sudden recollection. “The steampunk show. Yeah… let’s get ready soon.”

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Hollywood Forever

Detective Erica Vargas wore her gender like a uniform. She looked at the younger woman across the table. The faint gulp told as much as the perky yellow sweater with bright greek letters. The best tell was the makeup marred from a night in a cell. Detective Vargas judged the younger woman exhausted, in over her head, desperate, and tired.

“Sarah?” Detective Vargas said. “You’ve had quite a night haven’t you?”

The late morning sun had begun its climb in the sky, though there was no window in this room. Detective Vargas liked it this time. No other officers bothered to watch interrogations at around 9:45am. The young woman silently nodded.

“Your boyfriend, Cory?” began Detective Vargas. “He’s not telling us where he got the MDMA. Smart boy, Cory, right?”

“Yeah,” said Sarah with a cautious breath.

“Says you’re not involved.”

“That’s right. I didn’t know he was selling shit,” she added.

Detective Vargas liked it when captives lied to her.

“So you wouldn’t know where he got it?” Detective Vargas added. “Because I think you do.”

Sarah said nothing and looked away.

“You live on campus, right?” said Vargas.

“What do you care?”

“Just wondering if you went home for the summer,” said Vargas. She flipped through a smartphone idly.

“Yeah, I sure did,” said Sarah.

“No summer organic chemistry lab?” said Vargas stopping on a photo of Sarah’s social media. It showed the young woman proudly smiling in a lab coat. Vargas held the phone like a poker hand. Sarah looked away again.

“Can’t I just go home?” said Sarah.

“Yes,” said Detective Vargas. “But what’s with your storage unit though?”

Sarah looked at Vargas for a guilty second and then looked away. Next her sharp exhale and tightening of her lip made Vargas smile. Closing for the kill, Vargas stood at her height and looked down at Sarah. She only crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not sure what you need a storage unit for,” said Vargas. “Since you didn’t leave campus this summer.”

She stepped around the table and stood next to Sarah.

“Should we search it?” smirked Vargas. “Find out more? Or should we let you go home?”

“I don’t know anything,” repeated Sarah. “I’m waiting for a lawyer.”

“We can get you one, or you can go right now,” said Detective Vargas. “I need something before you leave though.” She placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, massaging the tense cold muscles. Reacting in disbelief at Vargas’ gentle fearlessness, Sarah only looked up in fright. Vargas brushed Sarah’s disheveled hair aside and whispered into her ear.

“Give me a few nice licks,” she said and then raked her tongue over Sarah’s lobes.

“What the fuck?” Sarah said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Your way out,” cooed Detective Vargas, as she held Sarah’s face. “The last gate to get through before your bad dream is over.”

“Fuck you,” Sarah stammered, her voice too tired and the night too long for her to be angry. “I want my lawyer.”

Detective Vargas unbuckled her belt.

“Lawyers take time,” she said. “If we’re doing it that way, I’ll search your storage unit.”

She dropped her belt to the ground with a clatter.

“But this other way out, Isn’t it so much easier?”

Sarah looked up and down Vargas’s body, then her eyes rested on her pelvis. She rolled her lips.

“If I do this,” she said. “We’re done? I’m out of here?”

“My solemn promise.”

Vargas shoved the interrogation table back, sat on its edge, and opened her legs. Sarah took a resigned breath and then handled Vargas’s pants. A button and zipper came undone under Vargas’s leer. Shifting her hips encouraged the cornered little suspect to hurried compliance. Sarah hefted down the jeans and the plain underwear. Vargas opened her knees and showed her trimmed, demanding, pussy.

Sarah took one more look at the detective. That glossy dissociation in her eyes entertained Vargas. The looks of spite and surrender turned her on like no other. Her sex moistened and warmed. Sarah’s first gentle pinches at the outer lips built a savory sensitivity. Vargas knew for certain then that Sarah had done this before. Then again, these college brats almost always had.

Sarah fondled the pussy and responded to the sighs and whispered commands. Vargas’s clit was plucked by dainty fingers and then suckled by defeated lips. The heavy smooth feeling delighted as much as the captive’s reluctance. After all, a resentful finger penetrating her pleasured as well as lover’s nails. A desperate tongue lavished as well as one from a seduced partner. Any emotion had its utility, though Vargas enjoyed using some more than others.

“Keep at it, bitch,” she groaned. “Get that dirty tongue all over. Drink all my juices.”

Sarah complied, her eyes closed and her gaping mouth covered so much of Vargas’s pussy. The ravishing grew more hurried, more fierce, and more determined. Energy built up inside Vargas. She reached down and grabbed the back of Sarah’s messy hair. Holding tight, she kicked her legs open wide and rubbed herself onto Sarah’s face. Vargas exhaled in sharp huffs. A drug-like wave of pleasure enlivened her muscles. When the dizziness hit her head, Vargas laughed and let Sarah’s hair go.

Sarah pulled away. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and glared up at Vargas. It was an expression Vargas knew and felt for one the moment: humiliation. One more suspect humiliated made Vargas feel as alive. It had her heart beating as fast as when she once hunted suspects.

“You going to let me go now?” muttered Sarah.

“Oh yes, Sarah,” she said. “Think we’ll cross paths again?”

Sarah said nothing.

“Yeah whatever,” said Vargas. “Don’t get caught okay?”

It had been good for everyone and Vargas knew it. A boyfriend would get a good lawyer and probably plea out for a six month stint. The lawyer would get a nice paycheck. Sarah would probably move her little chemistry project somewhere else, or maybe dismantle it. She got herself a get out of jail free card from this whole fiasco. Detective Vargas had had her fun. She even collected cash from a colleague who bet that Sarah would insist on waiting for a lawyer. No lawyer talked better than Vargas and she proceeded on with her day buoyed on the victory from the morning.

Her less dull duties passed quickly too. She reexamined a double homicide from two nights ago. A body had been shot twice in the chest. It was a male. Blood pooled around it and the face looked up at the ceiling in rigor mortis. Some bystander, maybe another customer, took a bullet in the stomach as he had come out of the restroom. Blood in that case pooled around his side as if he napped. He closed his eyes before he died. Vargas wondered why some bodies closed their eyes before they died and others kept them open. Some things she would never know, but she knew -thanks to her morning victory- that she’d solve this case before Shales and Rosingar tried to one up her again.

It took only one letter to sink that mood.

“Vargas?” said Jarod. He was a handsome younger officer with nice biceps and bright brown eyes. Vargas loved a San Jose summer.


“Letter for you,” he said. He held a yellow envelope in his hand. “Looks personal.”

Vargas held the letter and scanned it with her eyes for imperfections. Nothing from the glue to the stamp looked out of place. The return address was Los Angeles county.

“LA?” she said out loud. “Hey did this get cleared by security?”

“Of course,” said Jarod. “Issue?”

“I don’t know anyone in Los Angeles. This is a little random is all,” smiled Vargas. “Thanks for the note. Got anything else to give me?”

“Maybe after tomorrow’s shift is up,” Jarod said nodding back. “Got time to hit up Marshall’s High Top bar?”

“That one? What about the dive called Spyder’s? Heard your team arrested two perps there last week.”

“Oh you looking for action, Detective?” said Jarod.


“Then I insist on Marshall’s High Top,” he said. Vargas considered biting back.

“Marshall’s it is. I’m out of here at half past five.”

“See you then.”

She eyed Jarod and touched a pen to her lips. It got a reaction. She liked it. Maybe she’d tease him later, get his pants down sometime, take his dick into her mouth and take a bite. Yes, that’s the great thing about getting those parts on the inside, one chomp down and its blood. Amazing how much people trust each other. Yet that officer only cracked a smile back. Vargas watched his thighs as he left.

With hands in white gloves, Vargas read the letter. Hand written? That was unusual. Who does that? She read lines and shivered. “Erica, I miss you so much,” it began. “I hated how things ended, because I can’t stop thinking about how good we were together in Silver Lake.” Silver Lake? No this didn’t make any sense. It sounded like Zoey. That’s Zoey Howers the news podcaster until some years ago. Years before that, she was Erica Vargas’s Silver Lake neighbor, frequent fuck buddy, and eventually lover. Things hadn’t ended well. Erica Vargas slept with one of Zoey’s exes and for some reason that made Zoey upset. Erica couldn’t forget that, she had said that her fingers and mouth could please Zoey as well as any other. What was it Zoey had said right then after that? It was written in this letter, “You’re more than a collection of parts, animated by cravings, Erica. I know that now. You could be so much more.” No, this didn’t make any sense. Who else could’ve known those exact words? Did someone get Zoey’s journals? Did Zoey share that in a message? Maybe Zoey had shared it with a therapist. That would be most probable.

After all, this letter couldn’t have been from Zoey. Zoey Howers had died three years ago.

No one makes a fool of Detective Vargas, and she would have a chat with whoever sent this. They were idiots to hand write it. That meant skin cells, patterns in the slopes of the pen, even the kind of paper might be a clue. Detective Vargas handed the letter to the forensics team who agreed to look at it.

That night, though, she watched a video of Zoey Howers on her phone. Zoey, god it had been several years since she’d spoken. Zoey had been the one of the few women to end things with Vargas before Vargas got bored, or maybe Vargas had been bored, but she wasn’t bored of Zoey. No Zoey had all the attachment to Vargas as a dozen other casual lovers, yet somehow she banished Erica from her life. That burn to the ego ate at Detective Vargas, but she loved having Zoey around too. What’s the deal with people and exclusivity? It’s not like random partners tainted your body or something. Bodies were just that, things that could communicate and have affect on other people, like Zoey Howers was doing on her laptop screen right then. She had her mic between her and two student activists from UCLA discussing gentrification. Zoey and the students had taken part in a downtown Los Angeles tenants’ strike and a march at city hall demanding expanded rent controls. It was one of the last podcasts Zoey Howers recorded. Less than two weeks later, Zoey danced at one of the clubs she and Vargas had attended, and was cut down in a blast of gunfire from a domestic terrorist. What was the name of the place? It was the Blue Bumble, Vargas remembered.

The shooter was chased into a blind alley, and Vargas enjoyed the body cam footage. Three officers shot him six times. It’s quite a rush seeing police in action, or anyone really.

When Vargas returned to work the next day, the forensics team shared their conclusions. Not a trace of skin had been on the paper, which was common notebook paper that could have been purchased anywhere. The ink in the letter? From a 0.5 art pen, equally common.

“What about the hand writing?” Detective Vargas asked her colleague.

“We’d need some other samples to be sure,” said the lab coated tech.

He turned his computer screen around and displayed the side by side samples for Vargas. It displayed a 92% likely match.

The social ritual of the date provided more than pretense for Vargas this time. The light drinks and the over priced tapas of Marshall’s High Top bar provided a needed distraction. Furthermore, she had learned throughout the years that humans enjoyed the repetitions, and the chats, and the light laughter that came with a nice dinner. Still, when it came time to end the night she was happy to follow Jarod home.

Back there, Jarod clearly wanted Detective Vargas on her knees. She preferred him on his back. Through a feverish make out, they contended with each other. Each slight button undone and each bit of cloth removed displayed their strength and yet also their vulnerability. Only one would win. Pecks on his neck summoned moans of satisfaction. Vargas prevailed in that moment. Jarod fell to his bed and Vargas stripped more naked. Firm mounds of his muscle resisted her squeezing. She dug her nails into his pectorals until that handsome officer begged for mercy.

That’s when Vargas rewarded him. She opened her mouth, and swallowed that rigid, prone, cock. A smooth tongue made the man hers, but a simple chomp and she could destroy him. Vargas had thought that many times with many partners. Once again, with this groaning sex toy at her mercy, and that salty hot dick in her mouth, she fantasized about blood exploding onto her face. Oh it would be so hot. This though, wouldn’t be the time she could get away with it. Even more, her own blood pumped into her pelvis and the living sex toy in her mouth had so many uses.

Vargas straddled him. There, she aimed the cock up into her pussy. Riding him controlled his body until his face tightened, and his head rolled to the side. It was like watching him gasp, or choke, or die. That’s why she enjoyed the top position so much. He came inside her too. People come when they’re connected, and she liked the connection with him. Only then did she allow herself to be taken like a whore on all fours. Once positioned, Jarod fucked her hard, and she fondled her own clit until she climaxed.

It electrified her body, and then filled a void she always forgot she had. Writhing in submission connected Erica to her fuck buddy and even to herself. So overwhelmed with pleasure, detective Vargas became more than a body and an ego. The orgasm from someone had touched her and she felt what he felt. Damn, that sensation of pride, pleasure, and a soul wreaked havoc on her nerves. She’d never wish to be seen like this, for reasons she never understood. She tended to fuck to dominate and orgasms like those gave her something beyond that. She craved the sublime experience of full and complete humanity.

As she cuddled with Jarod, that sensation faded as it always did. Vargas lost that strange inner state that humans have. She was a collection of fearless organic parts once again.

Erica Vargas’s cell phone chirped at three in the morning. She rolled away from Jarod and gazed in to the spectral blue screen glow.

“Erica? Did you get my letter?”

Erica shivered. The text message came from, a bunch of random characters? It wasn’t a number. It wasn’t blocked. It was indecipherable. This stalker had gone out of the way to bother her. Vargas was up to the challenge.

“I don’t know who this is, but it is literally my job to find people like you,” she texted back. Turning the phone face down and ringer off let Vargas protect herself. She cuddled next to Jarod’s warm body. The phone buzzed again.

“It’s me, Zoey,” the text message read. “I miss you. I want you. Come find me.”

“You are going to REGRET IT when I find you,” texted back Vargas with angry thumbs. “Zoey is dead. You’re not her.”

She shoved the phone away again. Jarod muttered something as she rolled next to him. A droning synth wave and metronomic bass hits emanated from her phone. A floaty feminine voice hypnotized in verses.

“Fuck!” grunted Vargas grabbing her phone. With sweaty palms, she fumbled to turn it off while the unforgettable song droned on.

“Vargas?” said Jarod sitting up. “What the hell? What is it?”

“It’s ‘Cursed’,” snapped Vargas referring to the song’s title.


“And nothing,” panted Vargas. It was only a song. Only one of hundreds in Zoey’s playlist. Any particular song could have been picked at any moment. It was only a coincidence that ‘Cursed’ played the first time Erica ate Zoey out. Sure, Zoey climaxed to the haunting beauty of this song, but that didn’t make it special. It never had to be a special song. Vargas had the phone off at last, and would smash it if it bothered her again. She reached down to Jarod’s dick and found it a dangling rope. It hardened for her.

“Got energy for another late night fuck?”


“Just answer, yes, Jarod.”

The following morning, Detective Erica Vargas looked across her chief’s desk at a skeptical superior.

“A leave of absence?” he said.

“Only one week. That’s all I need.”

“Vargas, we had you on that double homicide because you asked for it. Now you want to leave. Why?” he said. “You wanted the laurels for solving this one. I put you on it because I thought you could.”

“I think Shales and Rosingar can handle it now,” she said, gulping because she hated to lose to them on this too. The chief crossed his arms.

“You’re not handing this case over to your favorite colleagues,” he said with clear sarcasm, “because the investigation of the scene was a dead end are you, Vargas? Want someone else’s name on a cold case? Is that it?”

“Chief,” she said sitting and feigning submission. “Let me be honest: this is personal. It’s about the Blue Bumble okay?”

The chief nodded in a ‘go on’ sort of way.

“I had a friend that was one of the victims,” she said. “It’s been years since it happened. I can’t say I’ve dealt with it.”

That convinced him.

“I can’t promise you’ll be back on this case in a week,” he said.

“I understand, sir.”

“Alright then Vargas,” he said. “I’ll make the changes today. Take all the leave you need.”

Erica Vargas drove five hours south to West Los Angeles where she found herself a boutique hotel. She visited the LAPD, flashed her badge, and asked for some department to department favors. Hardly any cops wanted to talk about the Blue Bumble shooting. Though when Erica played the role of a grieving detective on a mission, they opened up to her. She was promised access to crime scene photos, autopsy reports, and anything she’d need when she returned on Monday.

With little to fill her time Erica considered driving all the way out to Silver Lake, and maybe haunt some of the places that she and Zoey visited. Though it wouldn’t do much good there to prove that Zoey had in fact died, and maybe her anonymous harasser expected that. Instead, Zoey chose someplace public to scope out: the Blue Bumble itself. It was a Saturday evening, and the club was filled with reveling Hollywood hopefuls. All of them worked hard to stay beautiful, and Erica enjoyed the eye candy. She even enjoyed flirting with another woman, while she waited for other friends.

The Blue Bumble had a memorial at one of the booths. Pictures of the victims hung in frames, among them was Zoey. A short epitaph read “Activist. Journalist. Fur Mom.” Vargas looked away at the empathetic, photogenic, smile, and distracted herself with the beautiful dancing bodies. There were no signs in this club of bullet fire or blood. It amazed Erica how much those things could get cleaned up. If it wasn’t for those photos, no one would even have to remember. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the next lonely bigot opened fire on happy people. Zoey suddenly felt exposed without her gun, and kissed her unexpected date good night.

While Vargas slept, she heard the voice of Zoey. “Miss you…” Those soft words could not be mistaken. Erica ignored it. Yet it only persisted and called to her again. Vargas clicked out the lights and coiled her bedsheets tighter around her. Despite that, the hotel sheets slipped off her shoulders, exposing her arm and neck. The cool air touched her skin, and then it became warm. “Miss touching you…” Zoey’s voice whispered. Vargas’s night time tank top rolled up from her belly. Something hooked around her panty’s waistline and tugged them down.

“Stop it,” said Vargas slapping her hand to her underwear. “You’re not real. You’re not here.”

A heavy, smooth, and warm sensation coiled around her wrists like a snake. Vargas’s arms flailed against the invisible force, and it only got stronger. Something pinned her wrists together above her head. Her tank top was yanked up and pulled off.

“Always wished to be the top…”

“Stop it!” cried Erica.

A slithering spiraled around her legs. Vargas couldn’t kick. Her panties slid down her legs and then something pulled at the thighs and opened them.

“Not Zoey!”

“Am I?” came that voice. A touch followed. Was it lips? Fingers? No, that couldn’t be it. Erica couldn’t be feeling that irresistibly skilled caress at her pussy. This had to be a memory. Erica Vargas had taught Zoey to please her like this. Zoey loved nothing more than doing it. Bewildered by pleasure, and confused at what she couldn’t see, Vargas succumbed.

“Do more like how I told you, Zoey,” she breathed out. “Lick me like I taught you.”

A fluttering of tongue whipped Erica’s clit. A hard tendril entered her wetness.

“Fuck… How?!” sighed Erica accepting the pleasure. Bliss overtook her mind and her body quaked against her unseen restraints. Heedless, Erica bucked her hips against what pleased her. An explosive climax broke her last line of resistance, releasing buried memories of Zoey into consciousness. Zoey missed Erica. Now, Erica craved for her lost friend and lover as well.

“I will have you. We will be together,” the voice whispered. Vargas was released from her bounds and her eyes closed in satisfaction. When the sunlight hit her eyelids, and awoke her, Vargas found herself naked upon messy sheets.

Monday came. Erica glanced over the mortician’s photos. The corpse had eyes closed and the straight hair had been slicked back. She examined the eyebrows, the lips, and slight jut of the chin, and saw no flaws. The bloodless face in the photos had to be Zoey. Still, suppose someone had reconstructed the face of another. Perhaps it was a fake corpse placed there by a mad conspiracy. How about that tattoo? Yes, the other photos showed the antique compass that Zoey had on her shoulder. Erica examined the chest next. That’s where those exit wounds were. So Zoey had been shot in the back. Speaking of the back, Erica examined that part next. Zoey had a mole on her lower right latissimus dorsi. Erica found the same mole, unmistakably dark against the corpse’s skin on the morgue photos. Futhermore, Erica’s examination of the original crime scene photos revealed nothing different. Zoey’s body had been photographed with fastidious care, and the entrance wounds on her back matched what Erica saw on the mortician’s photos. Not even the red pools of blood around bodies showed anything suspicious.

Her phone pinged to life.

“So nice to touch you last night… did you like it, Erica?”

Vargas texted back.

“I’ve been looking at some photos of a body, recognize it?”

She took a snapshot of the mortician’s photo and sent it.

“I know I’m dead, Erica. You don’t have to remind me.”

“You’re not a ghost. I’m going to find you.”

“I want you to find me. I can prove I’m me. You’ll see.”

Vargas was about to type out another annoyed response, when she stopped. The number it came from was no longer a scrambled string. It began with a 323, a local area code in Los Angeles. “Holy shit…” gasped Vargas. “You idiot. I have you.” Mere hours later, Vargas was in the back of a police SUV. She watched with detached satisfaction as cops exited a squad car in front of her, issued an arrest on a resident, and pulled him into the car. Vargas sized him up quickly. Early twenties. Caucasian. He had the thin yet muscular build and a motorcycle club patch on his jacket.

She considered questioning him right that night, but restrained herself. Erica Vargas insisted the LAPD do her one last favor, and allow her to interrogate him first thing in the morning. As he was chained to the table, he did nothing but stare at her. She only stared back, counting the seconds and savoring the moment.

“How do you know me?” Vargas said at last.


“You fucked up. We traced your cell phone. You lost. I got you,” she said. “So, how do you know me?”

“Are you crazy?” he said. His head cocked to the side.

“Okay…” smirked Vargas. She plopped copies of Zoey’s morgue photos and Blue Bumble crime scene pictures in front of him. His nostrils scrunched in disgust. His hands pulled at the table restraints.

“Take a good look. How did you know her?”

“Listen lady… I don’t know what you’re…”

“Look!” cried Vargas. She grabbed his hair and slammed his face down onto the photos. A surge of adrenaline spiked in her veins. “You tell me now! I caught you! It’s over!”

“What the fuck!? I dunno! I dunno!”

Vargas screamed. She held his hair tight and slammed his head against the metal table again and again.

“Vargas!” shouted a voice in the intercom. She relented. The terrified prisoner cried reaching for his bruised forehead. Vargas stepped outside the interrogation room where another cop handed her a phone.

“You wanna calm down in there? It’s your chief.”

“What?” blinked Vargas. “What about?”

The cop pointed to the hapless prisoner in the room.

“We ran prints on that poor asshole. Looks like they matched a crime scene up in your metro.”

Vargas had lost control. That made her hand tremble as she raised the phone receiver to her ear.


“Detective, you wanna tell me why you insisted this was ‘personal time’ when you were chasing a lead on that double homicide?”

“No.. Not like that,” insisted Vargas. “It was… good intuition?”

The chief snorted in the phone.

“Vargas, I’ve known you for five years and I know you don’t have intuition of any kind,” he said.

“It’s…” Vargas winced.

“Oh this is new,” said the Chief. “You see I figured you ran some scheme to humiliate Shales and Rosingar. Now, I’m actually not sure.”

Damn, that would’ve been a great story to spin.

“You got me. I’m working the case,” began Vargas.

“Whatever lead sent you down there,” the chief cut her off. “You have 48 hours to get back up here, understand?”

“Chief. No. I swear…”

“Forty Eight hours,” he said. “That suspect will be up here not later than that.”

Vargas power walked out of the station and into her car. Her phone buzzed her once more.

“I gave you a gift. Did you like it?”

The number was scrambled again.

“FUCK YOU!!!” Vargas texted back.

“I fuck. I fuck you like we did in Silver Lake. Or that time in Arizona. Or at the Austin Festival.

Vargas growled. She squeezed the phone tightly in one hand, and reached for her baton. As soon as she opened the door, that familiar song played from it once more. She bumped her head in the car in surprise and the phone clattered to the ground.

Erica Vargas picked it up. She sent one more text.

“You are dead. I saw your body. You’re not alive.”

“You saw pictures, Erica. You never saw my body.”

Vargas grabbed her baton and pummeled her phone to splinters on the asphalt.

Zoey Howers had been interred at Hollywood Forever cemetery. Erica Vargas waited until night, and then waited longer. Late night road construction would cover the noise. Zoey’s casket resided in a small mausoleum. Heavy bolts of brass held the polished granite seal. With a drill she’d borrowed out of the cemetery’s office, Vargas undid the bolts. The whirring of the drill and the cracking of stone echoed off the polished walls. Next, the seal fell down with a thud. A dusty casket lay within and Erica dragged it out.

“You found me.”

Zoey’s voice whispered from behind, as Vargas was hunched over the floor with the casket halfway out. She didn’t want to turn around. She knew nothing could be there.

“You’re dead, Zoey,” said Vargas. She dragged the casket out further. “Dead people can’t talk. There’s a body in here. I know it’s yours.”

“I am dead, and I still miss you,” the voice spoke so clearly now, angering Vargas. She spun around determined to prove to the nothing that nothing could be there, and instead confronted a billowing apparition of black smoke. It had the face and torso of Zoey. It had her particular chin, her jaw, the alluring almond shape of her eyes. Her chest and shoulders couldn’t be mistaken either. Vargas remembered too many nights pressed against that petite body, and so many evenings of caressing those nipples. Erica looked down, curious about the legs, and saw only a flowing black cloud.

“What are you?” said Vargas to it.

Zoey’s lips parted in desire. Lithe arms stretched towards Vargas who stumbled back. Colliding against a wall, she could only look back at Zoey’s apparition. The hands touched her cheeks with unexpected warmth. Zoey drifted in, and her lips touched Vargas. Erica kept her eyes open in shock. Then her mouth opened in concession. She shared a kiss with Zoey which put her into a trance. It had only been Zoey who could ever do that.

“Why?” Vargas said. “You were the only one who ever rejected me.”

The ghostly figure smirked in sudden supremacy.

“Here I am. I’m dead. Still reaching out to you, and you’re worried about why I rejected you?”

Tendrils spiraled around Vargas’s legs. The sudden constriction quelled confusion.

“Maybe in death I’ve learned not to care,” said Zoey. “Or maybe I don’t care who you cheated on me with. Or maybe there is something only I can give you.”

“You can’t give me anything, Zoey,” muttered Vargas. She didn’t believe it. The void that orgasms filled yawned ever more hollow within. For the first time Vargas could not ignore that empty space. She needed to come right then to fill it up, to make the empty part of her soul whole.

“Remove your shirt, Erica,” whispered Zoey.

Erica Vargas lifted the tank top over her head and unclasped the bra beneath. She stood there, with her heart pumping and nipples hard and erect. Vargas liked being missed, and Zoey had clawed back from the dead to reach her. Now, she expected to be adored, like she had so many times before. Yet Vargas had never known that huge hollow place inside her. It was as if she was skin and bones stretching over nothing. The voluminous spectral cloud enshrouded her, and Vargas wanted it within.

Warm breath from Zoey brushed her neck. The sensation, so long forgotten, of her chest pressed to Vargas. She reached out into the air, wrapped her arm around Zoey’s neck and drew her close. The mouth that met hers warmed as they kissed. Zoey’s tongue pushed harder, deeper, and shockingly strong. Like a heavy whip, it pressed down into Vargas’s throat making her groan at the subjugation.

“Did you like that, Erica?”


“I’m glad you liked it,” purred Zoey. Tendrils of smoke changed to heavy tentacles which tightened down on Vargas’s limbs. Then, Vargas found her arms tightened stretched out to her sides and her ankles likewise restrained.

“I love you, Erica,” whispered Zoey. Smaller tentacles undid Erica’s pants and pulled them down. “As cold as you are, I still loved you. Soon, I will fix you.”

In a violent yank, Vargas’s knees were spread open. Her pussy, left prone, received a heavy smack. It ignited such arousal, that she gasped and shouted. It hurt, and she loved it. Zoey beat her again with other stray tendrils. All the while Vargas looked to Zoey’s beautiful face hovering above her. As Vargas panted and shouted at the sudden pain, Zoey watched and read every tremor in the body in her possession.

Vargas would have taken more. She knew she could take more. What she wasn’t ready for was Zoey’s torture of tenderness, as her hands and tentacles rubbed her body. She shook against the bounds that held her, only for Zoey to reflect her strength.

“Make me come, Zoey,” she begged.

“Like this?”

A tentacle pushed its way into Vargas’s slick sex, and throbbed there. Then another curled around her clit and squeezed.

“Yes!” cried Erica.

“I missed you so much, Erica!” cried Zoey. She embraced Vargas once again. With their chests together, and Zoey’s arms holding tight, Erica was lifted into the air on a thick mass of flowing muscle. Constraining her even more, layers of tendrils wrapped around her arms at her back. Vargas loved it. Zoey’s tender lips, mighty smacks, and persistent penetrations filled the hollow inside her.

“You will come for me, Erica,” Zoey said. “Then you’ll come again.”

“Yes!” panted Erica. She spasmed against Zoey’s unyielding bounds as a juice spilling orgasm made her dizzy. She found herself spinning once again when Zoey shifted, turned, and otherwise controlled her. Erica took another thrashing at her back as Zoey suckled at her nipples in her front. The unreal and unrelenting passion cursed Erica into depravity that she had never known. Bound, controlled, and at another’s mercy could not possibly break her. Despite that, she wished it too. Another violent orgasm electrified the nerves of her body and she wept. Lost to Zoey’s machinations, Erica could not even beg for more.

Erica Vargas awoke as the cool morning mist crept through the mausoleum. Her bare skin rolled away from the smooth granite. For the first time, Erica shivered. She was naked, and trembled as if the chilling had never touched her before. Would someone see her? What had transpired? Erica remembered the night. She remembered how Zoey lowered her, in a loving cradling down in a corner of the mausoleum. She remembered Zoey covering her as if a tent filled with pillows.

Zoey was dead. Oh god, why did Zoey have to die?

Too many thoughts and feelings screamed in Erica’s mind. Covering her chest she sat and ordered those trespassing anxieties to silence and to submission. Unruly and obstinate, they still demanded something of her. Erica looked over at the casket. She closed her eyes and lifted the lid. Inside, the thinned, bloodless, and decayed visage of Zoey rested, eyes closed in a morbid peace. Vargas touched the corpse’s cheek and found it as cold as stone. She jerked her hand back in grief, and retreated away. Huddling to the corner, she wondered if death itself touched her hand. That’s not how bodies work, and that was still Zoey’s in there. Zoey wasn’t supposed to be cold and decayed. Gulping down the shock, she crawled to the casket and knelt over it. Detective Erica Vargas looked at a corpse and cried.


Special thanks to Bobbi Mare and Nicolas Belvoir for their beta reading.

Thanks to Tokyo Rose, whose song “Cursed” helped inspire this work.

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Secular Supplicants of the Tentacle Cult: Part 02

The following morning was Saturday and I got call that my car was ready. The mechanic, Cedric of Cedric and Cousins Auto shop, showed me the bill. Only sixty dollars.

“Why? What’s wrong, was something missed?” I said.

“Nothing wrong we could find,” said Cedric.

“But how?”

Cedric shrugged.

“Look,” he pointed to several blank lines in the invoice. “We’re not charging you for nothing. The car was fine when we tested it last night. Checked again this morning too.”

“But it wouldn’t start?” I said. Still elated from the day before, I didn’t get that mad that he didn’t believe me, only a little annoyed.

“We spent four hours checking everything we could,” he said. “I had one mechanic check the other’s work. I didn’t believe it either. Your car is fine, miss. Labor only, with a discount.”

“Okay,” I said relaxing.

I paid him and took my car off the lot. I called Marley and we met at my apartment. I opened a bottle of red and toasted to my car and to “integrated empowerment.”

“Ahh so you went, huh?” said Marley.

“I did, indeed,” I said. I shared my experience with the amazing Illaria. Definitely something that I would repeat. She shared a little of her experience too, including the top of her breasts where red lines marked her skin.

“She cut you?” I said in shock.

“Scratched,” said Marley. “Blood.”

My eyes widened in surprise. It’s unsafe and Illaria never did that with me.

“I’ve always had a fetish for bleeding,” added Marley. “Illaria brought it out of me.”

“So she’s a pro tormentor?”

Marley shook her head.

“She’s everything she says she is,” said Marley. “Let’s pour another toast. For Chicago.”

I had almost forgotten the reason for Gray Temple to begin with.

“I’m not short listed yet,” I said. There had not yet been any evidence that the contract I signed last night was real.

“You will be,” said Marley. Her arm wandered over and her fingers ran through my hair.

“That’s… surprisingly nice,” I said. She inhaled, raising her cleavage. It caught my eye. She caught me looking.

“Yeah?” Marley cooed. She pushed her glass aside. “You seem extra sensitive right now too.”

Her other hand took mine. My heart palpitated in excitement.

“And loose,” she said. “Did Illaria give you the second best orgasm you’ll have this week?”

“Second best?” I giggled.

“Second to one I’m going to give you today.”

Marley and I were unclothed and uninhibited only a few minutes later. Tumbling around together in my bed, we took turns penetrating the other and tasting bare skin. Marley came first, while I had my vibrator pushed inside and my lips around her nipple. Her arm wrapped around me, squeezing me hard as she did. Her fingers dug into my back. Would I too learn to like the pain of broken skin and blood too as she did? Yet after she recovered I contended myself to our next level of play. Marley improvised a flogger out of her belt and brought it down hard on my bare ass, thighs, and even my chest. Then Marley fulfilled her promise. She toyed with my pussy for what felt like days, pulling my brain into a thick miasma of pleasure. I came for my first time that day, shaking all over the bed. That only excited Marley further. We played with each other on and off for the rest of that afternoon. God, the sex was so amazing. Nothing is healthier than falling asleep next to a partner after you’ve had that much group exercise.

Monday arrived and I made my rounds at the hospital ward. One of the nurses interrupted me and indicated that my duties for later the afternoon had been rescheduled.

“Why?” I said startled. I’d been caring for the same round of patients for the last week. This isn’t something that would be taken from me.

“You’re going for an oncology spot in Chicago right?” she said.

I answered nothing. The nerves inside me wouldn’t let me move. I had to think myself out of it.

“Okay yes,” added the nurse. “You have an informative meeting? Like an interview?”

“Interview?” I exclaimed.

“Well no not really. We set up a video conference for you though..”

That had been enough talk. At the scheduled time I entered a video conference with several leads of the Chicago Adventist Oncology department. They had added an opening, had seen my resume, heard of my work, and examined my application. I suppressed my excitement and tremendous trepidation while we discussed the practice of medicine in the most professional manner. There would be a follow up of course. There would need to be a last minute in person interview. All of which would happen quickly as their need was quite sudden.

I called Elliot first. He didn’t pick up and I left an excited and fast speaking message into his phone. We might both be heading to Chicago together, finding a cure for cancer, and be able to continue our fucking. Marley I called next.

“Hey Marley!” I said. “I can barely believe it, but it worked!”



“Ahh, so are you a believer in Grey Temple and integrated Empowerment?” she teased.

“Believer?” I said. That’s not a word I used. Taking steps back mentally, I considered the dangers of confirmation bias. Yet, I hadn’t exactly had any bias to begin with. There had been an agreement. But how did Grey Temple do this? Did they have some connections? Some people?

“What is Grey Temple?” I said. “I mean really? They’re not wellness consultants, are they?”

“The Grey Temple? They’re making the world better. One client at a time.”

“I know that. What I mean is how?”

“That’s all something isn’t it?” said Marley. “I’m not legally allowed to explain. I can promise, Illaria will be happy to meet with you again.”

I don’t call myself a believer. I don’t call Marley and evangelist. Yet there we were.

“Doctor McSweeney?” came the nurse with urgency.

“Yes?” I said holding my cell phone from my ear.

“It’s Elliot,” she said. “You should know…”

“Know what?”

Elliot slept in a medically induced coma. I’m not his physician. I can’t know everything about his record, but he had been transported to the same hospital we had worked in. Stitches marred his beautiful face. His left arm was in a cast. Blankets covered his legs and he was immobilized. I asked around for what had happened. A big rig on the highway buckled after a tire blew out. That caused a three car pile up with Elliot involved. No deaths? From everything I’d known about accidents like these there was always at least one fatality. That’s just statistical probability after all. Thousands of cars pass big rigs every day. Statistically, there would be at least a few accidents like these.

But not Elliot. Why? If he was in a medically induced coma, we would not know when he would come out. If that happened, then he couldn’t go to Chicago. If he couldn’t go to Chicago then…

I refused to consider it. Correlation does not imply causation. This is as true for diagnosing patients as it is for years of research to cure polio. There was no way that I could handle what I was looking at right now. Not at Elliot. If I kept looking at him like this I would definitely start foolishly thinking that correlation implies causation. That’s psychology, and I’m not immune to it. There didn’t have to be a reason why this tragedy happened. I knew this also, its easier and often more important to falsify a theory than to confirm it.

I knew how to falsify.

I chanted ‘correlation does not imply causation’ as I drove to the temple. I bumped over a curb as I parked my car and then entered the temple. I observed the receptionist. I walked past her and entered Illaria’s office. Despite my brashness, she gave me an attentive look.

“Jeri,” she said. “Hey there. Why don’t you take a seat.”

“Falsification criteria does not require that I sit.”

Illaria cocked her head to the side.

“Jeri, is something wrong?” she asked.

“Elliot was in a car accident. Did you do that?” I asked.

“Oh Jeri,” she spoke like melting chocolate. I sat down and Illaria reclined near me.

“Now Jeri you’re not worried at all about your position in Chicago. You’re maybe worried about how it happened,” she began. “Is that right?”


“The Old One of the Temple makes things happen,” she began. “We influence the fate of others. We use that to fulfill our contracts within the best and most holistic ethical practices.”

I didn’t know which sounded more nonsensical, ‘the Old One’ or that she said this was holistic and ethical.

“Think of it like this: your future work on cancer will save thousands. Perhaps hundreds of thousands over the course of your lifetime. What’s a few months or a few years in a coma compared to all that?”

“He might not be able to walk again,” I said. “You’ve sacrificed one person’s utility for another.”

“The contract stated that Grey Temple fulfills its part at its own discretion, Jeri,” she said. “The Old One guides those decisions.”

I stood up. I didn’t want to hear anything about an Old One anymore.

“I’ve had enough. Whatever you did, I’m seeing the police about it. You’re not a business. You’re a dangerous cult,” I declared. I headed for the door.

“Would that help Elliot at all?” Illaria spoke, halting me. She had a point. Even if I went to the police, found a good prosecutor, pried their secrets through investigations, Elliot still suffered.

“What exactly do you think you could do? This is medicine,” I said.

“Well, we may be a cult. But we’re a real one,” said Illaria. She rolled up her loose long sleeve. Her left forearm glowed under the light. Then it changed. It morphed. It transitioned like puddy into a long single rust red and white tentacle. She curled it around a nearby vase and lifted it up, demonstrating the strength. I had to have been seeing things, but then this tentacle touched me. A warm, fleshy, weight landed on my skin and I knew it instantly. It had touched me before. It had been inside me. It wanted to return and I, shocked and aroused at once, wished that to be so. “The Old One is real. He whispers to me,” continued Illaria. “Perhaps one day he will whisper to you.”

I cannot deny what I see with my own eyes or touch with my own skin. Still, I stepped away from that frustratingly erotic appendage. I wanted to know everything that was going on this time.

“You said the contract let you do what you want? Okay. So be it,” I said. “Now I’d like another one.”

“For Elliot’s speedy recovery and good health?”


We hashed out several terms. I wanted the Old One to not harm Elliot. In fact, I wanted Elliot in Chicago with me. Furthermore, no more unwilling parties to this deal. I didn’t want to later learn that the Old One killed a doctor so that the two of us could cure cancer.

“You drive a shrewd and specific request, Jeri. The Old One requires more in payment. You must accept a geas, for a term of six years.”

“A geas?”

“You will live unbothered. Yet there will be times when the Old One summons you. You will be compelled to return here, and make prostrations,” she said. She looked me in the eye, emphasizing the last point. “You will not be able to refuse the summons any more than you could refuse hunger or sleep. You will come and be ready for the master.”

“How often?”

“That also depends on you,” said Illaria. “The Old One seeks more supplicants. If you introduce us to another client, summons will be less frequent.”

Marley. It clicked in my head. My broken car that wasn’t broken and Marley’s flexible schedule had started all this. I’d been drawn in, but there was no pulling out now. Not if I wanted Elliot to be okay. Hell, things would be better than okay if I made this deal.

“Marley’s a good lawyer,” I said. “Did she write a contract involving this geas?”

“It’s our standard template,” said Illaria smiling. “Let us get it.”

A contract was written. Another pair of signatures were added. In that office, I removed some clothes. I knew what Illaria expected of me. She took me down to the basement. The chains and pillars were ready, but Illaria ignored them.

“Disrobe completely,” she said. Her voice was irresistible. “Now stand in this circle.”

Obeying again, I shivered there. The room darken and Illaria stepped around me, running her tentacle over my flesh. She chanted. The friendly warmth in her voice faded into a dirge. My mind knew this was wrong. A tiny wrong that would produce years of good for the world. I needed to endure for only so long.

And I craved to supplicate.

“Do you wish to know the Old One? To accept his geas? And his touch?” said Illaria. “Of your clear and uncoerced mind?”

“Yes. I do.”

The tiles in the basement shoved aside with the sound of grinding stone. They were pushed away as writing mass of thick, heavy, and long tentacles crawled from the ground. A pair wiggled towards me, twisting around my feet, my calves and upwards. Warm. I found them so unexpectedly warm. Other tentacles wrapped over my arms and torso in a paradoxical, binding of possession and protection. I loved it. I lusted for the Old One as soon as I was hefted into the air.

“The Old One whispers. He is pleased with you, supplicant,” said Illaria. “We will bless you.”

A tentacle emerged before me. Its tip changed to the most wonderful phallus I’d ever seen. I opened my jaw for it and it filled me. I loved sucking it. I knew that I pleased the master. Each pulsating constriction intensified as I sucked it down. Strong cum spurted out and choked me.

“The prostrate must swallow,” intoned Illaria.

Keeping my lips tight the tentacle pulled out, I retained the cum. I suppressed my reflex to spit, chortling against sealed lips instead. I gulped once and then twice. I took the cum down.

“I will have my way with you prostrate,” spoke Illaria for the Old One. “What you have consumed is only the first of many.”

That’s when the beating began. The Old One stretched my limbs as Illaria had only days before. This time, the agonizing strikes came in heavy flurries. The thuds made me shout. I whimpered for mercy, only to be punished again with more wet fleshly lashes. The pain pleasured me so much it messed with my mind, driving further into places that I hadn’t known. A vile seed in my soul germinated. Its roots spanned out into my brain and soon became part of it. Part of me.

The tentacles need not restrain me then. I would have submitted to any whimsy. Yet, I loved the helplessness I had been put into. My clit was tickled by a tentacle tip, and another slid its way in and played with me.

“Fuck!” I roared out. “Please! Please fuck me like that.”

“The slave does not need to speak,” answered Illaria. The cock tipped tentacle entered my mouth and cut off my cries. My pussy grew wet as the tentacle penetrated me more, pumping in and out of me. My eyes closed and my muscles tensed so tight I cried at the pain. Is this what the Old One could do? Could the god get so deep into my mind and soul that my orgasm would be denied? I did not think long on that. I didn’t think on anything. A sudden gush of harrowing pleasure cascaded through me. My orgasm subsided, but it did not stop. It echoed once more. Only the cradle of my new god prevented me from falling to the ground. A mess of cum shot in my pussy and another into my mouth. Prepared this time, I consumed more of the blessing he gave me.

So continued my first prostration. Illaria spoke for the Old One again while I was nothing more than a delirious plaything. I wished for more even when the tentacles sank away lowering me to the ground. Only when they disappeared completely could I reflect on the metaphysical perversity of what had happened. Nothing had made sense in this temple, and I loved every degrading minute of it.

“You may be a person again,” said Illaria speaking for herself. Her tentacle pet my shoulder. “Unless you have enough energy to play with me.”

I wished I could, yet I was so spent. The muscles in the body can only take so much adrenaline before they exhaust themselves. I would no doubt feel the same strain as a mean hangover tomorrow. I needed water.

“My clothes,” I sighed. “I need to head home.”

“Pity,” said Illaria. She retracted her tentacle.

“Will it be like this? Every time?” I said as I stumbled up.

“Sometimes like that. Sometimes longer. Sometimes with several supplicants,” she said. “No one knows.”

“It whispers to you,” I added.

“The Old One whispers, yes. I understand what he wishes. It is not for us to ask why,” she said. “Come let me get you some water.”

I slept well that night, better than I had in ages. After all, for all the manipulation, dense contracts, and humiliations, Illaria would keep her bargain. I could relax with the knowledge that a position at Chicago Adventist Oncology was mine.

Miraculously too, Elliot came out of his coma. I visited him the day after he awoke. We talked for hours of a future in Chicago. I confessed to have missed him for several days, and he pressed if I had found anyone else to play with. Blushing, I admitted that I had.

He was released two weeks later and I wasted no time and took him to bed. He slept naked beside me, I lay watching him contended on the bliss of sex. Then, I heard the whispering. The Old One desired something. Did he want me? No, he desired something of me. It would not be long before I, like Marley, would bring another supplicant to his temple.

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Secular Supplicants of the Tentacle Cult: Part 01

My uncle, a doctor, hoped I would be a minister. A strange thought. You see, he spent much of his life in the developing world on a religious mission to eradicate polio. He saved lives and brought happiness to the world. He also prayed for those who suffered.

I’m different. I had given myself fully to the practical and not the spiritual. Ethics, after all, isn’t really all that metaphysical. You reduce pain. You increase happiness. It’s quite that simple. People ask if doctors must ever consider moral costs. Well yes, I recognize that animal testing is required in research. That is a serious amount of suffering. Now I ask you, as a rational person, what amount of utility has been gained by that? If it could be quantified, it would be infinite.

My devout uncle delivered vaccinations to the masses. Soon, I’d make my contributions too. I’d give so much more than I could as a minister.

Oh, I’d almost forgotten, my name is Jeri McSweeny. Yes, like the macabre musical. I’ve heard it all before.

Now there’s one thing about the medical profession: we take our health and our stress level quite seriously. I don’t mean that we need to be on our feet and away from a soul crushing desk. I don’t mean only nutrition. What I mean is our emotional and physical health requires extra care. There is one thing above all that gets that done as efficiently as a flu shot.

I fuck. Specifically, I fuck Elliot Crooker. Elliot Crooker had a dick that exceeded average size and stuffed me better than any of my penetration toys. His other great asset? His shoulders. You see, Elliot got into the medical field after working as a young EMT. He developed the kind of body that once waded into turbulent flood waters, retrieved an exhausted woman clinging to a tree branch, and carried her to safety. Not since that time had he once let his stamina and muscular physique go. Not even through six years of school.

I experienced that stamina for myself after our usual dinner date. Elliot had me bent over his bed, exposing my vagina. The first penetration stung with that stretch. Then, I couldn’t do anything other than relax and accept that euphoric insertion.

“Fuck me harder,” I stammered.

“Like this?”

He spanked me. The sensation went right up to my head.

“Yes! Like that!”

Slap. Slap. Elliot’s palm thudded. My pussy was so damn wet at that point and he slipped out from me.

“You’re all warmed up now,” he said while his fingers found my clit. I moaned for it. Ahh, it was so good. An entire day’s worth of tension evaporated with a simple caress there. Interesting historical fact: did you know that doctors provided that as a professional service in the years of Victorian prudes?

“You ready for a ride?”

“Fuck yes,” I said.

Cow girl never gets old. I mounted Elliot, taking his girth up inside my cunny. Oh let me tell you how much I enjoyed looking down on him. His pectorals and shoulders widened out as he relaxed. His face? He had these hot blue eyes underneath dense eyebrows. Something about his stubble always made sex better too. It shaded the contours of his jaw and his cheekbones like an airbrushed model on a billboard. He could’ve been one.

“Take it!” he said shoving himself up into me. I winced and gasped. Then, I thumped my pelvis up and down on him. Taking control, I pleasured myself on his shaft as he watched my body shake. After resting, he tried to roll over, but I held him down and possessed his cock once again. It’s fun when he climaxes.

I curled my body next to Elliot post consummation. The sex was good. It always was.

“Hell of a day for you, huh?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh I can tell, Jeri,” he chuckled. “It’s the way you orgasmed that second time. That, and how we got right to it after dinner.”

I thought about it. Yes, he’d been right. It’s strange when you’re in the middle of doing work of medicine that you forget exactly how it drains you. The nervous systems still knows though. That must be what Elliot noticed.

“Today was more stressful than normal,” I added. I wondered how he felt as I stroked his chest. Was it possible for nerves to sense each other like this? Perhaps someday I could understand his nervous systems too.

“You are, extra happy today?” I guessed based on his smile. It looked prouder and more relaxed than the usual.

“Chicago Adventist Oncology,” he said.

“What?” I half jumped out of the bed. Chicago Adventist was a top ten Oncology institute in the country. Well funded. Well staffed. They had developed a new way to detect liver cancer. That technique was pending peer review, but it was promising. “What about it?”

“I’m on the short list for a residency there,” he replied.

“Chicago Adventist. Amazing Elliot.”

I cuddled close with him again. To get short listed for a position there was already an honor. One that I had hoped for myself. Treating cancer is something that I’ve wanted to do since my uncle’s work had eliminated polio in an entire country. You see, the medical community should ever rest on our laurels. There will also be a new disease to eradicate. Cancer remained one of the most persistent.

I am to be a doctor. I will do my part to make things better.

We spent the night, though my sleep was inconsistent. In the morning, Elliot and I showered in an efficient manner and he drove off to the university. Me? I headed to my car and it opened with the familiar chirp.

I turned the ignition. There wasn’t a click or a sputter. It was a nothing. For almost the last decade, I’d studied to make human organs work together. Yet the metal oiliness under the hood of my car remained a mystery. Also, why had the interior dome light popped like that? Was that a cause or an effect? Correlation does not prove causation.

I called a tow and waited forty five minutes. Dammit. I sent several e-mails and text messages, apologizing for appointments I’d missed that day. Including Marley, my drinking buddy and occasional lover.

“What do you mean you’ll have to cancel the lunch?”

“My car,” I muttered from the inside of the tow truck. “I can’t meet you at 12:30 like we planned.”

“Well what about 1:00 or 2:00?”

That surprised me.

“Aren’t you working?”

“I’m working for myself now. New law firm, didn’t I tell you?”

“What happened to Allegiant Business Law?”

“Wasn’t for me,” said Marley. Yeah, that was true. The bags under her eyes and her frequent sighs spoke enough. She never cared for that position, but Marley doesn’t quit either.

“So what are you doing now?”

“Nothing today,” Marley continued a laid back tone. I hardly believed this was the woman who was on her third vodka cranberry when I met her. “Text me where the mechanic is. I’ll pick you up.”

Marley took me to our favorite bar, and we shared overpriced vegetarian tapas. Her anticipated new position was in immigration law. That’s a bold move, and one that would produce much positive utility. Every successfully settled migrant reduced suffering of at least one person. Yet it paid less. Marley had law school debts to pay. The corporate world helped with that. Work that might as well be pro bono could not.

“It’ll be fine. Really,” she said. The new position pays only about ten thousand less than what I’m earning now.”

“Only ten thousand?” I said.

“Plus the loan forgiveness after four years,” she explained.

My eyes opened wide.

“I had help getting it,” Marley added. “Ever heard of Grey Temple Career Wellness?”

“Yes,” I said with skepticism. They advocated company sponsored yoga, proper ergonomics, and encouraging office employees to make sand sculptures. Grey was fitting for their name. They occupied the strange area between evidence based health practices, and new age practices that -to be perfectly precise- had not yet been supported by peer reviewed research.

“They’re more than new age mumbo jumbo, Jeri.” She read my mind. Lawyers. They’re so good at body language. “Here.”

She handed me a card for Grey Temple. It displayed a confident, beautiful, and professional woman with a bold light sparkle to her eyeshadow. Illaria Cortez.

“Have some consultant time,” Marley encouraged.


“Because your car is broken,” she added. “Because your schedule is messed up. You might as well fill the time.”

Hard to argue with that, but I could at least manage to catch up on some studies. I might need to clean up my apartment too. Wait, no. This was the week I had finally broken down and hired cleaning services. I yanked out my phone. My critical tasks had been pushed back another day. Now, without having to travel across town to the hospital, I had a three hour gap in my day. It had been empirically verified.

“Okay, Marley. I’ll see her this afternoon.”

My ride share took me out of downtown and to a neighborhood in rapid transition. New construction surrounded me. That’s a healthy sign even as it meant that people had to relocate. When a depressed area of a city is revitalized with new construction, a city can be better planned. This means more taxes for the common good and ultimately more benefit for everyone, including those who were forced to move as the older buildings were torn down.

Besides, those old buildings probably contained lead.

There was one building that stood out among the others. Grey bricks and arched windows made up the most of it. It had high steeples and arched doorways. Stained glass? It had that too. Though I could see some of the glass was new. A sleek modern sign out front proclaimed “Grey Temple Career Wellness.” They must’ve taken their name from the bricks.

Inside, it had been remodeled. Hallways had been added, cubicles had replaced pews, and bright stained glass windows overlooked a lobby. After waiting, I recognized Illaria as soon as she greeted me. Her outfit is what you would get if a sari made a baby with a CEO and then took his job.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said. Her voice soothed as it projected around the room.

“How could you?”


“I’m Jeri. Pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed. Come into my office,” she began.

Illaria reclined on a comfortable couch and asked me to sit on a nearby armchair. Her desk was tucked away in the corner. She asked several questions such as how I knew Marley. Before long, we slipped into the taboo subject of workplace romances. I let slip that I’d been sleeping with Elliot, and apologized for bringing my sex life into a work consultant conversation.

“Oh it needn’t be so taboo,” said Illaria. “We needn’t spend everyday of our lives doing constant risk assessment, cost benefit analysis, when it comes to our empowerment.”

She stressed the word empowerment. Illaria had a strong sense of making the world better. Empowerment -specifically the term ‘integrated empowerment’- was the word she used to connect sexual life, career life, relationship life. Everything was drawn together for her.

“Now what is the next step for you?” she asked.

“The next step? I need to finish my residency.”

“And then?” She leaned back dangling her arm comfortably over the edge of the couch.

“Chicago Adventist Oncology,” I said. I went on, explaining what it was and how Elliot had been short listed.

“Grey Temple would like to make that happen,” she said. Illaria’s eyes glinted.

“How could you possibly help me?” I asked.

“I didn’t say help. I said we could make it happen,” she continued. She said still reclining,and looking right at me. “Like we did for Marley. The price is only one evening of service. No more than we asked from her.”



I leaned in towards her, and checked the sensations in my body. I discovered it unexpectedly horny. Okay, so that might be fun.

“We can draw up a contract. It’s pretty standard,” she continued with utter professionality.

There was no way her little wellness group could possibly guarantee such a thing. Why was this Illaria so confident? Yet, I guess there wasn’t much I could lose. Besides, after todays rough and tumble with my car, I needed a healthy orgasm. Elliot would be on shift and Illaria enticed more than a dildo.

“What’s involved in this service?”

“Whips. Chains. A blindfold. Full disclosure Jeri, it will hurt a bit,” she smirked. “Pain comes first. Deeper, more intense orgasms to follow.

“Oh…” I exhaled.

“Shall I draw up that contract?”

I agreed to it. She printed out a contract. It said things like “The SUPPLICANT agrees to be a sexual slave for no less than one hour to a maximum of four hours for the exclusive pleasure of the MASTER” et cetera. Simple. Straight forward. I was already hot, but made sure it explicitly stated what kind of Oncology Ward I would be accepted to. “To be fulfilled in a manner at the discretion of the MASTER” it said.

Before I knew it, I had followed Illaria into the basement. I stripped myself and Illaria affixed cuffs to my wrists and ankles. Chains held my limbs out, and were tethered to two posts to my left and right. Perfectly immobilized, I was stuck in a position like an anatomy text book. I hadn’t known how much I liked it.

“Is the supplicant happy?”


“Yes, master,” corrected Illaria holding my jaw.

“Yes, master!”

“Good. Look upon my toys now, supplicant,” she said.

Illaria presented a collection on top of a table. There was a vibrator with enough ribbing for a rough insertion. Another dildo was smooth and made of glass. There were other types too. Including one shaped like a tentacle and another in a curving spiral. She looked over a scourge and paddle next to several leather clamps. There were three different types of gags.

Illaria took up a pair of floggers and flung them back and forth. Approaching me sent a breeze over my naked skin. My nervous system responded, sending blood to the surface, which caused my skin to warm. Then the beatings began. Breasts are so sensitive and my nipples had been out and erect since upstairs. I’d never been struck except for those frequent hand slappings at my ass. This was that many times over, and I cried out at the unexpected hurt over my body.

“Does the supplicant enjoy the beatings?”

“It hurts, master,” I winced.

“I know it does,” said Illaria. “Can you not answer a simple question?”

Several more slaps struck my body. Illaria took her floggers to my ass next. Oh that was a familiar and wonderful feeling.

“Yes. I love it, master,” I said.

“That’s more like it,” said Illaria. The beating continued. She alternated between floggers and paddle. Each strike was exploratory and curious. She was getting to know my body and learning my reactions. The greatest shock was when she flapped her flogger upwards between my legs, slapping my pussy with feline playfulness. Tears happened. It took me a moment to realize it, but the pain was so wonderful that I cried. Endorphins coursed through my bloodstream.

Illaria gagged me and then held my weeping face towards hers.

“You’re taking the pain well, supplicant,” she said. “Yet you have asked for so much. You’ll be expected to take much more.”

I nodded.

Illaria turned her back and examined the toys in her collection. She pulled out a plug and lubed it up.

“You ever had one of these shoved in you?” she said only to ignore my muffled answer. She pressed into my anus. A spiraling sensation of surprise pleasure ran up my spinal column. My hair was yanked back while Illaria wiggled the toy in.

“Dirty little slut,” she said. “I bet you’ve had more than one cock back there.”

Her fingers rubbed my sopping pussy, searching for the clit. I groaned when she found it.

“I bet you’ve had cocks in both ends at the same time, whore.”

Abruptly, she let off. So close. She had denied me one orgasm and I shook against my bounds for her to return. I needed to come, but Illaria only covered my eyes with a blindfold.

“Can you see?” she mocked. I shook my head. “Quite good then.”

Petting, grabbing, and playful scratching marauded me. I took a sustained pinch at both nipples. Clamps, was all I could guess. Then the beating returned. This time, she struck with something like a fat thick tail. The thuds came heavy over my back and stomach, leaving them tingling each time.

At last, a dildo was stuffed inside me. Cooing for it, I relaxed my muscles and tilted my hips. Illaria rammed me with the smooth glass first, prodding around in a search for the right spot. She found it and I moaned into the gag, but she didn’t let me orgasm. Illaria jabbed me with another. This one could be either the ribbed one or the spiral one. Fuck, it felt so damn good. She continued on and on like that, not saying a word and occasionally swatting the clamps at my nipples. I must have been penetrated with every single dildo she had.

But it was that latex tentacle that got me off. I can’t remember the last time I came that hard. Not with my own toys and not even with Elliot. The pulsations from that orgasm had me pulling so hard I could’ve broken those beams. Once it was all done, I hung my head forward and drooled through my gag, heedless to my own debasement. I can’t believe it, but I wanted Illaria to do that to me again.

She tugged the plug out, and released the clamps at my nipples. The rest of the gear except my wrists came undone as well. That was good. I needed something to hang on to. Once I opened my eyes, I saw redness on my body and looked over at Illaria’s toys. She had wrapped her dildos in a thin towel which my juices had dampened. The dry, latex, tentacle stood proud over them all.

“Your payment has been accepted, Jeri,” said Illaria. She unbound my wrists. “You may be a person again.”

“Thank you,” I said. Did I thank her for the sex or for the contract? It was definitely at least for the orgasm. Could Illaria actually make things work? “Did you do this with Marley? Is this how she paid?”

“I don’t discuss my other clients,” said Illaria. “Though I’m sure she can describe many things for you herself. How do you feel?”

“Loose!” I exclaimed.

“As you should,” said Illaria. She gave me time to redress myself and pick up a ride hail. I hugged her good bye and thanked her. “The pleasure was all ours, Jeri. Good luck in Chicago!” she said as I left.

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The Loss and Lust of the Lightwarden: Part 05

Author’s Note: Wrath of the Lich King

This Story takes place just after the events of “Wrath of the Lich King” and on the alliance side. Please support more work like this because there are more. Become a Patron!

One Last Villian

It’s good to have friends who are smugglers. Getting out of Stormwind hadn’t cost me much, and they even had equipment they were eager to part with. They saw us as far as the roads between Stormwind and Goldshire, and cautioned us of guard patrols there. Guards who wouldn’t turn their eyes away from a freed orc, not when there had already been a bounty on his head.

Buntaro and I cut through the woods themselves. One evening, I sat near a small fire, roasting a pair of rabbits. Wolves howled to each other in the distance. Hooting came through the trees. Buntaro returned after setting some traps near our hiding space. He looked wild in that sleeveless whelp scale shirt the smugglers gave him.

"Come here, handsome," I said. I made space for him on the blanket. Buntaro cuddled next to me, and Tsali lay at our feet. We shared our catch together.

"Delicious," said Buntaro. He chomped down on the meat, and chewed it slowly. "I haven’t eaten a real meal in weeks."

"You haven’t eaten one yet. This is only to start," I said. I took my own share of the rabbit.

"Oh?" he teased. "Is this the appetizer? You have the servants coming with our next meal? Is it duck and pea soup?"

"No, silly," I said. I tossed Tsali some. He gobbled up the meat. "But tomorrow night? We will be at the Goldshire inn. You know what Innkeeper Farley cooks? Roast pig spiced with cloves and orange peels."

"Hmmm, that does sound good," said Buntaro. He tossed Tsali a share of the rabbit.

"He serves it on top spiced red potatoes," I added. "Then you wash it down with the beer, brewed out in the country side."

"Oh my that does sound good!" said Buntaro. He devoured his share of the rabbit.

"You can see why I stay there for so long," I said. In our trip, I had long since shared with Buntaro why I stayed employed there, and what I did. Buntaro knew of my lovers, and my dances. He craved to see it himself. "My room upstairs will be safe. It will be comfortable."

I snuggled closer to him, rubbing my hands up his back, touching the great muscles beneath the scaled armor. I undid the first of its buckles. Buntaro’s breathing grew heavier.

"The sheets I have? Comfortable, warm silk. I have a fur blanket to keep us both warm at night," I said. "We can stay there as long as we need."

I removed his chest piece. His warm chest simmered at my touch. Then I laid him out on his back, and rolled on top of him. He pulled my face to him, and we kissed. I stripped myself of my own clothing, and then undid his pants. I wrapped my hands around his erection, pumping it up and down. I’d never forgotten the sounds he made when I pleased him so. Hearing them, out here under the stars, reminded me of our nights in Northrend. I leaned down and teased his shaft with my tongue until he became as hard as rock. Then I mounted him, and took him into myself.

"Kolapi!" I moaned as my pussy sank down onto his shaft.

"Yasmeen…" he said looking me in the eyes.

I rode him next to the fire that night. Our grunts and moans joined with the sound of howls and chirps in the dark air.

Goldshire’s western side stood unsuspecting of two travelers off well of the road. It neared dusk as we approached, and there, we came upon Lyria and one of her recruits. It was the big guy, who still walked with pain from where the gnoll injured his thigh in the attack weeks ago. I called out to Lyria. She and her militiaman came towards us. She peered through the late sunset at us both. She stopped for a moment when she saw Buntaro, standing and proud.

"So it’s true, Yasmeen," she said. "You rescued an orc from the stockades."

"What?" I said. I had told no one.

"We had a visitor," said Lyria.

"The hunter," said the militiaman. "He came through here again."

Buntaro scowled.

"What has he done?" I said.

"Easier to show you," said Lyria. "Both of you come."

"The orc too, ma’am?" said the militiaman.

"Yes, the orc too," said Lyria. "He travels with our healer and the best fighter this village has ever seen, or did you forget how you got that scar on your leg?"

The militiaman stammered.

"I just mean what if the hunter comes back?" he said. "He’s going to hurt people again, and we don’t need no more trouble."

"Someone will get hurt if he comes back," said Buntaro in a calm menace.

"Ahh right," said the militiaman.

We were led to the inn. Farley had set up two cots in a spare room. On one lay Rhombur. His face looked a tint of green, and his skin had a clear fever to it. He had bandages on two limbs. On the other, lay Isabelle, who looked so much worse. Her face, already pale and icy, looked aged. Her eyes had sunken back, and dark circles surrounded them. Her lips had a blackened color to them. Still she looked alert, sitting half up, and crossing her arms over her chest in protection.

"What happened?" I said to Lyria.

"After word got out that the great orc Buntaro had been busted from the stockades, and a Draenei may have helped him, Jondreas returned, and asked questions." Lyria began. She told me that Jondreas sneaked into the village, and prowled between buildings. Rhombur had been the first to catch him and confront him, and became a victim of a poisoned dagger. Still, he rang the alarm and the rest of the militia went after Jondreas. They found him outside of town, with Isabelle as his captive. He had her hands bound in one of his contraptions, and she screamed in pain as he tormented her with another gadget. He had been chased off, they went on his trail, but lost him

I examined Rhombur first. I know nothing of diseases or magical curses, or poisons. I’d only seen something like the green tint of his skin his blackened veins among soldiers who fought ghouls too closely in Northrend.

"Yasmeen," he said.

"Hold still a moment," I said. I placed my hands on him, and called on the power of the Naaru once more. Light glowed over his body, healing him. Yet I knew that I could only do so much.

"Do you feel better, Rhombur?" I said. His skin had turned back to a healthy color, though his skin burned to the touch.

"I do," he said.

"You’ll need to find someone to get you to Northshire Abbey," I said. "Tell the priests there you were stricken with the ghoul flux. They can remedy you completely."

"How did I?" he said. "Was Jondreas a ghoul?"

"No," said Buntaro. "He’s an alchemist who will turn any disease into a weapon. He doesn’t care how much pain it may cause. Count yourself lucky it didn’t spread."

Rhombur glanced back and forth between me and Buntaro. Buntaro squatted near Isabelle, who pulled away in fright.

"Please, let me just look at your hand," he whispered kindly. She extended her hands out to him.

"By the light, Yasmeen," said Rhombur. "Are monsters like Jondreas everywhere outside Elwynn forest? Is that what it means to adventure? To be at the mercy of people like him?"

I had no answer for him. I turned over to Isabelle and Buntaro.

"Look here," said Buntaro. He pointed to the scarred and purple skin around Isabelle’s wrists. "Marks from spell shackles. It’s a torture device the Burning Legion uses."

"As soon as he clamped those on me, I could not cast a thing," said Isabelle. "It hurt so, but not like what came next. Not when he demanded things from me."

She showed us elsewhere on her body where it had been pierced. The wounds looked like bites.

"He mana burned you, didn’t he?" I said.

"He kept asking about you when he did," said Isabelle. "Had a message for you. Said he was heading eastward."

"All that injury because of me and Buntaro?"

"I’m not as bad as I look," said Isabelle. "Mana has been trickling back to me. I’m going to recover, and then I’m going after him."

Lyria shook her head.

"You’ll be barely in condition to ride with us, Isabelle," she said. "What good would you be when we find him?"

Isabelle raised her chin high.

"This is my village as much as it is yours."

"You left when you were twelve!"

"Shut it!" said Isabelle. "I will be there when we capture him. I will see him suffer for what he did to me, and to Rhombur, and to every one else who is here."

"Isabelle…" said Lyria in a tense calm.

"Lyria," I said, changing the subject. "What’s this about a march?"

Lyria, glad for the distraction, shared what would happen next. She planned to head to Stormwind the next morning and appeal to Marshall Dugan himself. He knew he owed Goldshire a favor after the complete disaster weeks ago, and mounted knights would be the minimum she would ask for. The militia? They knew the forest well enough. Besides, Jondreas had departed on his cart. Fresh wagon tracks would be hard to miss.

"We’re joining too then," said Buntaro.

"Kolapi…" I began.

"What?" he said.

Lyria looked nervous, as did Rhombur and Lyria. This wasn’t Northrend, where the need to survive and fight for a common purpose overrode the bad history between the orcs and humans. This was Goldshire, a place where humans picked their allies with their fears.

"You’re still an escaped prisoner," I said choosing my words carefully. "I can’t protect you from the entire city guard. Buntaro, please I don’t want to see you in a cell again."

Buntaro nodded with frustration.

"Yes, I see," he muttered.

Lyria rode off that night. Isabelle, for all her determination stayed in her bed. Sadly, we had a few mana potions in the village. Though she could take them only slowly. Mana burn scars so deep it slows the rejuvenation process. Inkeeper Farley prepared a meal for all of us, and insisted that Buntaro eat in the common room with us all. Buntaro ate everything. The villagers were slow to open up to him, but when he discussed how he had been captured by Jondreas they listened. Even Rhombur, still recovering, sat respectfully before Buntaro’s stories of combat in the frigid north of the world. Yet more than a few cautious, and nervous eyes diverted from him. I retired upstairs with Buntaro after our meal. There, in my chambers, Buntaro paced back and forth. Annoyed that he had been snubbed for his chance to chase down the hunter who had so wounded him, he grimaced.

"Knights?" he said. "Men on horses thundering away through trees? They might as well announce themselves with trumpets."

"The same knights would pursue you," I said.

At that Buntaro gave me a look. I knew what it meant.

"Buntaro, we are not in Northrend. We are among simple people," I protested. "They do not see you as I see you."

"Neither did…" he began before stopping himself.


"Neither did Taluv see you as I see you in Warsong Hold’s great Hall," he said with a sigh.

I crossed my arms. We stewed in our frustration.

"I wish they would accept you, as your people accepted me," I confessed at last.

Buntaro waved his hand and grunted.

"Your innkeeper," said Buntaro. "He accepted me at least. So what do we do now?"

Standing up, I made myself as confident as I could.

"Let’s forget all this, Buntaro," I began as if reciting a speech. "We can travel to Booty Bay in two weeks and be on the other side of the world in two months. I have enough gold to get us a caravan for what little I care to carry."

Squinting first, Buntaro shook his head.

"Yasmeen, you know that you’re a bad liar," he chided. "Come on, you don’t want any of that right now."

"No I don’t," I pouted.

"Jondreas hurt me," Buntaro said gesturing to himself. "Now? He’s hurt your people. People who were your friends, and people who respect you. You would not let this go would you?"

He spoke the truth.

"No, that Gilnean captured you. He tricked me. He set gnolls upon our own village," I grumbled. "I have to do this."

"We both do," said Buntaro. "We head out tomorrow, ahead of knights and their noise. I bet he left tracks in his cart. Shouldn’t be hard to find."

"Because he’s laying a trap," I added.

"Oh I know!" declared Buntaro. "I don’t care. He won’t catch me again."

Walking towards my kolapi, I opened up to his arms. I would fight for him, and with him, in ways that I knew I could not within my own village. It would be madness to go after Jondreas, but he was still only one hunter. We were two, and we were angry. Jondreas would fall, and then? I would never again leave the side of my kolapi in peace or in battle.

The morning arrived and Buntaro and I set out for the road, dressed for tracking and the skirmishes as he had so many times before. Down stairs, we found the inn’s hearth blazing. Innkeeper Farley looked at us both.

"Yasmeen," he said.

"Farley," I added.

"You look dressed for danger," he said.

"I am," I said.

"You’ll be coming back? Staying again?" he said. "Ah no.. You won’t will you? No matter what happens, you’ll be moving on at last."

Having been understood, nothing needed to be said..

"Tell no one that we departed, Farley," I said. Can you do that?"

"Never saw you," said Farley. "Come back alive though. One last time? We can say good byes proper then."

"Thank you Farley," I said.

With that, Buntaro and I sneaked out of the inn. Jondreas had left a deliberate trail, one so obvious that Buntaro grew even more suspicious. Thus, we diverted away from the main road and into the woods. It lengthened our trek, but it allowed Tsali to sniff the air, the soil, and anything else that could indicate traps that Jondreas had no doubt set. In the evenings, Buntaro would set a perimeter as he often did. Only on the coldest nights did we create a fire. Our food consisted of dried rations. Still, it warmed our bellies and sustained us.

One morning on the roadside, our fire had long since burned out to ashes. Tsali paced around the edge of our camp. His chest out and his ears forward. Buntaro squatted on the ground near me. He drew his kukri and sniffed the air.

"What is it?" I whispered.

"Their fur. I can smell it," he said. I slipped out of my bed roll and hefted my shield and sword as softly as I could. We put our backs against one another, and rotated around. Tsali barked towards the north east. Then we heard a cold metal snap to the west. A gnoll yipped in pain. Both Buntaro and I turned to it. Then Tsali yelped and there was a thump. Tsali was caught in a net and being dragged away.

"No!" cried Buntaro. He ran after the net. Only then did the yaps and howls of gnolls break through the morning fog. They revealed themselves to us. Each one clad in hide armor, stuffed with branches, twigs, and leaves imitating the brush of Elwynn around it. Preparing for a fight was our only natural reaction. Uncertain, I stood my ground as a gnoll approached us. Barking and order to his comrades, he sized us up likewise. Growling ceased as our foes relaxed their weapons. This gnoll’s arm had lost patches of fur, and in their place were scabs and tiny boils.

"I am Snarg," the gnoll spoke. "I want peaceful talk."

"I am Buntaro. I want my worg."

"Gnolls do not injure our cousins," said Snarg. He looked to me. "Who are you? Why are an orc and a she-devil wandering our forest?"

"I am a draenei!" I said. "My name is Yasmeen, the name of who shall kill you if you harm Tsali or Buntaro."

Barking resounded. Snarg yapped and the gnolls calmed down. One spoke in their own language to Snarg. Snarg’s ears perked backwards, and he responded, keeping his eyes on me.

"Okay, Yasmeen," he said. "Share a story with me. Tell me about traveling north from the forests south of the river. You had a human."

"What?" I stammered.

"Speak, she-devil," he sighed.

"I traveled with a human yes. It was there we encountered a gnoll corpse tied to a tree. We took it down and covered it with leaves."

Snarg nodded.

"My scout watched this," he said. "Why did your people kill my kin and disgrace his body?"

"We had nothing to do with that!" I declared. "We seek the one who did. Jondreas, a hunter from Gilneas. He is not from my village."

"This Jondreas," he said. "he fights with a lion, wears glass eyes, and fires diseases from his cross bow. Yes?"

"He uses a rifle," I said. "His glass eyes are yellow."

Snarg’s expression relaxed at last.

"I healed many in Goldshire," I added, indicating towards his diseased arm. "I can heal that too."

"First, tell me why you seek this man," said Snarg, pulling away his wounded arm.

"I’ll tell you why," began Buntaro with indignation. He told Snarg the tale of getting captured in Stranglethorn, and of Jondreas abuse of the people of Goldshire. I added how Jondreas had antagonized the gnolls, and endangered our village. I told the gnoll chief the truth. Snarg listened.

"I warned cousin Hogger not to attack," sighed Snarg. "Now, this Jondreas has taken his head. We will remove his in repayment. My scouts tracked his stink eastward."

"Then we want the same thing!" I said. "Let me heal you and allow us to leave."

"If you can," said Snarg. He extended his diseased arm.

"Release my worg first!" grunted Buntaro.

Snarg barked an order to the other gnolls. Tsali was returned back in his net and placed in front of Buntaro. Buntaro cut the ropes and Tsali leapt out and came to heel. Snarg held his hand arm out. I sheathed my sword and invoked the power of the Naaru. Golden light swirled around his arm, and the boils and scabs disappeared. His armed cleansed, Snarg rubbed his bare skin.

"Are we free to go?" I said.

Motioning us to sit, Snarg himself sat upon a stump. He offered Buntaro’s trap back to him. It had been sprung, with no trace of blood or injury upon it at all.

"The Gilnean does not hide his trail," said Snarg. "He expects us to come at him with full force. For days, we have tracked this hunter. I have always sent only two or three to follow him."

"He sets a trap as we wait here," said Buntaro.

"Yes!" said Snarg. "Which is why we wait, outside this cave he hides in, until he wanders out. I am not my cousin. I am patient."

"And you risk less of your people in doing so," I added.

"Let us go," said Buntaro. "Show us this cave. We will flush him out for you. Do what you wish after."

"What will you do with him?" I said.

His shrugging replied first.

"Kill him. Eat him," he continued. "All in good time though. He can’t stay in the cave forever."

"You might not have time," I said. "A contingent of knights are gathering in Stormwind right now. Do you think they’ll miss that trail anymore than you or I did?"

"What? No!" said Snarg, shocked. I nodded at him. He discerned I spoke the truth.

"Let us fight with you," said Buntaro. "You can have his head, liver, spleen, for all I care. I only want to know he pays before I leave Alliance territory, for good this time."

Knowing for certain that invading the cave would be a trap, and knowing also that there may never be another chance, Snarg still shook his head in dismay.

"Are you better at spotting traps than setting them?" said Snarg. He gestured to Buntaro’s trap. "We will enter first. All three of us. Together. Yes?"

"Agreed," I said. Buntaro gave a stern salute.

We moved with the entire company of gnolls, with haste, eastward through Elwynn. We arrived at the edge of Redridge, where the trees were sparser and rocks more prevalent. Snarg pointed out to Buntaro the locations of several scouts, and we all saw Jondreas’s cave as plain as the sky. The mouth of the cave looked large enough for both a man and horses to pass through, and his cart was parked next to it. Smoke came out of the cave’s mouth. Snarg had told the truth. The trap was obvious.

Nonetheless, we trudged into the cave. Buntaro kept Tsali close. He waved a torch near the floor, and near the dangling stalactites at the cave’s ceiling. Rope was illuminated in its orange flickering. Buntaro squinted in suspicion.

"You smell it, Snarg?" he said.

"Sleep petals," said Snarg. "They smell like tulips and honey."

"Yeah they do don’t they? " said Buntaro. Following the rope with his eyes and fingers, Buntaro came to a wall. He found the trigger mechanism, and then it led to glass bottles filled with a concentrated pink fluid. The vials had a tiny crack near where the corks stuffed into them.

"Huh.." Said Buntaro.

"What is it?"


"They’ll make good throw weapons," said Snarg. "Let’s split them among us."

And so we did and proceeded further down into the cave, following the scent of smoke.

Deeper within, that’s when we heard the yapping. I hefted my shield. Buntaro readied himself. Snarg? Snarg looked afraid.

"Torch!" said Snarg. "Light my torch now."

Buntaro did. Snarg creeped around the cavern walls and we spotted a group of gnolls devouring one of Jondreas’s horses. They huddled away from a campfire. Snarg tossed the torch towards them. The gnolls jumped away from it. Their mouths frothed with blood and foam. They looked terrified of the fire, and growled towards us. Near them, broken bottles dripped out toxic liquid.

"Run!" cried Snarg.

"What?" I said.

"They’re rabid!" he said. "Go!"

Buntaro hurled one of the vials in the direction of the gnolls. A cloud of pink haze burst out in the firelight. The gnolls inhaled it in, dazed, but not sleeping. I grabbed my kolapi and Tsali and we rushed out the way we came. Barking echoed behind us. How many? I could not count. Their foul sounds terrified us all the way into the open light. Snarg shouted at his warriors. I saw the fear flash across their faces, and then I saw the courage of their charge. Their crude shields crashed against the onslaught of at least a dozen ravenous, clawed, and biting enemies.

Buntaro, feared too much for Tsali. Having cleared distance, he readied a bow and fired arrows at our enemies. They struck the mad brutes but didn’t phase a single one. Intoning retribution I charged into the melee. Arcs of holy fire struck each furred monsters when they assaulted our allies. One brute grabbed hold of my shield. Clawing and biting tried to rip it from my grip. I could not get a clear swing at him. Howling remorsefully, a gnoll warrior speared him in the back. I pushed him aside and made ready to engage the next enemy.

Charging hoof beats pounded the ground behind me. I looked behind me and saw Marshall Dugan and several Stormwind knights ride. Behind them the Goldshire militia waited.

"No! Stop!" I screamed. Snarg’s gnolls yelped a retreat, struggling to clear themselves of the onslaught. In the confusion, I tossed one of the sleep potions towards the galloping knights. The wind carried away the gas. Buntaro fired arrows at the incoming calvary, and an arrow struck Dugan in a shoulder plate. Yet he persisted. One knight passed me and skewered a rabid gnoll. He drew his sword and pursued the others. Right as Marshall Dugan and the other knight made their way, I shouted and consecrated the ground. A great flash of yellow fire flared around me. The horses, pain searing their undersides, reeled back. Controlling their steeds proved difficult for them all. One knight fell from his saddle.

"Yasmeen!" Marshall Dugan shouted. "What in the nine hells are you doing?!"

"I said stop!" I waved my arms frantically at the militia archers. "All of you stop!"

When the dust cleared, I found Buntaro wetting his daggers on the last of the rabid gnolls. Snarg’s warriors had dismounted and cornered the zealous knight, and aimed their weapons at him. I broke up the confusion and sent the knight back towards the militia. It was then I noticed Lyria Du Lac commanding them. Isabelle rode with them too, her face was still gaunt and weak from the mana burn. Injuries abounded among the gnolls. A few of them were killed. At least one had the tragic death of dying beneath a charging warhorse.

It took all my patience to gather Snarg, Marshall Dugan, and Buntaro together. Lyria joined too, as did Isabelle.

"Alright?" said Dugan. "What’s going on? We tried to save you from these mongrels, and now you say you’ve been working with them?"

Isabelle glared coldly at Snarg.

"Watch your tongue, human," said Snarg. "I hear every word."

"It speaks!" exclaimed the Marshall. "What about you, orc?"

"Watch it, ser!" I said. "You will speak to my companions with respect."

"How’s your shoulder?" chided Buntaro. Dugan rolled his eyes, and pulled the arrow out. It released cleanly. Dugan raised his palm to his shoulder and healed himself.

"Fine, thanks for the concern," he said flatly.

"Be thankful!" added Buntaro. "I don’t barb them."

Conversing did not go comfortably. Everyone, in the heat of anger, simply wanted to fight. Still, once the rush of combat subsided in us all, our heads became cool enough to deal with the task at hand. We made for an agreement. The marshal went back to his militia, and Snarg to his warriors.

"You’re going to have a rough time explaining me, aren’t you Yasmeen?" said Buntaro.

"What’s there to explain?" I said. "Would they even understand?"

"They might," he said. "We did just stop them from killing every gnoll in Redridge."

"I don’t know."

Arriving for us all began with Snarg. Dugan returned after I did, Rhombur was with him this time.

"He’s got an idea if you want to hear it," the Marshall said.

"Used to play in these caves as a kid," said Rhombur. "That one? Sure as I stand here has a long tube you can crawl through."

"He’s right," said Snarg. "I noticed it when we entered there. Where does it exit?"

"Not far," he said.

"But Jondreas could be anywhere in this valley by now," I said.

"Only two ways out," said Marshall. "I can have the patrols monitor the river. The other way out is the pass towards Blackrock territory."

He turned to Snarg.

"I think your people know these mountains better than ours," said Marshall Dugan. "Can you track him?"

"We will not," said Snarg.

"What?" I said.

"My people were bitten," said Snarg. "Bitten by rabid gnolls and the disease will spread. We will go to our witch doctors. We cannot, and will not fight."

Snarg squinted at Dugan.

"Neither will we risk more warriors to the fury of men on horses."

Snarg and his gnolls saw to their own dead. They bound their fallen warriors in blankets and carried them away. How gnolls handled their deaths I could never learn, but it could not be cannibalism as is so common a story among humans. The diseased gnolls, they did not touch. Preparing a pyre remained our sad duty. Furthermore, we could not expect the gnolls to touch the poison bottles that Jondreas had left behind. Spreading that strong distillation of rabid disease could only bring ruin on us all. We burned those bottles with the fire. That disgusting smell brought with it terrible memories. I distracted myself and joined with Dugan and Isabelle as they examined a map. The redridge valley had only two exits. A pass leading towards the Blackrocks, and the over the rivers towards Elwynn or Duskwood.

It was too much to patrol without the gnolls. In the end we knew we had something. We had Buntaro. Jondreas would not leave this valley until he had him, and that meant we had bait. Marshall Dugan divided his men into squads to cover the passes and the rivers. That left little for us. Only Isabelle, myself, Buntaro and Lyria remained.

We knew we could not stay near the pyre. Not even for the night. Jondreas had set a trap, and we dodged it. Lyria led us up a path to an abandoned, and partially collapsed mine. There we warmed ourselves near a fire and contemplated our next step.

"The valley is too damn big," Isabelle still shivered in pain. She tried nonetheless to conjure a scrying bowl to search for our enemy.

"Isabelle you’re going to faint again," said Lyria.

"I won’t!"

"She’s right," said Buntaro.

"Don’t tell me what I can’t do," snapped Isabelle.

"Not her," said Buntaro. "I mean you. You’re right that this valley is too large. I could track for weeks and not catch up with him."

Isabelle blinked, suddenly chagrin at her own temper.

"Then you know I must scry," she said. "No matter how much it hurts. I’ll find him if it kills me."

"Isabelle," sighed Lyria. "You can’t…"

Before Isabelle snapped at her I motioned Lyria to quiet.

"Look we’re going to help you scry," I said. "There’s one thing we have to do first."

"What’s that?" said Isabelle.

I described the mana tide totem. I told her how it worked, and what we would do to ignite the flow of refreshing mana. After the battle, I needed it too. Buntaro held me close as if protecting me from Isabelle’s moral gaze.

"Harlot magic? With him?" she said. "Never have I encountered such in my studies."

"You can trust it," I said. "I’ve fought with Buntaro. This is truth: I’ve done it more times than I can count. Even arcanists benefit."

"But shaman magic and sex?"

"It’s no more taboo that what we’ve done," said Lyria calmly. She looked over to Isabelle with vulnerability I had never seen on her. Isabelle’s ice blue eyes opened as wide as saucers. She stammered to say something, but could not.

"These two are about to fuck before us and you think we have some secret we can still keep?" said Lyria.

"Oh my," whispered Buntaro.

"How long?" I asked.

Isabelle spoke choosing every word with effort

"First time was when I visited after six years of mage training," she spoke. Her arms uncrossed and her breathing steadied. "After that, it was anytime I returned."

"Until that night Hogger killed Jacob," said Lyria. Her words were full of pain. "That was the last night we spent together. At my home."

Isabelle turned away and tears began to dripped down her pale cheeks.

"He went out that night to look for me," Isabelle stammered. "I know it. I was supposed to be setting wards at his ranch that night… but I hadn’t seen Lyria in so long…"

She let out a little quiet sob in catharsis.

"He scoured the woods thinking I was taken. That’s when Hogger got him. Because of me," she said.

We sat there in silence for a time. Hogger had slain Isabelle’s childhood friend. No wonder she could never leave the Elywnn after that.

"You can’t blame yourself," said Buntaro. "Hundreds of decisions are made in any conflict, including the enemy’s decisions."

"My decision was love over duty," said Isabelle.

Grieving was upon Lyria’s face. It hurt her to hear these words.

"Isabelle, love is why we do our duties. Love is why we fight," I said. I came out from Buntaro’s wide arms and held her hands. I then took Lyria’s and placed them into Isabelle. "Let me show you what I learned in Northrend."

Moments later, the blue glow of mana illuminated the room from the pool of the Mana tide totem. Buntaro and I were upon each other, moaning and growling while we removed our clothes. Overpowering me after a struggle, my kolapi had me on my back and underneath his arms. I loved how we exchanged kisses together like that, already the tide bubbled as my breasts engorged and pressed against him. I looked to Lyria. She held Isabelle’s head in her arms, caressing her white hair. Isabelle’s eyes still glistened from tears, yet already she looked warmer. Lyria lifted Isabelle carefully up and began to untie the top of her clothes.

"Wait…" said Isabelle. She looked scared.

"For what?" said Lyria, unbuckling her own armor and casting it aside. She removed her top, and displayed her breasts towards Isabelle. "If you really mean you don’t need this, I’ll get dressed again."

I was riding Buntaro now. My hips writhed on top his cock. It was good, yet my heart fluttered in fear that what needed to begin would not. Oh Isabelle, do not be afraid. She gulped down, and leaned up towards Lyria, their lips touched, and Isabelle melted into Lyria’s embrace. Soon, she was undoing her mage’s robe as if it burned her body. Blue light of mana and the orange glow of the fire glowed on her porcelain skin. Lyria pressed close to her, and her free hand touched between Isabelle’s legs. Never had I heard such cries of relief and joy from them before.

Our sex imbued the tide totem. Its streams of mana gushed forth and flooded our small cave. Isabelle and Lyria asked to touch me as well, and touch me they did. Exploring me, their hands grew incessant and curious. Isabelle, growing reckless and bold after her orgasm, begged me to change partners. I was filled with pride at her courage, and grew even prouder when she climaxed with my kolapi. Lyria? Her lust for me knew no bounds either. Her lips tasted of the juices of her long missed lover. "Thank you, Yasmeen," she whispered. Then, kissing stimulated between my legs.

I had never seen Isabelle without clothes covering her shame. Though there, while all of us were nude and relaxed in that stone cave, Isabelle stood tall and near the fire we built. She recited a spell, and her eyes glowed into a solid yellow. Glyphs of magic rotated around her head as she moved her arms like one swimming through a fog.

"I see him," she said.

"Jondreas?" Lyria asked.

"Yes," she said. "I see where he is. I see what he wants. Oh we will have him."

The divination trance held her still for several minutes more. The glow in her eyes intensified, and her mouth curled into a feline smile. When it ended, the magic faded and her eyes returned to their pale blue. She was with us again.

"I know what we can do," she said. "I see… I see us capturing him. Here is what we must do."

It had been weird, uncomfortable, when Isabelle demanded that Buntaro and I remain in the cave for one more day. It made little sense to me, or to Buntaro. Both of us had nothing but Jondreas’s bloody head on a pike in our minds. Yet she insisted that we must not only stay, but must not leave the confines of the cave. All we could do was watch the sun move, as she had instructed us, while she and Lyria marched away.

Then our part came. Buntaro drew his dagger and wet it with his own blood. We marched through the woods together, leaving faint drops of his wound on rocks, on trees. We went through the thick brush until at last we arrived at a fallen tree before a boulder. Tsali yapped loud. We knew our quarry was near. Setting a frost trap was Buntaro’s first in ages. Then we continued along the mountain side.

A snap of a trap and lion’s pained roar broke the silence of the wood. A bullet whizzed past my horns, and I raised my shield. Notching an arrow, Buntaro leapt behind a tree. Another bullet crashed into its branches, sending splinters around.

"Can you see him, kolapi?" said Buntaro. Buntaro growled beside me.

"No," I said peering through the woods. "Wait…"

A flash of light, as unmistakable as a mirror in a desert sun, flickered near some brush.

"Yes I do," I pointed discretely.

Buntaro drew an arrow with an explosive at its head.

"Okay, this is going to be loud," he said.

"I won’t fear it."

Buntaro muttered an order to Tsali. He bounded off to the right, and I to the left. We charged towards Jondreas’s position. Several more shots whizzed past me, and other collided with my shield. Tsali growled as he dashed madly through the trees and brush. Then, a friendly arrow flew past my flank in a great red streak. I raised my shield as flame and sulfur exploded. Upon lowering my shield, I saw the singe bushes where Jondreas had been, he arose, in a soot covered sneer.

"Damn you!" I roared.

Jondreas flung a glass vial, and a stinking cloud of brown gas billowed out. My eyes began to tear in resistance, and dammit, I tried to charge through it anyway. A bullet struck my armor, penetrating through and wounding my shoulder. I fell back and Tsali ran towards me. His jaw gripped my collar and dragged insistently at me.

"Yes, yes! Fine," I protested as I inched my way back. Shootings continued over our heads. Buntaro fired more arrows in return.

Buntaro met me, covering his mouth against the fumes, and we moved around the cloud, towards a hill overlooking a field.

"She did say not to charge," coughed Buntaro.

"I know," I said. "I don’t care."

"We do our part, they do theirs," said Buntaro. "Come!"

We crawled on our bellies until we could safely over look the clearing. Jondreas was on the run. My kolapi, he had a clear shot. I had seen him make so many kills at such shorter distances. His eyes squinted down, for I knew too that he wanted this shot to be his.

Running fir the coverage of a grove, Jondreas didn’t see the trap. As he stepped, a large green glyph appear before his feet. A pillar of flame erupted from the ground, and Isabelle appeared from her hiding. Jondreas tumbled back and rolled down a hill side. Firings of frost streaked towards Jondreas. Still, he evaded most, until an arrow struck him in the calve.

Jondreas screamed in pain. From behind a stone, Rhombur revealed himself. He notched another arrow, and shot a flare skywards. Marshall Dugan galloped in, followed by the rest of the Goldshire militia. Jondreas raised his rifle to fire again, only to be struck in the chest by another of Rhombur’s arrows.

"Good shot, that one," said Buntaro.

Hearing him say that warmed my heart, as much as it excited me to see Rhombur act as brave -and as skilled- as he did.

With no escape, Jondreas dropped his weapon. Still, the militia regarded him with caution. Marshall Dugan dismounted and exchanged words with Jondreas. I could not hear them, though only knew that Dugan spoke with the dour dignity worthy of every Paladin before a cornered enemy. Isabelle though? She broke the calm with words harsh and spiteful. Marshall Dugan shook his head, and motioned for her to calm. Tugging her away, Lyria comforted Isabelle as best she could.

Jondreas said something else that made Isabelle shout at him anger. Dugan stood between Jondreas and a glaring Isabelle, wise enough not to turn his back on one like Jondreas. Sulking became Isabelle’s last resort.

"By the Naaru," I said. "The light’s justice will have its day in the stockades."

Buntaro grunted in disapproval.


"Yasmeen…" he began. A roar of flame burst through the air. We looked, and witnessed Isabelle. Tendrils of fire burst from her hands, and immolated Jondreas as he screamed. Screaming never lasts long like that. My heart beat in shock, terror, and though I wished it were not so, satisfaction in what I witnessed. Dugan slammed his face into his gauntlet and then cried out in frustration. Yelling back, Isabelle’s words were loud enough for me to hear: "You said, ‘deal with him as you see fit’ marshall!"

Caught in his words, and tired of our chase, Dugan shook his head. He mounted his horse called to his knights and rode away.

Two days later, veiled in my silks, I once again prepared myself behind the stage curtain. The music broke through the night and clapping welcomed me in. Sauntering out to the stage, with a flow of silk behind me, I was lusted after by Lyria, Isabelle, and above all my Buntaro. My short dance of Booty Bay harlotry inspired the crowd to share a few coins, and I bowed for them. Many of them were militiamen, including my Rhombur. He looked healthy now, fully cured of the ghoul flux.

"Who threatens our village and lives?" I called to the crowd.

"No one!" chanted the militia.

"Who raids our fields, or assaults our merchants?"

"No one!" they chanted again. Lyria tossed me a singed pair of goggles.

"No one! Indeed!" I said, holding it up in the air. "Now let us celebrate all together."

Lyria and Isabelle cuddled close together. Already Lyria’s hands rubbed her lover’s body. Sharing my breasts with them delighted me and all. Stripping myself of clothes, spinning in a sensual dervish, made me wetter. That’s when I began the orcish chant of victory. Buntaro joined with me in a deep throated vowels. I egged on Lyria and Rhombur to follow along. From them, the rest of the militia followed. They knew not what it meant, no more than I did that first night so long ago. They need not know the words to know it was right.

I brought my Buntaro up to the stage, and he hefted my nakedness into the air to thrill chanting crowd. He brought out his cock and fucked me in a standing position before the humans. Orgasming had never been stronger here than with him. I wailed in victory, and then saw Lyria and Isabelle in their thorough of lust.

"Your turn, Lyria," I said crawling towards them.

"Huh?" she said taking her lips off Isabelle.

"This is the Koh’stagig," I said. "You two shared in the victory. Now share in the celebration."

Isabelle’s pale eyes glistened with want.

"You mean? You want us to…" she said.

"Shame is the last enemy to die," I encouraged, caressing her cheek.

"Yes. Yes you’re right," said Isabelle. She brought Lyria up to the stage and they were upon each other like a pair of wild foxes. I reclined with Buntaro, excited with what we saw. Lyria, always strong and confident, showed no difference in her sex. Bringing Isabelle to her back and getting her completely nude happened as fast as an ambush. Isabelle threw her hands over her head and accepted Lyria’s kisses on her lips, and the bites at her skin. When Lyira pushed fingers into Isabelle, the penetration was announced with a cry of passion. All the while the chant of victory continued. We were alive. We had done our duty. We had saved what matters in the world.

I spent my remaining days saying my good byes, and arranging for a cart to carry my few possessions. My clothes? Oh I knew I could not carry all of them. I shared some with Isabelle, who wore my silks with faint embers of sensuality growing within her. I would miss them all, and hoped to see them someday again. Buntaro and I took to our cart, with Tsali riding in the bed behind us.

While we finished a meal by the roadside, Tsali’s ears perked forward and chest puffed out. He sniffed the air and pointed with his nose and Buntaro peered towards the brush.

"Buntaro," I whispered, indicating upwards to a tree. There, crept Jondreas’s mountain lion, fur standing up high and ears flat.

"Well there he is," said Buntaro.

He watched the animal closely as he walked along the branches near us. Without any certainty, it simply crept back and forth in the trees. Buntaro readied his Kukri. I picked up a piece of the chicken we had been eating. Waving it in the air capture the lion’s attention. I tossed it away from us. The lion hopped between branches, then to the ground and devoured the hunk of meat.

"Okay let’s go," I said.

Buntaro chuckled.


Buntaro sheafed his Kukri and ordered Tsali to stand down.


"Just watch," he said.

As he stepped for the cart, the lion approached us. Ears up and fur down, it let out a quiet roar.

"Large cats?" said Buntaro. "They make no noise unless they want to."

The lion stepped closer towards the food, and towards me.

"He…" I began.

"She’s yours now," said Buntaro. "Give her a little more food. She’ll eat out of your hand this time."

Trembling, I offered a chunk of salted pork to the lion. She sniffed it, then consumed it. Her rough tongue grazed at my palm. The rough scraping felt somehow tender.

"What now?" I said.

Buntaro mounted up on the cart with Tsali. I took a seat beside him. The lion looked up at us all, then jumped up and sat down near me. Buntaro cracked the reins, and we went at last towards our new adventures in Booty Bay.

The End

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The Loss and Lust of the Lightwarden: Part 04

Author’s Note: Wrath of the Lich King

This Story takes place just after the events of “Wrath of the Lich King” and on the alliance side. Please support more work like this because there are more.
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Storm the Stormwind Stockades!

We marched, Giles, Soyora, and I, right up to the entrance of the stockades. We all dressed in the arms of Stormwind foot soldiers. There we produced one of Soyora’s clever forgeries to the guard there: a summons for an orc named Buntaro to appear before the courts of Stormwind. The guards held it, and looked at it in confusion.

"Did they forget our situation here?" he said. "We’re in no condition to retrieve anyone right now."

He gestured to the rows of wounded guards laying on bedrolls.

"The three of us will get him out," I said.

"You can’t be serious?"

"Duty calls!" said Soyora. "Will you obstruct us in our charge?"

"We’re not coming in after you," said the guard. "Those are our orders."

"You won’t need to," I said.

With that the guard opened the gates and into the prison halls we went. The rowdiness of prisoners, and the sounds of fighting echoed through the halls. No prisoners met us to start, but we drew our weapons and marched into the halls. For mere habit, I muttered a chant of battle I had so many times recited. It felt rote, empty, and no blessing of the Naaru came upon me. No aura glowed from my feet, and I could offer my comrades no magical protection. Yet my chant must’ve have been loud enough to hear. For a gang of humans exited their cells and blocked our path. They carried simple clubs and crude daggers. Some had even cruder bandages upon their bruised and bloodied bodies. We were confronted by their leader. He stood with courage, before his men. Respecting him did not mean I relaxed.

"Thought we made it clear, The Dreadspikes control this block of the stockades now," he said. "Guards aren’t welcome."

"I’ve fought walking abominations, blue dragons, and necromancers," I taunted. "How do you think the eight of you will match to me?"

Giles raised his sword ready to fight.

"Oh my," said their leader. "Petty girl of the watch got herself delusions of grandeur."

Before I could charge, Soyora held out her arm to stop me.

"We’re not here for you, Dreadspikes," she said. She pulled off her helmet, "Hell, I’m not even a real guard, laddies."

They all looked to her, measuring her accent. She pointed to the three masted ship tattoo on one of the prisoner’s bare chest.

"Oi you there," she said. "What’s the name of that frigate?"

"She was called the Wicked Seahorse," he said.

Soyora took a sharp inhale. Then looked at the prisoner in the eye.

"Terrible fate, that ship," she said in a near whisper.

"Aye," he said stone faced.

Soyora turned to the leader.

"Listen here for a moment: my friend here’s got rage as hot as a Tarnassis noonday, and she’s not lying about what she’s fought. I’ve seen it myself."

She hefted out a pair of potions, a medical kit, and a skin of wine.

"But we’re not here for the Dreadspikes," she said. "We’re not even here for Stormwind. So take a few gifts and leave us in peace, aye?"

She popped the cork of the wineskin and poured some into her mouth.

The leader looked to the bare chested pirate, who nodded.

"What is your business here then?" said their leader.

"Not your concern," I said.

The leader glared at me.

"Oh, did I say we’ll inevitably kill a few black rocks?" interjected Soyora.

The leader took the wine. Other members took the potions and healing kits. Motioning us deeper into the Stockades, they returned to their cells.

The Blackrock prisoners were not quite so open to diplomacy. As we approached their end of the stockades, a group of their brutes charged us. In truth, I relished the chance to wet my sword upon them. I took a hit to my back from one of their clubs. I spun around, swung my sword, and grazed his arm sending a streak of blood on the wall behind. The Blackrock stumbled and dropped his club. I gave him a solid kick in the chest.

"Duck!" cried Giles.

I dove down and a bolt of fire singed above my head. An imp, chattering down the hallway, conjured another bolt. Giles held his shield before him and charged forth. The imp sent a flamebolt that exploded onto Giles’s shield.

The Blackrock I tussled with stood up, and was dazed. He reached for his club. As soon as he turned his head, Soyora kicked him in the face, and he fell over unconscious. Soyora’s hair stuck to her skin underneath her helmet. Her sword was bloodied, and a dead Blackrock lay behind her. Another lay wounded before me. I saw in his face terror, and grief.

"You want to die here today?" I said with a sigh in Orcish.

"You speak?" he stammered with blood in his mouth. "How do you speak?"

"Thrall’s Orcs taught me," I said. I knelled down next to him. I reached out my hand to his wound. Frightened, he tried to push it away. Then I touched his wound, and healed it.

"The true horde always kills wounded enemies," he said.

"I am no Blackrock," I said, pointing to the humans’s side of the stockade.

"Run there and hide," I said. "But first, where is Thrall’s orc?"

Giles stepped in looking over the recently healed Blackock. He held an imp’s head in his hand.

"Third cell to the left," the orc said. "Master Sargok wishes to turn him."

"Run," I said.

The Blackrock stumbled up and retreated into the shadowy halls of the stockade.

Further down the hall way, more Black rocks shouted about the commotion. We hurried to the third cell door, opened the lock and I bust through.

"Buntaro?" I shouted.

"Who’s asking?" he said from behind me. I turned and saw him grimacing back at me, holding a quarterstaff. He look tired, hungry, but determined.

"Kolapi?" I said. I lifted up my helmet.

"Yasmeen?!" he exclaimed. He dropped his quarter staff and embraced me. His oily hands touched my face in disbelief that I could be there. I took hold of him, and kissed him deeply.

"What are you doing? Why are you here?" he said.

"We’re getting you out," I said. "Come on."

We dashed out of the cell. Giles held up the imp’s head before a red eyed orc warlock. The orc screamed curses and began a spell. Buntaro yelled an orcish curse, and then tossed a heavy stone towards the warlock, striking him dead in the chest. The spell caster stumbled back. Another orc flung a rock back at us from a sling. The stone went towards Buntaro, and then deflected away in the middle of the air and ricocheted to the stone wall. I gasped, then looked to my feet and saw the faint glow of a blue glyph. My aura had returned. The Blackrocks cried their word for ‘knight’ at me, and charged.

"Time to go!" cried Soyora. She tossed a stick of dynamite back at the Blackrocks, who fell back for cover. We ran the opposite way. In our wake, an explosion and smoke burst.

"Ha ha!" cheered Buntaro. "I told those Blackrock fanatics I’d never be one of them! Never!"

"That’s my Kolapi!"

"Yeah? Did you notice the warlock had a black eye? Gave him that," he said. "Didn’t like me too well after."

We ran down the halls. We reached the human side and heard the sound of sea shanties and dancing. Though more Blackrocks were on our tail. The humans let us pass, and then the confronted the Blackrocks. A brawl ensued behind us. Half drunk sailors engaged the Blackrocks in a fight the sounded like a party. We made it past the gate, and locked it for safety.

"Oh that was fantastic!" Buntaro said. "Yasmeen, your gods are still with you!"

"Uhh… maybe?" I said. My aura still hung in the air. I brushed Buntaro’s braided hair. He smiled back at me. "It’s a long story, Buntaro."

"Oi that it is, said Soyora. She held up a pair of shackles.

"Captain!" said Buntaro saluting.

"Hey mate," she said. "We’re going to sneak you past the actual guards now? Maybe best if you act the part of an orc meanie rather than be all lovey dovey with Yasmeen for a bit?"

"Oh right," said Buntaro. "You got it."

With Buntaro in chains, we walked him out of the stockade. We were surrounded by wary faced Stormwind regulars. Buntaro had on his war face, and exaggerated it.

"I like kittens and picking tulips!" he roared in orcish. The stockade soldiers stepped back from his war cry. I bit down laughter.

"You’re mother is a very nice lady!" he growled into the face of a recruit who held a quivering spear. I suppressed a giggle and jerked at Buntaro’s chains.

"Foul monster!" I stuttered. "Silence your tongue!"

Buntaro pulled against me as if an angry mule. He shouted again. The tired stockade soldiers took steps back in terror.

"Dabo! Zub-zub!" he howled. "It’s been such a great visit to this great city!"

I dragged him out at last, thankful that the Stockades doors shut, so that none could hear my snickering. Once we got out of earshot of any other guards, we approached a prison cart that Giles had prepared for us. Buntaro stopped dead in his tracks, and trembled at it.

"Kolapi," he said. "I do not wish to enter that."

"We must," I said. "It is part of the escape."


"I will enter first," I said. I opened the cell door and sat inside. I motioned for Buntaro to follow. He winced, and then entered after me in a bravery I’d never seen in him. Soyora latched the bolts on us from the outside. Buntaro’s eyes darted around looking for escape.

"Kolapi," I removed my gauntlet and offered him my hand. "Be safe with me."

The horses galloped off and the cart bumped along the ground. I held my quivering Buntaro.

"Do you remember the song they used to sing in the Warsong Infirmary?" I began.

"Ahh.. Yes," he said.

I started the first line of the old orcish song. Buntaro joined with me, then he trembled no more.

Once we made it to old town, we hid in an alley. Soyora loosed the horses from their reins. She broke open the locks outside of the prisoner cart. Buntaro could not exit fast enough. Soyora handed us a key and directed us to the back entrance of one of our smuggler’s safe houses. Giles and Buntaro shook hands and we took a short respite from our adventure.

"You’re still keeping your station after all this then?" said Soyora.

"That’s the idea," said Giles.

"Giles, I don’t have words to thank you," I said.

"It was the right thing to do, Yasmeen," he said. He turned to Soyora. "Make it look good, eh?"


Soyora punched him in the face. She kicked him in the stomach, and scratched his armor with her blades. Panting, Giles raised his hands that he’d had enough. Soyora handed him a tiny vial.

"Once you sniff it, you’ll be out for five minutes. Ten max," she said. "Then tell the guards whatever you want about what happened here."

"So long and good night!" said Giles. "Until we meet again."

He sniffed the vial and fell unconscious to the floor of the alley. Soyora turned to the horses.

"They’ll block all ships until we’ve been searched," she said. "Then we’re off to Booty Bay. Bit of a job there, we have. We’ll be staying in port. Don’t be long though."

When we said our goodbyes and then Buntaro and I made it to the safe house. There, Tsali waited for us and leapt with joy up into his master’s arms. The three of us snuggled together, enjoying our short victory. We knew well that we could not leave the safe house for at least a day, and then would need to sneak out under the stars. Farley too, knew of our plans, and would allow me to house Buntaro.

Our safe house was little more than an abandoned warehouse and we had little more than floor mats to sleep on. Still though, I shed my armor in haste once we secured the door behind us.

"Yasmeen," said Buntaro. "I’ve missed you."

I dashed naked into his arms. The sweat and grime of the day’s battle slipped off our skin. Too long had it been since my Kolapi held me to him, and too long had it been since we touched our tongues to one another in passion. Far, far too long had it been since I was made so wet in the protection of Buntaro’s arms. I undid his ragged prisoner’s clothes, and Buntaro shoved me down upon the mat. He took his place on top of me, and I wrapped my legs around him.

He penetrated me, and I cried out for him.

"Yes.. I missed you too," he said looking at me.

Buntaro grunted and growled into my ear. His cock slipped in and out. He pleased me as if to put me into a spell, and kept me on the edge of my orgasm for so long. I clenched on his cock, my legs tightened around him. We climaxed together, in shouts and cries, uncaring for anything beyond our pleasure. The world would be ours again soon, as soon as we arrived at Booty Bay.

To be Concluded

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The Loss and Lust of the Lightwarden: Part 03

Author’s Note: Wrath of the Lich King

This Story takes place just after the events of “Wrath of the Lich King” and on the alliance side. Please support more work like this because there are more.
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Sex and Treachery in Nothrend

It took all my courage to begin sharing the tale with Giles, but I began to tell him more than I had told any traveler.

Before and during the Lich King’s war, I’d joined a crusading order known as the The Wyrmguard Centurions. Our proud number had been whittled down over the months throughout our time in Northrend. It was our last battle mission that destroyed us. We had a simple assignment in an empty snow covered wastelands called the Dragon Blight. It was there, in the cold roof of the world, that dragons went to die. On the north end of the waste, the undead scourge citadel of Naxxramas floated. A necromancer known as Kel’Thuzad ruled here, and raised the dead dragons into the army of the Lich King. We centurions were to find the bones of the great wryms, smash their skulls and their great wing bones, thus rendering them useless to the Lich King’s servants. This brought two enemies against us. First, the scourge hunted us. They hated all living, but especially those who frustrated their plans. Second, the great wyrms of the blue dragon flight. They saw us as unholy defilers of their graves. Our company could engage one adversary at any time.

One day our plans were frustrated. Claws crunching in the snow, the blue dragonkin bounded from an icy cave. There had been little more than a dozen, but a single dragonkin fights with the strength of five men. We defeated them, but knew going forth would invite more trouble. Thus, our company was forced to make a dangerous retreat. Hoping no scourge tracked our trail, we followed our own snow prints back.

Stitched together abominations, a horde of ghouls, and the necromancer commanding them answered our hopes and prayers. We had no choice but to engage them before they engaged us. Matched in number, we fought hard, and I exorcised the undead with my fellow paladins. Despite our efforts, we fought in the open snow, and neither side could gain an advantage.

Then both of us faced the wrath of the blue dragons. Flanked by drakes, a great wyrm flew above the field of battle, strafing us with their breath, and scattering both living and undead alike. Soon, it was clear that would be no victor but the dragon and his kin. But my company looked in terror as one of the dracoliches entered the sky.

The Wyrmheart Centurions fought with honor. I myself did not falter. Wounded and weak, I still pulverized the last necromancer in holy fury. I had slain him, but I knew that I was the last. Blood dripping into the snow, waiting to join the rest of the centurions in honorable death, I fell to the ground. My vision grew hazy. The battle field grew quiet. Ahead of me one of, the walking abominations stomped towards me. Praying, I awaited a clean demise.

A brilliant streak of violet light traversed the air. An arrow struck the abomination. It groaned and charged. The growl of a fierce wolf broke into the air and charged the monster. More arrows followed. Someone shouted in Orcish. I saw not what transpired. All I could see was a great blue blur. But for a moment, my eyes focus on one standing over me, an Orc. His face looked kind and rugged, and creased in sadness at my pain.

"You do yet live," he spoke in the language common to humans.

"I cannot move," I whispered back.

"Do not try. I am Buntaro and I can help you," he said, retrieving a potion from his belt. "Drink first."

I swallowed it down. The worst of my wounds sealed themselves, but oh it awoke so much agony from those that did not. Moaning, I drifted out of focus. Buntaro shouted for his allies, and he lifted me up from the snow. Surrendering, I slipped out of consciousness.

Next I remembered, my waking gaze was met with two decayed eye sockets. Yellow orbs of light glowed where eyes had long since melted away. The tight mummified skin of the face stretched tight to bone, and still this dead woman’s face tried her best to smile in kindness at me. I knew what she must be. She was one of the undead who had been freed of the Lich King’s influence. Her mind, it would still be human, which meant she could be good. All this I understood in my mind, but my heart knew the face like that which had murdered so many of my friends.

With a hoarse sound, she said something.

Another undead creature, this one looking like a man, peered over me. He prodded my face with his bony hands examining my eyes and throat. Resting his hand on my chest, he said something in an icy voice.

"He says, ‘breathe’," the woman said. She spoke the language of the alliance in a voice like a dusty attic.

I took a deep inhale, in part truly of fear, for I was too weak to fight. It hurt to breathe, there was no doubt bile in my lungs. Though I knew, these must be the forsaken of Arthas’s first invasion.

"The Draenei’s lungs are filled with puss," the man said to the nurse. His words came out slow, and with effort. He handed a vial to the woman. "Pour this into her mouth."

With that, he shuffled off. The woman looked to me again.

"I am Julie Applewood, a nurse here," she said. "When under my care, I swear you will come to no harm."

She inspected the glowing yellow vial and popped its cork.

"Please drink this," she said. "You have slept from your wounds for three days."

Not sure what else to do, and still half expecting to die, I swallowed the contents. The liquid swirled into my throat, then became like a hot vapor. It worked its way into my lungs, filling them, then I coughed, gagged. A cloud of white expelled from my mouth, dissipating in the air. Alive again, I took my first breath.

"Yasmeen. My name is Yasmeen," I said. "Where am I?"

"In Warsong hold on the Borean Tundra," she said. I had known this place. It was a great fortress of the Horde in Northrend, far from the human settlements.

"Am I a prisoner?"

"You are an injured an warrior, in my medical ward. The horde are your allies in this war. We would not treat you so," she said. "How much do you remember?"

I described the fateful battle, and my near death out on the Dragonblight. I begged Nurse Applewood to tell me if any others had survived. She said that Buntaro, my Orc rescuer, had found only me alive with his small band. Weere any others left alive, I surely knew they perished. Their souls needed one to recite the rite, and light the lantern, and guide them to the glory seat of the Naaru. Who would light them now but me? But where among the horde would I find Naaru’s faithful? I would have cried, if I had not been so weak.

"Arthur is the apothecary here," Nurse Applewood continued. "He knows little of Draenei physiology, but we worked our best."

"I thank you," I said.

"Rest now, stranger," said Nurse Applewood. "Buntaro will want to know that you live."

Buntaro came in some time later. He removed his helmet. Snow and ice and had scratched his face. His worg, Tsali, bounded behind him. The wolf sniffed me, and licked my face. My body ached, I could not move my legs without great pain. Still, I rolled over and rubbed Tsali’s head.

"Ahh, you look well," the orc said. "Strong enough to tear the ears off a kodo!"

With pain, I laughed.

"I feel more as if a kodo stomped on me," I replied. "I am called Yasmeen."

"Buntaro," he said, saluting with a strike to the chest.

"Why am I alive, Buntaro?" I asked.

Buntaro shrugged.

"Because we are allied in this conflict?" he said. "Because the Lich King is enemy to all that lives? Because I shuddered at the thought of you raised as a Death Knight?"

That should be reason enough.

"I owe so much to you," I said.

"You owe me nothing. There need be no reason at all," Buntaro added. "None except that you fought well, and that you suffered. Now, you will heal in time."

My mind drifted back to my last scattered memories of the battle.

"The others who fought with me? Are there others?"

Saddened, he shook his head.

"Our warriors found no others alive," he said. "We lit a pyre for their bodies. We know this is not your custom, but war demands dirty things."

Humans often burn or bury their dead. Draenei light sacred lanterns for those who pass. The Lich King raises our dead to fight for him. They had burned my comrades in the field like a massive pile of garbage, destroying their usefulness to our enemy. I knew this, yet it still made me sick. Passing into valiant glory to the Naaru, the Centurions deserved far better.

"I must," I choked through my grief. "Please, I must at least find my way back to the Alliance."

Only there could I find the priests and report the fate of the Centurions. Only then could I see the funeral rites observed.

"Oh Yasmeen," Buntaro said. "You have a spirit of ten warriors within you. You will live. Though now, you can barely walk."

I fell back into the cot surrendering to my weakness.

"I promise, you will be tended to," he said. "I’ll advise you of all that transpires. Until then, heal."

I spent many more days helpless on that cot. Bored, I spoke to the wounded gathered there. These wounded warriors passed the tedium with old songs. Soon, I learned the rudiments of their language when I joined them. Nurse Applewood, though terrifying to behold, showed a kindness of soul. Checking on us twice daily, she cleaned my wounds. When I had healed, well enough walk, Buntaro came to me once more. He smiled widely with excitement and joy.

"Yasmeen," he said puffing his chest. "Tonight, you are well? Yes? You are healthy?"

"I am," I said.

"Then you must come with me to the great hall tonight," he said. "Our warriors have slain Baron Rivendare!"

"What?" I jumped up from my bedside. "I thought it would be impossible!"

"Ha ha!" laughed Buntaro. "We have hammered at Naxxramas for weeks, winnowing out its defenders! Last night, we struck a crippling blow!"

"Buntaro, you spin stories!" I chided.

"I would not lie," he said. He threw on a hefty cloak over me. "See his head for yourself!"

I arrived in the great hall. Orange bonfires burned upon the open ground, sending smoke through the vents above. Trolls and Orcs reveled around the fires. And there were women here among the men. For the Draenei do not always join genders in celebration, and never would anyone except a harlot dance as lewdly as these women of the Orcs and Trolls do.

Never had I seen such freedom.

A column of warriors and their shaman marched around the hall. Upon a tall halberd was stuck the unmistakable frozen head of Baron Rivendare. I had seen this man. I had seen his unforgiving, fierce, sneer as he led the armies of the dead to battle. Now, I saw him as dead trophy. His empty eyes darted in opposite directions, and his bloodied jaw hung loose. The indignity of him upon the spike excited me. The orcs had slain a monster.

Buntaro invited me to a long table. We were served thick red drinks and the tough meat of the great bovine creatures of Northrend. The orcs, they spiced their food in ways I had not had. It was a hearty meal for a well deserved victory.

The orc women joined their men as equals. One of them sat in between two men and I sensed from their laughter and speaking that they were friends. The larger of the two men toasted at the table. I joined them. After which, this orc looked to me. I did not understand their language fully yet. I only heard "chun’puq" said several times, and more than once this was said while looking at me.

"What did he say, Buntaro?"

"He said… umm… ‘very lovely woman’," he sighed.

"Lovely woman?" I squinted my eyes in skepticism.

"Well, in truth, it’s one of those sayings that don’t translate well…"

"What did he call me, Buntaro?"

He gulped and replied in candor.

"He said ‘innocent wardling.’ It’s what we call warriors who have seen no battles."

My skin went hot with anger. I stood on my hooves and shoved my way before the large orc.

"Chun’puq?" I said pointing to myself, while glaring with all my offense. "Me. Chun’puq?!"

The large orc looked to me with no passion. He turned his eyes away from me and sipped his drink like a dainty human princess.

"Dabo. Chun’puq," he taunted.

He was a fool to turn his back to me.

I grabbed him under his arms, and hurled him to the ground from his chair. The woman and his other comrade shot up from their seats. The large orc jumped up from his back, and his fist struck me in the cheek.

"Chun’puq!" he roared. I charged him in anger and his companions attempted to intercede, but Buntaro spread his arms in front of them. Half the eyes of the halls were upon me and the large orc as we fought each other. He bruised my cheek with his fist. I bashed his forehead with my horn. He stumbled back shouting curses in pain, small drips of blood dripped from my horn and his wound.

He made for me again, then Buntaro intercept him. The two orcs exchanged impassioned words. The orc woman said something in a cuttingly sarcastic tone. The brute grumbled and wandered way. The woman looked to me and said nothing, but she inlined her head in respect towards me. She grabbed her other male comrade and went towards the dancers around the fires.

"What was all that?" I said to Buntaro.

"That’s Taluv," explained Buntaro. "He doesn’t think… ummm… ‘a kin to demons who stinks of humanity’ deserves to celebrate in our hall."

"He said that?"

"I told him all the living deserve to celebrate," Buntaro added. "And then Daedra over them asked him if it was flaccid or if it fell off completely this time."

I chuckled.

"Are orcs always so direct in their insults?"

"Only matters because Taluv has wanted to Koh’stagig with Daedra for the past five battles."

"What’s that?"

"Uh… I know the alliance chants prayers for the departed?" he said. "What do you Draenei do?"

"We recite the last rites and burn the spirit lantern so the dead may find their way to the Naaru’s bossum," I said. "What, did Taluv want to bury the dead with her or something?"

"Not really…" said Buntaro. "Orcs, you see, we were a nomadic people. We had little privacy. So, when warriors die, we have still celebrate their life…"

"Like the chant to the Naaru?"

"You know what? Easier to show you," said Buntaro.

Near one of the great fires, Daedra and her male danced together. Buntaro and I joined the semi circle of chanting, clapping, Horde surrounding them. I imitated the chant, not knowing what it was. I did not care, for Daedra and her male already undid their armor, their muscular scarred skin glistened with sweat against the light of the fire. Daedra danced as I had never seen a woman dance. Arms spread wide, her great hind grinding back and forth against her male. Her breasts shown free, welcoming the touch of the man behind her.

Daedra shouted something to the crowd. They cheered with it. Then she dropped her loin cloth completely, leaned forward, and her male penetrated her from behind. There was this incredible joy there, an excitement I’d not experienced in ages. Yet here, all of this orcs, had no doubt lost brothers, friends, and peers in the clashes with Lich King’s army. But what is they did? No chants or dreary songs. No, these Orcs found solace in the combat’s kinder sister, its counter part and near opposite. Instead of layers of armor, vulnerable flesh was displayed for all to see. Instead of angry strikes intended to kill, a tender touch was given to enliven. Instead of shouts of despair, came the cries of sexual bliss.

Oh I wanted this. Would they share this ritual with me?

I grabbed Buntaro by the arm and turned him towards me.

"Koh’stagig with me, Buntaro," I said.


"You heard me. I was clear!"

Buntaro glanced around at his comrades, nervous and uncertain.

"You said the celebration belongs to all those who live!" I said. "Is it a woman? Is there one who would forbid you from this?"

"Well no," he said.

"Koh’stagig with me," I repeated. "I am alive! My companions are dead! This is what must be done."

Buntaro looked in sympathy, but then turned away.

"It might be.." he began.

I whipped my hand around to strike him. He caught it in a firm fist. With breath hastening, his eyes focused on me like a wild feral beast. Mine did too.

"Don’t make me fight you too," I said.

"Alright," he growled.

Buntaro hefted me over his shoulder, he brushed away the plates and bowls in a clatter, and then he dropped my back to a table, and tore at the cloth at my chest. He undid his garments, crawling on top of me. His mighty pectorals, brushed over my bare breasts. Then, I took the first kiss from him. Oh, this mighty Orc, brave and honorable, had my heart and my hips melting. I wrapped my hooves around his body, pressing my sex towards him, and getting wetter. Soon, the same chant broke up around us. Buntaro removed more and more of my clothes, bending me over, and swatting the great round cheeks of my hind. By the prophets, I did not care for verses of the Naaru. I cared not for what the demands of the Draenei upon me.

I cared for nothing but Buntaro. When he opened his loins at last, and drove his warm shaft inside me, I became enraptured and filled with joy. Buntaro celebrated life with me, and my wounded soul found its healing that night.

Over the coming weeks, my wounds healed fully. The damage to my armor could not be repaired without materials from the Exodar. My sacred hammer stayed strong enough, and I spent afternoons sparing with the Horde and learning more of the language common to them. It was then that I became acquainted with Captain Soyora. Her ship transported troops, metals, and food for Horde and Alliance alike. "War is good for business, lass. Peace is good for business too," she said when I asked how she managed to traverse both sides. I thought perhaps Soyora could find the rare quartz and minerals from the Exodar to repair my broken shoulder pads and grieves, but I sighed knowing that even if she could, no smith in Warsong Hold could work with it.

"I’m contracted for the Horde for the next few months anyway, lass," she shrugged. "I can check for it in Ratchett. Goblins can get their hands on anything. Say… after that I could transport you back to the Stormwind side. Sure they’d love to see a survivor of the great Wyrmhearts."

The offer upset me. It surprised me how much so, but the other side of the continent was far from Buntaro, Tsali, and revelries in the great hall. Furthermore, I had learned that the Horde spear-headed further incursions into Naxxramas, that filthy citadel that no doubt commanded the legions which slaughtered my compatriots.

"Soyora, can you get me anything? Something the Horde smiths can used to augment my arms?"

She smiled at me, knowing no doubt, of Buntaro.

"Yeah I think I can," she said. "Might have just the thing for you. What should I tell the Alliance about the Wyrmheart Centurions?"

I shrugged.

"Tell them nothing," I said. "They believe the Wyrmhearts are dead, and so they are."

The Horde Smith outfitted me with armor blessed by their Shamans. A contingent of Blood Elves had even enchanted my armor further. Soon Buntaro and their warriors judged I had learned enough of their language to join them in battle.

Oh what battles they were! We trudged through the snow, and ice, tracking the small bands of walking dead. We moved in small bands, and skirmished against hulking abominations, their necromancers, and their death knights. Not once did we show the death knights mercy. On the contrary, those traitors were our targets. I exorcised more than one myself, sending those perverse mockeries to their true deaths. One wandered alone and distant from support. The limp in her walk betrayed her wounds, but the glow of her sword showed she could be a threat. Our concealed team thought to capture the death knight, and Buntaro raised a special arrow designed to paralyze. I had nothing of it. Rather, I stepped out into the ice and challenged her to single combat.

Even Buntaro was aghast at my savagery. The wounded death knight fought well, and fought hard, but in the end, I bashed her armor in with my maul.

We found a missive on her body. It covered recent troop movements, and counted numbers of the dead at Naxxramas. Taking it to our superiors, they examined the information and debated over three days over what to do. On that fourth day, we had new orders. Naxxramas was in disarray, and had grown vulnerable. Therefore, we had a chance to destroy its usefulness to the Lich King.

It had been one of the largest operations I had ever been in. We fought through stinking halls, slaying mindless zombies and their semi-sentient masters. Battered, we even held our ground against a great Dracolich, the most menacing I’d ever seen. A third of our soldiers were slain or frozen at the end of the battle, but for all that cost we brought the skull of great necromancer Kel’Thuzad and his Dracolich to Warsong Hold.

Buntaro and I led the first celebration that night. Orcs, Trolls, and even the comparatively prudish Blood Elves chanted and clapped while a rubbed my bare skin to him. I unbuckled my lover’s scaled metal armor and dropped my own breastplate to the floor with a clunk. I rubbed his mighty chest, and let him kiss me deeply. Reaching down, my hand took hold of his hard cock, it throbbed with life.

I got to my knees before him, ripped apart the leather that held it from me. I licked his stiff member, from his sack up to the tip, teasing him. I pleased him slow, savoring the saltiness of his shaft. Saliva came off my lips, and mixed with the clear drops of fluid that dripped from his tip. The chants and the claps meshed with the sound of his moans.

Buntaro grabbed my horns, and held my face. He jabbed his cock into my mouth, and I gaped wide. I choked and gagged against my lovers cock, growing ever wetter myself. His thrusting had the thrill of combat to them, and the danger of his invasion of my throat heightened the pleasure. Once he yanked out, I panted for air and a stream of spittle stretched from my lips to his cock. Buntaro undid the rest of armor, as I did mine. He threw me to my back, and hefted my hips to the air.

Buntaro took my front hole first. Then once he sent my juices upon his man hood, he slipped himself into my back hole. That stretching! Never would I forget how good it felt, getting fucked by Buntaro there. My mind slipped into a dizzy haze there in the great hall. I cried out as if in battle, looking to the dead skull of the dracolich, with a bonfire roasting within it. Many lovers engaged each other around it. Even Soyora had found a handsome Blood Elf to make hers.

Our victories and our sex continued. Months later, a combined force of Alliance and Horde had pincered upon the Lich King’s lair of Ice Crown itself. Invading warriors had at last slain the Lich King and the armies prepared themselves for departures.

Alas, that is when I learned of the traitor.

One of Soyora’s sailors had grown sick from his food, and I grew suspicious. When Nurse Applewood tended to him, I sensed that she recognized his symptoms too well. I demanded she speak to me, and she refused to talk. Instead, she bid me to hide new of Henslow’s apothecary, and eavesdrop on their conversations. His words, though difficult to understand, were unmistakable. He had concocted a poison, which when released on rations, would cause a malaise upon the returning troops of the Alliance. Our poor sailor had been a test subject. All this, I would learn later, had been commanded in secret from the undead masters in Undercity.

Nurse Applewood left, and so did I. I returned less than hour later, with my warhammer in hand.

All this I shared with Giles. Soyora had confirmed much of the story. I trembled in doing so. For I knew not how he regarded me. I feared, in truth, that he perceive me as a derelict, a deserter, or worse a traitor as the Alliance of Northrend had so long ago. I had been naked with Giles, but never had I been so vulnerable.

"Oh, thousand hells," he moaned. "Yasmeen, I came to Stormwind for a few simple fights and an easy station. Do you know what you ask of me?"

"We ask you to risk much to help us," I said, "and to save a orc who you have no reason to care for."

"But you care for him deeply," said Giles. "Then, I must care for him too. Yasmeen, I cannot deny you, but you cannot stay with him here."

"They’ll be on the Hammerhead the night we rescue him," interjected Soyora.

Giles shook his head.

"The guard is doubled at the docks," he said. "They’re poised to lock down the whole harbor if even one prisoner gets out. But there could be another way…"

And so, began our plan to rescue Buntaro.

To Be Continued

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The Loss and Lust of the Lightwarden: Part 02

Author’s Note: Wrath of the Lich King

This Story takes place just after the events of “Wrath of the Lich King” and on the alliance side. Please support more work like this because there are more.
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A Lightwarden’s Secret

Weeks went by quietly in Goldshire. Merchants traveled through with their wares. Our blacksmith clanged hot iron into tools and weapons. Farmers threshed their fields and sent their wheat and barley to the great cities. New members of the guard replaced the old, some frustratingly immune to bribes. Gathering my silks from Silvermoon proved harder, and I sent messages to Booty Bay inquiring about possible shipments of enchanted cloth and other trinkets too hard to find on this side of the world. My wounds healed without a scar, militia men whose injuries had become septic came to me, and I cured them as discreetly as I could.

But I was drained. I was tired, and languid. An orc Shaman, her name was Daedra, called the feeling ‘the barren tree’, for she said that expending so much mana through combat left you like a solitary fruit tree, begging to be watered, so it might bear fruit again. The shamans depended on their people to replenish themselves, and so I too had studied their rituals.

That nervous archer? I learned he was called Rhombur. His grandfather had been a knight of the second war who raised the son and grandson alike on tales of fighting. After the battle, Rhombur grew curious of me, wondering where I learned to fight. I offered him a deal: hit three bull’s eyes out of twenty arrows and he could not only join me in a performance, but I would share with him exactly one story.

I did not think a young man with work on a farm would have much chance to dedicate to archery, but he persisted. He fulfilled his goal, and Lyria herself confirmed it.

So there, I danced before his fascinated, soft brown eyes, stripping myself of my silks while the men and women of Goldshire cheered on. Lyria had completely forgone her own breeches then and rubbed herself. Half the audience enjoyed watching her. Not letting her steal my performance, I dragged Rhombur up on stage. He hoisted me up in the air, my legs wrapped around his hips. He possessed near as much strength as the Orcs of Warsong hold. He turned me around outwards. I relished in my nakedness, baring my chest and arms for the masturbating crowd.

When Rhombur bent me over a barrel, my legs spread on instinct. He went down, running his tongue around my pussy. As he imbibed, so I became drunk with enjoyment. Rhombur removed his clothes. I found his tanned skin beautiful and stretched with muscle. He aimed his cock and collected his reward for his marksmanship. This young man had only recently seen real conflict. He fucked me with the passion as only one with something to prove does. Yes, I enjoyed allowing him to enter in my show, and yes, I knew I would fulfill my promise to him.

I took my young lover upstairs with me. There, I started a fire within my hearth and bid him to lie with me on the rugs before it. Curled next to me, with his hands rubbing my body, he asked for a story. I began like this: I supported regular soldiers in the Howling Fjord. It is cold, empty tundra south of nearly impassable mountains. We had been assigned to assess the threat of these half-giants known as Vykrul. Rhombur hardly believed such beings existed. We escorted a cleric, whose purpose had been to establish diplomatic ties. Vykrul though are wrathful and brutish. They hurled stones upon us. Were it not for the cleric’s quick shielding, he surely would’ve been crushed. I guided soldiers to safety, but we found ourselves pinned between an over snowed path to our east and half-giants to our west.

While our compatriots kept the Vykrul distracted with spawned elementals of fire, I guided four up a mountain side.

Then, my soldiers and I flanked the Vykrul. We slayed those who did not surrender and captured two. The alliance held them as prisoners for two weeks. Only then did the half-giants decide it was time to talk.

"Wouldn’t it have been better to fight your way through?" said Rhombur.

"Ah no," I said. "Our mission was against the Lich King. The half-giants? They might have been allies in better times."

"So what did you agree to?"

"We kept their prisoner’s hostage," I said. "Until the Vykrul agreed to allow us passage."

"That’s a small victory," said Rhombur. His meaty arms squeezed my chest.

"It is," I said. "And that is my story."

"Can I ask another question?" he said.

"You may," I said.

"Why do you not enlist again with Stormwind?" he said. "Why do you stay here? Is it only for joy of dancing? You could save lives."

Rhombur had never left Elwynn forest, had barely shed blood and had a thirst for the world beyond his village. I turned my face away from him.

"Yasmeen, I’m sorry I didn’t mean…"

"It is fine," I said. "Listen, for this is truth: when I returned to the alliance, they accused me of treachery and attempting to sabotage their rations. When I had made tremendous sacrifice to warn them of the true saboteur. I had a cure with me."

Remembering how I must have appeared to the Alliance when I returned from the Horde side, I shuddered at the memory. I arrived on a ship called the Hammerhead, known well to work for Horde and Alliance alike. My armor had been a collection of Exodar crystals patched with Orcish metal. Taurens had stitched my warm furs. I carried a precious, and malignant, journal from an undead alchemist. The crate of unmarked bottles no doubt invited suspicion.

"They would not listen and threw me into the brig. It wasn’t until a commander’s own son grew ill that they used the antidote I brought with me."


By the prophets, I spoke too much. I nodded, with my lips tight.

"By the light, Yasmeen," he continued. "They treated you horribly. Did they bring you home in chains, like an animal?"

I shook my head.

"They released me. I could have taken a boat back to Stormwind. Instead though, I discovered a merchant vessel with a handsome captain. The seas are lonesome, and I cared not where I would go."

I looked back to Rhombur. His face displayed awe of me. He considered my action brave. I judged it one of despair.

"Rhombur, you wish to join the Stormwind guard? To fight for the Alliance?" I said. "Do you wish to see the Vykruls, or the beasts of the barrens, or even the great mushroom forests in Outland?"


"Then do not let my sad stories deter you," I said. "Be brave and seek your adventures."

I smiled. My young lover’s tongue thrust onto mine. He pressed so hard, and so deep. Amazing, it is, that such a small muscle can do so much. Slipping into a distracted bliss, I had to push him away lest I forget what else must be done. I retrieved a set of candles, four of them, each marked with runes from the shamans.

"Rhombur, help me light them," I said. "Then please, do not be disturbed with what I speak next."

"What are we doing?" he said. His eager arousal pleased me. To tease hadn’t been the idea, but it was fun.

"It is a simple ritual," I said. We lit the candles then I placed them on the ground. Whispering my accented orcish over them, I waved my hands. The magic ebbed in the air, and my recitation completed. In a glow, a small totem appeared in the center. It looked like a wooded stump, with its top carved into a bowl, filled with water as blue as the moon wells.

"By the light!" he said. Shamanic magic is nearly unknown in the Alliance lands, most certainly of all in villages like Goldshire.

"The Horde calls it a mana tide totem," I said. I dipped my hand into its pool and sprinkled some on my skin, and then onto Rhombur. "I need to energize, but first we must energize it."

After leading Rhombur into my bed, I fell to my back, and he rolled on top of me. Oh yes, he kissed me deep again, and pressed my hands above my head. Pinned there, I kicked my legs into the air. His cock rubbed up and down the slit of my pussy. His breath became heavier and deeper. He pushed into me, and we moaned together.

"Fuck me," I said.

Rhombur slammed his hips into me in explosive successions. His passion had a primal nature to it, and soon the tide totem bubbled. Next, I begged him for a new position, and Rhombur turned me over to my belly, penetrating me once again. The tide’s water flowed out to a single ethereal stream of mana, and it flowed into me. So invigorated, I could not hold back my orgasm. I came hard as Rhombur’s muscular arms leaned over me. He pulled out, panting, and I lay there to recover.

Rhomubr gazed at the small streams of mana. It flowed like a river towards me.

"It’s beautiful," he said.

"Isn’t it?" I said. I rolled him to his back, and took position above him. When my arms raised, the rivers flowed faster to me. He enjoyed the view, and I enjoyed the ride.

While I bid Rhombur not to share my tale, it was perhaps silly of me to expect silence in such a small village. The talk of "Vykruls" spread through Goldshire. Innkeeper Farley asked if such a thing was true. I sighed and shared it was.

"A good thing such beasts are so far north," said Farley. "my inn could not withstand such monsters."

"Goldshire is quiet," I agreed. It was why I was here. "Let us not take it for granted."

"Not in the least," agreed Farley.

He was right. We had no further trouble with Gnolls, yet Lyria’s militia trained hard. Rhombur’s dedication to his bow did not lapse either. Searching out new equipment, or inquiring about service to the Stormwind guard, some from our village traveled to Stormwind.

Then one day, someone came down after them. My long-lost friend captain Soyora trespassed into the Goldshire inn. No shame of my nudity do I have with her. Far too long had I known this independent sea captain and her crew. She held her dark brown hair back with a red ribbon. Her brown hands showed the callouses of years on the ocean. Winking, she took a sly sip of her ale. Damn her and those large eyes. What was she doing here?

"Soyora?" I said serving her her meal

"Oi there, Yasmeen," she said. "Been a few seasons, hasn’t it?"

"Many," I said.

Maybe it hadn’t been long enough. I bore Soyora no malice, well perhaps a little. Her ship, the Hammerhead, and its crew refused me passage back at the end of the Lich King’s war. Yes, the ship had transported Alliance soldiers and Horde warriors for months, but it was one Draenei Paladin that ignited the superstitions of sailors. Still, my brash zealotry had earned me such a reputation.

I learned of Soyora’s time since the war. Soyora and her crew had taken in a few veterans of both the Horde side and the Alliance side. Now, the Hammerhead had been retrofitted for combat as much as transport. They worked mercenary contracts in port towns, and escorted explorers in lands as harsh as the great Un’Goro crater.

"Never come this far inland usually," added Soyora. "Not unless I am looking for something or someone, quite specific."

I sighed.

"How did you find me, Soyora?"

"Sailors tell stories. We listen too," she said. "Heard this rumor of a gorgeous dancing Draenei in a tiny village. Then I heard reports of a skirmish in which a tavern maid healed half the wounded. Next, some other parochial comes up and insists that Vykruls are real."

Swigging down her drink, she patted my hand

"Only one person that could be, Yasmeen," she said. "Still, I had to see for myself."

"You got me, capitan," I said. "Now what did you come down here for?"

Soyora looked around for any prying ears.

"It’s Buntaro, lass," she said.

My heart palpitated. I took in a sharp breath. Anxious, and with a sudden focus, I looked to Soyora for any reassurance.

"After you left, we sailed the Hammerhead back to the horde side of Northrend," she said. "Dumb thing. Dangerous thing. But Buntaro? We caught up with him in that village outside the hold. He wasn’t exactly banished, you see, but there wasn’t exactly any going back either."

The deeds of a warrior’s Kolapi reflect on the warrior. Hanging my head, I recalled the chaos I caused.

"It was all quite political. Orcs didn’t appreciate what the Forsaken did, but undead didn’t like the murder," she said. "I mean, as far as it is possible to murder what’s dead."

"What happened to him?" I blurted.

"Come on outside?" said Soyora. Following her, I arrived at the animal stables. There, she opened a wolf pen and out came Tsali, fur of thick gray and black. The sad wolf looked to me, sniffed, and then his tail wagged and he licked my hand. I knelt down, petting the beautiful strong worg. He sniffed my face with affection.

"Buntaro worked with us," she said. "The crew loves him. Some Alliance bounty hunter pinched him in Stranglethorn not more than six weeks ago."

I froze stiff.


"Who what?"

"Who was it that captured my Kolapi?" I demanded.

"A Gilnean ranger. He’s called Jondreas, why?"

I shared with Soyora the long story of Jondreas’s visit through Goldshire, about his prisoner cage, and how he carried himself during the battle several weeks back. We both realized, right down to the timing, that Buntaro had been the unknown captive within Jondreas’s cart. My long lost Kolapi had been so close to me, only to see him carted off. Clenching my fist, I declared that I would have killed Jondreas myself, had I only known.

"Don’t be hard on yourself," said Soyora. "You couldn’t have known. And this Jondreas fellow? He’s sharp with the poisons and such. Likely had Buntaro sedated half that trip."

"Where is he now?"

"In the Stockades. He’s waiting a trial for something he maybe did for a client out in possibly Theremore."

"Your ship?" I asked.

"Stormwind doesn’t know the Hammerhead," she said. "She’s docked in the Harbor. We’re not leaving until we get him back."

After the defeat of the Lich King, my days in Nothrend were numbered. Warsong Hold, the home not of the human alliance, but the orcish horde, had been my home. Great stone walls kept great hall of the Orc’s safe. There, I reveled in my dented, stained, and dirty armor among Orcs, Trolls, and Hulking Tauren. The drums banged a mystical rhythm. The bony horns blared anthems. Bonfires within kept the large open hall warm. Skulls of our undead enemies and even a great dracolich hung as trophies to all we had accomplished. Orcs sang and beat their chest in a language I understood better. These people, so long had their people known conflict, diaspora, and violence that they held one great thing before and after legendary battles: A frenzied celebration of life.

One warrior took his partner, that Shaman Daedra, at her waist and held her high in the air. Chugging down a flagon, and discarding the dragon scale chest plate and the shirt beneath it, she was admired by all. Bare breasted, she showed herself to the hollers of the horde. Her mate took her down as if to wrestle against her. Wrestle they did, and this great warrior tore the remaining armor off his mate and then undid his own. He turned Daedra over to her knees, and penetrated her. Thrusting and bringing her to a guttural howling, he raised his great arms out wide.

Who would join next? My Buntaro cradled me. He was a orc, like many of them here. His skin a clear green against my Draenei pale blue. The metal of my breast plate, cold and heavy, offered me no protection from the lust I felt, and the lust I had shared so many times. I allowed my Buntaro to release the buckles and latches of that metal shell, and his rough hot hands caressed my torso. Lifting my face to him, I shared a vivacious and deep kiss. For months, I had been vulnerable among my horde hosts, and in those months Buntaro had been my guide, my comrade, and my lover.

We were alive. Others were not. So we celebrated in hedonism as chaotic and strenuous as battle itself.

But even as our victory had been assured, another conflict had arisen. Many night’s later, I stood over the ragged corpse of the treacherous, undead, apothecary Arthur Henslowe. My hammer still had the filth of his blackened blood upon it. Tears of wrath ran down my cheeks. Soyora, having seen it shook her head stunned at what I done.

"This will be the end of both of us here, Yasmeen," she had said.

"I do not care," I answered.

Moments later, the undead nurse Applewood came in followed by Buntaro and his wolf Tsali. The wolf sniffed the corpse and Buntaro, looked at me with sadness. We grieved together, not for what I had done, but that he could no longer protect me here. We knew I would be sent away. He held me close, weeping. We both knew that someday I would return to the Alliance. Nurse Applewood dug into Arthur Henslowe’s desk. She brought out his book of notes, and then a crate of vials of blue liquid.

"Always. There is an antidote," she coughed through her dry lungs.

"Thank you," I said. Part of me had cringed at her, still, despite all that she had done for me. Still, she was kind. She was good, no matter what her masters had demanded of her. "I will not forget you."

"Nor I you," she said.

"We must go, my Kolapi," said Buntaro. Kolapi. It meant both ‘primary lover’ and ‘peer in battle.’ So many words that the Alliance could not understand. "I must see you safe one last time."

Soyora gathered her crew that evening. I had little left I cared for. We made for the Hammerhead under the cover of night. With the antidotes and book we boarded. Her tired crew hoisted the sails and drifted across the still icy sea, heading east, towards the Alliance on the other side of Northrend. I looked back. Buntaro watched me until our boat disappeared over the horizon.

Captain Soyora and I knew there would be only one way to get this done. We had to sneak out Buntaro of the stockades, which means someone would have to sneak in first. We walked together into the city of Stormwind, stepping on its white granite stone streets and cross over its many canal bridges. Buildings crowded together here, sometimes reaching three or four narrow stories high. Gnomes and Dwarves were as comfortable here as they were in their own homes. The night elves, that distant race of tall elves from Kalimdor, also disembarked their ships in the city docks. These days? Even my kin, the Draenei had found places to call their home here. It is refreshing, I admit, to hear your own language among patrons of taverns and even bustle of the merchant quarter.

As a obvious choice, I signed up for the Stormwind guard. My first day began with an assessment of my skills. Armored up with wooden practice equipment, I challenged other recruits and even several veterans. My reputation, damn that reputation, preceded me. Several recruits underestimated the dancing harlot of Goldshire, and they paid the prices in bruises and embarrassment.

But I did not demonstrate for myself, or for even a rank in the Stormwind guard. My Kolapi languished in a cell inside the stockades, and I remembered that every time I stepped into the circle to spar.

Things got complicated when Giles entered the ring. With skills matched, our fight lasted longer than most. I yielded to him, if only to get his attention after our bout. The officers of the guard advised me they would give me the assignment soon. Giles invited me to the Pig and Whistle in one of the Stormwind’s older districts. There, Soyora joined us and we drank and ate.

"They stationed me in the stockades, at my request," said Giles. "Though now? They moved me out to night patrols."

"Stockades must’ve been crazy?" I said.

"Tame my first few weeks," he said. "The trick was keeping prisoners separate. Humans didn’t trust Orcs. Orcs didn’t trust each other. We had some of, oh what did they call themselves, ‘true horde’ in there."

"The Black Rock clan," I said.

"Yes them. They’re the worst," he said.

Black Rocks. I’d never encountered them, but only knew what they were. Buntaro shared stories of dragon worshiping fanatics, holed up in some mountain, who hated his people and the feelings were mutual. What could such beasts be like once caged?

"So did you keep the orcs separate? Once you learned who they were?"

Giles nodded.

"If they fought, we figured they must be on different sides," he said. "Now why are you so interested, Yasmeen?"

"She needs to get into the stockades," said Soyora.

Looking to Soyora, Giles squinted.

"She’s a friend, Giles," I said. "I wish to serve Stormwind. I want to be stationed in the stockades."

Giles crossed his arms incredulously. Soyora sighed. She was always better at bluffing than I was.

"Yasmeen, if you wanted a war or something, you’ll find one there," Giles said. "The prisoners have been rioting for the past week solid. Guards lost control."

"No!" I gasped. For once, I thought of my Buntaro as captured, yet safe. Now though, he might be the only horde orc surrounded by Black Rock warriors. Giles caught my fear. He glanced to Soyora, who stayed tight lipped and gave no explanation.

"Giles, we must go in there," I said. "I must pull someone out."

"A prisoner?" said Giles.

"Let’s say he needs to stand trial," said Soyora. "That’s a good reason isn’t it?"

"For me to charge into the stockades with you?" said Giles. "Yasmeen, I care for you. We’ve shared much together."

He uncrossed his arms and held his hands up.

"You ask much of me? Can I not at least get from you the truth?"

I took his hand and held it.

"Who in the stockades could possibly be so important, Yasmeen?"

To Be Continued

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The Loss and Lust of the Lightwarden: Part 01

Author’s Note: Wrath of the Lich King

This Story takes place just after the events of “Wrath of the Lich King” and on the alliance side. Please enjoy and support more work like this.
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A Draenei Defiled

I never went back to the Exodar. It beckoned me still too close to the crown of the world. The chill of Azuremyst isle offered me no comfort. By the Naaru, duty did not compel me either. I had given my duty and the light of the Naaru did not shine upon me when I shivered alone with only freezing blood to seal my wounds. No, I had explored the world I fought to save. I had gone south, across the sea, and across the sea again.

Now far inland, my hooves clopped along the cobblestone roads of Goldshire. I carried precious silken luxuries and a single leather pouch. Smugglers had taken them from Silvermoon to Stormwind where I retrieved them. These silks are for pleasure, and for love. Neither of which shall I be ashamed of. Yet, near my destination, I crossed the village training corral. Soldiers from the human city had been thin. Far too many had been sent to the north, and far too few had returned. Here then, Lyria Du Lac, dressed in her unblemished armor drew her wooden practice sword and incited the new recruits.

In a village this small, so little entertains me. Who, after all, entertains the entertainers? I wandered to the benches around the wooden fence. The first farmhand recruit charged like an unruly bull. He was large and believed his girth compensated for lack of skill. But straight charges are predictable. Lyria dodged and redirected his weight with her shield. He stumbled on her greaves and fell face first into the mud. Lyria turned and pulled him up. Her eyes caught mine. Would that I had my veil, but all villagers know the only Draenei here. Veils do not conceal horns.

The next challenger stood up. Tall. His hair a tussled black mess. Oh, and his eyes, bright blue, outlined with the dark circles that marked him as a veteran. This man placed down a ceramic urn as if it was his child on a bench behind him. Then he grabbed a wooden shield and practice sword and prowled around Lyria. Lyria lunged first. He blocked her then let out a bestial shout. They engaged each other. Grunts and sweat exuded from this challenger. He endured the firm whaps of wood on his exposed arms. Oh, I enjoyed seeing him fight.

This is my perversion. By the Naaru, this is what brings me shame.

The stranger dropped from a final blow. One he took intentionally, I could tell. For he fell too hard for Lyria’s indirect strike. So Lyria won the duel. She held up the stranger’s arm high, declaring praises of his ability to the peasant recruits. She dismissed her class, then made her way to me.

“Yasmeen,” she spoke my name with warmth. She brushed a sweaty lock of auburn hair aside, “Is the barmaid interested in joining my patrols?”

“Oh no. Never could I handle such training,” I stammered.

“You wouldn’t need it though would you?” she said.

“What?” I gasped.

Lyria’s face spread into a knowing smile. Her eyes saw right through me. Oh prophets, why did I not wear my veil?

“You’ve never been a good bluffer, and you come here and you don’t just watch. You judge. You inspect,” said Lyria. She dropped her gauntlet and her bare hand squeezed my shoulder. “And from what I’ve seen? You don’t have the body of a dainty tailor. You don’t develop an ass like yours on the farms either.”

I pushed her hand away.

“Draenei woman are not so forward,” I feigned offense. Lyria laughed subtly at the attempt.

“Well whatever it is, Yasmeen,” she said. “You’re no wandering bard. Let me know when you’re ready to spar.”

A thousand fel curses on my perversions. I excused myself into the relative sanctuary of the Goldshire Inn. There is a room there that is mine. All mine. I fluttered out the fresh Elven silks. The glossy shimmers of purple replaced the drab cotton. A curtain frame, also smuggled from Silvermoon, hung above my bed bare of any cloth. I added the translucent sheets. A heavy woolen top blanket completed my new bed chambers, perfect for my next man.

Tonight though, I would not forget my veil. My clothing trunks held an eclectic collection of outfits from the scarlet dress given to me by a pirate lord, to a leather bodice crafted for me in Darnassus, and the sari I found at a Gadgetzan tailor. Tonight though, I would try on my new Elven silks. It was a skirt that met with my knees and fit tightly around the roundness of ‘my ass’ as Lyria called it. It’s top, though modest, invited all to imagine the shape of my breasts. Perhaps though it had revealed too much of my shoulders? Alas, I cared not for what Lyria had said.

That night, I stepped down to the early evening crowd. Farley, my innkeeper and employer, beckoned me to him.

“You look stunning, Yasmeen,” he said. “We expect a show?”

“Yes,” I said. I tilted my head flirtatiously and curtsied in my skirt. Farley is a good man. Were it not always so complicated with employers, I would share his bed as I had that captain who took me to Ratchet.

“All right,” he said. He gestured to the bar where drinks lay. “Tables await.”

I took drinks to tables, watching for men who may be trouble, and for men who may have deep pockets. Women too, enjoy me. Lyria shared a round with two guardsmen. That same soldier, with his ceramic urn, sat quietly by the fire eating mutton with solemnity. There was no mistaking his boots. Naaru as my witness, they were made from felhide.

“Yasmeen?” came a woman’s voice. I turned and saw Isabelle, dressed in blue mageweave. Her blond hair had grown a stark white though her eyes still shown a bright azure- a side effect of her years as a frost mage. “Was our arrangement fulfilled by the third party?”

“Indeed,” I said. I offered her the leather pouch. Isabelle opened it and inspected the magical glittering dust within. “Our northern friends are satisfactory?”

“More than that,” exclaimed Isabelle. “More dust, and we can rout the gnoll raiders back to whichever holes they come from.”

Most mages do not tarry long in the villages of their birth, but Isabelle held a grudge. Hogger’s Gnoll raiders had slain a rancher she knew from childhood, and she vowed not to leave Goldshire again until the worst of them were driven from Elwynn forest.

“Don’t get caught,” I said.

“By who?” said Isabelle. Her face scrunched into dismay at what she said next. “Hardly a Stormwind footman who won’t turn his eye for a silver left!”

Her spirit was too familiar. People do what they need to live. I shook my head. When I turned I saw the soldier’s blue eyes upon me. I met his, and he did not look away. I wished to know him, and that required something special. In the kitchen, I ordered a tea prepared. I sprinkled in herbs of Sorrowmoss, Silversage, and the last of my Manathistle. I brought to him a piping hot kettle and two cups.

He looked over at the tray before him.

“I ordered no tea,” he said.

“Ah but it’s a special Draenei tea,” I said. “The Outland dust enters the lungs and absorbs into the blood.”

I poured him his first cup. Faint lights sparkled in its stream.

“We sip this upon returning from far expeditions,” I said. “It cleans the blood, and the soul.”

The soldier eyed the glass. Looking at the empty cup next to it.

“Drink it with me?” he said. His voice had lost its suspicion. Instead, it was a mere plea. I poured myself a cup and lifted my veil. We sipped the spicy brew together.

“My name is Giles,” said the soldier.

“I am called Yasmeen.”

“How did you know I had been to Outland?” He cradled his urn.

“The boots,” I said. “They are made from felhide. The cracks in them are red with the color of Outland’s soil.”

“You’ve been to Outland.”

I refused to look away from this one.

“It was another lifetime,” I began. “I fought.”


“Alas no, I entered after the worst of it had been over.”

“It’s never over,” he said. His hand touched the urn one more time. I dared to ask.


“His name was Erwin,” he began. “We shared the same barracks at the Allerian Stronghold. You know it?”

“I do.”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “But when we discovered that he was born in Duskwood, and I born in Redridge, we promised each other that if one fell, the other would bring their ashes home.”

He looked at the urn with pain.

“How?” I asked.

“Illidan’s elves had barricaded themselves in some ruins. We thought we had the upper hand on them. But it was a feint,” he started. “Naga came from behind, and we had the bunker before us and serpents to our flanks.”

I ignored the barkeeper’s signal. Tables could wait.

“Our chance was to aim the siege equipment at the Elven position. It was desperate, and Erwin volunteered with me to operate the catapult. Our allies engaged the Naga. We took arrows and bolts from the Elves. But we succeeded. We launched burning pitch at the barricades, and the Elves had no escape.”

I knew too well what follows that. Black smoke billows in the air. Fire crackles and splatters as it burns fat, flesh, and oil together. The screaming is loud, but it ends quickly. It’s the smell that lingers upon you.

“We sent the Naga retreating,” said Giles, “but not before one hurled a spear through Erwin’s chest.”

I reached out and took his hand. Naaru bless the soldiers who come home.

“And you?” Giles said. “What happened for you to come all the way back here?”

Outland hadn’t been my last tour. Outland had been only where I began. Oh, I wished to tell him. I wished to tell him of the deeds of the Wyrmheart Centurions, but the Centurions are dead. Every last one, and I could not bear to tell him here, in a place with prying ears of those too curious of me.

“You’re not only a serving girl delivering contraband to mages in Goldshire, are you?” he said.

“You’re not only a nice soldier who yields in a fight, so a trainer keeps the respect of her students,” I said.

“Aren’t we both observant,” Giles said.

“Yes. And in truth I am more, and I wish you to see me,” I said.


“I will perform soon,” I said. I bowed, displaying my breasts, “Please, take a place near the stage.”

I finished my tea.

The musicians set up on the stage. Dwarves beat their drums and blew into their fifes. I gave Giles an inviting look as I disappeared behind the stage’s curtain. I let him wait. I enjoy letting them wait. On queue I stepped out dressed fit for a harem. Tiny cymbals clanged off my fingers, and bells shimmied at my waist.

This first dance, I had learned from a troll.

The music energized me, and I energized the room. My finger cymbals clapped in time with the percussion and fife. My hips shook, to the left and right, then moved like waves for all to see. Yes, I turned in a circle. All the Goldshire inn admired my huge round cheeks, and my naughty tail flailing about in the inn’s candlelight. Giles, he saw me. I strutted on tables spinning and swinging a bare leg above him. 

I would leave little to the imagination before long. I discarded my finger cymbals at the end of the song and ended my dance in an elegant pose. The next song began, and I wiggled my fingers up the threads of my top. Releasing it, I bared by breasts for the crowd, craning my head back, a motion I’d seen so many times among the harlots of Booty Bay. Yet these motions I had made mine as I combined them with the erotic shake of the hips I’d seen among the trolls.

Lyria De Luc tossed more coins towards my stage. Oh yes, I loved to see her. Giles though? Yes, he tossed a few that way as well. But it was not until a shimmied out of my skirt completely, display my round hind quarters, shaking them towards his face that his coin purse opened completely.

“I want to give you more, stranger,” I whispered into his ear.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Watch,” I said.

I spun to the music once more, shaking my tail, and my chest towards many regulars. I taunted men with blown kisses. I winked at women as well. Lyria placed one leg up on her table and reached her hand into the fly of her breaches.

“All of you! Show yourselves to me!” I shouted.

My regulars obeyed. The Goldshire inn patrons tossed more coins, for it was my price for allowing them to please themselves. The men who watched me whipped out and stroked themselves in time with the music. Though not Giles. Giles kept his hands on his table, yet he could not hide the bulge at his pants. I rolled, and writhed for my audience. Then I kicked one leg in the air, exposing my inner sex. I touched myself, growing wetter with them, inspecting each of their erect cocks.

Which one would I beg to fuck me tonight? Right here? In front of all? A celebration of hedonism. For we are alive, and others are not. Where it any other night, I would take anyone. Or many. But tonight, I only wanted my strange soldier. I only wanted Giles.

“You are nervous,” I said as I danced on his lap.

“I am surprised,” he said to me.

“Have you not seen enough sadness and violence, soldier?” I purred. I reached down and touched the throbbing hardness of his dick.


“Let down your guard,” I began. “Be brave.”

He leaned back in his chair. I dove to his breaches. I tore open the laces of his fly and summoned out his meaty erection. I swirled my tongue around its tip. His sounds of pleasure were drowned out by the cheer of the crowd. Saliva dribbled from my mouth, for I pleased his dick with fast, brutal, bobs of my face. Pumping him up and down, I wondered if he would send his cum into my mouth. Yet, there was a tension with him. I pulled him, tasting the faint drips of pre-cum in my mouth, and looked to him.

“You could fuck me here,” I said. “Or I will fuck you in my chambers. But it is you I will fuck tonight, Giles.”

“Chambers,” he said.

I hastily gathered up my coins and my discarded silk. Some villagers cheered. Some sighed with abashed redness in their faces. Several men had orgasmed for me tonight, spilling their life seed into the inn floor. Lyria De Luc, drunken in her own self pleasure, waved me a reluctant goodbye while I led Giles upstairs.

We entered my room, and I shut the door. Giles took hold of my shoulders and pinned me to the wall. Oh Naaru, this is what I needed, his handsome face, inches before mine. I could taste his lust with every breath. His lips connected with mine, and I remembered the lust I had for him at the training pit. I became at peace with my perversions. Though more, I desired more from him than I had of other lovers.

“Giles,” I said. I placed my hand gently on his chest. “I wish for you to see me.”

“Is that why we’re here? Instead of downstairs at the tables?”

“Yes.” I guided him gently away and bade him to sit at the edge of the bed. I dug deep into one of my trunks and retrieved my sacred war hammer. I held it high and upright, showing its ovular head. On one side, shown the holy symbol of the Naaru. On the other, displayed the insignia of the Wrymheart Centurions. The clerics of the Exodar had blessed it, and it had seen many conflicts. It served as a weapon and symbol against the unholy and vile. Giles gazed at it. He knew what it was for certain.

I dropped it to the floorboards. Its weighty head landed with a callous thud. The handle had long lost its pommel. I had a blacksmith reshape its broken edges into a round tip. The smooth leather grip now served a new purpose. I dripped between my legs.

I squatted over my sacred hammer and glided its handle into my wet pussy. I rode it for my own pleasure.

“By the light, woman,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. I turned my nakedness around, showing my backside to him. I dared him to come near with a look over my shoulder. Giles tore off his shirt and then squatted behind me. His dick rubbed between my cheeks. I panted.

“So this is what you are,” he said. “You’re dirty.”

“Completely,” I panted.

He gave my breasts a savage squeeze. I continued to ride my hammer. Giles, wasted no time and reached his hand to the pearl above my gate. Oh yes, the sensation is exactly what I wanted. The subtle ridges of leather wrappings stimulated me within. The tip of my toy and Giles’s finger pressed against one another. It all brought me to a hedonistic delirium. I rode it faster and harder, whimpering in bliss until the joy brought me to climax. It is more divine than any sacred vigil, and more profound than all of Velen’s wisdom. It is a gush of insightful pleasure that all is right with the world and I am meant to celebrate it.

I heaved, dizzy with excitement. I slipped off my toy and rolled on the floor. I stumbled to stand and looked to Giles.

“I see you,” he said.

I shoved my hammer aside.

“Do you see what I want?” I said turning my hips towards him and slapping the cheeks. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me like you are killing something.”

Giles lunged at me. I threw my arms up, and he caught one of my wrists. My free hand hardened to a fist. I punched, and he absorbed the impact on his side. The blood pumped hard in my body as we grappled. His booted foot hooked around my hoof and pressed to my shin until I toppled. I grunted out as my knees hit the wood floor. My free hand flailed upwards. Giles caught it too. He had both my arms behind my back. His knee pinned my calves. He stretched me backwards, and I loved it.

“This is what you had in mind?”

I could not speak. So lost in my violent perversions that I enjoyed the sense of panic he gave me. I nodded only. Giles wrenched me up to my feet. He kept my arms tight behind me, handling me like an unruly prisoner and then shoved me onto the bed. In a moment of defiance, I leapt up at him.

“You won’t hold still!” He growled as he grappled me again. His arm wrapped tight around my torso. His other, slid behind me and unthreaded his breaches. His raw hot phallus rubbed my backside. “Now let’s finish what you started downstairs.”

Giles lifted me in the air and turned me upside down. My arms gripped his waist. My thighs hung on his shoulders. He fell back towards the wall, his thick cock slapping my face with each step. His tongue lavished my wetness. And I? I took his cock inside my jaw. I sucked him. I tasted him. Salty and warm it subdued me as my tenderness subdued him. Yet not for long. Giles thrust his hips deeper. His tip rammed towards the back of my throat, triggering drool. I gagged against it, and his pulses did not stop. Neither did the heavy pressure of his mouth against my sex.

Giles relented and dropped me to the bed.

“Turn over!” He commanded. I did so. I prepared myself on all fours for him. I presented myself, wondering which hole he would penetrate. He slapped my ass first. So hard that I squelched from the heavy thud of his hand. Then he shoved himself into my slick pussy. I opened for him, enveloping his girth, and moaning for it.

“Fuck me!” I cried.

“I’m going to fuck you,” said Giles. He glided in and out so slow it hurt. “I think you’ve had enough in your pussy today.”

Giles pulled out. He gripped my ass cheeks, spread them, and aimed for my back hole. Yes. Oh god, he would do it. His shaft, dripping with my juices, slid into my hole. I tensed against it. All my muscles became tight and rigid and then released in a bliss. Giles stuffed his way in and then fucked me with a savagery I’d not had since Northrend. It was so hard, and so wonderful, that I let out tears of cathartic joy. The sense of fear and panic had melted away. My excited heart kept pounding. Lust overtook me, and I shouted for him to put his cum inside me.

He grunted in his climax, and the spittles of his cream fired away within. He pulled out, and drops trickled with it.

Seldom do I trust someone so quickly that I share the whole night with them. Yet that night I rested my horns on the great chest of Giles. We whispered morning greetings to another and stayed warm beneath the covers.

“Yasmeen, I must ask you something,” he began.


“The Wyrmheart Centurions? Even Outland heard of them,” he began. “We also heard they perished in Northrend.”

“This is truth.”

“But you didn’t die…”

“I might as well have,” I spoke. I straddled him and rubbed his torso with my hands. My breasts caught his eye. “This is my new life now. There are no more Centurions.”

I leaned down to him and we shared a morning kiss. Giles held my chest close to him and accepted me.

“I will keep your secret, Yasmeen,” he said. “One survivor to another.”

“Thank you.”

“And I ask one more thing?” he stammered. He became so vulnerable at one moment. “I must take Erwin’s ashes to Darkshire and memorialize him there. Will you come with me?”

“Yes,” I whispered. I reached down for his phallus and stroked it until it became hard. Giles sighed in satisfaction. “Shall we celebrate him now?”

The road to Duskwood remained dangerous for two lone travelers, and I had long since discarded or sold my armaments. Giles, ever gracious, purchased a shield and a long sword for me from the village blacksmith. We walked for a day, with little more than a mule for company. We sparred beside a campfire and then enjoyed sex loud enough for the gnolls of the woods to hear. Let them come. It is a depravity to love victorious bloodshed, but we would match them. Yet, no raiders or highwaymen intruded upon our trip, and arrived at the town Darkshire. It is indeed a dark place. Webs of spiders weaved through branches of trees. The feral Worgen howled in the distant night air. The taint of undeath wafted through the dark fog.

All of that chilled me not. What chilled me was the visit to the Chapel of Ser Albrecht. His statue gazed down at those in congregation, and its stone eyes judged me the impostor. Ser Albrecht the ever loyal, they called him. For he did not desert the field even when the battle was lost. Yet it was here, among the solemn procession and chants of the Church of Light, that Giles commemorated his fallen comrade. Villagers wept. Giles shared stories of Erwin’s heroism. Hugs and blessing were exchanged, and I spoke little beyond what politeness required.

We tarried in Darkshire, sharing our bodies once more and dining at the inn. I learned then of Giles’ plans, now that his duty to Erwin was over. He had decided to enter the city guard of Stormwind. “I know well how to fight,” he said. “But I tire. Stormwind is safer than the fields of Outland.” It was a decision I understood. Goldshire had become my haven.

That same evening we met another traveler. He had a bony talisman hanging from his neck. It was the kind the Trolls made in their jungles. He carried with him a breech-loading rifle, and with an eyeglass scope attached. A pair of goggles rested on his forehead. He took time polishing his rifle right there in the inn as if it were a sacred relic. He offered drinks for us, and we learned his name. Jondreas, a bounty hunter from Gilneas.

“Gilneas?” said Giles.

“Yes, my countrymen may live in protection, but castle walls eventually become a tomb,” he said. “Hence my many travels, and many quarries.”

Jondreas had traveled much as I had. He joined a band of treasure hunters in the Alterec Mountains. It was there he had tamed a mountain lion as his companion. He adventured with them for a time before realizing that the true treasures were in bounties. He was a hunter of criminals and miscreants now and shared a tale of bringing down an Alliance traitor in Kalimdor. I both feared and admired him. Bribes to skirt petty laws are the way of the world, but traitors deserve no quarter. That is beyond a simple lining of your purse. Nonetheless, zeal for one’s people may blind one’s fair judgment.

“Tell me, friends, you both appear to be the fighting type,” he said. “Would you perchance be heading north? Towards Stormwind?”

“Not much farther than Goldshire,” I said.

“Ah would you both like to earn some coin?” he said. “My latest quarry is shackled within my prison cart outside. He needs to be watched, and honestly he needs to be fed too.”

He chuckled as he sipped his tankard.

“Every time I feed him myself, he tries to bite my hand with his tusks. Doesn’t trust what I offer him either,” he added. “What say the two of you? Guard him and feed him? Only until Stormwind.”

Marching through Goldshire, my arms would give me away to all my friends and neighbors. I needed not the money either. I glanced to Giles, who understood me with a single look.

“A kind offer,” he said. “Though we wish to travel light for the next evenings.”

“But what then of my quarry escaping?” said Jondreas. “If you care about Goldshire, why not protect it?”

“You’re right sir,” I said. “But know that Goldshire’s patrols will often accept extra work when asked.”

“Really?” said Jondreas.

“This is truth,” I continued. “Just north of the river is a watchtower. I doubt not that you’ll find soldiers there eager to fatten their coin purses.”

“Is Elwynn forest so peaceful it bores those who patrol it?”

“Only gnolls,” I said. “One named Hogger leads them all, but the simple presence of watch towers prevent them from rallying.”

Jondreas nodded.

“You two are an honest pair,” he added. “Thank you for the advice.”

With that he ordered another round, and bid us good night.

Jondreas took the seat on top of his prisoner wagon the next morning. Its two horses galloped off, with the burden of Jondreas’s luggage on top and some prisoner hidden behind the tiny barred windows. Giles and I waited out a storm that lasted two days and then followed the road north back to Goldshire. We passed the southern guard tower. We found no guards, and it proved a warmer place to spend the night than on the open road. Further up the road, we saw a macabre body of a gnoll. Its fur had been mangled from numerous wounds. It was tied to a tree, and its paw pointed to Goldshire.

“Terrible,” sighed Giles. “As bad as ogres.”

“I wonder what he did that made them punish him so,” I said.

“I don’t know,” said Giles. “I’ve never known gnolls to act like this, and gnolls are a rough lot to start. Hogger must be one of the worst.”

“Should we cut it down?” I said.

We looked on at the flies gathering around the dead gnoll’s face. His body already bloating, and the tongue hanged out of its jaw.

“Yes,” said Giles.

We removed the fattened body, with great care. The bounds around it cut simply enough. We placed the body along the side of the road and covered it with dry leaves. I hoped the Gnolls would be satisfied, with whatever message they tried to send to each other or to travelers on this road. I hoped too that they would claim the body.

Back at Goldshire, Giles and I parted at last. He would continue to Stormwind. I kissed him farewell, and told him I would count him among my lovers, should he ever wish to visit.

Jondreas’s cart was parked on the road outside my inn. Four Stormwind guards stood at every corner. Jondreas had set up a small ballista on top, as if his prisoner might be a demi-dragon, ready to change shape and fly off. I sneaked into the inn, awkwardly concealing my shield and my sword as I did. I placed them safely in my room before the evening began.

Jondreas was there that night when I entertained. He proved a generous customer. He tossed an entire bundle of gold at my nakedness as I performed. It occurred to me I had never taken a Gilnean as a lover.

“Would you like to join in the show?” I asked while dancing before him.

“Ahh, oh would I,” he said. “Tonight I must be vigilant.”

“Will you come back this way after you deliver your quarry?”

“I may,” he said. “You’re everything a woman is supposed to be.”

I offered my breasts to him. He touched them with hunger. Dropping more coins, he bid me good night. I stood up to spin and shake once more.

“Release your cocks!” I cried to the crowd.

At the end of the night, their enthusiasm exhausted me. I took no man into my chambers. Instead, I pleasured myself with my sacred hammer once more, dreaming of Giles and other lovers of my past.

The sounds of yipping and yapping awoke me out of my slumber. I peered out my window. I saw the orange glow of torches in the distance. Gnolls. Gnolls had dared to come this close to the village. A flare fired into the sky. It illuminated the woods in a soft white glow. I could see the outlines of dozens of gnoll raiders. Shouts came from the village. A warning bell rung.

I struggled into my plain breeches and dug deep into my clothing for a scaled leather vest. Fel curses on the gnolls for forcing this upon me. I rushed downstairs. Isabelle saw me brandishing my shield and sword. It bewildered her.

“Yasmeen?” she said.

“Where are the guards?” I demanded.

“There were no guards posting tonight!” she said waving her arms. “They’re all holed up at the western tower!”

“What are they doing there?!”

“Marching here, one would hope,” said Isabelle.

She looked at me, my chest pounding and my arms ready. She paused in confusion at me.

“Yasmeen… you’re not planning on…” she said. “I’m summoning elementals. The rest of the civilians will gather in the square for safety.”

“I am no civilian tonight!”

I exited the building with Isabelle. By then, the gnolls were already firing arrows and sending ax wielding brutes towards the town’s militia. Jondreas’s trained mountain lion pounced on a stray gnoll, ripping apart the flesh of its neck in a frenzy. The bounty hunter himself was atop his cart, impassively loading a giant bolt into his artillery. His goggles covered his eyes and glowed yellow. He fired his bolt off into the woods. It landed and splashed into a lake of flame around the gnoll archers.

“What is he doing?” shouted Isabelle. She sent a water elemental rampaging through the forest towards the direction of the fire. With the arrows stopped, the militia men rallied to Lyria. Most carrying little more than spears or logging axes. Some wore armor, and a few had bows. I charged with them. One arrow grazed my shoulder from behind. I turned and saw a trembling face of a young militia archer. Ignoring his inexperience, I spun around and clobbered a gnoll in the face with my shield. The beast let out a yip and raised his war mace overhead. He swung downwards. I feinted and plunged my sword into his ribcage before he could recover. I shoved the body away and saw the large peasant recruit bleed from his thigh. Though a sword wielding gnoll would not relent. The large peasant fought furiously, but panted for loss of blood. I hollered a war cry and engaged the gnoll.

Another arrow struck me in the forearm. My bracer absorbed most of the blow, but the pain ached.

The gnoll leapt and kicked. Too much of his weight struck my shield, and I stumbled. The gnoll landed on his back. Seizing the moment, I drove my sword down on him, but he parried and rolled away. He sprung to his feet and snarled at me once more.

A friendly arrow struck him dead in his calves. He howled and screamed. I swung my sword upwards at his throat in a mercifully quick killing blow. I looked back and saluted that same nervous archer. Magical energy burst around me. Isabelle fired arcane missiles while her elementals bruised gnoll after gnoll. Jondreas used his cart as cover and fired with precision at each incoming raider.

Then I heard Lyria cry in pain.

To my right, a dead gnoll lay on top of Lyria. I rushed over and kicked it off. A dagger had pierced her armor and lodged itself in her torso. Blood already streamed, and Lyria looked pale.

“Stay alive,” I said. I took her by her arms and dragged her to relative safety behind the smithy. I undid the buckles of her arms and then prepared to loosen the dagger.

“This will hurt, Lyria,” I said. “You will live but it will hurt. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

I drew the dagger. Blood gushed from the wound. Lyria wailed in agony, and I removed her breastplate. I touched my hand to her wound, unsure if the power of the Naaru was even with me. Light glowed from my hands. Her torn flesh regenerated at my touch. The wound sealed, and the blood dissipated. Lyria’s screams of pain changed into a sigh.

“You are alive!” I said. “Does it hurt anymore?”

“Huh…” said Lyria with a tired smirk. “Anything to get your hands on me, Yasmeen.”

We arose together and turned to the melee outside. Regular foot soldiers from the western tower marched past us. The gnolls yapped into the night. Jondreas whistled for his lion to his side. He hefted his rifle, and the two of them chased after the disappearing invaders. Isabelle summoned a blizzard against the fires left by torches, and Jondreas’s contraptions.

The next morning we assessed the damage to our village. Two militia men had perished. Several more had been wounded. Let the prophets bear witness: I healed many that day of their injuries. Let it also be known that I refused any inquiries as to how. Marshall Dugan rode in from Stormwind that afternoon. While attending to injuries, I heard him in the inn’s basement, yelling at two of the guards. He demanded to know what they were doing guarding “some fool bounty hunter’s prisoner” instead of patrolling near the southern tower as they were expected.

Marshall Dugan faced anger himself later that day. The village had assembled in the town square where he spoke to them.

“Why were the guards on the west tower, Marshall?” yelled Isabelle.

“Madam, it is on me for dealing with insubordinate guards. I assure you, I will find the reason,” he said.

“I nearly lost an eye to those attacks!” shouted a militia member. “Naught for our inn’s healer! When will you return our priests to us?”

Fel curses, now they knew me as a healer.

“We have done everything in our power to bring the best veterans back from the front,” said Dugan. “Greater men than the lot that failed you, I swear it.”

The crowd rabbled. Marshall Dugan tried to placate them. I did not know how much longer I would tarry in Goldshire, yet I had grown to love this town. It had been so simple and safe, yet now it seemed no more protected than the tundra of Northrend. During this rabble, Jondreas walked towards the square. His lion had scrapes. His own leather had tears. Dirt covered his face. His favored rifle had grime where once had been polish.

In his free hand, he carried a gnoll’s head. Dugan stopped mid-sentence and stared.

“Hello?” Jondreas called out. “I heard that Marshall Dugan was here. Is that you?”

“I am,” he said. “And you are?”

Jondreas made his way through the crowd. He held the gnoll’s head aloft.

“I’m the hunter who killed Hogger,” he announced.

The crowd looked on in silence. Marshall Dugan squinted at the face and compared it to a wanted poster in the town square. He asked Jondreas further details, skeptical that this Gilnean stranger had killed the real thing.

“Here’s more proof,” said Jondreas. He pulled a medallion off his neck and tossed it to Dugan. “The mark of a gnoll chief. They don’t give that up willingly.”

Dugan looked at it and nodded.

“How did one man, alone, kill him?” said Dugan.

“A fortunate turn of events!” said Jondreas. “During the chaos last night, I saw an opportunity to chase him down. He was a clever gnoll, but not clever enough.”

I thought back to the nights before. The guards who had gathered at the western tower, who had abandoned patrols for days. I thought of Jondreas’s careful set up of defenses the night of the attack.

Giles said he’d never known gnolls to tie corpses to trees.

“You instigated it!” I cried. “You used Goldshire itself as bait to tempt Hogger out of hiding!”

“I only took good advice from a fellow traveler in Darkshire,” he said.

My skin crawled. Would that I had my hammer to hurl at him.

“Hogger is slain!” cried Jondreas to the villagers. “His strongest gnolls are dead or wounded! You good people will fear not for gnoll raiders again!”

Marshall Dugan glared. He summoned Jondreas forward. What was said between the two men, I know not. I only know that Dugan pointed towards the western tower, his face full of disgust. Jondreas seemed to accept. He walked through the crowd and mounted his cart and rode away.

“Goldshire militia?” said Marshall Dugan. “You are more loyal than the armored men who should have served you. I commend all of you.”

He watched Jondreas’s cart until he was sure it was beyond earshot.

“And if that Gilnean bounty hunting scum ever returns to your village, please deal with him as you see fit.”

With that, Marshall Dugan mounted his horse and rode off.

To be Continued

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Jasmine’s Enslavement

…Continued from “Jasmine’s Hazing”

A bump and the prattle of pebbles against the side of the van told us all that we had gone off the road. If I had seen where we were headed, I might have ran away. It wasn’t simply about the place either. Had someone told me right then what great-grandma had done so many years ago, there would have been no chance I would’ve even spoken to Morgan or any of the other Phi Gamma Omega girls. I understand now why they put us in the van. It had been so much more than another way to force us to endure shame. No, that van was there to protect us from ourselves so that we could become free.

The car stopped at last. The back door opened with a creak. We stepped out into a courtyard with cobble stone walls around us. All the sisters were there. Two of them closed a wrought-iron gate behind us. Before us loomed a large Victorian home. Its black shingled roof rose like steeples to the cloudy sky. Its two lanterns on the porch gloomed an orange-yellow. The front door reached an arch, and on a plaque I saw ‘H.G. Constructions. 1962’ -my family’s company. We had built it years before I was born.

The sisters guided us into a dark foyer. The lifeless air cared nothing for us, but the lit, wax dripping, candelabra right past the front door awaited us. Morgan took hold of it, and then distributed single warm candles to all the sisters. She led us through stairs and halls until we entered what I know now was a chapel. A great stone fireplace stood at one end of a five sided room. Granite statues of chained male and female angels stood in the other four corners. Floor pillows, a pair of red velvet couches, and some ottomans were the only furnishings here.

Any sane person would have panicked at the sight of the altar in the center: A black clothed miniature table. A bowl and a bejeweled knife awaited us on top of it. One of the big sisters stroked a fire in the hearth. As it heated the room, Morgan motioned us pledges to a couch. Then, she took the knife from the altar, held open her hand, and made a long cut. She winced at the pain. Blood dripped from her squeezed fist into the bowl. Another sister rang a bell. Its tone filled the room in a relaxing vibration.

“Mistress of Phi Gamma Omega, lady of hell, and our patron,” Morgan’s voice projected in the room. “This generation of sisters gives our blood, as our sisters before. Come to us and judge which of our lambs is worthy.”

I remember so vividly the next moments. Each sister silently walked to the bowl, cut her hand, and dripped her blood into it. When they finished, they dropped a match into the bowl. A pillar of fire consumed it in a flash. Bristol looked like a terrified rabbit. Yumi held her hands together in her lap. Me? Yes, my head was spinning, screaming at me to leave, to run, to forget all that I was doing. But where could I go? Already I was becoming free.

“All kneel!” said a sister who rang the bell a second time.

The sisters turned and faced the doorway. All of them took to their knees around the room. Yumi, Bristol, and I followed them. The sisters began a whispering chant. Then the bell rang again. Then another bell rang. This time it came from the other side of the door. The tinny sound of the bell echoed along with whispered chants. Then our door creaked open, and the girls went silent.

In stepped a barefoot, black-robed girl. She carried a goblet, decorated like the knife. The girls moved and made way for her. She looked down at Morgan, who glanced up to her.

“Hello Morgan,” the girl whispered. “It’s been too long.”

“Hello Kayla,” said Morgan. Her short words dripped with remorse. Morgan forced a posture of strength. Kayla stepped between the girls, clearing space, and she did so with a serenity none of these other girls would ever know. Morgan’s heart suffered, I could see it even then. Two more girls followed, dressed as Kayla. The clasps at their necks held their hoods and robes in place. It created a long vertical parting that revealed their naked bodies beneath. One carried a flogger. Another carried a set of leather restraints. They motioned all the sisters towards the edges of the room.

Then she entered. I know what she is now. She is who was summoned, who offered a pact, and who maintains her bargain year after year. A woman, tall and with black hair set against light skin. She wore her thick, shoulder length, hair down like a glamorous 1950s film star. Her irises were of no natural color and glowed with a faint violet. Her tight bodice accentuated her chest. A black skirt flowed from her waist into whispy tatters below her knees. Leather straps criss crossed over her feet and up her shins.

Wings. She had a pair of oily, dark, bat-like wings coming from her back.

I wished to run. My mind told me to do so, to flee from something so unnatural and terrible. Yet my body would not obey. Bristol jumped back in fright.

“No! What the fuck this isn’t…” Bristol shouted.
A sister grabbed her and covered her mouth. Bristol muttered further protest, but this strange women look at her -at all three of us- with a malicious serenity that compelled us to silence. Bristol knelt again, eyes still open in terror and her lips sealed tight. Yumi’s breath hastened, but like me she stayed still.

“You have called sisters, and I have answered. I ask you, have I kept my bargain with you?” the woman began.

“You have, mistress,” said Morgan.

“Do you wish all that I offer you? Do you wish your lovers to be your servants? Do you wish to seduce those who stand in your way?” She took strides around the room. Looking over the kneeling girls and gesturing with her whole arms. Her spread wings churned the air. “Do you wish for years of lust without trouble? Sex without shame? To use those who would use you? To hear minds and to influence them?”

“We do, mistress,” said Morgan. She stood up as did the rest of the sisters. She motioned us, the pledges, to stay on our knees. “We offer tribute.”

The women paused and the room’s fire crackled behind us. She smirked. This woman radiated beauty like a black hole. It was this aura that would have kept me on my knees all night. One that even then made me ever so wet. That dress I had on? Already I wanted to strip it off like a whore.

“So you’re looking good, Morgan,” said the woman, this demoness. Her voice became gentle and familiar, leaving the theatrics of the ritual behind her.

“Thank you mistress,” said Morgan. Her voice was rote and without passion.

“The internship after you graduate?” said the demoness. “You did get it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, mistress,” said Morgan. “I’ll be flying to Los Angeles in June.”

“And what’s going to keep those sharks in suits from eating you up?”

“The power you gave us, mistress,” said Morgan. She gritted her teeth.

The mistress laughed.

“I’ve seen so many like you, Morgan. Regret nothing. Forget your sunken costs,” she said. She curled a finger under Morgan’s jaw and raised her own smugly. “Guilt, sweetie, it will eat you alive. Eat others instead.”

She greeted many other big sisters similarly, asking them each about their plans, where they would work, and what they would do. I thought of the wall in our sorority house. These big sisters would follow in those women’s footsteps, sucking the marrow out of life with unassailable ambition. I learned how my sorority had attained such glories in that warm, insidious, chapel.

“Now who have you brought for me?” said the mistress at last.

“Pledges, stand up!” commanded Morgan. “Stand in the center.”

We stood up and stepped with trepidation to the center of the room, lined up in bewilderment. We stood still. I dared to glance at the winged demoness who strutted around us.

“Now let’s do introductions, pretty little lambs,” she said. She pointed to Yumi. “Names starting with you.”

“Yumi,” she said.

“Yumi what?”

“Yumi Terese Allister.”

The mistress pointed to Bristol.

“Bristol Johnston.”

She aimed her violet eyes at me.

“Jasmine Haverton Vicinda.”


“A legacy,” I uttered.

“Right,” said the demoness.

She stepped around us. She tugged at my jacket and then removed it. It fell to the ground. Yumi’s fell next to it. The demoness pet our bodies with her hands and her wings, and even teased us with her undeniably hot exhales across the raised hairs of our skin. I don’t know if I could not move or if I didn’t want to anymore. When she cupped my chest, I tried to beg her to undue my dress zipper, and let my breasts be offered to her. Though those words stayed stuck in my mind. Already, I was becoming for her.

She put her arms around Bristol, and curved her wings around them both like an unholy cocoon. My mistress made the softest of kisses on Bristol’s neck, a peck so tiny, it was no louder than a rain drop landing in a puddle. Bristol moaned for it and gasped as the demoness stepped away from her. The terror in her wide eyes melt into a confused, and plaint, glaze.

“Fuck..” stammered Bristol. She undid the top of her shorts. Her hand went down into them. She touched herself in a fever.

“That’s it…” purred the demoness.

Bristol spread her legs and continued to caress herself. Her eyes darted around the room, and she was met only with the solemn silence of the uniformed sisters. One of the robed girls dragged a large pillow forth before her.

“That’s for you, little one. Get comfortable,” said the demoness.

Bristol dropped herself to the cushion. She undid her top and released one of her breasts from the bra. She got rid of her shorts next. Then put her hand back on her pussy, massaging it with a liberated sigh.

“You don’t come yet,” said the demoness. She walked to the altar and picked up the knife. “You keep pleasing yourself, but don’t you come.”

The demoness paced around Yumi, who stood as still as I did. Her chest rose and fell with terror. The demoness pressed the cold blade’s dull side to Yumi’s neck, who only craned her head higher and brushed her hair aside. With a flick of the wrist, the demoness sliced the cloth straps around Yumi’s neck. Her white top slid further off her chest with each other cut the demoness made.

Bristol squelched while she touched herself.

The demoness ignored Bristol and unclasped Yumi’s necklace. It tumbled to the ground and landed with a clink. Yumi’s expression melted into placidity. Her pupils opened as wide as unguarded gates.

“Jasmine Haverton Vicinda,” The demoness’s voice boomed in my head. “Stand beside Yumi here. Get a hold of her pussy. Both of you watch that slut over there.”

I cuddled next to Yumi. Her arm wrapped around me, holding me. My arm reached down and unsnapped the buttons at the top of her skirt. Some voice in my head told me that it wasn’t safe or normal. Wouldn’t I simply lick a big sister’s pussy and be done with it? I had been naked with these girls, but this defilement crossed so many more lines. Yumi didn’t stop me, but why did I do this? Was I doing it for my future ambitions? I had some purpose to join this sorority, but I was forgetting it. Because I was a legacy? That was a mere means to an end. The demoness desired this, and that single thought drowned out all others. My palm slid over the short coarse hairs of Yumi’s mons. I slipped my fingers onto Yumi’s folds and pet her.

“Yes… Jasmine,” she whispered. “Please touch me.”

We watched Bristol. She struggled, whimpered, and her eyes watered from the pain of denied orgasm.

“Do you want to come?” said the Demoness.

“Yes, mistress!” she declared.

“Can you come? Did I tell you I could?”

“No, Mistress!” Bristol’s voice strained.

The demoness squatted down. She groped Bristol’s trembling body, then took a hold of her nipple piercings and tugged. Bristol suppressed a scream of pain.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she said. Bristol gasped and cried out. Tears spread from her closed eyes. “I can let you come, would you like that?”

“Please let me come!” shouted Bristol.

“Oh, you’ll come,” said the Demoness with a playful tone. “You’ll all come. You’ll all be doing what I want tonight.”

She released her grip on Bristol’s breast.

“Orgasm, now!” she ordered.

Bristol’s legs shook in release. Her orgasmic screaming echoed against the hard walls. Drips of wet juices from Yumi’s pussy moistened my hand. My own pelvis sweltered with heat. I wanted Yumi right then. My teal dress became nothing more than an oppressive barrier between me and these sisters. Never, not once, had I lusted like this. This demoness, this horrendously gorgeous monster, had been changing me since the moment I crossed the threshold of this house. I loved her for it.

The demoness reached for the ties that held her tattered skirt in place. The robed girls knelt before her, one bearing the goblet. On instinct, I sat in reverence. Yumi did too. Bristol, still sighing from her climax, joined us.

“What comes at no cost in the world?” the demoness intoned.

“Nothing at all,” the uniformed sisters chanted around us.

The robed girls tugged away the demoness’s skirt, carefully folding it and placing it aside on a pillow.

“My power is a deep well of water, and I offer you all a cup full,” she continued. “Let lust be your leash. May you all live sweet, delicious, and enviable lives.”

The three girls reached to the demoness’s legs and hips and rubbed all around her pussy.

“And we offer lambs to you. One to be your thrall throughout her time in university. Choose well, our mistress.”

The demoness smiled and tossed her head and wings back. She groaned as her thralls caressed her. Then out of the top of her cunny, erupted a thick erect phallus. I wanted that strange, unnatural thing. Her entire visage, wings, hair, and that thick beautiful dick had a magnetic pull on my heart. Though her will invaded my head, telling me to remain on my knees. Those cloaked thralls took turns before the demoness, each one swallowing and stuffing that shaft in their mouths. Jealousy welled inside me, and the demoness could tell. She relaxed her body, and her thralls brought her to orgasm. First, the thick white cum fired in spurts. A messy splatter landed between the sister’s faces and the goblet they held. Then it came in steady pumps. Heavy drop after heavy drop landed in the goblet as the thralls wiped their lips. They wasted nothing. Kayla placed it on the altar.

The demoness made sweeping strides around. Wings whooshed and fanned us. With graceful movements that paid us no mind, she extended her hands out and downward as if controlling us by strings. Yumi and Bristol crawled forward to the pillows, both of them half naked. They went at each other in feverish lust. Yumi kissed Bristol from her wrists to her neck. Bristol rolled Yumi to her back, and her hair covered their passionate kissing. Why not me, I had thought right then. So stressed and anxious, I did not want to kneel and stare. My heart palpitated that the demoness did not regard me though it delighted me to see Yumi get out of even more of her clothes. Bristol straddled Yumi’s face, and Yumi lavished her pussy. It had to have ached. Yumi fucked Bristol with her fingers and pleased the clit with her tongue.

My mistress squatted behind me. She pulled down the back zipper of my dress. She slid her hands under it and against my skin. At last, she touched me. Her possessive hands groped all over my body. She grasped my neck and tilted my face upwards to her. Wings wrapped around me and she conquered me with a hard kiss.

“Mistress…” I said. I could not utter my desires fully. Bristol moaned in another orgasm.

“Yes, little lamb, you will please me,” she said. “It would please me if you consumed Yumi until she comes on your pretty face.”

She released me. At last, I undid my dress and my panties. It was maddening, that I spent so much time in anxiety and indecision about that outfit. I discarded it on the floor. No longer did its fabric bind me or keep me from pleasure. Something, some distant voice, screamed a quiet scream. It needed to know what was becoming of me, what would happen next, if everything would be perfect, if I would make the right class, and a dozen other silly thoughts. Yet that scream became so quiet and distant against a singular domineering thought: I would be for my mistress. It pleases to obey.

Yumi welcomed me between her thighs. The first taste of her tangy pussy juice touched my lips. Never had I tasted that flavor before. I took hold of her pussy, palming and caressing it, and it thrilled me to hear the sounds of pleasure in her voice.

“I want your pussy, Yumi,” I couldn’t believe I said such things. I hadn’t ever done this before. I fingered her, finding her clit, and then played with her some more. Her faced flushed in delight. The will to dive down on her could not be resisted even if I had tried. I found my face between her thighs licking her long, tear-drop shaped cunny as my mistress wanted. Yumi sweltered with juices there. So much that the smell and taste overwhelmed me. The novelty, and unnaturalness of everything that happened to me might have stopped me, but now I craved Yumi like I craved my mistress’s pleasure. Yumi’s pussy splashed juices onto my face. Oh the sounds she made when she came! Yumi forget everything except pleasure as she wailed.

We welcomed Bristol in and we became a pile of pulsating lust together. We’d been naked together for hours, though never had we become this intimate. I had no idea that lips on my clit could feel that good. Bristol yearned to please me that way. I liked holding them, and rubbing them. Each new way that we found to tease each other only energized our tired bodies further. Our orgasms, our spectating sisters, and the aura of our mistress, consecrated our threesome, in all of its depravity.

“Split yourselves up now, lambs,” commanded the demoness. We obeyed and departed away from each other. Oh, I wish I could have held Yumi for only a few moments more. Though I did not linger on that thought long. The thralls surrounded me and I knelt with instinct. They passed around the cum filled goblet. Each one took a sip and swallowed the pearls down.

“Now you,” said Kayla. She held the cup out to me and I took it. They’d left a lot for me. “All of it.”

If you had told me that I would ever do a thing like this, in this chapel, before these girls, I may have abandoned my destiny. Now, I know never to overthink, and life is only to obey. I took the goblet to my lips, held it bottom up and let the thick cool cum pour into my mouth. The sisters and the thralls whispered a chant. The cum! There was more to it than a sweet and salty taste or the texture as it slid on my tongue. My mistress’s cum took the evanescent, post orgasmic bliss in my mind, and stretched out its euphoria. When I handed the goblet back, I looked to Morgan. Her face looked like it had when Kayla talked to her. I didn’t know why she looked sad. What was there to be upset about? She could be jealous of me though it didn’t matter. I’d never been so satisfied and serene.

“The mistress has chosen,” said Morgan flatly.

“Hold the bell, sisters,” said my mistress. “This one is special.”

Gears creaked above from the ceiling. A chain descended from above us. One of the robed girls attached the cuffs to it. I reached for them and my mistress closed their clasps around my wrists. The chains tugged back up lifting my heals off the ground, forcing me to balanced towards my toes. My mistress groped and fondled me. Her nails scratched my skin. She twisted my nips as she had Bristol’s. Oh, it hurt so much. I loved it.

“Morgan knew I would pick you, Jasmine Haverton Vicinda,” said my mistress with sadism. “I will tell you why.”

Her cock teased my belly so close to my wetness. I lifted my leg to accept her and my mistress stepped back.

“Your ancestor called me here,” she said. “She was the first to ask for a deal.”

She undid the leather bracers on her wrists, dropping them to the ground. Her thralls unlaced her bodice. Her perfect breasts came out. I wanted to place my lips on her wicked nipples and make my mistress feel good.

“She offered her dorm roommate as tribute.” My mistress stretched out her wings and arms, displaying smooth and vivacious skin. “I still wear that body today.”

She held my cheeks in her both hands. Her violet iris glinted with a new glow. She struck my cheek with a mean slap.

“I gave your ancestor wealth, power, and luxury. Without me, she would have been nothing, another anonymous, helpless, housewife.” She stepped back and gave me another hot slap in the face. “Smarts though, she had on her own. She knew better than to allow her daughters to come to this sorority.”

The demon held out her hand. Kayla placed the handle of a flogger into it.

“I’ve waited over fifty years, and through dozens of thralls to take a daughter of Helen Haverton.”

She whipped the floggers tails back and forth as she stepped closer. The flying tails inched closer. I arched my back, offering my breasts. The tails brushed over my nipples. I wanted it. I stretched my chest out further forward. I needed to get beaten. “Beat me,” I muttered out loud in a haze. My mistress closed the distance. The lush tails landed on my chest with thud after thud. Better than anything I had felt on my skin until then. Each slap hurt and left an echoing sensation of agony on my skin. My mistress did not relent and the will to keep my body prone held me there. I yelped at each strike, and begged her to continue.

“For the next four years, you are mine!” declared my mistress. She stepped around me with the flogger. Strikes landed on my shoulders, ass, and thighs. “You will wear what I tell you to wear, or will be naked as I see fit. You will attend classes when I say and leave them as it pleases me.”

She gave a series of cruel slaps to my ass.

“You will fuck, who I want you to fuck,” she sneered. “You will seduce who I command you to.”

My chest took another aggressive flogging.

“You will reside here, cloistered with your sisters. You will sleep in a cell or in a cage, for no reason except my appetite,” she growled. She handed the flogger back to Kayla, then embraced me. Her nails tickled my beaten skin once more. Talons at the tips of her wings grazed my back side. Oh, it was wonderful.

“What do you say to all that?” she hissed.

“Yes mistress. I obey.”

“That’s right. Now tell your sisters something else,” she tugged the nape of my hair, directing my face to Bristol, Yumi, and the uniformed sisters.

“I love my mistress…” I pronounced.

The chain extended lowering my heels, then my arms, and then slacked to the ground in a cold rattle. The little voice didn’t exist now. There was not even a quiet screaming one. Obey the mistress. Please the mistress. Those thoughts echoed with every breath now. How I would please remained the only choice that mattered. What did my mistress want from me? On my knees, with wrists bound, I dared to take hold of her thick phallus. I licked it and sucked it, just as my cloistered sisters had done before. Would she give more of her cum? I didn’t know, but I needed her dick in my mouth. The way she moaned made me so proud and so free.

“You’re good at that, thrall,” said my mistress. “Touch yourself while you suck me. Get wet.”

I rubbed my clit. The pleasure of the suckling and the ache at my clit made me more lustful.

“Enough,” commanded my mistress. “On all fours, thrall!”

I assumed the position. My hips tilted upwards. My pussy dripped with juices and my mistress glided her cock over its surface. Then she penetrated me. That painful stretch from such a hard, warm, and thick shaft put me in a deeper stupor. My mistress fucked me like a whore. She rammed me with an aggressive fury.

“I love my mistress,” I stammered when she turned me over to my back. I could not get enough of her. Her chest shook and her eyes glowed as she rammed away within. I twiddled my own clit, bringing myself closer to climax.

“Not yet,” said my mistress. “You will come when I permit you.”

She positioned my hips to fuck me deeper. I’d become such a slut for her. The will to keep touching myself, while suppressing my own orgasm overrode the pain and tears. The fucking changed pace. My mistress moaned and her beautiful face blushed with her climax. She didn’t need to tell me. My body released in time with her, and gushed juices against the cock inside me. Her cum pumped inside.

She pulled out. I flopped down to the stone floor.

“Phoebe. Samantha. Take care of your new sister,” she said. My two cloaked sisters came to me. They rubbed my ravaged body with this oil that smelled like lemon grass. It softened that throbbing on my skin. I might have drifted off to sleep under their soothing care. Though I stayed half awake, and aware of all those in the room around me. My mistress had flooded my pussy with her cum. I enjoyed that my sisters saw it drip out.

One sister rang a bell.

Yumi and Bristol blinked. Bristol looked around with wide eyes. Yumi reached for Bristol’s hand. They both sat there panting. Were they afraid? No, that wasn’t it. Surprised. That’s what they looked like to me.

“Well bitches, get your clothes,” said one of the sisters. Yumi and Bristol grabbed the rags they came in with and held them in their laps.

“Now you, little thrall,” said the demoness. “What will you do with that precious dress you walked in here wearing?”

The fire still blazed. Its orange light beckoned me to do what my mistress expected. I gathered that coat, that dirty old pastel dress, even my shoes, and my thong. I tossed them one by one into the fire. So simple I became then. No more apprehension, anxiousness, or brain spinning its wheels so fast that I could not choose. There were no decisions now. My mistress had made me free.

“Morgan?” said the Demoness. Her glorious cock had receded. Her wings folded behind her back, while Kayla tied the back of her bodice.

“Yes, mistress?”

“You’ve given me what I’ve wanted for over half a century,” she said. “Do you know Kayla’s time of enthrallment ends soon?”

“Four years as always,” said Morgan.

My mistress motioned Kayla forward and pulled back her hood.

“She needs to slowly adjust to life outside my cloister,” said the demoness. “I want you to take your old friend home tonight. She’ll please you if you want that, or not if you prefer. But you must share a bed with her tonight, and maybe longer.”

Morgan’s eyes brightened in surprise. Kayla stepped to her holding her palms out, and Morgan took them as if to lead a dance. They looked at each other for a time.

“You still there?” Morgan whispered. Kayla leaned in and the two of them connected lips. Morgan’s lashes opened wide, then she closed them as she explored the sensations. “I guess we’ll find out,” she said when they released.

Morgan then turned to Bristol and Yumi.

“Congratulations bitches, you made it. You’re full sisters now,” she said. The other sisters applauded. “How do you feel after all that?”

“You all did this too?” said Bristol. “Then I’m good. We can do anything.”

“I’ve wanted to be with women forever,” said Yumi. “That was my first time. I feel… well no one here can judge me, right?”

The sisters chuckled warmly. Morgan smiled.

“Yes, that’s how I felt too when I sat there my first year,” said Morgan. “Now you know our secret. Every year we pay tribute to our mistress. You’ll see these other girls around campus, in our sorority house and so on. They don’t belong to us anymore.”

She paused and glanced at Kayla.

“Now there is this door here that opens to the basement in the Sorority house,” she began.

My mistress turned to me and spoke softly.

“Little thrall, it’s time for you to go to bed,” she said. “Phoebe and Samantha will take you to your cage. Soon, I’ll prepare your cell for you myself.”

“Yes mistress,” I said. My robed sisters held my arms. They led me through the door and into the dark hallway. I became a cloistered thrall to a gorgeous demon. My mind became numb. My will was suppressed, usurped, and replaced with hers. What would become of me? I didn’t know, but placidity and pleasure soothed my once uncertain heart. No longer would I exist as I had before. I need only be for my mistress now.

End Chapter One

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